us:  he treated me with all kindness, and gave me the warrant for your liberation to bring hither.  That warrant was already signed; for the Duke of Shrewsbury had kept his word with me, and applied for it earnestly and successfully.  The Earl of Byerdale knew that it was prepared, so that he was quite safe in permitting your escape.  I have now nothing further to do, my lord, than to wish you joy of your liberation, and to bid you adieu for ever.”

“Stay, stay!” said the Duke, much moved.  “Let me hear more, Wilton.”

But Wilton had already turned to Lady Laura and taken her hand.

“Oh, Laura,” he said, “if I have been deceived into making you unhappy as well as myself, forgive me.  You know, you well know, that I would give every earthly good to obtain this dear hand; that I would sacrifice anything on earth for that object, but honour, truth, and integrity.  Laura, I feel you can never be mine; try to forget what has been; while I seek in distant lands, not forgetfulness, if it come not accompanied by death, but the occupation of the battlefield, and the hope of a speedy and not inglorious termination to suffering.  Farewell—­once more, farewell!”

“Stay, stay!” said the Duke—­“stay, Wilton!  What was it the Earl told you?  He said that you had as good blood in your veins as his own.  He said you were even related to himself.  What did he tell you?”

The blood mounted into Wilton’s cheek.  “He told me, my lord,” he said, “that I was the natural son of his cousin.”

And feeling that he could bear no more, he turned abruptly and quitted the apartment.

As he did so, Lady Laura sank at her father’s feet, and clasped his knees.  “Oh, my father,” she said, “do not, do not make me miserable for ever.  Think of your child’s happiness before any considerations of pride; think of the noble conduct of him who has just left us; and ask yourself if I can cease to love him while I have life.”

“Never, Laura, never!” said the Duke, sternly.  “Had it been anything else but that, I might have yielded; but it cannot be!  Never, my child, never!—­So urge me not!—­I would rather see you in your grave!”

Those rash and shameful words, which the basest and most unholy pride has too often in this world wrung from a parent’s lips towards a child, had been scarcely uttered by the Duke, when he felt his daughter’s arms relax their hold of his knees, her weight press heavily upon him, and the next instant she lay senseless on the ground.

For an instant, the consciousness of the unchristian words he had uttered smote his heart with fear; fear lest the retributive hand of Heaven should have punished his pride, even in the moment of offence, by taking away the child whose happiness he was preparing to sacrifice, and of whose death he had made light.