University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
THE LOST FOUND.

For a moment, a moment of the most
painful suspense to Robert Burnside, who
had started at Ringold's question as if a thunderbolt
had fallen at his feet, for a brief moment
the recluse suspended his reply as if
hesitating, even where he saw he was dis
covered, to confess an identity that for twoscore
years had been locked up in his breast
sacred from human cognizance. Griffitt
waited for his reply, not with doubt, but
with a look of certain confidence in the
coming response which showed the fullest

conviction of his belief in the truth of his
suspicions.

Amazed, and rivited to the ground, looking
from one to the other with an indescribable
expression of countenance, Red Beard
stood shaking in every limb; his eyes rigidly
bent on the recluse, were expanded with
mingled awe and fear, while his lips parted
with the wildest aspect, that hope and surprise
can wear, moved without language.

`I am the Marquis of * * * * *,'
at length answered the recluse in trembling
accents. `I am that hapless man. But who
art thou noble youth who has —'

`My father! Can it be my father?' cried
Robert Burnside in a hoarse whisper, while
he seemed ready to fall to the earth with
fearful emotion.'

`It is, and ere he answered my question I
knew the truth. I saw your likeness to
him,' rapidly responded Ringold.

`Let me kneel at his feet to have his blessing
if he be my father?' said Red Beard,
his voice agitated, till almost inaudible, and
his eyes filling with tears; while clasping his
hands, he would have cast himself forward
at the feet of the recluse overwhelmed with
the first outbreak of the ocean of filial love,
which in forty years time had not been unsealed.
But Ringold, who fully commanded
his feelings, even at a time so interesting,
even an indifferent person, caught him by
the hand and said:

`Not this minute! Wait! I would not
have you repulsed. You know that —
that —'

`Yes, yes. You are right. It is my
curse, and may now separate me from his
embrace and love. Oh, that this discovery
had not been made, or that I could assure
him of — of —'

Robert Burnside could say no more, for his
bitterness of heart and deep grief. He suffered
Ringold to lead him unresisting some yards
away to the extremity of the copse; but every
step he took he looked lingeringly back over
his shoulder yearning to embrace, if only
with his eyes, the venerable form of his father;
for he did not doubt that he had discovered
in the hermit, his long lost parent. Yet,
agitated as he was, between joy and fear, he
saw and approved of the policy suggested
by his young friend.

`Remain here and be calm for a few
minutes,' said Ringold. `I will soon be
with you, and be assured I shall bring you
words of peace and happiness. See! He
gazes after me with wonder. He has not
half comprehended, if he heard your words,
and is looking at me for an explanation of your
extraordinary emotion. Be composed and
expect from me pleasant intelligence. But
I do not anticipate that I shall have to use
many words to convince him of the innocence
of Lady Alice, and that you are his
son.'

`I pray for your success,' responded Robert
Burnside, with a haggard look of despair,
through which, however, faintly glimmered
the light of fond hope.

Griffitt approached the hermit, who had
been watching them both with surprise and
curiosity. He had heard indistinctly, and
without comprehending their purport, the
exclamations of Red Beard; but without
regarding them he turned his attention to
Ringold who, from having recognized and
called him by name, he continued to regard
as some beings more than man. As Ringold
now drew near him, after leaving Red
Beard a few yards distant, the hermit advanced
with an excited expression upon his features,
and said:

`Young man, unfold this mystery to me.
Explain how it is that after forty years seclusion
from the world, you, a youth, who
can never before have seen me, have called
me by name. If thou honorest my grey
hairs, answer my inquiry.'

`Thou shalt hear, my lord, fully and freely,'
answered Ringold.

`My lord! my lord! How strangely
sound to my ears those familiar words so
long unheard,' he murmured. `But heed

me not, for in my solitude I am used to talk
with myself. Tell me who thou art, and
how I am known to thee?'

`Sit upon this mossy rock, father, and I will
explain,' responded Griffitt, as he respectfully
conducted him a few steps to a natural seat
beneath one of the pines, and placed himself
near him. `I am but a humble wood-craftsman,
my lord, and dwell in the valley. I
have discovered thee, therefore, not by any
supernatural art or divinations; but I know
the from thy resemblance to —'

`To whom? why do you pause?'

`To thy son, my lord!'

`My son,' repeated the hermit with singular
emotion. `What do you say—what is this?'

`My lord, I am sent here to tell thee that
thy loved and lovely wife, the Lady Alice,
is innocent of the guilt charged upon, and
the belief of what doubtless drove thee into
this western solitude.'

`Lady Alice! my loved and lovely wife.
Thou sayest truly, she was loved and lovely.
Prove her innocent, young man, and I will
kiss thy feet and bathe them with my tears.'

`The whole, my lord, was a conspiracy.
It has been proven and shown, by the dying
confession of the Countess of * *, who
out of rivalry and hatred towards Lady Alice,
for enjoying the queen's favor, combined with
the profligate Earl of * * * *, to accomplish
her ruin. The earl had sought your
friendship, that winning your confidence, he
might dishonor you; but Lady Alice with
the piercing glance of innocence, saw at
once his motives, and kept aware of him;
but one day he approached her hoping she
would, like many others, fall an easy prey,
but meeting a rebuff and a reproof, that
showed she saw through him, he left her
presence vowing revenge. The Countess
* *, who had been inventing some devise,
by which she could destroy Lady Alice's
favor with the queen, chanced to meet the
earl (whose victim she had been) —'

`How knowest thou so well these things?
Who art thou?'

`One sent to restore peace and happiness
to thee and thine. Hear me, my lord, further.'

`I am listening with my heart still.'

`The countess met the earl, and seeing his
looks of angry confusion, asked him the
cause; when he told her, at the same time
repeating to her his determination to be
avenged for his defeat. The countess then
made known to him her own hatred of Lady
Alice, and together they planned, aided by
others equally vile, the scheme which was
alas! for Lady Alice's peace, too successful.'

`Go on! Light breaks upon me —'

`The countess let the earl into the apartment
of Lady Alice by means of her own
boudoir door, and seeing him placed behind
the arras, she went off to wait till Lady Alice
should go to her chamber. In the meanwhile
one of the other conspirators, the Lady
Sarah — had drugged a cup of tea which
your wife took in the queen's anti-room,
tempering the potion so nicely that it should
not begin to produce its effect till she should
reach her room. It was, therefore, the over-powering
effects of the drug that caused her
to retire so early; and ignorant of the presence
of the serpent in her bower, she placed
her innocent head upon her pillow and in a
moment was buried in profound sleep —
The object of the conspirators in giving
her a sleeping portion, was that by her so
early retiring, her depravity might appear
to you more base, inasmuch as you would
suppose she had taken advantage of your
absence to give herself up to love's guilty
dalliance, ere you should come to her from
the king. The countess had no sooner seen
her fall asleep, than she hastened and despatched
a messenger for you, while the
false earl creeping from his covert, laid his
head by her pure cheek just as you entered,
that you might behold him there, for this
sight he was aware would fully compass his
fiendish revenge, so far as the honor of Lady
Alice was concerned. The rest, my lord,
I need not recapitulate. The years of misery
to the innocent lady that followed that

hour of crime, I will not refer to, know that
the Countess of * *, upon her death-bed
some years after, confessed the whole crime
in writing, affixing her name to the paper.'

`Enough! enough! I am a guilty and
sinful man, oh Lord!' cried the hermit sinking
upon his knees, while the tears rolled
down his cheeks. `I have sinned, in that
I have condemned the innocent.' And the
venerable old noble bowed his head to the
earth and deep moans escaped him. Robert
Burnside, to whom hope and fear had given
quick ears, had heard all; and now with his
arms extended, his face full of eagerness,
his foot and body advanced, he looked as if
he would rush forward. But Ringold lifted
a finger as a sign for him to restrain his emotions,
and then said:

`Do not afflict yourself, father. The past
may not be recalled; but the future may
atone for it in some measure.'

`Speak, young man, angel, or whatever
thou art,' cried the recluse lifting himself
from the earth, and gazing with helpless despair
in his face. `Tell me what may the
future do! for I know now that she was innocent.
Why did I not see through it then?
But all seemed so clear against her, alas!
There were letters.'

`Yes, there were letters! Those were
forged.'

`Oh, baseness and hellish plot. Tell me
more. Does Lady Alice live?'

`She is dead, my lord, thirty years ago,
but died peacefully knowing and foretelling
that her innocence would one day be made
clear.'

`I could not hope she lived. And you
say in peace she departed.'

`Yes —'

`Did she forgive me. Canst thou tell me
this.'

`With her last breath she blessed thee,
father,' cried Robert Brunside, no longer
able to refrain himself, and so rushing forward
he cast himself upon his knees before
him, gazing into his face with clasped hands
and tearful eyes. `With her last breath she
forgave thee, my father.'

`Who art thou? speak, young man. Who
is he? Is it he?' cried the old man wildly.

`It is thy son?' answered Griffitt, with
emotion.

`It is! It is! I see now! I behold
Alice in her child. It is thy grandsire I
see in thee. My son! my son! forgive me
my wrong to thy mother.'

`I have nothing to forgive, my father!
Let me embrace thee.'

Ringold as he saw them cast themselves
in each others arms, turned away to hide
his emotion. It was the happiest moment
of his existence. He beheld Whitlock just
aroused from sleep, standing up gazing upon
the scene with amazement.

`What is this?' he inquired with awe
`Who is the old man? Explain this; Ringold.'

`Hist! Red Beard in the recluse has
found his father.'

`He has? This —'

`Silence now! You shall know all at
some other time.'

`It is all a mystery to me. See, whispered
Whitlock, how the old man hangs upon
him, and how affectionately Red Beard
upholds him while he kisses his cheeks and
forehead. I never saw such a sight before.
Tears come into my own eyes, too.'

`My father!'

`My son!'

`My long lost, noble father!'

`Let me look at thee. I see thee again,
sweet Alice, in the eyes of thy child.'

`And I saw thee in him also, my lord, and
thereby knew him to be thy son,' said Ringold.

`Sit down, my dear father. Let us sit
here upon this bank,' said Robert with a
manly tenderness of affection that was singularly
touching. `The scene will overcome
thee. Be composed and let us talk
together.'

`Dost thou forgive me, my child?

`Freely, father!'

`Let me hear how and why thou camest
here. Who told thee I was here?'

`I knew it not. We were crossing the
mountain and stopped here to rest when this
discovery so haply took place; and through
the sagacity of my youthful friend, who
knows the whole history of my life, and saw
in you the resemblance to me that led him
to suspect he had discovered the long disappeared
and forgotten husband of Lady Alice.'

`It is wonderful!'

`Dost thou doubt, father, that I am thy
son?'

`Doubt! Have I doubted?' asked the
recluse in a tone of sorrowful reproach. `I
have of late believed in Lady Alice's innocence;
oh that I could have learned to believe
it sooner. Now, let me atone in acknowledging
thee something for the past.
Let me hear the story of thy life, and of thy
mother's death. Alas! alas! my soul is
heavy, and sadly will my spirit go all the
days I have to live; for I have sinned in
that I have condemned the innocent blood.
But go with me to my abode, and there after
becoming a little more composed, my son,
we will discourse of the sad past. Let me
lean on thee, my son. My heart tells me
thou art my flesh and blood. Oh, happiness
too pure. Heaven, in giving me to see this
hour, surely hath forgiven me my sin.'