"
"Beaumont," said Evellin, grasping the Doctor's hand, "you are still
that angel of truth who in my early life led my proud and rebellious
thoughts to seek the consolation of religious humility; but in one
circumstance you must give my weakness way. My gallant boy, ignorant of
his noble birth, pants for military fame with all that generous ardour
which during five centuries distinguished his ancestors. He is the last
hope of an illustrious house. Accuse me not of malice, or of folly, when
I own that, (next to the restoration of my King,) I beg of heaven that
he may be spared to tear the polluted ermine from the shoulders of this
branded rebel, and to purify the coronet of Bellingham from the foul
contamination it receives by binding a villain's brow. Toss this
storm-beaten carcase into any trench where it may in future serve as a
mound against traitors; but let my young nursling be planted where the
tempest that unroots the cedars shall pass over without injuring his
tender growth. You, Beaumont, are a man of peace, bound by your
functions to that bloodless warfare which attacks opinions, not men.
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