The same autumn that Edmund completed his eighteenth year, the Baron declared his intention of sending the young men of his house to France the following spring, to learn the art of war, and signalize their courage and abilities.

Their ill-will towards Edmund was so well concealed, that his patron had not discovered it; but it was whispered among the servants, who are generally close observers of the manners of their principals.  Edmund was a favourite with them all, which was a strong presumption that he deserved to be so, for they seldom shew much regard to dependents, or to superiour domestics, who are generally objects of envy and dislike.  Edmund was courteous, but not familiar with them; and, by this means, gained their affections without soliciting them.  Among them was an old serving man, called Joseph Howel; this man had formerly served the old Lord Lovel, and his son; and when the young Lord died, and Sir Walter sold the castle to his brother-in-law, the Lord Fitz-Owen, he only of all the old servants was left in the house, to take care of it, and to deliver it into the possession of the new proprietor, who retained him in his service:  He was a man of few words, but much reflection:  and, without troubling himself about other people’s affairs, went silently and properly about his own business; more solicitous to discharge his duty, than to recommend himself to notice, and not seeming to aspire to any higher office than that of a serving man.  This old man would fix his eyes upon Edmund, whenever he could do it without observation; sometimes he would sigh deeply, and a tear would start from his eye, which he strove to conceal from observation.  One day Edmund surprized him in this tender emotion, as he was wiping his eyes with the back of his hand:  “Why,” said he, “my good friend, do you look at me so earnestly and affectionately?”

“Because I love you, Master Edmund,” said he; “because I wish you well.”

“I thank you kindly,” answered Edmund; “I am unable to repay your love, otherwise than by returning it, which I do sincerely.”

“I thank you, sir,” said the old man; “that is all I desire, and more than I deserve.”

“Do not say so,” said Edmund; “if I had any better way to thank you, I would not say so much about it; but words are all my inheritance.”

Upon this he shook hands with Joseph, who withdrew hastily to conceal his emotion, saying, “God bless you, master, and make your fortune equal to your deserts!  I cannot help thinking you were born to a higher station than what you now hold.”

“You know to the contrary,” said Edmund; but Joseph was gone out of sight and hearing.