CHAPTER VII.

_A Chapter, which disposes of one of the principal Characters in the History, and concludes the second Book of the third and last Volume._

The next morning early, as soon as John De Lancaster had risen and was dressed, a note from Cornet Roberts signified, that he was waiting, and requested leave to be admitted to him in private for a very few minutes. This was instantly granted, and his visitor introduced the business he was upon by premising, that it concerned a guilty but repentant object, whom he was sensible it did not become him even to name in Mr. De Lancaster’s hearing, unless he had his free permission so to do.

Assure me only, said De Lancaster, that the person you allude to is really penitent, and I shall then think it my duty to hear and attend to any thing, you have to tell me of Sir David Ap Owen, or from Sir David.

That he is truly penitent, replied Roberts, I most seriously believe, and, as one proof of it, I have received from his hands this bond, which with contrition he returns to you by mine.

He considers himself as a dying man, and from what he hinted at respecting his avoidance of a public execution, I cannot but suspect that he has taken means to intercept that punishment. I understand from my kind friend Major Wilson, that you are apprised of my connection and peculiar situation with respect to this unhappy man. I therefore flatter myself you will not be displeased when I inform you, that I have here in my hand a full confession, every word of which was dictated by him, and signed in his own hand-writing with his name, of the dreadful crime, which has made you fatherless, and also of another infamous proceeding of a complicated nature, respecting a much-injured young woman, daughter of his uncle’s bard Ap Rees, and now deceased. Under the dreadful consciousness of these atrocious deeds he is now approaching to his last hour. Condition more calamitous than this, is not in mortal man to suffer or conceive.--In a trunk, of which I have the key, there is a considerable sum of money, raised and amassed by him before and since his leaving England, as a resource I should suppose against events, which he had reason to foresee and dread. Out of this money he has directed me to purchase an annuity for the joint lives of the father and brother of the poor girl, who was the victim of his cruel and flagitious passions. Of his mother he speaks with bitterest abhorrence, accusing her as the incendiary, who inflamed his animosity against you, and spurred him on to the late horrid act to satisfy her malice and revenge. She has thrown herself into the convent of Saint Barbara, and by a