Such was the state of the family; when about four o'clock, one dreadfully severe day in December, a person of a middle age and a gloomy aspect, alighted from a chaise at the door of Morewick-hall; and almost speechless with cold, was ushered into the presence of Mr. Athelstone. The Pastor was alone in his library: and the stranger in brief and broken English, announced himself as the Senor Castanos, confidential secretary to the Baron de Ripperda, and a messenger to the guardian of his son. While he spoke, he presented two packets; one from the Baron, the other from the Marquis Santa Cruz. With his accustomed hospitality, Mr. Athelstone bade his guest welcome; and was enquiring after the health of the Baron and the Marquis, when Louis entered the room. In passing through the hall, the porter told him that Peter had just shewn an outlandish gentleman in to his uncle; and impatient to know whether he came from Spain, Louis hastened to the library. "My child," said the Pastor, "I believe you are near the goal of your wishes.--This gentleman comes from your father." The secretary bowed to the son of his patron. And Louis, looking first at him, and then at his uncle, exclaimed--"my father!--and does he--?" He hesitated, he stopped; the eagerness of his hopes interrupted his articulation. "We will open this packet, and see," returned the Pastor, taking that from the Baron into his hand. But glancing at the shivering figure of his guest, who had drawn near the fire, he did not break the seal, but desiring Louis to ring the bell, requested the Senor to permit the servant who attended, to shew him to an apartment where he should have a change of warm garments, and proper refreshment after so inclement a journey. As soon as the Spaniard had withdrawn, Mr. Athelstone opened the packet. It presented one for himself, and another for his nephew. Never before had Louis received a letter directed to himself, from his father. Though he always persevered in the duty of addressing his only parent, yet, until this moment, the answers were never more than acknowledging messages through his guardian. It was, therefore, with a peculiar feeling of recognition; a conviction of being now owned by his father's heart as his son; that Louis opened the first letter he had ever received from his hand.-- Its contents were these: "My dear Son, "I hear from the Marquis Santa Cruz, that you are worthy the name you bear.--That your acquirements do credit to the liberality of your education; and that you are not deficient in ambition to bring these implements to the test. I offer you an opportunity. Accompany the bearer of this, to the continent.--He is my secretary:--and has my commands to present you to a person there, who will put your talents to the trial. Should the result be to your honour, you shall not be long withheld from the embrace of your father, William