So Guzman compromised between his conscience and his feelings. He determined, in spite of all the priests in Seville, to invite his
sister and her family to Spain, and to leave the mass of his immense
fortune to them; (and to that effect he wrote, and wrote repeatedly and
explicitly). But, on the other hand, he promised and swore to his
spiritual counsellors, that he never would see one individual of the
family; and that, though his sister might inherit his fortune, she
never--never should see his face. The priests were satisfied, or
appeared to be so, with this declaration; and Guzman, having propitiated
them with ample offerings to the shrines of various saints, to each of
whom his recovery was exclusively attributed, sat down to calculate the
probable expence of his sister’s return to Spain, and the necessity of
providing for her family, whom he had, as it were, rooted from their
native bed; and therefore felt bound, in all honesty, to make them
flourish in the soil into which he had transplanted them. “Within the year, his sister, her husband, and four children, returned
to Spain. Her name was Ines, her husband’s was Walberg. He was an
industrious man, and an excellent musician. His talents had obtained for
him the place of _Maestro di Capella_ to the Duke of Saxony; and his
children were educated (according to his means) to supply his place when
vacated by death or accident, or to employ themselves as musical
teachers in the courts of German princes. He and his wife had lived with
the utmost frugality, and looked to their children for the means of
increasing, by the exercise of their talents, that subsistence which it
was their daily labour to provide. “The eldest son, who was called Everhard, inherited his father’s musical
talents. The daughters, Julia and Ines, were musical also, and very
skilful in embroidery. The youngest child, Maurice, was by turns the
delight and the torment of the family. “They had struggled on for many years in difficulties too petty to be
made the subject of detail, yet too severe not to be painfully felt by
those whose lot is to encounter them every day, and every hour of the
day,--when the sudden intelligence, brought by an express from Spain, of
their wealthy relative Guzman inviting them to return thither, and
proclaiming them heirs to all his vast riches, burst on them like the
first dawn of his half-year’s summer on the crouching and squalid inmate
of a Lapland hut. All trouble was forgot,--all cares postponed,--their
few debts paid off,--and their preparations made for an instant
departure to Spain. “So to Spain they went, and journeyed on to the city of Seville, where,
on their arrival, they were waited on by a grave ecclesiastic, who
acquainted them with Guzman’s resolution of never seeing his offending
sister or her family, while at the same time he assured them of his
intention of supporting and supplying them with every comfort, till his
decease put them in possession of his wealth. The family were somewhat
disturbed at this intelligence, and the mother wept at being denied the
sight of her brother, for whom she still cherished the affection of
memory; while the priest, by way of softening the discharge of his
commission, dropt some words of a change of their heretical opinions
being most likely to open a channel of communication between them and
their relative. The silence with which this hint was received spoke more
than many words, and the priest departed. “This was the first cloud that had intercepted their view of felicity
since the express arrived in Germany, and they sat gloomily enough under
its shadow for the remainder of the evening. Walberg, in the confidence
of expected wealth, had not only brought over his children to Spain, but
had written to his father and mother, who were very old, and wretchedly
poor, to join him in Seville; and by the sale of his house and
furniture, had been enabled to remit them money for the heavy expences
of so long a journey. They were now hourly expected, and the children,
who had a faint but grateful recollection of the blessing bestowed on
their infant heads by quivering lips and withered hands, looked out with
joy for the arrival of the ancient pair. Ines had often said to her
husband, “Would it not be better to let your father and mother remain in
Germany, and remit them money for their support, than put them to the
fatigue of so long a journey at their far advanced age?”--And he had
always answered, “Let them rather die under my roof, than live under
that of strangers.”

“This night he perhaps began to feel the prudence of his wife’s
advice;--she saw it, and with cautious gentleness forbore, for that very
reason, to remind him of it. “The weather was gloomy and cold that evening,--it was unlike a night in
Spain. Its chill appeared to extend to the party. Ines sat and worked in
silence--the children, collected at the window, communicated in whispers
their hopes and conjectures about the arrival of the aged travellers,
and Walberg, who was restlessly traversing the room, sometimes sighed as
he overheard them. “The next day was sunny and cloudless. The priest again called on them,
and, after regretting that Guzman’s resolution was inflexible, informed
them, that he was directed to pay them an annual sum for their support,
which he named, and which appeared to them enormous; and to appropriate
another for the education of the children, which seemed to be calculated
on a scale of princely munificence. He put deeds, properly drawn and
attested for this purpose, into their hands, and then withdrew, after
repeating the assurance, that they would be the undoubted heirs of
Guzman’s wealth at his decease, and that, as the interval would be
passed in affluence, it might well be passed without repining. The
priest had scarcely retired, when the aged parents of Walberg arrived,
feeble from joy and fatigue, but not exhausted, and the whole family sat
down to a meal that appeared to them luxurious, in that placid
contemplation of future felicity, which is often more exquisite than its
actual enjoyment. “I saw them,” said the stranger, interrupting himself,--“I saw them on
the evening of that day of union, and a painter, who wished to embody
the image of domestic felicity in a group of living figures, need have
gone no further than the mansion of Walberg. He and his wife were seated
at the head of the table, smiling on their children, and seeing them
smile in return, without the intervention of one anxious thought,--one
present harassing of petty difficulty, or heavy presage of future
mischance,--_one fear of the morrow_, or aching remembrance of the past. Their children formed indeed a groupe on which the eye of painter or of
parent, the gaze of taste or of affection, might have hung with equal
delight.