Signor Floribello, Pole’s secretary, was a Roman, and had a massive and antique cast of countenance, which might have become one of his predecessors of the Augustan age. He had a grave, scholar-like aspect, and was attired in dark habiliments. With him were the Cardinal’s other attendants, Stella and Rolla, neither of whom merit special description. The former was the Cardinal’s steward, and the latter his comptroller, and each wore a gold chain around his neck. Lord Montague was a very goodly personage, and bore such a remarkable resemblance to his ill-fated father, that Pole exclaimed, as he tenderly embraced him, “I could almost fancy that my long-lost and much-lamented brother had come to life again. I doubt not you possess your father’s excellent qualities of head and heart, as well as his good looks.” “I trust I am no degenerate son, dear and venerated uncle,” replied Montague. “But I would my father had lived to see this day, and to welcome you back to the land from which you have been so long and so unjustly exiled.” “Heaven’s will be done!” ejaculated Pole, fervently. “I do not repine, though I have never ceased to lament the calamities and afflictions I have brought upon my family.” “Think not of them now, dear uncle,” rejoined Lord Montague. “They are passed and gone. The tyrant who inflicted these injuries is in his grave. Happier days have dawned upon us. Your brother yet lives in me, to honour and serve you. Perchance your martyred mother now looks down from that heaven which her destroyer shall never enter, and joys at her son’s return.” “It may be,” replied the Cardinal, glancing upwards, “and ere long I hope to join her, for my sojourn in this Vale of Tears is nearly ended; but I have much to do while I tarry here. Oh! my good nephew! what mixed emotions of joy and sorrow agitate my breast—joy at returning to the country of my birth—sorrow for the relatives and friends I have lost. Many a time and oft, during my long banishment, have I besought Heaven to allow me to return and lay my bones in my native land; and now that my prayers have been granted, I tremble and am sad, for I feel like a stranger.” “You will not be a stranger long, dear uncle,” returned Lord Montague. “There is not one of this throng who does not feel that Heaven has sent you to us to give us a blessing, of which we have so long been deprived.” As he spoke, the crowd, which had been pressing on them, could no longer be kept back, but completely surrounded the Cardinal; those nearest him throwing themselves at his feet, kissing his garments, trying to embrace his knees, and making every possible demonstration of reverence. Little children were held up to him; old men struggled to approach him; and it was long before he could extricate himself from the throng, which he did with great gentleness and consideration.