Such, then, as we have seen in the last chapter, was the termination of the conspiracy in which the name of Arabella Stuart was employed by bad men, for their own purposes, without her own will or consent. But what had in the meantime become of that sweet girl herself, whom we left at the inn at St. Neot's, ill in body and in mind. Several days passed before she recovered entirely, and the learned physicians who had been called from Cambridge to attend upon her, asserted that she had undoubtedly partaken of some poisonous substance.
Arabella herself was incredulous, and attributed in her own mind the fit of sickness which had overtaken her, to the care and anxiety which she had previously endured. But the learned doctors assured her that perhaps it might be a fortunate event she had taken this poison, as, under the good management with which she had been treated, it would act as an antidote against the infection of the plague, which in all probability she would otherwise have caught, as the case of Sir Harry West was undoubtedly one of a pestilential character.
In the meantime, at the old Manor House at Bourne, the good knight lay upon a bed of sickness: and in the close and heated room, watching the death-like countenance, bathing the burning brow with the essences used in those days, holding the refreshing cup to the parched lip, and smoothing the rough pillow of fever, day and night, sleepless, tearless, noiseless, sat Ida Mara, repaying with devotion unto death the first benefit that she had received at the hands of man. And he felt all her kindness; he would gaze in her face with almost the tenderness of a father, and, could he have shed tears, his eyes would often have filled, as he thought that, in a few short days, she might be lying in the same burning agony that he then felt, or that fair form might be blighted, and given up to the corruption of the grave, as the consequence of her efforts to save him. It was not alone that he saw she mingled skill with kindness--that with her own hands she made drinks for him which tasted grateful even to his parched tongue, that he seemed to obtain relief from many of the simples that she prepared, and that it was evident that she had learned not a little of the best part of the healing art while in the house of the Druggist--it was not this alone which made him willingly take all that she administered, and obey her lightest word, as if she were old and he were young; but it was that he would not give her an instant's pain or uneasiness in the course of her anxious attendance; and even in the delirium which at length came on, her voice would soothe him, her entreaties keep him tranquil, when no effect was produced by either those of his old servant Lakyn, or those of the good housekeeper Dame Cicely, who were the only persons that would venture to remain in the house as soon as it was discovered that the disease was really the plague.
At first, when the poor Italian girl was left behind by Arabella, the housekeeper had shown some indignation at what she considered the intrusion of a stranger, and had ventured upon more than one, "Marry come up!" with the word "Minx!" muttered in a low tone, so that her good master could not hear it.
A short conversation, however, with Matthew Lakyn a good deal mitigated her anger, and when she witnessed the anxious care of Ida Mara for the old knight, and saw her wipe the tears of apprehension from her eyes, when sometimes she quitted his chamber for an instant, she could not help saying to herself, "Well, thou art a good creature, and a devout. There are not many like thee in thy country, I'll warrant. Thou art almost as kind as if thou wert English bred and born."
At length came the climax of the disease; and during a long and fearful night, Ida Mara knelt by the bedside of her benefactor, pouring forth low murmured prayers in her own tongue to the great Physician who alone can cure. The old man was no longer sensible to anything that was said, and though he talked continually, it was but with the mutterings of delirium, while his eye ranged coldly round the chamber, and seemed to see strange sights. Often Ida Mara held his hand in hers, and often put her small fingers on the pulse, till at length, towards morning, she ran down to Lakyn, who had left the room about half an hour, and said, "He must have wine!"
"What, girl," cried the old housekeeper, "in the plague?"
"Ay," said Ida Mara, "he must have wine!--The change has come on, his pulse is low and faint, if he have not wine now, he will be dead ere six hours be over. Little, and that cautiously, must be given; but he must have it, if you would save him."
Dame Cicely looked at the old servant, and the old servant at her; but the girl spoke in a tone of authority, and Lakyn answered, "I had better give it her; wine is a good thing at all times, and if that wont save him I fear nothing will.--What shall it be, my dear,--sack?"
"No, no," cried the girl, "no fiery wine; neither sack nor Burgundy."
"Good soft wine of Bordeaux," replied the old man; "I will fetch it in a minute."
"Why, where learned you all this leechcraft?" asked Dame Cicely, while he ran down into the cellar.
"In part from the bad man from whom my benefactor delivered me," answered Ida Mara; "but it was of the plague my mother died; and a good and great mediciner of my native town afterwards told me, what we should have done to save her.--Oh, here is the wine. Now give me one of those spoons--that one, that one."
"What matters it, girl?" said the old housekeeper, reaching the spoon to gratify her.
"Do you not see," said Ida Mara, "this has got the image of St. Luke, the good physician, upon it?" and while the old housekeeper called her a poor benighted papist, the girl hastened back to the bedside of the old knight, and from time to time moistened his lips with the wine.
Just as the day dawned fully in the sky, Sir Harry West closed his eyes, and fell into a gentle sleep, and when the housekeeper stole in, about an hour after, she found him still in the same, while Ida Mara, kneeling by his bedside, and utterly exhausted by long watching, had suffered her fair head to droop forward on the bed clothes, and was buried in slumber also.
She withdrew without waking them, and till nearly noon the knight remained asleep. When he woke, all delirium was gone, and, though reduced to infant weakness, he was evidently better. His amendment was steady though slow, but would probably have been more rapid had it not been for the apprehensions he felt for his tender nurse, on whose cheek the rose had become somewhat pale, and whose eye had grown dim and heavy. These, however, were only the natural effects of anxiety and watching; and as soon as she could leave him, to enjoy the breath of the free air, her colour and her health returned.
It is a curious fact, indeed, but one not by any means rare in cases of pestilential disease, that none of those who remained with the old knight during his sickness, and saw him continually during the whole course of the malady, were infected by it; while three of the servants, who fled from the house after seeing their master only for a few minutes, were stricken with the plague, and died in the neighbouring hamlets, carrying the disease with them to the cottages of their relations. A firm and steadfast mind is one of the best preservatives against pestilence, as well as against many another evil.
For some months the house was shunned; and it was not till the plague began to disappear from England, that Ida Mara ventured to return to her fair mistress. She did not do so, however, without being rendered by the act of Harry West independent of human caprice. He could, indeed, have found it in his heart never to part with her; but evil-tongues were as prevalent in those days as in our own, and even age and respectability cannot hope for impunity from the malice or folly of men. He thought, too, that it would be better for the devoted girl herself to be about the person of one so kind and good as Arabella Stuart; and by settling upon her, with all legal form, a hundred crowns a year--then a considerable sum--he secured her against any change in the favour or fortunes of her mistress.
Arabella welcomed her back with great satisfaction, and never from that moment ceased to regard her with affection and esteem. The deep and fearless devotion which she had displayed, was of a character to touch most powerfully the heart of one, who knew how much such sincere attachment is needed by persons in high stations, and how seldom it is found. She was no longer considered as her servant; but more as her companion and her friend, in all those circumstances in which her inferior rank suffered her to take a part; and great was the consolation and comfort to Arabella herself, in all the pains, and cares, and anxieties of a Court, to have one always near her, on whose truth, sincerity, and regard she could fully rely.
The reader, learned in the history of those times, will know that, to a high-toned mind and feeling heart, the Court of England, under the reign of James I., was a place of constant trial, anxiety, and grief. Even had not the sickening selfishness, vulgarity, and wickedness of the King himself, affected greatly the comfort of all around him, the lightness of the Queen's manners, though perhaps not running to criminality, and the encouragement given to vice of every kind, rendered the palace a painful as well as disgusting abode, for any one of a pure spirit.[3]The freedom, indeed, from all those formal restraints which are, in fact, the shackles that vice imposes upon virtue, might prove not disagreeable, even to a noble mind like that of Arabella Stuart. To go whithersoever she would, unwatched and uncensured; to see whomsoever she would, without care or without fear; to be as free in her actions as her own principles would admit, could never be productive of any harm in one who sought not to abuse such liberty. But it was remarked of her, that unless when obliged to do so, as one of the Queen's train, she rarely, if ever, adopted the much misused habit of the day, in wearing a mask when travelling, or walking abroad. She wished her actions to be as free as the sunshine, but as open also.
In the meantime, a number of important events occurred, which require but brief notice here.
The quarrels of the King with his Parliament, his efforts to tread under foot the right of his people, his persecution of the Puritans, his bad faith with the Roman Catholics, the rise and discovery of the famous gunpowder plot, and the well merited execution of the diabolical conspirators, are all matters irrelevant to this history.
Not so, however, the advance in favour of one of the first minions whom the King thought fit to honour in England, Robert Carr, afterwards Earl of Rochester, one of the most despicable of those who were proud to fill the infamous place of king's favourite. This man, by birth a Scotchman, had passed some time in France, and had added the advantages of a graceful carriage, and good taste and skill in dress, to that of a remarkably handsome person. He was first introduced to the court of England by the Lord Dingwall, who selected him as his esquire at one of the tilting matches of the day. Some have supposed that he was purposely brought into such a situation, in order to attract the attention of the king, whose fondness for handsome and well-dressed minions was notorious. However that may be, Carr, in presenting to the king, according to custom, the shield and device of his knight, was thrown, in descending from his horse, at the monarch's feet, and broke his leg by the fall. James had previously noticed with great admiration the handsome squire of the Lord Dingwall, and showed the utmost concern for his accident. The young Scotchman was removed to the palace, attended by the King's own surgeon, visited daily by James himself, and during the long hours of his convalescence won every hour upon the weak monarch's regard, till he rose from the bed of sickness in the full glow of royal favour.
The dignity of knighthood was almost immediately profaned to do honour to this deedless and unworthy person; revenues were assigned to him; the king's ear was completely in his power; and many an hour was spent by the monarch every day in teaching him the Latin language, of which he had no knowledge, though, as Lord Thomas Howard justly observed, "it would have been better to teach him English, as he was sadly deficient in that tongue."
Leaning on his arm, pinching his cheek, smoothing his ruffled garments, James displayed himself to his court, with his new favourite, in a most painful and degrading point of view. But, fortunately for Carr himself, he was enabled to escape for some time the enmity which his unenviable position, and his own worthlessness, must have much sooner called upon him, had not a piece of real good-fortune happened to him, in the rise of a friendship between himself, and one whose experience, moderation, talents, and discrimination, supplied all that was wanting in the mind of the favourite.
It would appear that Sir Thomas Overbury, the person of whom we speak, had first been greatly noticed by Cecil, (now become Earl of Salisbury,) an unquestionable proof that he possessed real talents for business. After a time, however, either because he saw in the favour of Robert Carr the more speedy means of his own advancement, or from some other cause that we do not know, Overbury sincerely attached himself to the favourite; and, gaining a great ascendancy over his mind, he guided him in all his proceedings with a remarkable degree of wisdom and sagacity.
By degrees, the minion rose from the condition of a poor Scotch gentleman, unknown and unheard of, to the station of Viscount Rochester, and the ruler of the court of England. He affected to behave himself with good moderation and modesty, and suffered all the power and authority which was poured into his hands, to proceed apparently more from the monarch's spontaneous act than from his solicitation. The office of Lord Treasurer of Scotland was bestowed upon him, and a number of other inferior posts; but still Carr laboured assiduously to divert the envious jealousy of the English courtiers from himself; and, as the best means of satisfying them, he excluded from his household all persons of his own nation, except one who was attached to him by the ties of blood.
At length, however, an event occurred which changed his views, his conduct, and his destiny. There appeared at the court a lady, who, though yet in her extreme youth, had been for some years married to the son of the unfortunate Earl of Essex. She was second daughter of Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk. Her elder sister having married the son of the famous Robert Cecil, the alliance between the families of Suffolk and Essex was brought about by Lord Salisbury, with a view of healing the breach between himself and the house of Devereux, to the memory of whose late chief he knew the King, his master, to be devotedly attached. But as the son of the unfortunate Essex was but fifteen years of age at the time the marriage was proposed, and the Lady Frances Howard, the bride, had not yet completed her thirteenth year, the young Earl was sent abroad to travel for some time, immediately after the ceremony, leaving his childish bride to be educated in her paternal house.
The Countess of Essex was not yet sixteen when she was introduced to the court of James; and, possessed of youth, extraordinary beauty, and some talent, she soon attracted universal admiration, to which she showed herself not at all indifferent. According to the libertine manners of the day, the object of admiration became immediately an object of pursuit, whatever obstacles morality might interpose; and Prince Henry himself, the eldest son of the King, appeared as one the suitors of the fair Countess. She, on her part, showed herself cold and indifferent to the solicitations of the prince; not, indeed, that her bosom was the abode of any pure feelings or high principles, but because she had already conceived a passion for another, to which she was ready not only to sacrifice every moral obligation, but to violate common decency, which is sometimes powerful over minds that do not scruple to cast off every other restraint.
Rochester, however, the object of her criminal love, courted and flattered for his power, either did not see the views of the Countess in endeavouring to attract his attention, or was really indifferent towards her, and for some time escaped her wiles; but ere long she found a disgraceful means of making him acquainted with the passion he had inspired, and it soon not only became reciprocal, but rose to a height in the bosoms of both, which led them to the commission of some of the most terrible crimes with which the soul of man can be stained.
It was about the time at which the preference of the Countess of Essex for the King's favourite first began to master every consideration of virtue and propriety in her bosom, that those events occurred in the history of Arabella Stuart which recall us to the narration of adventures more immediately connected with this tale; and, merely begging the reader to remember that several years had passed since William Seymour sailed from England, without his obtaining permission to return from the honourable banishment to which he had been condemned, we shall here end this brief sketch of the intervening period.
It was the afternoon of a bright summer day, and a grand tilting match had been held on a piece of ground adjoining the park at St. James's. All the world of the Capital had been admitted to the sight, and as two or three foreign princes, amongst whom was the King of Denmark, were present on the occasion, numbers of the grave citizens had left their shops and counting-houses in London, and travelled to Westminster to look on during the royal sports.
As soon as the games were over, the crowds dispersed; and, while some sauntered through those parts of the park which were open to the public, others hurried home to resume their more important affairs; and in every thoroughfare, leading from Westminster to different parts of the city, groups of men and women, in holiday attire, were seen hastening on, some laughing and talking over the events of the morning,--some with busy faces evidently considering the business they were about to resume.
Amongst the rest, appeared a man of a very showy exterior, richly clothed, and distinguished by a light and tripping step, though he was far past even the middle age. He had a boy behind him carrying his sword; his mustachio and hair, which, if one might judge by the shrivelled state of his skin, and the long wrinkles round his eyes, ought to have been grey some twenty years before, were now of a very peculiar cast of black; and though his legs were thin as well as long, his chest seemed full and powerful, owing, perhaps, the appearance of swelling muscle which it displayed to a process as foreign to that of nature, as the method he had employed to restore the swarthiness of his hair.
While he was hurrying down the Strand--then a wide open road, flanked on one side by the houses and gardens of the nobility--amidst a cloud of dust which the manifold feet were raising from the dry and unwatered ground, a young man, carrying in his hand a large fan and an essence bottle, singled him out from the other persons who were proceeding in the same direction, and pulled him gently by the cloak. The man started and turned round, asking what the stranger wanted, with a foreign accent, which by practised ears might have been detected as assumed rather than natural.
"My mistress wishes to speak to you, sir," said the servant, "and will thank you to step across the road to her."
"I am at her devotion," replied the person addressed, laying his hand upon his heart; "which is your mistress, my friend?"
"That lady, sir, in the black mantle and mask," answered the serving man; "she is waiting for you, you see, at the corner of the lane."
Now, the lady whom the man pointed out was of a very rotund make, and though her dress was rich enough, yet there was a sad lack of grace in the wearing of it. There were also several indescribable indications, which clearly informed the beholder that she had passed what is called the prime of life. Nevertheless, the smart gentleman, whom we have described, seemed to value her attention fully as much as if she had been the youngest and most graceful of the realm, and, with the same dancing-master-like step with which he had been walking homeward, he crossed the road at her invitation, and made her a profound bow.
"Come with me, come with me," said the masked lady; "I have a turn for your hand which may be worth your while."
"Most happy shall I be, madam," replied the gentleman, with a stronger foreign accent than ever, "to accompany you any where, and do my little possible to serve you. But, perhaps you may be mistaken in your humble servant?"
The lady burst out into a loud fit of laughter. "You can't cosen me," she cried. "Hark ye, master, and I'll whisper a secret word in your ear which will show you that we know one another."
The gentleman bent down his head, heard what his fair companion had to say, and then, turning again towards her, looked at her from head to foot. "It can be no other," exclaimed he, at length, "than Mrs. Turner!"
"Hush!" cried she, raising her finger, "I am not so indiscreet as to mention any names. Come down the lane with me; there is a wherry waiting; we will go down the river, and have some supper at my house. I have an affair in hand, which may make a fortune for two if properly managed, and I was even puzzling my brain, as I walked down the Strand, to find a serviceable friend who had courage and wit enough to carry through a delicate affair."
"I'm your man," replied the gentleman, in good plain English, accompanying her down the lane, "and I can assure you, sweet woman, that, since I have been attached to a Spanish Ambassador, I have had many a curious operation to perform which required nice handling."
"I doubt it not,--I doubt it not, Weston," answered worthy Mrs. Turner. "And so you have been attached to a Spanish Ambassador, have you? That is the reason I have not seen you for so long, I suppose?"
"Did you not know," he asked, "that the Count de Taxis did me the honour of appointing me his domestic perfumer, and carried me abroad with him after he left England? I won the post by composing an odour such as was never smelt by the nose of man before. It had the delicacy of the violet, the power of the rose; and I combined with it a soft ethereal essence which lulled the person who scented it into a soft languor predisposing to love and repose."
"That's just the thing we may want, Master Weston," said the lady, "for we have got to do with love, I assure you."
"Can I doubt it," cried Weston, "when you have a share in the business?"
"Come, no nonsense, Master Weston," rejoined the lady; "this is a serious affair, I can assure you, by which much may be gained or lost."
"Do not call me Weston," replied her companion, in an imploring tone; "I have abandoned that name long ago, as one casts off an old coat when it is worn threadbare. There was a hole or two in it also, it must be confessed; and I received a severe fright, which made me tremble so that it shook me out of my name."
"Why, how was that? how was that?" asked Mrs. Turner; "you are a man not easily alarmed."
"In general not," answered her companion, sinking his voice to a whisper; "but I'll tell you what occurred. One day at an inn, where I was lodging, I saw accidentally a young girl, an Italian, who had once been in my service."
"I remember her quite well," replied Mrs. Turner, "and thought you had parted with her to some nobleman."
"No, no, she parted from me," rejoined the charlatan, in the same low tone, "and took some secrets of mine with her. Seeing her in the inn, and thinking she was still with an old foolish knight, who had maltreated me and carried her off from me, I took occasion to pass through the kitchen as her dinner was preparing. I know not how it was, but by this time she was in the service of one of the highest ladies of the land. The broth that was intended for the maid, was taken by the mistress; and a fit of illness came on, which the doctors from Cambridge were fools enough to ascribe to poison. She recovered in the end, but I was in a great fright, for you know how scandalous the tongue of the world is; so, dropping the name of Weston, and giving my hair another hue, I attached myself to the Count de Taxis, and gave out that I had come to England with him."[4]
"And pray what may be your name now?" asked Mrs. Turner; "I must tutor my lips not to call you Weston, I suppose."
"The name I took," replied the man, "was Dr. Foramen, out of honour to a hole in my crucible, in which I once was fortunate enough to obtain a small quantity of the powder of projection. But the fools here have changed it at once into a vulgar English name, and call me Doctor Foreman."
"Odds life!" cried Mrs. Turner; "are you the Doctor Foreman skilled in magic and astrology, who lives just beyond the walls, by the Inns of Court?"
"The same, sweet lady, the same," replied Weston, with a low bow; "and a very pretty traffic I carry on, let me assure you."
"I'll better it--I'll better it," said Mrs. Turner; "but here we are at the boat."
A very neat wherry was waiting, with a boatman well dressed, bearing his badge upon his arm; and handing her in, Weston took his seat by Mrs. Turner's side, while the boy who carried his sword, and the lady's serving-man, sat in the stern behind them. The proximity of the two latter personages prevented all private conversation, but the lady, taking off her mask for the sake of the cool air, displayed what had once been a very pretty face, and which still, considering her age, was in a high state of preservation. Cutting rapidly over the water, the boat stopped some short way before it reached the Tower; and, being handed out with great gallantry by her companion, Mrs. Turner led him through several narrow lanes to a small house, between which and the public street was a little paved yard, with an elm-tree growing in the midst of the smoke.
"This is my house now," said the lady; "and you see I, too, have prospered in the world."
"I see, I see," answered Weston; "some friend who has become sensible to your merits."
"Not alone that," replied the lady; "for though Sir Arthur Manwaring bestowed the house upon me, I owe him little more. No, no, I have many a good friend at Court, who, for the services I can render them, are right liberal in their payments. But come in, come in, and take a glass of Malmsey with me."
Thus saying, she led him up a long narrow flight of stairs, to a small well-furnished sitting-room, in which was hung up a viol da gamba, and several other musical instruments, while on the table lay one or two books in velvet covers, which, when taken up, displayed to the curious eye any other subjects than those which men might have supposed formed the studies of the mistress of the mansion. One was a book of canticles, very neatly written; another was a volume of meditations by some pious divine; and a third was a still holier book, which it was almost profanation to bring into such a place.
By the orders of his mistress, the serving-man fetched some wine and sweetmeats upon a silver salver, and retired, closing the door. The lady helped her guest, and took some wine herself, smacking her lips at the flavour thereof with more unction than was quite seemly. Weston, however, was intent upon his business; and, after he had half drained the long measure with its twisted stalk, he set it down, inquiring, "Now, sweet Mrs. Turner, what is this great affair?"
"I will tell you, I will tell you," said the lady, drawing her high-backed chair nearer to him--"You must know--take some sweetmeats, Weston--Doctor Foreman, I mean. You must know that there is a great personage at the Court, of my own sex, and consequently one I am bound to assist in the way of friendship, who is in a very lamentable case--Fill your glass, Doctor, it will bear repeating. This lady is the daughter of one of the King's great friends, and the niece of another--"
"Hum!" cried Weston, laying his finger on the side of his nose; "Lady Cranbourne?"
Mrs. Turner shook her head; "Wrong," she replied, "wrong; but not far wrong either."
"I have it," said Weston,--"the Countess of Essex?"
"I name no names as yet," answered Mrs. Turner, with a look of affected discretion; "but the lady I mentioned is young, beautiful, and very unhappy, and consequently deserves the compassion and charitable assistance of every one, both man and woman."
"She shall have it," said Weston, solemnly,--"if she be rich enough to pay for it."
"That she is, beyond all manner of doubt," replied Mrs. Turner; "and will pay well, too, I can assure you."
"Ay, but expound, expound," cried the charlatan; "what is her ailment? We must know the disease before we can find a cure."
"Love!" said Mrs. Turner; "love! ay, and hate, too. She is in love with an object who shows himself indifferent to her charms."
"The hard-hearted tiger!" exclaimed Weston; "we must soften him, Mrs. Turner."
"That is the very point," replied the lady. "But her affliction is greatly increased by her having a husband, to whom she was married in her childhood, who has just returned to England, and to whom she must go home in a few days, if something be not done to prevent it.'
"A perilous case," said Weston; "yet there is a remedy for all things. Now, what does the lady require?"
Before Mrs. Turner could answer, a quick foot was heard running up the stairs; and the next moment a maid servant, entering the room, exclaimed, "Madam, madam, there's a lady must see you instantly!"
Mrs. Turner started up, crying, "Into the other room behind there!" But while these words were still upon her tongue, another figure presented itself at the door; and a lady with a large Spanish mantilla over her shoulders, and the ordinary black velvet mask upon her face, entered, with a step, hasty indeed, but full of grace, pausing suddenly when she saw that there was a stranger in the room.
"Who is that?" she asked, in the tone of a princess, pointing to Weston, with her hand still covered by a rich glove of red and gold. "Did you not get my message?"
"No, madam," replied Mrs. Turner, in humble accents; "I have been out all the morning. This is Doctor Foreman, madam, the famous physician and astrologer."
"What, the man we were talking of?" cried the lady. "Oh, then I am very glad it so falls out. You may leave the room, girl," she continued, addressing Mrs. Turner's maid; "what stand you there for?"
The servant instantly retired and closed the door, at the imperious mandate she received; and the lady, casting her mantilla on a chair, withdrew the mask from her face, displaying to the admiring eyes of Weston one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever beheld. The complexion was clear and resplendent, every feature beautifully cut, the large dark eyes shining like living diamonds, the parted lips showing the pearly teeth beneath, the neck, the shoulders, and every rounded limb, full of grace and loveliness; but there was a certain contraction of the marble brow, and keenness, almost fierceness in the sparkling eyes, which spoke too plainly the eager and passionate spirit within that exquisite form. The charlatan had risen when she entered; and she now turned her bright unblenched eye upon him, scanning his features, as if she thought by them to discover whether the man before her possessed, in reality, the powers which were attributed to him. Weston, however, was finished in his trade; and he replied to her glance with one as keen; and, after having remained in silence for a moment, he said, "Perhaps, madam, I had better retire. You may have business with Mistress Turner?"
"No; stay," replied the lady, thoughtfully; "I want you. Has this good woman told you who I am?"
"No, madam," answered Weston; "she has never mentioned your name to me. I have but this instant arrived."
"Do you know me, then?" demanded the lady, quickly.
"No," he answered, in a decided tone: "I never saw any one so beautiful before!"
"Pshaw!" said the lady, with a smile; "what is the use of beauty? Are you a foreigner?"
"The country of my birth," answered the charlatan, "is unknown; but I have studied long in foreign universities, and may have a Spanish or Italian accent."
"A very strong one of some kind--I know not what," replied the lady. "Hark ye, sirrah! are you a true man, or an impostor?"
"My sublime art, madam, does not permit of my telling an untruth," rejoined Weston. "The moment I did so, I should lose all power and knowledge. Do not think, madam, that the height of science can be obtained by deep study alone. The mind must subject itself to certain rules, fixed and decided, amongst which the telling truth upon all points of art is the great fundamental. I may refuse to answer you, if I will; but, if I do answer, the nicest judging eye must not be able to discover one grain of deceit in all I say."
"Well, then," exclaimed the lady, "tell me under what misfortunes I suffer, if you would have me believe you skilful as you pretend."
"First, madam, let me know your name," said the artful man; "that, at least, I ought to be made acquainted with."
"No, no," answered she to whom he spoke, "that were half the history. My name you shall know, if you satisfy me."
"This is hard," cried Weston, with assumed mortification; "you must not tax science more than it can bear--I will speak as I believe, however; though mind, I tell you beforehand, that I cannot be so sure as if I knew your name, and the hour of your nativity. Madam, will you let me see your hand?--the right hand, if you please; and you, Mrs. Turner, in the meanwhile, ask my boy for my sand-glass and square."
The lady drew the glove from her fair and beautiful hand, and stretched it out for the inspection of the charlatan, who gazed upon the few lines in the soft and glossy palm with an air of apparently deep consideration.
"Ha!" he cried, "I see you are under eighteen years of age."
"A good guess," said the lady. "What more?"
"We will wait a little," answered Weston. "I could say more even now, but I would fain consult the sand first."
As he spoke, Mrs. Turner, who had left them, returned, bearing in her hand a small glass box filled with very fine sand, and a flat silver ruler, with a moveable limb at a right angle, which she delivered into the hands of her male companion.
"Bless my heart, doctor," she cried; "I hope there is going to be no magic. I cannot suffer magic in my house for any one."
"Nothing but natural magic, Mrs. Turner," replied the impostor, "which is quite lawful. Every part of nature has its secrets, which it is the province of science to discover, and also its sympathies with every other part, from which sympathies, when revealed in one instance, we gain a knowledge of all that affects other beings, sympathised with by the object under our hands. Thus this common sand, when brought under certain influences, displays its relationships to different parts of creation; and especially, as it is fluctuating and unsteady, light, and blown about by every gust of wind, exactly like the course of human life, so does it bear a near affinity to human beings, and discovers, when compelled, their fate and circumstances!"
The lady had listened with deep attention to every word of the rigmarole which the man uttered; and the reader must not be surprised at a wild, passionate, ill-educated, unprincipled girl of eighteen years of age being deceived by visionary nonsense, which has convinced the mind, ay, and disturbed the brain, of persons otherwise deserving the name of sages and philosophers. The charlatan next took the sand, smoothed it exactly in the glass box, seemed to look anxiously for every irregularity, ascertained that it was of an equal height on either side, and then drew, with the sharp end of a silver ruler, several signs and figures round the edges, leaving a space vacant in the middle.
"Now, madam," he said, "take this instrument, and write the first letter of the christian and surname of any person you think fit. It may be either your own, or that of some one else; but you must have a very deep interest in that person."
The lady considered for a moment, and then wrote lightly in the sand the letters R. C. Weston then took the glass box, and raised it gently from side to side, suffering a part of the sand to roll over the figures that had been drawn. He next gazed at the surface attentively; and, setting the instrument down with a look of surprise and respect, he took a step back and bowed low to the lady.
"Why, what is the matter now?" she exclaimed, emphatically.
"I did not know your Ladyship's high rank," he replied; "and I fear what I have to say may offend you."
"No, no; speak what you have to say," she answered. "If it be true, I shall find no offence."
"The geomantic science can never speak aught but truth," answered the charlatan; "and by its rules I tell you, that you love where you ought not, and love not where you ought."
"Ought!" cried the lady, with her cheek reddening. "Am I to have constantly that hateful bond thrust upon me, contracted in my infancy, when I was incapable of judging for myself?"
"I feared you would be offended, madam," said Weston, well pleased to see the effect of his words, but affecting a tone of grief and apprehension. "Nevertheless, I told you that I must speak the truth, if I spoke at all."
"Well, well," she replied; "I deny not that it is the truth. So much for the present--now for the future. Can you speak of that? Shall I be successful in my love--whether it be right or wrong?"
"Oh, yes, my lady, never fear," said Mrs. Turner, in a coaxing tone; "every woman who sets her heart upon it can be successful in her love if she chooses. Men are not such coy creatures as we are."
"Hush, woman! let him speak," cried the Countess, imperiously; "I hate such wheedling. I would know by his science what fate has in store."
Again Weston approached the table, and scanned the sandglass earnestly. "Madam," he said, "I think you will obtain all that you desire; but it will be with great difficulty, the most skilful management, and with the assistance of many curious and important arts. You see, madam, that the sand has rolled completely over the name of Robert Carr."
"Robert Carr!" exclaimed the lady, almost with a shriek. "That name was not written there!"
"Oh, yes, madam, it was," replied the impostor; "you only traced R. C, but other hands than yours filled up the names at once for the eyes of science. But, as I was saying, you see the sand has rolled over that name; while your sign, which is here, remains clear and uneffaced, showing that you may obtain great power over him. But you will perceive, also, that between it and the house of fortune--I wish it to be all clear to you--a wave has grown up, which threatens great obstacles; while these two stars, signifying two skilful and attached servants of your ladyship, I know not whom, remain powerful over the object of your wishes. Here are two or three others, all more or less powerful in their degree; and here your nearest relation stands strong in opposition."
"My father!" cried the lady.
"But, at the same time, his co-ordinate looks favourable; and the sign of another near relation is not adverse. But still, after all, these two small stars, though seemingly very inferior, are, as you see, most powerful for your purposes."
The lady had leaned her elbow on the table, and was covering her eyes with her hand. "This is very extraordinary," she murmured; "if I had even told the woman who it is. Have you anything more to say?" she continued, aloud.
"Nothing, madam," he answered; "this is all that geomancy can tell me; but if you think fit to come to my house to-night, and the stars be out, as most likely they will, I can give you more information; and can only say that, as far as my poor skill extends in any way, either as astrologer or physician, skilled in many arts unknown in this country, I am right willing to serve so beautiful and high a lady until death."
"I will employ you, I will employ you," replied the lady; "and, if you do serve me, you shall be rewarded beyond your hopes. Now, tell me, whom do these two stars indicate?"
"I know not, madam," replied Weston; "but, certainly, they must be two very skilful persons. Perhaps I may myself be one."
"Perhaps so," said the lady; "come to me to-night, good Mrs. Turner, to Northampton House, just as the clock strikes nine; it will then be growing dark, and we will away to the good doctor's house. There is some gold for you. Hark! a word in your ear! Explain to him all I told you--the name he has divined is but too true. Tell him--tell him! For though, I know not why, I feel no shame in this matter, yet I would fain some other lips began the tale."
Thus saying, she fastened the mask upon her face again, threw the mantle over her shoulders, and left the room.
Mrs. Turner approached the casement, gazed out for a minute through the dim lozenges of glass, and then, turning round to Weston, burst into a low but merry laugh.