passionately fond of her; my love increased with her years, and I determined to possess her. Agatha had too much cunning not to perceive my inclination; and having long ceased having any particular attachment to me, she blindly fell in with my desires, and encouraged me to proceed. The conversation you overheard, Matilda, was such as you apprehended; she persuaded me to say I was not your uncle, and the story I told you in Paris, was the one we had fabricated to deceive you. I did not at first intend marrying; I had an aversion to that tie, and therefore a different plan was proposed, which, overhearing, drove you from my house. 'Tis needless to tell you what ensued on discovering you had left me: I resolved to find you, if possible, and traced you to Paris. I thought to have deceived the Marquis; he was too cunning for me: but I obtained knowledge of your being in England through the means of Mademoiselle De Fontelle; a servant of hers having met the Marchioness and you at Calais. I still followed you. You know the concession I made to the Ambassador, which I never intended to observe, having intelligence the Count De Bouville was your lover. I had every step watched, and no sooner found you were at a convent than I repaired to Paris, told my own story, and obtained an order for your delivery. I found letters at Paris, from my steward, informing me of the death of Agatha, almost suddenly. This was a most agreeable piece of news; there was now no one living that could accuse me. Blind, infatuated mortals! we forget there is an all-seeing eye, that sooner or later brings us to justice, when most we think ourselves secure! I went to Brest, I hired a vessel to carry me to Venice, determined to reside there with you. With the order in my pocket, and a person who had attended me, more like a confidential friend than a servant, I came to Boulogne, and obtained your delivery to me. The rest you know. It was my intention to have married you, unless you rejected me -in that case you must take the consequence. When I saw the Turkish vessel I gave all up for lost; and when they boarded us, expecting you would be sacrificed to their desires, and myself made a slave, I resolved to prevent both: Providence preserved you -what I have suffered, and the near prospect of death, determined me to confess all my crimes -crimes that have embittered every hour of my life, and which have led me into a thousand inconsistences, from fears and terrors, only created by guilt. Thus it is with the wicked; early plunged into vice, they proceed from one bad action to another; afraid to look back, unable to repent, they go on to fill up the measure of their crimes, 'till their best concerted schemes prove their ruin. Had not the hand of death overtaken me, this confession never would have been made; yet even at this moment I adore Matilda. Pardon me, dear unhappy girl, the evils I have caused you; let me die forgiven by you, and join in supplicating that mercy I have so little room to hope for, but from Divine goodness to the truly penitent.'
Matilda assured her of her forgiveness, and implored heaven's mercy on him. 'But tell me, Sir,' said she, 'did you never hear of my mother?' 'Only once, and by accident, eight years ago; she was then at Naples, with her family.' 'Grant heaven!' said Matilda, 'she may be there still; O, what happiness, if I should ever embrace a mother ! ' Tears stopt her utterance; her uncle was affected. 'O, Matilda ! leave me; I cannot bear your tears, they reproach me too deeply; and I have much to repent of before I leave you for ever.'
She quitted the room, oppressed with the most painful sensations: the tragical end of her father, the melancholy situation of her mother, the crimes of her uncle, and her own present distressed and forlorn state, altogether gave her unutterable pangs: yet a gleam of joy darted through the gloom that pervaded her fate -she was of noble birth; no unlawful offspring, no child of poverty: then she thought of the Count -'Ah!' cried she, 'he is now the husband of Mrs Courtney; in all probability I shall never see him more.' A sigh followed the reflection, which she strove to place on another score.
She was soon after joined by the captain. 'The surgeon came in as you left the room, madam; and notwithstanding the sick man's agitation, in telling his story, he says, he is undoubtedly better, and he begins to entertain hopes, if no change happens for the worse.' 'I am glad to hear it,' replied she, 'may he live to repent.' 'Meantime, madam,' said he, 'if you wish to write your friends, I will take care your letters shall be conveyed by the quickest dispatch possible.'
She accepted his generous offer, and retired to write the Marchioness and Countess what had befallen her; but recollecting that she could not wish to be in France until she had visited Naples, she left her letters unfinished, to consult the captain the following morning. She retired to rest, but the agitations of her mind precluded sleep: alternate joy and sorrow, hopes and fears, created such different ideas, that she passed the night without closing her eyes, and arose, at break of day, resolved to write and address a letter to her grandfather with her story. 'If he lives,' said she, 'he will be overjoyed; if not, if I have no such relation, no dear mother alive, some one of the family will doubtless write and inform me.'
When the captain came to breakfast, she imparted her different thoughts to him. She had no way of paying court to his amiable wife, but by kissing her hand, whilst the other pressed hers to her bosom, with tender affection, her husband having related the lady's story to her.
The Captain, after some deliberation, said, 'I told you once, madam, the employment I am, or rather was engaged in, by no means suited me. I was not originally accustomed to this kind of life; my wife's father always was; he persuaded me to follow it. I sailed with him three years; we made a good deal of money. He died six months ago. This last voyage was the first I ever made for myself. I am disgusted at the service, and mean to quit it: my wife wishes me to do so; she is a good woman; we have enough; I do not want a plurality of wives -I am content with her. My mother was an English woman -I imbibe her sentiments. I have not disposed of my vessel; I will take you to Naples, or even to France, if you wish it, under neutral colours, which I can procure. This will be better than engaging your friends to come here. I have no enemy but the Russians to fear, and those I can provide against.' 'You are very kind, Sir,' said she; 'I really am at a loss how to proceed, and will consult Mr Weimar' (she could not reconcile herself to call him uncle). She did so: he approved of the Captain's advice, but thought she had best write her friends of her safety and situation, also of her intention to go to Naples, from whence they might expect to hear her decisive plan; previous to which the Captain could write to some persons, to know if any of her relations were living. This being agreed upon, as the best methods to be taken, Matilda resigned herself to patience 'till answers could be obtained, which must necessarily take up some time.
We must now return to the Countess and her friends, who arrived at Vienna without meeting any accident.
Their first step was to deliver the German Minister's letters to the English Ambassador; his Excellency having sent dispatches to his own court of this extraordinary affair.
The Countess found but little difficulty in being acknowledged, and put in possession of her rights. Her story engrossed the public attention at Vienna, and she received a thousand visits and congratulations from every person of distinction. Though abundantly gratified by their civilities, she was too anxious to see her son for her mind to be at ease. A messenger had been sent to his quarters, by the Marquis, with leave from the Emperor for his return, and preparing him, by degrees, for the agreeable surprise of finding some near and dear relations. The youth had been apprised of his father s death, but not having read the Count's letter, was a stranger to all the circumstances relative to it. He made no difficulty of obeying the order, and set off for his father's seat directly.
One day, when every heart beat high with expectation, a travelling carriage was seen driving through the park. 'My son, my son!' cried the Countess starting up. The Marquis ran out to meet him. In a moment a tall elegant youth, about sixteen, entered the room, with looks of eager expectation. The Countess flew towards him, threw her arms round him; attempted to speak, but overpowered by tender emotions 'till then a stranger to her breast, she fainted in his arms. The young gentleman, alarmed, and equally agitated, assisted, in silence, to convey her to a seat; and whilst the Marchioness was busy in her endeavours to restore her sister, he kissed her hand eagerly and cried to the Marquis, 'Tell me, Sir, who is this dear lady?' 'It is -' said the other, with a little pause, 'she is your mother, Sir.' 'Mother!' repeated he, dropping on his knees. 'Great God! have I a mother? my own mother!' 'Yes,' replied the Marquis, 'she is indeed your parent, for very many years believed to be dead.' Young Frederic was now in a state very little better than the Countess: surprise, joy, the soft emotions that at once assailed him, rendered him speechless and immoveable.
It was some