56. LVI.
CONCLUSION OF THE EARL'S NARRATIVE.
THE rest of my narrative,” continued the Earl,
“may be related briefly. But, first I shall tell
you what you have no doubt understood ere this,
that the young man who passes here under the
name of Falconbridge is my son. Let me go on.
“After his terrible, and successful plot, Sir William
Powys proceeded quietly to adopt and rear the child, of
whom he had deprived me. But events soon occurred
which overthrew all his calculations. A creditor who had a
claim upon every foot of land which the baronet possessed,
forced the payment of the debt, and thus Powys Court
passed from its owner's hands, as Denton had escaped from
mine. The baronet was thrown upon the world, and had it
not been for his son, Arthur, would have had nowhere to
lay his head. The young man had married some time
before, and now received his father and the child under his
roof.
“But Sir William was haunted eternally by a single
thought. He dreaded the discovery by himself of the
infant's identity, and the thought of being compelled by law
to part with him, aroused all the old hatred and jealousy in
his heart. The boy already began to display unmistakable
indications of his origin. He was the image of his mother,
and no one who had ever seen Edith failed to note, and
refer to this resemblance. People began to inquire why the
haughty and aristocratic Sir William Powys had adopted and
received as his own child, the son of a servant in his household
The gossips of the neighborhood duly seized upon
the matter, and began to shake their heads, and ask if that
poor young Lord Fairfax had really lost his child. It was a
vague and undefined idea in all minds; but the question
was not permitted to rest.
”This state of things became at last so troublesome, that
Sir William cast about him for some means of quieting the
gossips, and at the same time securing the infant from ever
falling into my hands. The means all at once presented
themselves. A Mr. Falconbridge of the region was about
emigrating to the Virginia Colony—and his wife, who was
childless, had taken a great fancy to the boy. Sir William
was not long in making up his mind. He sounded the
parties, and discovered that they would willingly adopt the
child as their own, and take charge of his future. The bargain
was soon agreed upon, and when Mr. Falconbridge
sailed for Virginia, he took my son with him, as his own
child, and bearing his name.
“Thus had crime reached its punishment. This man
who had inflicted upon me such a cruel vengeance, was as
cruelly wounded himself. He loved the boy dearly, and
was compelled to part with him. He continued in England,
dependent upon the bounty of his son—but after some
years even this was denied him. Arthur died, and his wife
followed him. The family had subsisted upon the salary
of a county office which the young man held: and thus Sir
William found himself without means of support, with a
further cause of disquiet and apprehension. Arthur had
left a little daughter. You know her, under the name of
Cannie Powell. This daughter the poor man came to love
with a doting affection; and to rear her in a manner
suitable to her origin and rank now became the most cherished
desire of her grandfather. Without means of doing
so in the Old World, Sir William came to the New. He
crossed the ocean, and settled upon a small tract of land on
the shores of the Chesapeake; and thence came here to the
mountains, for the health of his granddaughter. Soon after
his arrival, he discovered a mine of silver and gold, and in
working this mine, impelled by the desire of amassing
money for his child, he secured that reputation for witchcraft,
which ended in his arrest and trial. He had frequently
seen his grandson, young Falconbridge, in the Lowland,
but shame had prevented him from revealing their connection,
and even from making his acquaintance, as a stranger.
Assured of the fact that the elder Falconbridge loved the
young man, and regarded him as his son, he yielded to the
hard fate which kept them asunder, and dedicated his life
to little Cannie. When I came to Greenway, a year or two
since, Sir William was residing in the mountain. Why I
emigrated to America, you doubtless know. Stripped of
Denton, and longing for new scenes, I came hither, and
took possession of my property, like Leeds Castle, derived
from Lord Culpeper through my mother. I never met Sir
William, though I often hunted in the Fort Mountain—and
a strange Providence threw us, for the first time, face to
face, in the attitude of criminal and judge. By the side of
the old man I saw my son, and my son's cousin; his grandchildren,
both; and all strikingly alike. The strange
resemblance which Falconbridge, as I shall call him still,
bore to Arthur and Edith, impressed me powerfully on our
first meeting, and one night, when he slept here, I stole at
midnight to his chamber, led thither by an impulse which I
could not resist.
“You know all, now, Captain Wagner. I have related my
whole life. You are acquainted with the events which have
occurred since the young man's visit fo this region; I
scarce dare to refer to them. An inscrutable Providence
decreed that father and son should be rivals, in a mad infatuation
for a woman; that they should oppose each other
sword in hand; that they should shed each other's blood,
though God be thanked, not to the death! The man whose
act placed us in this unnatural attitude, revealed all before
it was too late. In our interview on the mountain, he confessed
his crime, and prayed me in a trembling voice to
forgive him. He had delivered, some time before, a package
to the youth for me, containing the whole explanation, which
was strangely lost. But at least it came in time. No
power can now arm us again. I shall never look more upon
the woman whom my boy loves; I will warn him against
her, for I feel that she is false and dangerous.
“That is all, Captain,” said the Earl, raising his head, and
sighing deeply, but no longer with the old painful expression.
“I have related a strange history—'tis such, is it not?—and
you have listened as friend listens to friend. The narrative
has been a singular relief to me; I feel light-hearted
almost. I end by a serious and earnest petition. I impose
upon you a duty which I know you will gladly perform.
In the scenes of danger which my boy is about to enter,
watch over his life, and bring him back safe to me. On the
day of his return I will tell him that his name is not Falconbridge;
that his blood is my blood; that I thank the
Supreme Lord of this world, and all worlds, that Edmund
Lord Fairfax, the seventh of the name, and Baron of Cameron
in the kingdom of Scotland, for such will be my boy,—
is better than a mere noble, better than the greatest lord—
a noble and true hearted gentleman!”
The face of the glad father glowed as he spoke, and his
form rose erect, with a pride and happiness which is indescribable.
“Yes, Captain!” said the Earl, with flushed cheeks, and
brilliant eyes, “yes, Falconbridge is a gentleman every inch
of him! a nobleman by God's patent, as by the king's! In
his presence, as I gazed at him, and listened to his voice, I
have said, “This is a chevalier of old days!” In his persuasive
tones, in his clear, frank eyes, in his lips, in his
whole bearing, in his rage, as when he smiled, I have seen
the great soul of the boy, the pure gold of his nature! I
have thrilled with a nameless delight, when he spoke; I
have gazed with longing into his deep, true eyes; I have
said, `What pride must this youth's father feel!' and you
may understand now the emotion which I experience when
I can add, `This is my son.' ”
The Earl was silent, and Captain Wagner did not immediately
reply. Leaning his head upon his huge hand, he
reflected with absorbing interest upon the remarkable
history which he had just heard. He remained thus absent
and buried in thought, for a long time after the Earl
ceased speaking. Then he raised his head, and uttered the
characteristic words:
“Yes, a trump, or the devil take it!”
The Earl smiled at the sonorous voice of the worthy
soldier, and said:
“You mean my son?”
“Yes, my lord. And I beg you to observe one fact—
that when I say a man's a trump, I mean the trump of
hearts, that being the finest card, to my thinking, in the pack.
I have always regarded your lordship as a man of discrimination;
I think so now more than ever, or I'm a dandy!
Yes, this Falconbridge is truly a gentleman, and that's
better, as you say, than being a nobleman. I am not
myself a gentleman—don't be waving your hand, my dear
friend—I would have been, with training, if that satisfies you.
I think in fact that a real marquis was spoiled when Captain
Julius Wagner took to the border. Nevertheless, in
spite of this unfortunate state of things, I am acquainted
with the article, and recognize it. I say Falconbridge is
made of real gold! Let me hear anybody deny it! I'll
slice 'em! Zounds! my lord! I loved him at first sight!
I couldn't keep my eyes off that proud-looking face of his—
and when he dangled after that woman, I nearly cried!
From the first, this young fellow bossed Wagner, or I'm a
dandy! I am fond of your lordship, but I honestly declare
that yonder on the Fort Mountain, I hoped he'd make a
hole in your coat—that is to say—hum! rather than be
drilled himself! Friendly, that, eh, my lord? But it's
true. It will show you how that boy has wrapped himself
around my old heart: I growl like a miserable old bear,
when he groans—he's as much my son as your lordship's!”
The Captain accompanied the words by a blow upon the
table with his fist.
“There, there,” he said more calmly, “I've made a fool of
myself—if I haven't done a disgraceful piece of courting.
The fact is, my lord, I wan't a manor on the Opequon, and
it occurred to me that this was the way to get around you,
I have no sort of liking for this lofty headed youngster, but
I praise him, you see, to arrive at my own ends. Is the
`Redbud Manor' still unoccupied, my lord?”
And the Captain gazed with a look of earnest inquiry into
the countenance of Lord Fairfax.
The Earl smiled. It was a happy smile—no longer grim
and melancholy, as on former occasions.
“You are a bungling courtier, Captain Wagner,” he said,
“and I predict will never become a very distinguished diplomatist.
But I'll make a contract with you. Bring my
boy back safely, and I'll make you a deed to twice as many
acres as the `Redbud' tract. Is it a bargain?”
“No, my lord,” returned the Captain, “it is nothing of
the sort. The fact is, the `Redbud' land is miserably barren—not
half equal to my wife's property which joins it.
No, your lordship, and at present Captain Wagner is talking
seriously—by the book—I'll receive no pay, for looking after
the youngster, any more than I would for guarding Julius,
Lord Wagner, the second of the name and Baron of Winchester
in the Kingdom of Virginia! I'll be by him, and
keep the balls off him—if I don't I'm a dandy! And so
that's all. Let me now go and carry out my other promise
—that of bringing Lord Fairfax, the younger, to Greenway.
The sun is getting low, and it is time to be on the road.
Your lordship wishes him to come sleep here?”
“Yes, Captain. You will pardon the weakness of a father
whose son is going on a perilous expedition to-morrow; I
would see him once more.”
“Right, right! I've had boys myself, and I know what
that means; you want to have the youngster here close to
you.”
The Earl smiled and inclined.
“It is one of my chief happinesses in this lonely region to
have by my side a friend like yourself, Captain, who understands
me. Go then—'tis another obligation still.”
“Stop that talking, my lord. Julius Wagner's a good
fellow, but no such great things after all. I'll go bring
him—whether he wants to come or not—or I'm a dandy!”
With which words, the Borderer issued forth, and mounting
Injunhater, hastened to the Ordinary. Two hours afterwards,
Falconbridge, as we shall continue to call him,
was seated in the great apartment at Greenway, conversing
with George, the Earl and the Captain.
