For several days Edward remained at home, anxiously awaiting every news which arrived; expecting every time that the capture of the king would be announced, and, with great joy, finding that hitherto all efforts had been unsuccessful. But there was a question which now arose in Edward's mind, and which was the cause of deep reflection. Since the proposal of sending his sisters away had been started, he felt the great inconvenience of his still representing himself to the Intendant as the grandson of Armitage. His sisters, if sent to the ladies at Portlake, must be sent without the knowledge of the Intendant; and if so, the discovery of their absence would soon take place, as Patience Heatherstone would be constantly going over to the cottage; and he now asked himself the question whether, after all the kindness and confidence which the Intendant had shown him, he was right in any longer concealing from him his birth and parentage. He felt that he was doing the Intendant an injustice in not showing to him that confidence which he deserved.

That he was justified in so doing at first, he felt; but since the joining the king's army, and the events which had followed, he considered that he was treating the Intendant ill, and he now resolved to take the first opportunity of making the confession. But to do it formally, and without some opportunity which might offer, he felt awkward. At last he thought that he would at once make the confession to Patience, under the promise of secrecy. That he might do at once; and, after he had done so, the Intendant could not tax him with want of confidence altogether. He had now analysed his feelings towards Patience; and he felt how dear she had become to him. During the time he was with the army she had seldom been out of his thoughts; and although he was often in the society of well-bred women, he saw not one that, in his opinion, could compare with Patience Heatherstone; but still, what chance had he of supporting a wife? At present, at the age of nineteen, it was preposterous. Thoughts like these ran in his mind, chasing each other, and followed by others as vague and unsatisfactory; and, in the end, Edward came to the conclusion that he was without a penny, and that being known as the heir of Beverley would be to his disadvantage; that he was in love with Patience Heatherstone, and had no chance at present of obtaining her; and that he had done well up to the present time in concealing who he was from the Intendant, who could safely attest that he knew not that he was protecting the son of so noted a Cavalier; and that he would confess to Patience who he was, and give as a reason for not telling her father, that he did not wish to commit him by letting him know who it was that was under his protection. How far the reader may be satisfied with the arguments which Edward was satisfied with, we cannot pretend to say; but Edward was young, and hardly knew how to extricate himself from the cloak which necessity had first compelled him to put on. Edward was already satisfied that he was not quite looked upon with indifference by Patience Heatherstone; and he was not yet certain whether it was not a grateful feeling that she had towards him more than any other; that she believed him to be beneath her in birth, he felt convinced, and therefore she could have no idea that he was Edward Beverley. It was not till several days after he had made up his mind that he had an opportunity of being with her alone, as Clara Ratcliffe was their constant companion. However, one evening Clara went out, and stayed out so long, carelessly wrapped up, that she caught cold; and the following evening she remained at home, leaving Edward and Patience to take their usual walk unaccompanied by her. They had walked for some minutes in silence, when Patience observed—

"You are very grave, Edward, and have been very grave ever since your return; have you anything to vex you beyond the failure of the attempt?"

"Yes, I have, Patience. I have much on my conscience, and do not know how to act. I want an adviser and a friend, and know not where to find one."

"Surely, Edward, my father is your sincere friend, and not a bad adviser."

"I grant it; but the question is between your father and me, and I cannot advise with him for that reason."

"Then advise with me, Edward, if it is not a secret of such moment that it is not to be trusted to a woman: at all events it will be the advice of a sincere friend; you will give me credit for that."

"Yes, and for much more; for I think I shall have good advice, and will therefore accept your offer. I feel, Patience, that although I was justified, on my first acquaintance with your father, in not making known to him a secret of some importance, yet now that he has put such implicit confidence in me, I am doing him and myself an injustice in not making the communication—that is, as far as confidence in him is concerned, I consider that he has a right to know all, and yet I feel that it would be prudent on my part that he should not know all, as the knowledge might implicate him with those with whom he is at present allied. A secret sometimes is dangerous; and if your father could not say that on his honour he knew not of the secret, it might harm him if the secret became afterwards known. Do you understand me?"

"I cannot say that I exactly do; you have a secret that you wish to make known to my father, and you think the knowledge of it may harm him. I cannot imagine what kind of secret that may be."

"Well, I can give you a case in point. Suppose now that I knew that King Charles was hidden in your stable-loft: such might be the case, and your father be ignorant of it, and his assertion of his ignorance would be believed; but if I were to tell your father that the king was there, and it was afterwards discovered, do you not see that by confiding such a secret to him I should do harm, and perhaps bring him into trouble?"

"I perceive now, Edward; do you mean to say that you know where the king is concealed? for if you do, I must beg of you not to let my father know anything about it. As you say, it would put him in a difficult position, and must eventually harm him much. There is a great difference between wishing well to a cause and supporting it in person. My father wishes the king well, I believe, but, at the same time, he will not take an active part, as you have already seen; at the same time, I am convinced that he would never betray the king if he knew where he was. I say, therefore, if that is your secret, keep it from him, for his sake and for mine, Edward, if you regard me."

"You know not how much I regard you, Patience. I saw many high-born women when I was away, but none could I see equal to Patience Heatherstone, in my opinion; and Patience was ever in my thoughts during my long absence."

"I thank you for your kind feelings towards me," replied Patience; "but, Master Armitage, we were talking about your secret."

"Master Armitage!" rejoined Edward; "how well you know how to remind me, by that expression, of my obscure birth and parentage, whenever I am apt to forget the distance which I ought to observe!"

"You are wrong!" replied Patience; "but you flattered me so grossly that I called you Master Armitage to show that I disliked flattery; that was all. I dislike flattery from those who are above me in rank, as well as those who are below me; and I should have done the same to any other person, whatever his condition might be. But forget what I said; I did not mean to vex you, only to punish you for thinking me so silly as to believe such nonsense."

"Your humility may construe that into flattery which was said by me in perfect sincerity and truth—that I cannot help," replied Edward. "I might have added much more, and yet have been sincere; if you had not reminded me of my not being of gentle birth I might have had the presumption to have told you much more; but I have been rebuked."

Edward finished speaking, and Patience made no reply: they walked on for several moments without exchanging another syllable. At last Patience said—

"I will not say who is wrong, Edward; but this I do know, that the one who first offers the olive-branch after a misunderstanding cannot but be right. I offer it now, and ask you whether we are to quarrel about one little word. Let me ask you, and give me a candid answer: Have I ever been so base as to treat as an inferior one to whom I have been so much obliged?"

"It is I who am in fault, Patience," replied Edward. "I have been dreaming for a long while, pleased with my dreams; and forgetting that they were dreams, and not likely to be realised. I must now speak plainly. I love you, Patience; love you so much that to part from you would be misery—to know that my love was rejected, as bitter as death. That is the truth, and I can conceal it no longer. Now I admit you have a right to be angry."

"I see no cause for anger, Edward," replied Patience. "I have not thought of you but as a friend and benefactor; it would have been wrong to have done otherwise. I am but a young person, and must be guided by my father. I would not offend him by disobedience. I thank you for your good opinion of me, and yet I wish you had not said what you have."

"Am I to understand from your reply, that if your father raised no objection, my lowly birth would be none in your opinion?"

"Your birth has never come into my head, except when reminded of it by yourself."

"Then, Patience, let me return for the present to what I had to confide to you. I was—"

"Here comes my father, Edward," said Patience.

"Surely I have done wrong, for I feel afraid to meet him."

Mr. Heatherstone now joined them, and said to Edward—

"I have been looking for you; I have news from London which has rejoiced me much. I have at last obtained what I have some time been trying for; and, indeed, I may say that your prudence and boldness in returning home as a trooper, added to your conduct in the forest, has greatly advanced, and ultimately obtained for me my suit. There was some suspense before that; but your conduct has removed it; and now we shall have plenty to do."

They walked to the house, and the Intendant, as soon as he had gained his own room, said to Edward—

"There is a grant to me of a property which I have long solicited for my services—read it." Edward took up the letter, in which the Parliament informed Mr. Heatherstone that his application for the property of Arnwood had been acceded to, and signed by the Commissioners; and that he might take immediate possession. Edward turned pale as he laid the document down on the table.

"We will ride to-morrow, Edward, and look it over. I intend to rebuild the house."

Edward made no reply.

"Are you not well?" said the Intendant, with surprise.

"Yes, sir," replied Edward, "I am well, I believe, but I will confess to you that I am disappointed. I did not think that you would have accepted a property from such a source, and so unjustly sequestrated."

"I am sorry, Edward," replied the Intendant, "that I should have fallen in your good opinion; but allow me to observe that you are so far right, that I never would have accepted a property to which there were living claimants; but this is a different case. For instance, the Ratcliffe property belongs to little Clara and is sequestrated. Do you think I would accept it? Never! But here is a property without an heir; the whole family perished in the flames of Arnwood! There is no living claimant! It must be given to somebody, or remain with the Government. This property, therefore, and this property only, out of all sequestrated, I selected; as I felt that, in obtaining it, I did harm to no one. I have been offered others, but have refused them. I would accept of this, and this only; and that is the reason why my applications have hitherto been attended with no success. I trust you believe me, Edward, in what I assert?"

"First answer me one question, Mr. Heatherstone. Suppose it were proved that the whole of the family did not, as it is supposed, perish at the conflagration of Arnwood? Suppose a rightful heir to it should at any time appear, would you then resign the property to him?"

"As I hope for heaven, Edward, I would!" replied the Intendant, solemnly raising his eyes upwards as he spoke. "I then should think that I had been an instrument to keep the property out of other hands less scrupulous, and should surrender it as a trust which had been confided to me for the time only."

"With such feelings, Mr. Heatherstone, I can now congratulate you upon your having obtained possession of the property," replied Edward.

"And yet I do not deserve so much credit, as there is little chance of my sincerity being put to the test, Edward. There is no doubt that the family all perished; and Arnwood will become the dower of Patience Heatherstone."

Edward's heart beat quick. A moment's thought told him his situation. He had been prevented, by the interruption of Mr. Heatherstone, from making his confession to Patience; and now he could not make it to anybody without a rupture with the Intendant, or a compromise, by asking what he so earnestly desired—the hand of Patience. Mr. Heatherstone observing to Edward that he did not look so well, said supper was ready; and that they had better go into the next room. Edward mechanically followed. At supper he was tormented by the incessant inquiries of Clara, as to what was the matter with him. He did not venture to look at Patience, and made a hasty retreat to bed; complaining, as he well might do, of a severe headache.

Edward threw himself on his bed, but to sleep was impossible. He thought of the events of the day over and over again. Had he any reason to believe that Patience returned his affection? No: her reply was too calm, too composed, to make him suppose that; and now that she would be an heiress, there would be no want of pretenders to her hand; and he would lose her and his property at the same time. It was true that the Intendant had declared that he would renounce the property if the true heir appeared, but that was easy to say upon the conviction that no heir would appear; and even if he did renounce it, the Parliament would receive it again, rather than it should fall into the hands of a Beverley. "Oh that I had never left the cottage," thought Edward. "I might then at least have become resigned and contented with my lot. Now I am miserable, and, whichever way I turn, I see no prospect of being otherwise. One thing only I can decide upon, which is, that I will not remain any longer than I can help under this roof. I will go over and consult with Humphrey; and if I can only place my sisters as I want, Humphrey and I will seek our fortunes."

Edward rose at daylight, and, dressing himself, went down and saddled his horse. Desiring Sampson to tell the Intendant that he had gone over to the cottage, and would return by the evening, he rode across the forest, and arrived just as they were sitting down to breakfast. His attempts to be cheerful before his sisters did not succeed, and they were all grieved to see him look so pale and haggard. As soon as breakfast was over Edward made a sign, and he and Humphrey went out.

"What is the matter, my dear brother?" said Humphrey.

"I will tell you all. Listen to me," replied Edward, who then gave him the detail of all that had passed, from the time he had walked out with Patience Heatherstone till he went to bed. "Now, Humphrey, you know all; and what shall I do? Remain there I cannot!"

"If Patience Heatherstone had professed regard for you," replied Humphrey, "the affair would have been simple enough. Her father could have no objections to the match; and he would at the same time have acquitted his conscience as to the retaining of the property: but you say she showed none."

"She told me very calmly that she was sorry that I had said what I did."

"But do women always mean what they say, brother?" said Humphrey.

"She does, at all events," replied Edward; "she is truth itself. No, I cannot deceive myself. She feels a deep debt of gratitude for the service I rendered her; and that prevented her from being more harsh in her reply than what she was."

"But if she knew that you were Edward Beverley, do you not think it would make a difference in her?"

"And if it did, it would be too humiliating to think that I was only married for my rank and station."

"But, considering you of mean birth, may she not have checked those feelings which she considered under the circumstances improper to indulge?"

"Where there is such a sense of propriety there can be little affection."

"I know nothing about these things, Edward," replied Humphrey; "but I have been told that a woman's heart is not easily read; or if I have not been told it, I have read it or dreamt it."

"What do you propose to do?"

"What I fear you will not approve of, Humphrey; it is to break up our establishment altogether. If the answer is favourable from the Misses Conynghame, my sisters shall go to them; but that we had agreed upon already. Then for myself—I intend to go abroad, resume my name, and obtain employment in some foreign service. I will trust to the king for assisting me to that."

"That is the worst part of it, Edward; but if your peace of mind depends upon it, I will not oppose it."