The Antiquary — Complete, Walter Scott [best novels for beginners .TXT] 📗

warm to him from the first, and your lordship has suggested the very cause.”

“But who—who is he?” continued Lord Glenallan, holding the Antiquary with a convulsive grasp.

“Formerly I would have called him Lovel, but now he turns out to be Major Neville.”

“Whom my brother brought up as his natural son—whom he made his heir— Gracious Heaven! the child of my Eveline!”

“Hold, my lord—hold!” said Oldbuck, “do not give too hasty way to such a presumption;—what probability is there?”

“Probability? none! There is certainty! absolute certainty! The agent I mentioned to you wrote me the whole story—I received it yesterday, not sooner. Bring him, for God’s sake, that a father’s eyes may bless him before he departs.”

“I will; but for your own sake and his, give him a few moments for preparation.”

And, determined to make still farther investigation before yielding his entire conviction to so strange a tale, he sought out Major Neville, and found him expediting the necessary measures for dispersing the force which had been assembled.

“Pray, Major Neville, leave this business for a moment to Captain Wardour and to Hector, with whom, I hope, you are thoroughly reconciled” (Neville laughed, and shook hands with Hector across the table), “and grant me a moment’s audience.”

“You have a claim on me, Mr. Oldbuck, were my business more urgent,” said Neville, “for having passed myself upon you under a false name, and rewarding your hospitality by injuring your nephew.”

“You served him as he deserved,” said Oldbuck—“though, by the way, he showed as much good sense as spirit to-day—Egad! if he would rub up his learning, and read Caesar and Polybus, and the Stratagemata Polyaeni, I think he would rise in the army—and I will certainly lend him a lift.”

“He is heartily deserving of it,” said Neville; “and I am glad you excuse me, which you may do the more frankly, when you know that I am so unfortunate as to have no better right to the name of Neville, by which I have been generally distinguished, than to that of Lovel, under which you knew me.”

“Indeed! then, I trust, we shall find out one for you to which you shall have a firm and legal title.”

“Sir!—I trust you do not think the misfortune of my birth a fit subject”—

“By no means, young man,” answered the Antiquary, interrupting him;—“I believe I know more of your birth than you do yourself—and, to convince you of it, you were educated and known as a natural son of Geraldin Neville of Neville’s-Burgh, in Yorkshire, and I presume, as his destined heir?”

“Pardon me—no such views were held out to me. I was liberally educated, and pushed forward in the army by money and interest; but I believe my supposed father long entertained some ideas of marriage, though he never carried them into effect.”

“You say your supposed father?—What leads you to suppose Mr. Geraldin Neville was not your real father?”

“I know, Mr. Oldbuck, that you would not ask these questions on a point of such delicacy for the gratification of idle curiosity. I will therefore tell you candidly, that last year, while we occupied a small town in French Flanders, I found in a convent, near which I was quartered, a woman who spoke remarkably good English—She was a Spaniard—her name Teresa D’Acunha. In the process of our acquaintance, she discovered who I was, and made herself known to me as the person who had charge of my infancy. She dropped more than one hint of rank to which I was entitled, and of injustice done to me, promising a more full disclosure in case of the death of a lady in Scotland, during whose lifetime she was determined to keep the secret. She also intimated that Mr. Geraldin Neville was not my father. We were attacked by the enemy, and driven from the town, which was pillaged with savage ferocity by the republicans. The religious orders were the particular objects of their hate and cruelty. The convent was burned, and several nuns perished— among others Teresa; and with her all chance of knowing the story of my birth: tragic by all accounts it must have been.”

“Raro antecedentem scelestum, or, as I may here say, scelestam,” said Oldbuck, “deseruit poena—even Epicureans admitted that. And what did you do upon this?”

“I remonstrated with Mr. Neville by letter, and to no purpose. I then obtained leave of absence, and threw myself at his feet, conjuring him to complete the disclosure which Teresa had begun. He refused, and, on my importunity, indignantly upbraided me with the favours he had already conferred. I thought he abused the power of a benefactor, as he was compelled to admit he had no title to that of a father, and we parted in mutual displeasure. I renounced the name of Neville, and assumed that under which you knew me. It was at this time, when residing with a friend in the north of England who favoured my disguise, that I became acquainted with Miss Wardour, and was romantic enough to follow her to Scotland. My mind wavered on various plans of life, when I resolved to apply once more to Mr. Neville for an explanation of the mystery of my birth. It was long ere I received an answer; you were present when it was put into my hands. He informed me of his bad state of health, and conjured me, for my own sake, to inquire no farther into the nature of his connection with me, but to rest satisfied with his declaring it to be such and so intimate, that he designed to constitute me his heir. When I was preparing to leave Fairport to join him, a second express brought me word that he was no more. The possession of great wealth was unable to suppress the remorseful feelings with which I now regarded my conduct to my benefactor, and some hints in his letter appearing to intimate there was on my birth a deeper stain than that of ordinary illegitimacy, I remembered certain prejudices of Sir Arthur.”

“And you brooded over these melancholy ideas until you were ill, instead of coming to me for advice, and telling me the whole story?” said Oldbuck.

“Exactly; then came my quarrel with Captain M’Intyre, and my compelled departure from Fairport and its vicinity.”

“From love and from poetry—Miss Wardour and the Caledoniad?”

“Most true.”

“And since that time you have been occupied, I suppose, with plans for Sir Arthur’s relief?”

“Yes, sir; with the assistance of Captain Wardour at Edinburgh.”

“And Edie Ochiltree here—you see I know the whole story. But how came you by the treasure?”

“It was a quantity of plate which had belonged to my uncle, and was left in the custody of a person at Fairport. Some time before his death he had sent orders that it should be melted down. He perhaps did not wish me to see the Glenallan arms upon it.”

“Well, Major Neville—or let me say, Lovel, being the name in which I rather delight—you must, I believe, exchange both of your alias’s