"Gone!" cried Louis, pressing the letter between his folded hands, "neither Bamborough nor England now holds its noble writer!" He turned towards the window, which commanded a view of the sea. The distant waves were sparkling beneath the beams of the morning sun: "beyond those he is sailing away, far from dark suspicion, and ungrateful de Montemar.--Ah, if he, indeed, knew I had so readily imbibed my uncle's belief, that he is deceitful, and seeking to betray me in the dearest interests of man!--would he thus subscribe himself my _Faithful_?--Does he not, by that single word, avow his trust in my honour, and his own disinterested attachment to me?" Again he read the letter; it contained nothing which he might not shew to Mr. Athelstone. There was not a word in it, excepting the declaration of reciprocal fidelity in that of the signature, which implied a confidence; or even hinted at the preservation of his secret; and this implicit trust still more affected Louis.--"Noble Wharton!" cried he, "this is Alexander drinking the suspected bowl!--and you shall find that I am faithful." He sprang out of bed, and hastily dressed himself. But just as he was hurrying out of the door with the letter in his hand, he paused.--"Why should I be thus eager to put myself into purgatory?"--He returned into the room.--"My dear, good, but precise uncle," continued he, "cannot understand this man! He will find an argument to blame all that I admire in this open, daring spirit. But at least, he must acknowledge that here he is no hypocritical designer! I will shew it to him." Louis continued to fluctuate amidst a variety of reflections and resolutions, till the bell for family morning prayers roused him from his indecisive meditations; and putting the letter in his breast, he descended to the library. When the duty was done, and he arose from his knees, he found the young Spaniard by his side; and rising from the same posture, which he had taken between him and Alice. Louis looked surprised: Ferdinand smiled; and without waiting to be questioned, said, that the preceding night he had enquired of Miss Coningsby what was meant by the vesper and matin bell, which rang after he and his father had withdrawn to rest, and before they appeared in the morning. She was so good as to explain it to him; and he had thus taken the liberty to join the family devotion. While the domestics were making their reverential bows to the Pastor as they retired, Mrs. Coningsby observed her young guest. She expressed her pleasure at meeting him in so sacred an hour; "but you are not of the church of Calvin or of Luther?" asked she. "No," replied he, "but I am of the church of their master. And that, I trust, does not exclude me from yours!" "That plea will open the gates of Heaven to you!" cried the Pastor with a benign smile, as he passed from the reading-desk into the breakfast-room.