“Curses on his narrow heart,” cried Harley, “that could violate a right so sacred! Heaven blast the wretch! “And from his derogate body never spring A babe to honour him!”— But I need not, Edwards, I need not” (recovering himself a little), “he is cursed enough already: to him the noblest source of happiness is denied, and the cares of his sordid soul shall gnaw it, while thou sittest over a brown crust, smiling on those mangled limbs that have saved thy son and his children!” “If you want anything with the school-mistress, sir,” said the woman, “I can show you the way to her house.” He followed her without knowing whither he went. They stopped at the door of a snug habitation, where sat an elderly woman with a boy and a girl before her, each of whom held a supper of bread and milk in their hands. “There, sir, is the school-mistress.” “Madam,” said Harley, “was not an old venerable man school-master here some time ago?” “Yes, sir, he was, poor man; the loss of his former school-house, I believe, broke his heart, for he died soon after it was taken down, and as another has not yet been found, I have that charge in the meantime.” “And this boy and girl, I presume, are your pupils?” “Ay, sir; they are poor orphans, put under my care by the parish, and more promising children I never saw.” “Orphans?” said Harley. “Yes, sir, of honest creditable parents as any in the parish, and it is a shame for some folks to forget their relations at a time when they have most need to remember them.” “Madam,” said Harley, “let us never forget that we are all relations.” He kissed the children. “Their father, sir,” continued she, “was a farmer here in the neighbourhood, and a sober industrious man he was; but nobody can help misfortunes: what with bad crops, and bad debts, which are worse, his affairs went to wreck, and both he and his wife died of broken hearts. And a sweet couple they were, sir; there was not a properer man to look on in the county than John Edwards, and so indeed were all the Edwardses.” “What Edwardses?” cried the old soldier hastily. “The Edwardses of South-hill, and a worthy family they were.” “South-hill!” said he, in a languid voice, and fell back into the arms of the astonished Harley. The school-mistress ran for some water—and a smelling-bottle, with the assistance of which they soon recovered the unfortunate Edwards. He stared wildly for some time, then folding his orphan grandchildren in his arms, “Oh! my children, my children,” he cried, “have I found you thus? My poor Jack, art thou gone? I thought thou shouldst have carried thy father’s grey hairs to the grave! and these little ones”—his tears choked his utterance, and he fell again on the necks of the children. “My dear old man,” said Harley, “Providence has sent you to relieve them; it will bless me if I can be the means of assisting you.”