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Arlborough Castle,
August 4, 184—

I WILL now proceed to relate the particulars which my good friend Mr. Beufort
made known to me touching his interview with the Duke. I will give the
account in his own words:

`My first question,' said Mr. Beufort, `after being seated, was, as I have just
repeated to you. Did your Grace ever have a son by the name of Ferdinand?'

I watched his countenance as I asked this question which I had put boldly
and at once as being most likely to bring the matter to a point. He became
suddenly pale, and I saw was deeply agitated. He fixed his eyes upon me in
silence with painful earnestness for a few moments and then said in a broken
voice,

`Mr. Beufort, be so good, I beseech you, as to explain why you have addressed
so unexpected a question to me? I perceive there is something deeper in
your motive than mere curiosity.'

`I have a very strong motive, your Grace,' I replied; `I am influenced by
considerations that intimately concern the happiness and honor of a young
friend in whose behalt I have visited you and solicited the honor of this interview!
'

`Will you first be so good as to name your motive in making this inquiry?'
he asked, still regarding me with intense emotion in his countenance.

`It will give me pleasure to do so, your Grace,' I replied, `if you will condescend
to listen to me a few moments.'

`Proceed, Mr. Beufort,' said the Duke in a low voice, waving his hand to me,
and still looking distressed. I then began to relate to him the principal events
connected with your being left an infant at the Inn in America, and your subsequent
course up to the time I saw you in London, with your hopes, wishes,
and researches in reference to your parentage. But I did not mention the tokens
by which you were led to believe that you were related to his House. I
did not speak of the Silver Bottle, nor of the crest, nor the initials, nor the name
you had discovered. I gave him no reason, in the whole narration, to lead him
to suppose that your history had any reference to himself or any of his family.
He heard me through with patience, and not without interest at times apparent
in his countenance; but as I proceeded, the anxiety and agitation disappeared
from his expression, and towards the close he had recovered his calmness and
ease of manner.

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`When I had ended he was silent and thoughtful a moment, and then said,

`This relation, Mr. Beufort, is certainly a very interesting one. The young
man you say reached London last week in this adventurous search for his family.
You told me he had certain tokens by which he hoped to trace his parentage.
I trust he will be successful, particularly as you say he is so worthy a
person, and, moreover, as you manifest so deep an interest in his welfare. Your
object, doubtless, in calling upon me is to enlist my interest in his behalf. I
assure you, my dear Mr. Beufort, it will afford me great pleasure if I can in any
way favor your views touching your young American friend!'

`I am under infinite obligations to your Grace,' I said; `the end I seek can
be advanced by your grace, by a reply to the question I put to you. That you
had a son of the name of Ferdinand I believe to be true; but I wish to know
particularly if he still lives, and if there has been any event of unusual occurrence
in his life!'

`This is a surprising question, sir?' he said somewhat sternly.

`I beg pardon of your grace, but I must be plain and bold to come to what I
want.'

`I had a son, named Ferdinand, Mr. Beufort,' he said, after a moment's agitation.

`He is dead then,' I remarked.

The Duke looked keenly at me, and then said in a sorrowful and peculiar
tone, `Yes, he is dead, dead, Mr. Beufort!—Why do you interest yourself in
him?'

`Pardon me, my lord; but I have reason to believe that the destiny of the
young American is, in a very intimate relationship, linked with his!'

As I made this assertion the Duke fairly started from his chair, and bent his
eyes upon me with extraordinary surprise.

`How mean you, sir? Your words seem full of some mysterious meaning.'

`I will explain, my lord Duke. If you will deign me a moment's calm attention,
you will understand the subject as clearly as I do myself. I hold here in
my possession the nursery bottle which was left on the bed with the infant!—
Upon it is a crest doubtless that of the parents of the child. Here is the bottle
which the young man has had in his possession from infancy!'

I handed it to him. He looked at the crest and was transfixed with amazement.

`It is the crest of my house!' he cried with surprise. `Do you say this was
left with the child?'

`It was, my lord!'

`It is very extraordinary” He mused a moment gazing upon it, and then
said, looking at me,

`On this you base your supposition, that there is some connexion between
this young man and my family?'

`I do, my lord Duke!' I answered.

`It is without doubt a singular comcidence,' he said, `and there are circumstances—
'

Here he suddenly paused, and a deep emotion passed across his features,—

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`It is singular, sir; but this alone is not enough to prove him to be attached to
my house!'

`Was Ferdinand, your son, never married?'

`Yes,' answered the Duke in a voice of deep agitation, and for a moment he
turned his face from me, and hid it in his hands. I was silent till he was composed;
but was convinced that there lay at the bottom of all this emotion a secret
in which you, my young friend, were most deeply interested.

`Did he have any issue?' I asked, seeing him look at me.

`No!' he answered. `He had no issue!'

`It is very strange,' I said, perplexed at the reply so contrary from the affirmation
I looked for. He spoke, too, as if he was not deceiving me, or disguising
the truth.

`Why is it strange? Why do you refer to Ferdinand in this manner, Mr.
Beufort?'

`For this reason, my lord. Circumstances lead me to believe that the young
American is the child of Ferdinand, and doubtless by a private marriage, unknown
to your Grace; I mean a marriage prior to the one to which you have
alluded!'

I was proceeding when the Duke's expression arrested me. His face became
deadly pale, and he breathed quickly, while his lips trembled with powerful
emotion. He looked as if some strong and painful recollections of the past
were rushing upon him; at the same time I discovered in his countenance what
appeared to me to be awakened suspicion of the truth of what I had suggested.
Yet I was not sure that I rightly read it! I was moved by his distress and regretted
I had gone so far; for I was satisfied that with this son were associated
the most painful recollections. At length he said, forcing a calmness I saw he
was far from feeling,

`I must apologise to you, Mr. Beufort, for this emotion. I can best do it by
explaining to you the cause. I feel you are a man of judgment and feeling,
Perhaps something yet may come of all this; for your words have awakened in
my mind suspicions that I confess may have some foundation. Hear the history
of my hapless son, and then let us judge together touching the subject
more immediately before us.

`I had a son Ferdinand. He was my oldest son. Up to his twenty-seventh
year I never knew what it was to grieve for his conduct. He was handsome,
intelligent, high-spirited, generous, and devoted to me and his mother. He possessed
every grace that could adorn the high rank to which he had been born.—
He was our pride and the honour of our house. It was our wish to have him
suitably allied in marriage, and we had selected for him the lady Charlotte Bellingham,
the only daughter of the Earl of Neville, a lady of great beauty, and
endowed with every charm to fascinate and please, and possessed of every quality
that could adorn a wife! She was five years Ferdinand's junior; and we
knew that already her prepossessions were in his favor. We one day, without
anticipating a refusal, for Ferdinand had long known her, and seemed to be
pleased with her society, laid open to him our hearts upon the subject. To our
surprise he said firmly that he could never regard Lady Charlotte otherwise
than as a sister! After recovering from the first shock of his refusal, I

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endeavored to urge upon him a change of opinion, and to show him that lady Char
lotte was the only suitable person by age and rank for his wife in the kingdom,
and that it was his duty to marry her. He firmly refused, and at length, to our
amazement, informed us that he was privately married to the daughter of a poor
baronet who lived not far distant, and a man whom I personally disliked. He
gave as the only reason for this step that he loved her, and that he could not be
happy out of her society, and that he would not purchase his own happiness by
her personal degradation. I threatened him with the displeasure of the King,
with immediate disinheritance in favor of his next brother, unless he at once
consented to a divorce; for this ill-advised union as you are well aware, Mr.
Beufort, was far beneath him, and it was my duty to annul it by the exercise of
my authority. He at once manifested a spirit of independence that surprised
and grieved us, and said that he would rather resign his rank than his wife!
Finding it impossible to prevail upon him, I dropped the subject. But, in the
meanwhile, I formed secretly a plan for separating them, by sending her away
privately to the Continent, where he should never hear of her again, trusting
time would cause him to forget this foolish passion!'

`Was the lady young and beautiful?' I asked.

`There was no fault to find with her youth or beauty, save that to her charms
was owing all this mischief. She was also of good temper and a well-cultivated
mind. But still she was no equal for the heir of Arlborough. By some
means Ferdinand discovered our plot, and defeated it by flying with his wife to
the continent. There, being found out by my spies, he fled France, and, as we
supposed, went to Italy!'

`He may instead have gone to America,' I said quickly.

`I have had reason to believe that while he was supposed to be secreted in
Italy he was in America. What you have said has deepened this impression!
At length weary of persecuting my son, for he was still loved, I wrote to his
last address promising to restore him to favor and his rank, provided he had yet
no issue; for none of the blood of Sir Richard — should inherit the ducal
crown of my house. My chief object in inducing him to return to England
was with the hope that I should yet be able to induce his wife by large sums of
money to leave him forever. But I saw that if he had issue, their union would
be yet more closely cemented.'

`And did he return?' I asked earnestly.

`Yes. Within three months after my letter was written he appeared in England
and came to visit me. To my question if he had any heir, his reply was,
I and my wife, my lord Duke, are alone in England. Your letter reached me
where I was self-exiled, and I accepted the terms. I am not insensible to the
rank and dignity of my birth and condition. I am proud of its honors. The
name of my fathers is precious to me. But I should feel unworthy to inherit or
to wear either if I could prove false to the lovely and confiding woman who has
in hour and trust given her hand and heart to me! Receive us both, my lord,
or receive neither of us! If I am to be honored as your son, honor her as your
daughter; otherwise we once more leave England, and leave it forever!'

`I felt it my duty for the present to assent to his views, and he and his wife
became inmates of the castle. But there was a settled sadness visible upon her

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countenance. She seldom smiled. If she had not been the daughter of Sir
Richard — I should have felt interested in her; but as to this was added
the fact that she was the cause of our disappointment in the alliance we contemplated
for Ferdinand, she was regarded by us with coldness and displeasure
that I now feel,' added the Duke with a tremulous voice, `deeply sorry for.
Day by day she failed, and seemed rapidly approaching the grave.'

`Doubtless the reflection that she had marred the high hopes of your House,'
I said to the Duke, as he paused as if checked by emotion; `preyed upon her
mind and brought on a decline!'

Yes, and something evidently deeper still was upon her heart,' said the Duke
huskily. `Well, she died! Ferdinand up to the moment of her death had
watched over her with a devotion that was most lovely to contemplate. As I
regarded his tender devotion I almost repented my harshness to her; but this
feeling it was necessary to sacrifice to those higher ones which affected the
honor of my house. She died! From that moment a change came over the
mind of the widowed husband. He seemed to have buried his heart with her
in the grave. He would not quit the chapel where she lay entombed, and food
had to be brought to him or he would have perished. He spoke to no one!
He answered no questions! He did not smile! When I would approach him,
he would fix his haggard eyes sternly upon me, and with one hand pointing to
her tomb and the fore finger of the other raised to heaven, seemed to arraign
me before the tribunal of the Almighty as her murderer!'