As evening came on, he reverted to the past.  “I have a tale to relate,” he said, “and much explanation to give concerning the past; perhaps you can assist me to curtail it.  Do you remember your father?  I had never the happiness of seeing him, but his name is one of my earliest recollections:  he stands written in my mind’s tablets as the type of all that was gallant, amiable, and fascinating in man.  His wit was not more conspicuous than the overflowing goodness of his heart, which he poured in such full measure on his friends, as to leave, alas! small remnant for himself.”

Encouraged by this encomium, I proceeded, in answer to his inquiries, to relate what I remembered of my parent; and he gave an account of those circumstances which had brought about a neglect of my father’s testamentary letter.  When, in after times, Adrian’s father, then king of England, felt his situation become more perilous, his line of conduct more embarrassed, again and again he wished for his early friend, who might stand a mound against the impetuous anger of his queen, a mediator between him and the parliament.  From the time that he had quitted London, on the fatal night of his defeat at the gaming-table, the king had received no tidings concerning him; and when, after the lapse of years, he exerted himself to discover him, every trace was lost.  With fonder regret than ever, he clung to his memory; and gave it in charge to his son, if ever he should meet this valued friend, in his name to bestow every succour, and to assure him that, to the last, his attachment survived separation and silence.

A short time before Adrian’s visit to Cumberland, the heir of the nobleman to whom my father had confided his last appeal to his royal master, put this letter, its seal unbroken, into the young Earl’s hands.  It had been found cast aside with a mass of papers of old date, and accident alone brought it to light.  Adrian read it with deep interest; and found there that living spirit of genius and wit he had so often heard commemorated.  He discovered the name of the spot whither my father had retreated, and where he died; he learnt the existence of his orphan children; and during the short interval between his arrival at Ulswater and our meeting in the park, he had been occupied in making inquiries concerning us, and arranging a variety of plans for our benefit, preliminary to his introducing himself to our notice.

The mode in which he spoke of my father was gratifying to my vanity; the veil which he delicately cast over his benevolence, in alledging a duteous fulfilment of the king’s latest will, was soothing to my pride.  Other feelings, less ambiguous, were called into play by his conciliating manner and the generous warmth of his expressions, respect rarely before experienced, admiration, and love—­he had touched my rocky heart with his magic power, and the stream of affection gushed forth, imperishable and pure.  In the evening we parted; he pressed my hand:  “We shall meet again; come to me to-morrow.”  I clasped that kind hand; I tried to answer; a fervent “God bless you!” was all my ignorance could frame of speech, and I darted away, oppressed by my new emotions.