"Hush, for heaven's sake! (said the frightened Madeline;) if FatherAnselm heard you talk thus lightly and profanely of our holy religion,I should be for ever debarred seeing you and Roseline again, for lifeshut out from the world, and compelled to take the veil."
"Never, by heaven! (cried Edwin, thrown entirely off his guard by the tender confusion and agitation of Madeline:) you shall take no vows but such as love and nature dictate. I would perish a thousand times,—lose a thousand lives to preserve you from a fate that would not only make you wretched, but me for ever miserable.—Roseline has long known that you are dear to my heart. Say,—ease me of the torturing suspense I this moment feel,—do you not find an advocate in your bosom that will plead my cause?"
Madeline trembled violently; her eyes were bent to the ground: She would have fallen, had not Roseline flown to support her. She attempted to speak, but the words died away inarticulately.
"I see how it is, (cried Edwin impassionately;) the happy De Willows has gained by his attentions what I have lost by disgusting you with mine: you hate, you despise me. I will solicit my father to let me join the army: I will for ever remove this detested object from your sight, and pray that the portion of happiness I have lost may be redoubled to you."
Madeline, alarmed by the energy of this speech, was instantly roused from the languor into which she had sunk.
"I hate no one, (said she softly;) but Edwin, you forget it would be a crime in me to love. If, indeed, that had not been the case,—if I were at liberty——"
"You would bless the happy De Willows with your hand."
"Never!—De Willows I regard as a friend: as any thing more I never did,—never could think of him. I am you know banished from all intercourse with the world;—my sentence has been long pronounced; from that sentence there can be no appeal. Would to heaven I had submitted to it, and never quitted the retreat to which parental authority consigned me! At this painful moment my own feelings inflict my punishment."
"Then you do not hate me? (cried Edwin, taking her hand.)—Only say I am not quite indifferent to you, and I will endeavour to rest satisfied, and ask no more; trusting that time may do much in my favour; but, if you attempt to deprive me of all hope,—if you deny me this innocent gratification, I will go to the wars."
"Ah! why will you press me to discover what it would be better to conceal?—why will you tempt me to swerve from my duty to my God and my parents, and make me a perjured, and unworthy sacrifice?—You have, I fear, taught my heart a lesson it ought never to have learned: but it must be the hard task of my future life to atone for the crime I have committed in having suffered a mortal to rival that God, who alone should have occupied all my thoughts and wishes."
Edwin threw himself at the feet of Madeline. His raptures were now as unbounded as the conflict had been severe; and not till she sunk fainting into the arms of her friend, could he be persuaded to quit their apartment.
Happy was it for the party that Roseline had not only a greater share of prudence and understanding that most of her sex, but likewise more fortitude than is usually their portion. She soon recovered, her friend soothed her into some degree of composure, and endeavoured to inspire her with hopes that some plan might be adopted which would remove those difficulties that threatened to divide two hearts love had united, and which appeared formed by nature to make each other happy. Roseline well knew her father would not only be displeased, but shocked, if he discovered this unfortunate attachment, and she blamed herself for having been the innocent cause of involving two people so dear to her in such a hopeless scene of complicated distress.
Notwithstanding the agonizing conflicts which had attended the eclaircissement, the lovers felt a heavy burthen removed from their hearts. Convinced of being mutually beloved, all other sorrows, all other trials appeared light and trivial: they sunk into a more sweet and peaceful slumber than they had long enjoyed,—dreamed of each other, and arose the next morning with renovated spirits and revived hopes.
Madeline wished the hour was arrived they were to renew their midnight ramble, and thought, if she should meet a thousand ghosts, she should not fear them, while Edwin, who loved her so tenderly and sincerely, was near to guard her. She was eager too, but scarcely durst acknowledge to herself shewishedthe passage might be found which led to the chapel in her nunnery.
If there be any so fastidious and unfeeling as to condemn and deprecate the romantic hopes and flattering visions cherished in he buoyant bosom of nineteen, I am sorry for them, and here avow, I wish never entirely to forget the fascinating pleasure of such air-built hopes. Should they be sometimes attended with danger to the weak and frail, they are likewise accompanied with their advantages to the good and virtuous, and often enable us to encounter trials with a resolution and fortitude, which, at a more advanced period of our lives, when time has weakened our bodily frame, and experience deprived us of those gay illusions, we find it difficult and painful to acquire.—The philosophy of nineteen, though not abstruse, is flattering and conclusive; so much the more valuable; for, after all the researches of philosophy, what are we taught to know, but that man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards?—that we are merely the pilgrims and passengers of a day,—that our resting place must be found in a better, an unknown world,—that we must encounter innumerable trials on our journey, and at last die and be forgotten, even by those for whom we have toiled, and to whom we are most tenderly attached?—Surely then we may be allowed to snatch, or steal, a few of those innocent enjoyments just thrown in our way, to encourage our fortitude, and clear our path from some of the briars and thorns with which it is so profusely planted.
Happy is it for those in the common walks of life, that all their stock of philosophy is comprised in a few words, acquired without study, and retained without taxing their time or burthening their memory,—"it was my fate,—I could not run from it,—it was to be." These trite sentences reconcile them to many distressing events, and sometimes are their excuse for the frailties of their conduct.
When the parties met at breakfast the next morning, any careful observer might have discovered, by the confusion visible on the countenance of Madeline,—the constraint in her manner of addressing Edwin,—his more than usual vivacity, and the pale cheeks and swelled eyes of Roseline, that something had occurred to produce the change; but, suspicion not being a frequent gust at the castle, no such discovery was made: every one employed themselves as usual, and in a few hours universal cheerfulness seemed to prevail.
The only observations made by Lady de Morney were, that her dear Edwin looked remarkably well, was in charming spirits, and had dressed himself better and more becomingly than usual. Madeline coloured, and thought the same. Roseline smiled, and Edwin whispered something in the ear of Madeline that prevented the roses fading on her cheek.
The dress of Madeline, though to her particularly becoming, would to thousands have been totally the reverse. It was the dress of the order of Benedictines, to which she belonged, consisting of a black robe, with a scapulary of the same. Under the robe, nuns, when professed, wore a tunic of white undyed wool, and, when they went to the choir, they had a cowl like that worn by the monks; but the boarders, who were in what we may call a state of probation, were allowed to wear a tunic of muslin or cambrick, and covered their heads with a white veil. This dress, little suited to please the whimsical taste of the present time, was, strange as it may appear, simple and becoming, and proved the truth of the poet's observation, that
———LovelinessNeeds not the foreign aid of ornament,But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
Madeline, in the habit of her order, was so captivating a figure, that no one ever thought any alteration or change in it could have added a charm to those bestowed on her by the partial hand of nature. She was tall, and elegantly formed; the expression of her countenance, blended with softness and dignity, conveying an idea of superior virtue being united to superior loveliness.
Just before dinner, the Doctor observed that Madeline looked pale: having felt her pulse, he inquired what had given them cause to beat so much out of time.
"I must examine into this matter, (said he archly.) They are gallopping along at a strange rate; either the head or the heart must occasion this revolution in the system of my patient's usual habit. If it be the disease of the heart, I must resign my place to a more able practitioner.—Do not blush, my fair nun, but tell me whom you would have called in."
"I am perfectly satisfied with your advice, my good doctor, and at this time believe I want a cook more than a physician, therefore excuse me if I say you you entirely misunderstand my case."
"Don't be too positive (said De Clavering) of my ignorance. You may safely trust me with all your complaints,—even with those of the heart; for I feel myself extremely interested that you should not return to the nunnery with any additional one added to those you so unfortunately brought away."
"Ah! (said Madeline,) mentally, advice is now too late. I shall carry back with me a more corroding, a more painful complaint than any I ever knew before; yet, strange as it is, I would not be cured for the world, as my being so would wound Edwin de Morney.
Only Camelford was present when this little badinage passed between the Doctor and his patient. He advised the former to lay aside his wig, and take up the cowl, as the most certain method of discovering the truth; "for, though the laties, (he added,) will not tell all they think to you or I, they will not attempt to teceive their Cot."
"If I thought putting on a cowl would transform me to a god, (said De Clavering,) I would soon hazard the transformation, and then I would place a shield before the heart of every fair daughter of Britain, that should have the property of a talisman, to warn them againsst the designs and insidious attention of young men, six feet high, with black sparkling eyes, auburn hair, teeth of ivory, handsome legs, and white hands."
Madeline knew the portrait, and, rising to conceal her blushes, ran hastily out of the room.
Hugh Camelford burst into a violent fit of laughter, and told the Doctor, "so far from being thought a Cot, the young laty certainly took him for the tifel, having discovered his spells and clofen foot, or perhaps for Tafy ap Jones, who, after tying for lof, was thrown into the Red Sea, and had haunted all lof-sick maidens ever since, poor discontented tifel!"
"And that will be your fate, Hugh, (retorted the Doctor,) unless you send home the Welch lass whom you betrayed, and then left to starve with your son, a fat chubby boy, very like his father."
"As I hope to escape the toctor and tamnation, (said the indignant Hugh,) I never petrayed a lass in my whole life; therefore, you cataplasm, you plister, you caustic of fire, pring no such scandals on the coot name of Camelford, lest I take a little of your carnivorous plood, and make you drink it!"
The Doctor stole off laughing, and Camelford soon recovered his good humour.
A dance was proposed for the evening, and readily agreed to by the young people, who determined to make the time pass as cheerfully as possible during the absence of Sir Philip and the visit of Madeline.
In those days dancing was the favourite amusement of the youth of both sexes: rich and poor, young and old, one with another, mixed in the animating dance:—complaints of weariness and fatigue were seldom heard. This exercise was not only favourable to health, but the roses it produced on the glowing cheek of youth rendered all application to the borrowed ones of art totally unnecessary. Rouge was then unknown, and noWarrenexisted to abolish old women, by giving the furrowed features of age an unfading bloom. The plain jacket, with a small quantity of ribbon bound round a cambric cap, were then thought becoming, and few ornaments were worn but on very important and particular occasions; yet beauty was equally admired: the same homage was paid to it, and it held in bondage as many captives, without the adventitious aid of deception and extravagance.
Another preservative of youth and health was their keeping better, that is, earlier hours. Night was night, and dedicated to its original purpose. Day was properly divided, and found of sufficient length for all the useful employments of life. Few young ladies but had seen the sun rise in all its glory, and found their hearts expanded by the grand and awful sight; and, while they welcomed its reviving rays from the portals of the east, it tended to raise their minds to that God who made the sun, and who alone could number the stars by which it was surrounded.
A fine moon-light evening seldom passed unnoticed by these aspiring worthies, eager after knowledge; for, having happily fewer amusements, they had more time to attend to the instructive beauties of nature, the study of which affords an inexhaustible source of pleasure and surprise. Fearless of their complexions, they not only rambled but worked in their gardens. Each had a little spot of ground marked out, and it soon produced the desired effect; every one was emulous to outshine the other in its cultivation, and Sir Philip or Lady de Morney were often called upon as arbitrators to decide the superior beauty of a rose, the size of a carnation, or the snowy tints of a lily.
De Clavering had told them, that, under their feet, they often trampled on plants, in the careful study of which might be found a cure for every disease incident to the climate they inhabited, and that in other climates the earth produced her treasures for the same benevolent purpose; but the careless inattention of mankind to this useful knowledge had rendered the profession of physic absolutely necessary, and given men of learning and genius an opportunity of displaying their talents in preserving the lives of their fellow creatures.
In consequence of these hints, all kinds of herbs were planted, and their virtues put to the test by being applied to relieve the diseases of their poor neighbours; and never did a high-bred town belle, at making a conquest, or a hero, after obtaining a signal victory, exult more, or feel greater delight than the having effected a cure produced in the minds of these young practitioners. De Clavering was gratified in giving them all the intelligence they requested, very often inquired when they went their rounds to visit their patients, and offered them his physical wig to give them consequence.
In those days people lived much longer in the same number of years; to rise between five and six o'clock, and breakfast at seven, was their usual custom, the time of taking their meals differing as much as their antique habits. Dinner was constantly on the table between eleven and twelve, and supper regularly served at seven; tea was then bu little used, Whether the introduction of that bewitching beverage had been followed by the long catalogue of evils laid to its charge, I am not able to determine; but, as I have known many weak constitutions who have never felt any ill effects from taking it, I am inclined to think it has not such dangerous properties as are alledged against it by valetudinarians and their medical advisers.
But what would the antediluvian souls, who compose my dramatis personae say to the innovations made upon time in these day of delicate and fashionable refinement? They would suppose the world turned topsy-turvy, and be puzzled to know why the afternoon should be discarded, and what part of the twenty-four hours to call night.
The periodical times of taking refreshment are quite different to what they formerly were, and contradictory to the practice of our ancestors, who hoarded their time, and considered it as a treasure of some value. We may now literally be said to turn day into night, and night into day, while the want of time is the source of general complaint. Our people of fashion, and many of no fashion at all, breakfast at three in the afternoon, dine at seven, sip their tea at eleven o'clock at night, and sup at four in the morning; whereas Queen Elizabeth breakfasted at five or six in the morning, and dined at eleven in the forenoon.—She and all her court went to bed with the sun in summer, and at eight or nine o'clock in winter.
The parliament, in the reign of Charles the First, went to prayers at five or six in the morning, and the king dined at twelve; nay, in the licentious reign of that merry monarch, his son, dinner at two was thought a very late hour; for all public diversions were at an end by six in the evening, and the ladies, after seeing a play, went in their carriages to Hyde-Park.
Whether it would not be greatly to the advantage of people in general to revive some old customs, and return to the prudent habits of our progenitors, will not admit of much dispute. Private families, in these expensive times, would undoubtedly be benefited. Morning would again become a theme for the poet, and poor day-light be brought into fashion. Our parliament too would find more time to transact the important business of the nation, on which they so eloquently harangue. Possibly a good dinner would add weight to their arguments, and the not being hungry would prevent their eagerness to adjourn.
But one of its greatest evils, after that above mentioned, is felt by servants, particularly the unhappy cook. She seldom sees the face of day,—never enjoys the enlivening rays of the sun, and can scarcely find time even to change her clothes till the night is too far advanced to render the change necessary. It was formerly the custom for people to walk after tea, and by doing so acquire a redoubled relish for the variegated beauties of nature; but now the table makes its appearance at so unseasonable an hour, and fashionable etiquette, with the love of good cheer, detains them so long, that in fact it appears the chief business of life to study every art and contrivance how to destroy and squander, not how to improve our time; and, instead of people's eating that they may live, they now live only to eat and drink, that the senses, I presume, may be disabled from torturing them with reproaches.—But to return to our tale.
In the evening, as Edeliza was going down the dance, her eyes, with those of Madeline, were attracted by the same object,—a plume of white feathers, placed on a suit of armour, nodded, and the armour moved. This had such an effect, Madeline screamed, and Edeliza, throwing herself into the arms of De Willows, begged he would protect her from the ghost. The dancing stopped, the whole party was alarmed, and Lady de Morney very much surprised; but, on being informed what had occasioned the bustle, Hugh Camelford flew to discover its cause, and, jumping upon a long table, which was placed by the side of the room for the accommodation of large parties on any particular occasion, he without much ceremony caught hold of the haunted armour, when, to the astonishment of the whole company there instantly appeared,—gentle reader, be not alarmed!—not the ghost of a murdered hero, nor forsaken maid,—but the youngest daughter of Sir Philip de Morney, who skipping from her concealment upon the table, and from thence to the floor, shook her head, decorated with a profusion of flaxen hair, which curled in natural ringlets, and laughed heartily at the fright she had occasioned.
"Of all the chosts I ever saw, (said the delighted Hugh, catching her up in his arms,) this is by much the prettiest and most entertaining. I should like to be haunted by such an one all the tays of my life."
Lady de Morney called the little culprit, and, having severely reproved her, ordered her to bed, to which she had been sent before the party had began dancing, for some fault she had committed, but had persuaded one of the servants to place her as before described, that she might be a spectator, though she was not permitted to be a partaker in the amusement. Lady de Morney reprimanded the servant; and, had it not been for the general intercession of the company, poor Birtha would have been a prisoner in her own apartment some days.
This incident, simple in itself, happened very unfortunately for the two ladies, who had agreed to accompany Edwin in his subterranean tour. They lingered till the last moment, and then withdrew with visible reluctance; but determined, as soon as they reached their own room, not to say a word to Edwin of their fears, as they knew it would expose them to ridicule, if not to censure, and there was not in the catalogue of human ills or evils any circumstance Madeline would so much have dreaded as being thought meanly of by Edwin de Morney.
Within little more than an hour after the family had withdrawn, all the servants retired to rest, they were joined by the sanguine and spirited Edwin, accompanied by the ancient veteran, who, though loaded with the heavy burthen of fourscore years, was still active and hearty, his senses unimpaired, and his sturdy limbs still able to carry with firmness their accustomed load. His grey locks hung with silvered dignity upon his aged shoulders, and his eye retained some of their former expression. He made a profound obeisance to the ladies on his entrance, and was received with that condescending affability which his years and long-tried faithfulness demanded.
Edwin's manner of introducing him, flattered the old man's remaining stock of vanity, and revived, in full force, the remembrance of his former exploits, which, though they had not procured him preferment, secured him attention and respect.
"This is my friend Bertrand, (said Edwin, addressing Madeline particularly on his entrance;) though you had some fears with only such a stripling as myself for a leader, you can have none with so experienced and brave a guide."
The old man listened with delighted attention to this eulogium from the lips of his dear young master, whom he had so often dandled on his knee, whom he had been so fortunate as to snatch from a watery grave, and for whom he retained a stronger affection than for any other being on earth. Sir Philip had long maintained him in ease and comfort, and excused him from every employment, but such as tended to the preservation of his health. Both ladies held out their hands, which he respectfully kissed, and preyed that heaven might bless and reward them for their kindness to their old but grateful servant.
"Now the ceremony of introducing you into the bed-chamber of these fair ladies is over, 'tis time for us to think of proceeding, my old friend, (said Edwin.) If you will assist me in unfastening the trap-door, we will procure lights, and, putting ourselves under your direction, follow wherever you are disposed to lead us.
It was the intention of Bertrand to open the door of the subterranean passage, which communicated with Mettingham-castle; but, before they proceeded par, something rushed past them several times: it was rapid, and their candle threw so feeble a light on the walls which surrounded them, that they could not discover what it was.
They hurried on till they came to the square leading to the dungeons, when their attention was arrested, and their fears increased by the barking of a dog. They hesitated, looked with astonishment at each other, and stopped, as if irresolute whether to return or proceed. In the mean while, the little animal made its appearance, jumped and capered about, as it it rejoiced at seeing them in its dreary habitation, attached itself particularly to Roseline, and seemed to recognize an old and beloved friend.
Roseline took it up in her arms, kissed and caressed it; but how to account for meeting with so beautiful, fond, and gentle a creature was not only matter of surprise but wonder.
"Are you sure, sister, (said Edwin, slily glancing a look at the pale face and trembling lips of the terrified Madeline,)—are you sure it is a real dog?—May it not be one of the ghosts, who, in such various shapes, are said to haunt these gloomy regions, and disturb the peaceful slumbers of young maidens, born perhaps two hundred years after they had left the world?"
This gentle reproof restored the roses to the fair cheek from which fear had driven them, while Roseline declared it was really and truly the prettiest dog she had ever seen. Bertrand had looked thoughtful, agitated, and confused, from the moment it appeared.
"This dog must have a master, (said Edwin,) and that master must be somewhere near these cells."
"Perhaps (said Bertrand) some daring villain may have found entrance here, either with the hopes of plunder, or to accomplish designs against the castle; let us therefore, for the present, give up attempting to explore the passage; it might be dangerous to unfasten a door which is now our security."
"Had we not better call for help?" said the again-terrified Madeline.
"Not for the world! (interrupted Edwin;)—how should we be able to account to my mother for being in this place, without burthening her mind with ten thousand suspicions? while, telling her our reasons would most assuredly expose our venerable companion to the certain displeasure of my father.—Do you (said he, addressing Bertrand) know if there is any one a prisoner at this time?"
The old man hesitated.—"I know but little—I apprehend it may be so,—but I—I hope you will excuse my talking on a subject that—that—"
"It must assuredly be so, (said Roseline softly to her brother,) and from that cause proceeded the noises which so repeatedly alarmed us."
Again every one stood for a moment irresolute. Edwin, however, fearful of bringing his father's anger on Bertrand, and scorning to tempt the old man to betray and trust reposed in him, or any secret belonging to another, instantly formed his resolution to act with the utmost caution. He proposed to his sister and Madeline to return to their apartment as soon as Bertrand had pointed out the passage which led to the nunnery.—On being shewn the door which might one day enable him to meet his Madeline, and open to give him a gleam of happiness, Roseline snatched up the little dog, pressed him to her bosom, and vowed to release him from captivity.
As soon as they had reached their own apartment, Bertrand, after promising eternal secrecy, took a respectful leave. Edwin accompanied him to his room, then returned to his sister's and proposed instantly renewing their search.
"This is doing nothing, (said he;) all is still left to conjecture and uncertainty."
"If you mean to go again, (said Madeline,) why did you suffer Bertrand to leave us?"
"From respect to my father and regard to the old man, (he replied;) for should we, my dear Madeline, make any discovery of consequence, with us the secret will rest secure, and, should we be found out, on ourselves alone will fall the displeasure of Sir Philip; but, by this procedure, we empower no one either to betray his secrets or our own. We will, however, carry back with us this little stranger, (continued he, pointing to the dog, who was sleeping on a cushion which Roseline had placed for him before the fire,) and, when we set him down, we will follow wherever he may choose to lead us: If he be attached to any miserable being confined in one of the cells or dungeons, we may depend upon his returning to his usual habitation."
Once more the trap-door was lifted up; once more the party descended into regions like those of the grave, while the mouldering walls, glittering with the dews of night, and rendered humid with the unwholsome damps of the situation, hung loose and disjointed over their heads, as if to threaten instant destruction.
Turning into a passage which led to a contrary direction to that they had before entered, and which was somewhat wider and less dismal than the other, Roseline sat down the dog, who ran nimbly away, as if well acquainted with the path. They followed with the utmost caution, observing a profound silence. The dog went before them the whole length of the passage, then turned suddenly down a few steps, at the bottom of which a door stood half-open: he rushed in, and appeared to them to stop at some distance. Instantly they heard him growl and bark, and this determined them to proceed.
They passed through two small apartments decently furnished, and, just as they reached an inner door, at which the dog had demanded admittance, they saw it slowly open, and a faint voice appeared to chide the guiltless wanderer for his long, long absence, and then to caress him with fondness.
Edwin, knowing, if he hesitated to proceed, the fears of his companions would increase by the delay, gently tapped at the door. For a minute all was silent; he then gave some louder raps. The same person very soon opened the door, of whom they had caught a transient glimpse when he had granted admittance to the dog. He was evidently alarmed, and in tremulous and terrified accents inquired who was there,—what was the matter,—and what errand brought them? at the same time brandishing a sword, which he had hastily snatched from a chair which stood near him.
"Whoever you are (continued he) that have found a way to this den of misery, you may safely enter, unless you come to add farther oppressions, and inflict additional woes on the head of an injured and guiltless sufferer. If you come with such diabolical intentions, be assured of this,—I will no longer be a passive or silent spectator of such unheard of barbarity, but give up a life in his defence which cruelty has rendered a worthless sacrifice. Forego then your designs, and know he will not long be either a burthen or reproach to his unnatural parent and sordid oppressors."
"We come with no design to injure or oppress, (said Edwin.) We inhabit this castle, and were led by the curiosity incidental to youth into these horrid regions.—Chance conducted us into these apartments, without knowing they were inhabited.—We wish not to alarm or interrupt any one, but of this be assured, if you will inform us how we can serve you, or render your situation more comfortable, we will gladly contribute all in our power to do so. Your countenance does not appear stamped with guilt, and your determination to protect the injured speaks a noble mind."
The sword was instantly laid down,—the door flew open,—and they were requested to enter by one, who told them his life and courage were only valuable so long as they would enable him to watch and protect the best and most beloved of masters.
Reader, guess, if it be possible, the surprise and astonishment of our trembling and compassionate adventurers, when they beheld and elegant young man, whose countenance was as prepossessing as his situation was interesting, wrapped in a striped-satin morning-gown, which reached to his feet, with his hair hanging in graceful ringlets, and nearly concealing a face pale as death, lying on a kind of couch, and to all appearance in the last stage of a consumption.
On the entrance of Edwin, he took but little notice, but, on seeing Roseline and her friend advance, he looked up, and attempted to rise, but was not equal to the effort, and instantly sunk down in a state of apparent insensibility. Roseline, more agitated and terrified by the whole of this unaccountable and affecting scene than she would have been at the sight of the ghost she had almost expected to meet, flew to support him. She was assisted by Edwin and Madeline, and their united endeavours soon restored the poor sufferer to life and an imperfect sense of his situation.
Having now no longer any fears, he fixed his large blue eyes on the strangers,—wondered from whence they came,—how all this could happen,—and to what blessed chance it was owing the he saw himself attended and consoled by two celestial beings, for as such he actually considered them; while the pure drops of genuine and the gentlest pity fell softly on his emaciated hand, he raised the precious gems of compassion to his lips, sighed deeply, then, looking earnestly in the face of Roseline, with a smile of doubt and anguish once more sunk down in a state of insensibility, unable to bear the weight of his own agitated and contending feelings.
The attendant, who had strictly observed the whole of this extraordinary scene, now approached to assist in recovering his master. Edwin hastened to his sister's apartment to procure proper restoratives; they were applied with their usual success, and the change they produced gave new life and spirits to all around, particularly Roseline, who concluded they arrived merely to witness his dying moments, and hear him breathe his last sigh.
She was still supporting his languid head on her knee; his hand rested on her arm, his eyes were fixed upon her face, his lips moved, and the words "kind, consoling angel: were all they could understand.
"What can this mean? (said Edwin;) who is your master?—who brought him here? and of what crime has he been guilty that he is sentenced to such a place as this?"—
"I am bound (replied the servant) by the most solemn oath to silence and secresy. By complying with these conditions I obtained leave to attend him. Were I at liberty to speak, I could a tale unfold would tempt you to curse the world, and even detest those claims which bind man to man. You would be ready to forego the ties of nature, and shun society.—Time will, it must develop the whole of this mystery."
"But my father!" said Edwin.
"Your father, sir, like my dear unhappy master, is blameless and innocent: he has been deceived like many others."
"But why (cried Roseline) are you thus shut out from the world, and banished society?—why, if innocent, is not this poor sufferer placed in a situation more likely to restore him to health?—why thus cruelly deprived not only of liberty, light, and air, but of every other necessary comfort?"
"A higher power has willed it should be so," said the stranger, whose unreserved manner, superior language, honest and open countenance, found an instant passport to their hearts, confirmed their belief, and banished every suspicious doubt of his sincerity.
"Are you involved in the crimes of which this gentleman is suspected?" inquired Madeline.
"No, madam; my only crime is my attachment to him. I am here by my own voluntary choice, and were they to convey him a thousand fathoms deeper in the earth, I would not, unless I were compelled, ever leave him till his noble and guiltless soul was summoned to appear before a more just and merciful tribunal than he has found on earth."
"A thousand blessings on you! (cried Roseline, a tear trembling in each expressive eye,) for shewing this care and god-like compassion to one so helpless and oppressed.—Brother, surely we may, without deserving reproach, unite our endeavours with those of this friendly stranger, to soften the pangs of misery and death, be they inflicted by whom they may."
"You ought to do so, (cried the lovely Madeline, whose gentle spirit was awakened into action by the scene before her.)—As fellow-creatures, and the children of the same Almighty Parent, it is our duty to assist each other; but we should do more, not remain coldly indifferent to sufferings which, if we cannot entirely remove, we may in some measure alleviate."
"And we will do so! (cried the generous and animated Edwin.)—You too, my honest fellow, (turning to the servant,) shall share in our kind offices. You deserve the thanks of every good Christian, and to be immortalized for your faithful attachment to one so helpless and unable to reward you.—But how is this?" observing the invalid had sunk into a gentle and quiet sleep; like the peaceful slumber of an infant.
"This has been the case for some weeks. His spirits depressed by the corroding anguish which preys upon his mind, his body has become a victim to the conflict, and the soul of my master will soon, by quitting this earthly tenement, escape the farther persecution of his enemies. Much, much as I love him, I should rejoice at his release."
The words trembled on his tongue, and the tear of manly compassion rolled down his cheek.
"Has he no one to attend him? (said Roseline, looking at him with eyes that beamed with all the heavenly animation which at that moment throbbed around her heart;) has he no advice?"
"Only such as I can give him, madam. Poor and ignorant as I am, he has never been allowed any other physician, or better tutor than myself; but I trust, if the Almighty would again restore him to health, he would now meet with those who would assist in performing a task for which I was never calculated."
"Has he no bed to sleep on?" cried Roseline, gently removing his languid head upon a cushion that laid on a couch, without awakening him.
"There is one in the inner apartment, but this being the most comfortable and airy room, he will not leave it."
"I will fetch some pillows."
She did so; they were instantly placed under his head. Still he slept as if her were never to awake again.
"In the morning, (said Roseline,) at the foot of the stairs, which your will find by turning to the left, at the end of this passage, I will leave some few trifles and comfortable cordials, which I hope will be of service.
"And tomorrow night, at about this time, you may expect us again, (said Edwin.) I hope your master will then have shaken off this death-like slumber, and be able to converse with us."
"Perhaps he may, (replied Albert, the name of this faithful servant;) but he never talks much. I had taught him to read, but they took away our books, and since that time I am afraid he has lost the remembrance of the little knowledge he had of reading. He has lately learned to play a few simple tunes on the lute,—that sometimes amuses him."
"We will bring you some books, (said Roseline,) and surely, Edwin, you and I can assist Albert in the delightful task of restoring by friendship what has been lost by cruelty."
Albert informed them they were regularly served with their meals, but never saw the person who brought them, all intercourse with any one being forbidden, to prevent the possibility of discovery or escape; but, he said, they had better food and more indulgences than had been allowed them in their former prison, which consisted only of one room.
The party now retired with the utmost caution, lest they should disturb the apparently-peaceful slumbers of the prisoner, and deprive him of his only refuge from misery.
Before they parted, Roseline and her brother, actuated by the same generous feelings in behalf of this unfortunate young man, and his equally unfortunate companion, satisfied, should there be found any thing in their conduct to condemn, (which they could not bring themselves to think,) in their present situation there was much to pity, resolved to unite in their endeavours of relieving their miseries, and softening the rigours of a confinement, of which they knew not the cause; but they were told, the object who had most excited their compassion was innocent, and therefore they determined to think him so till his own conduct, or an explanation from any other quarter, proved him otherwise. It is true, they had nothing on which to found their belief but the word of a stranger, and him they found in the humble capacity of a servant; but, though a stranger, he had, by his simple, modest, and unaffected language, given ample proofs in their opinion of his sincerity.
They now left the cells, and retired instantly to bed,—dreamed of the prisoner, and sometimes imagined they could distinguish his groans; in fact, they thought and talked of him, and him only.
Early in the morning, Roseline carried every little nicety she could procure, and left them at the foot of the stairs,—then hurried back to her room, not daring to stop and make inquiries, lest the person who supplied the object of her pity with his daily food should discover and betray her benevolent designs.
Madeline was now making a rapid progress in her recovery, and was every hour in fear of receiving a summons from the abbess to return to the nunnery. Edwin participated in all her fears, and lamented, in the language of tender affection, the cruel necessity which compelled her to leave the castle, protesting neither walls nor vows should long divide them, and swearing to release her from a situation, which, though sanctioned by religion, only bigotry, superstition, and priestcraft, could justify; which he knew would not only destroy all his prospects of happiness, but, as he could not disbelieve the fascinating hopes he had not absolutely been forbidden to cherish, the happiness also of a beloved object, dearer to him than life, without whom fortune, honour, prosperity, and youth, would be robbed of all their value.
The next day, accompanied by Bertrand, Edwin stole by another entrance into the lower recesses of the castle, not mentioning a word of the prisoner, and carefully avoiding that quarter in which he was confined. They first explored the subterraneous passage, leading to the nunnery, and found fewer impediments in their way than they expected. They easily gained an entrance into the chapel, having fixed upon an hour when they knew all the fathers and nuns would be engaged in their cells. They found the opening under the organ, and in that part of the chapel appropriated to the use of the nuns, the door being concealed from observation by a very curious tomb, belonging to the ancient family of De G—.
They entered next the passage leading to Mettingham-castle, and determined to see the whole of it. Here they met with many difficulties: in some places huge stones had fallen from the walls,—in others the arch-way was so low they were almost obliged to crawl,—while toads, snakes, and various kinds of reptiles impeded their progress; when, at length, they reached the end of this wonderful labyrinth, the production of labour and art, they found themselves close to the ballium of Mettingham-castle, and under a strong machiolated and embattled gate.
They now discovered another short passage, which was terminated by a door that opened to the outer ballium, and through which the cavalry could sally in any case of emergency. They ventured cautiously to look around them. Edwin's mind, however, was chiefly occupied by one dear object, and he secretly rejoiced at having found the means of escaping with Madeline, should the obstinacy of her parents, or the ambition of his own, leave him no other resource.
He likewise, in the course of the day, but unaccompanied by any one, opened the door on the stair-case leading to the South tower. He felt a kind of repugnance at taking this step, but determined, as matters were now circumstanced, to go through the whole of this unpleasant business at once, that nothing might be left to conjecture. He also recollected that it would not only put an end to that restless curiosity which had long dwelt upon his mind, but enable him to judge whether it would be possible to remove the dying prisoner into a more airy and convenient room, without the hazard of a discovery.
This wind of the castle he knew was totally unoccupied, as in his boyish days he had frequently, and at all times gone that way to the ramparts to lodge his playthings in a secret apartment in one of the highest towers, and never in his peregrination had met with a human being.
On attempting first to open the door, he was a good deal startled at the noise it occasioned, and was almost buried beneath the heap of cobwebs and dirt which fell and enveloped him in a cloud of dust.—Some birds too, that had here found a sage asylum, flew in terror around him. Not willing to disturb them more than was necessary, he unfastened a narrow casement, to give those opportunity of escaping who wished to obtain their liberty. He then stole softly and cautiously across the room to an opposite door, which opened without any difficulty, and he entered a second apartment, much larger and more commodious than the first. It was hung with ancient tapestry, on which time and moth had made many depredations; but, in some parts of it, the full-length figures remained perfect, and the colours retained some of their beautiful shades. He soon discovered that it represented the most striking and interesting scenes in the well-known history of Hero and Leander, from his first seeing her, in the temple of Venus, at Seftos, in Thrace, till the last closing scene of their unfortunate loves.
The figures of the lovers were fine, and in excellent preservation, and the tapestry was of so superior a kind, that it gave as full force and expression to the faces and drapery as the finest painting could have conveyed. The temple, the palace, the turret, and the Hellespont, upon whose waves the rising and setting sun were alternately reflected, with the downy swan, in snowy dignity, which was seen laving on its bosom were admirably depicted.
The nurse, or attendant of the faithful Hero stood at full length on the edge of the water, which gently undulated near the walls of the palace, pointing to the waves, and as if in the act of telling her fond, impatient mistress her lover was coming, while she, with modest sweetness, seemed fearful of stealing a look at the element which contained a treasure dearer to her soul that the whole of her ambitious father's dominions.
In another part, he saw the lifeless body of Leander, and the despairing Hero in the act of throwing herself into the Hellespont, which had unfortunately proved the grave of her lover.
Edwin stood a long time, silently admiring this pathetic tale: it had an instantaneous effect upon his feelings; it served to remind him of the difficulties he should have to encounter in his attachment to Madeline, and he could have kissed the senseless portrait of the old Egyptian woman for her kind and faithful attentions to the persecuted lovers.
In the middle of the room stood a square table, on which were carelessly spread a number of papers. Four massy silver candlesticks were likewise placed upon it, each of which contained a wax-candle, that had never been lighted, and an old writing, to which was annexed a vast many seals, laid folded up under them.
This he concluded was the mystic bond which held in captivity the restless spirit it was supposed to confine. Edwin opened and attempted to read it. In some parts the writing was defaced, and the whole of the language so unintelligible, he very soon replaced it in its former situation, imagining that, if the ghost was not to regain its liberty till the bond could be read, it would rest in peace for ever, and suffer others to do the same.
In the chimney stood an antique grate, that had once been bright, and still shewed some of its brilliant features through the rust by which it was enveloped. A few chairs were standing here and there, but they were falling to decay. He then opened another door, which led him into a vaulted chamber, in which were placed the tattered remains of a bed, that had been handsome, and could be repaired. A book of devotion was lying upon it. The windows were high and narrow, admitting but little light, notwithstanding which they were secured by iron bars of immense thickness, so strongly, that, had they been lower, it would have been impossible for the arm of the strongest man to remove or shake them.
This led him to conclude it was originally designed for the security of prisoners of rank, its distance from the ground precluding any communication with the people on guard; and he shuddered as he recollected how many, like the poor prisoner in the cells, might have lingered away their wretched existence in this very apartment, in the hopeless expectation of meeting with a release.
He next carefully searched in every part of the room, to discover if there was not a more secret entrance, but found none.—He put the key into his pocket, as he had before done that of the trap-door, and in the morning, unobserved by Bertrand, had the precaution not to lock the door of the subterraneous passage, leaving it well secured by the bolts and bars which were on the inside.
He now hastened to replace all the rest of the keys in the repository from whence he had taken them, and was satisfied those he retained in his own possession would not be missed by his father or any one else.
After this he returned to join the family, and said not a word of what he had seen, nor the plans which floated in his own mind, in consequence of the morning peregrinations he had taken.
In the course of the day, Roseline asked a thousand questions, with apparent indifference, of De Clavering, respecting the nature of consumptive cases, their symptoms, progress, &c. and how people ought to manage themselves in regard to diet, who were confined in damp regions of a dungeon, or immured in the narrow precincts of a prison; to all which she received such plain, direct, and experienced answers, as she cherished hopes would enable her, with the approbation of heaven, to be the humble means of restoring to health, or a more promising degree of convalescence, the interesting object whose secret sufferings hap stimulated her to make these unusual inquiries; and what gave new life and added energy to her benevolent hopes was the arrival of a letter from Sir Philip to Lady de Morney, in which he was reluctantly obliged to inform her that his stay in London was unfortunately prolonged, and he was sorry to find his absence from the castle was likely to be protracted a considerable length of time from the slow progress of the law, and the difficulties thrown in the way by his opponents. This account would have given her paid a few days before; it was now a source of pleasure, which produced the most sanguine expectations of preserving, under Providence, the life of a fellow-creature, or, at least, of rendering its closing scene less hopeless and more comfortable.
A sensibility, like that which was lodged in the bosom of the artless and innocent Roseline, I would wish all my sex to possess. So far from tempting her to run from misery, it led her in search of it, and, when found, it awakened every gentle passion of the mind into immediate and resolute action; while the fictitious feeling, the affected sensibility of a modern miss is confined to kicking, fainting, or squalling at sight of a wretched object, and the little they may really have will evaporate in the trouble of acting their part so as to impose on the minds of others an unjust sense of their own delicate and extreme compassion.
How much might men as well as women add to the dignity of nature by never attempting to destroy her! In the formation of man, God lent his own image; how would it astonish, how would it excite the indignation of the almost unenlightened savage, if he met with any one so foolish as to suppose they could improve that image by the ridiculous distortions and grimaces of affectation! and how would he be diverted, could he see the devoted slaves of fashion so disguise the human form, that the head is frequently increased to twice its original size,—the waist sometimes dwindled to a span, at others entirely lost; then again restored with such protuberances as even to render the character suspected;—and at times our modern beaux and belles are seen so completely in masquerade, that it is a matter of some difficulty to distinguish on sex from the other,—a circumstance that might be attended with ludidicrous, if not dangerous, consequences.
As the spirits of Lady de Morney were much depressed by the receipt of Sir Philip's letter, every one exerted themselves to amuse her. They sung, they danced, and the tale went merrily round. De Willows and De Clavering appeared unusually animated, and Hugh Camelford fared the worse for their exertions. They roused the fiery blood of the brave Cambrian, and then cooled it again by a well-turned compliment. They likewise so powerfully assailed Elwyn to give a dinner he had long promised them, that the following day was fixed for the treat, and his apartments were prepared for the ladies, the gentlemen with one voice agreeing not to go without them. They also entered into a confederacy to drink till they had emptied the miser's last bottle, determining to have one good frolic, as they despaired of ever obtaining a second at his expence.
Madeline received a few line from Agnes de Clifford, to inform her, that, by what she could learn from one of the old nuns, the abbess expected her return to the nunnery the following week, as father Anselm had signified his disapprobation of her longer absence. This gave great concern to the young people, which did not pass unobserved by Lady de Morney, who gently blamed them, adding, as they had been so long indulged with the company of their friend, they ought to submit to the will of the father without repining or reluctance.
After a day which appeared to Roseline the longest she had ever lived, the hour arrived in which they were to revisit the dark abode of misery and oppression. They found Albert impatiently waiting for them in the passage, near the foot of the stairs, almost despairing of their return. Every one carried something for the use and gratification of the prisoner. Edwin was loaded with books; Madeline with sweetmeats, wine, and cakes; Roseline with some white meats and soup. She had likewise prepared a reviving mixture from a recipe of De Clavering's extracted from a variety of healing herbs, admirably calculated to restore health and spirits to the fragile frame of the languid sufferer.
Albert informed them that his master considered the whole of what had passed the preceding evening as a dream;—had repeatedly mentioned the good and consoling angels, who had condescended to visit the couch of a wretch who, almost from his birth, had been an outcast from society; and, notwithstanding he assured him he would see them again, he could obtain no credit to his assertion, not divert his mind from the idea that it was a warning from heaven, merely to prepare him for a summons before its awful tribunal.
"Hasten, my good friend, (said Roseline,) and undeceive him, by letting him know we wait here to convince him, if he will receive us, that we are mere mortals like himself."
Albert did not stop for a second command to execute a commission he eagerly wished. They followed him; the little dog ran out, and greeted their arrival with every testimony of joy it was in its nature to express, and they were requested to walk in the moment they reached the door of the apartment. They were not only surprised, but highly gratified at observing the visible change for the better which a few hours had made in the countenance of their new friend, whose dependence on their good offices, for many of the necessary comforts of life, and total seclusion from the world, made very forcible claims on their hearts.
He arose on their entrance. Edwin flew to embrace him. Madeline held out her hand, which he gently pressed between his; but, observing that Roseline's was likewise extended, he dropped the hand of her friend, and eagerly caught her's, as if he were afraid it should be wrested from him.
"I would fain tell you what I feel at this moment, (said he, faintly and fearfully;) but I do not know a language to make myself understood.—This I know, that yesterday I washed to die, and be forgotten even by Albert; but now I think, if I could have you always with me, (stealing a look at Roseline,) hear you talk, and see you smile, I could be content to live for ever, even in this sad place. If all other women are like you, how charming must be the world, in which Albert says there are a vast many! I have often told him, and he knows why, that I never should like a woman; (here he smiled expressively on Albert.) I thought they were all very cruel and very ugly creatures, therefore I concluded, when I first saw you, that you were angels, or kind and celestial spirits, who came down from heaven to receive my soul, and carry it to a place of rest."
"Indeed, my good sir, (said Roseline,) you were never more mistaken. We are like the generality of our sex, but much inferior to many. We broke in upon you unexpectedly, and you judged merely from feelings too highly raised, which originated from surprise, and were in part confirmed by the effect they had on the susceptibility of your nature and the seclusion of your situation.—I must now entreat you to take a few spoonfuls of a mixture I have brought you. I am afraid it is not very pleasant to the taste, but I hope and trust it will be conducive to your recovery."
She poured some into a tea-cup, and presented it to him; he drank it immediately. They then produced the more grateful treat they had brought with them; he at a little cake, and some sweetmeats, with an avidity and greediness that shocked them,—said they were very fine, and much better than the liquor.
Edwin next gave him some books, which he opened with eagerness, seemed vastly delighted with the prints, but shook his head on finding himself unable to read their contents. He turned over a few of the leaves, and seemed a good deal chagrined. Edwin explained their titles, and gave him a few outlines of the works.
"Albert can read them," said he.
"I hope you will soon be able to read them yourself, (replied Edwin:) we will join with Albert in instructing you."
"Ah! (cried he, shaking his head,) you will soon grow weary of one so ignorant, so dull as I am; (his eye glanced at Roseline.)—I belong to no one,—I have no friend but poor Albert; he will not leave me to die alone in such a place as this."
"My dear sir, (said Albert,) talk not of dying the very first hour you are beginning to live, I yet trust we shall see many happy years."
He looked melancholy, whispered something they could not perfectly understand, and appeared wholly lost in his own painful reflections. Edwin again addressed him.—At hearing his voice he started, and gazed on him with a wild and vacant stare, as if he had never seen him before, looked at his dress, then at his own,—seemed struck by the contrast, and a faint smile came over his features, but it was the smile of internal sadness.
It will not be thought superfluous, perhaps, if we stop a few moments, in order to describe, as well as we are able, the face, person, and dress, of this unfortunate young man. His complexion, from never having been exposed to either air or sun, was whiter and more delicate that that of Madeline: his large blue eyes were shaded by deeply-fringed eye-lashes, and arched with eye-brows which the nicest pencil of the painter could not have improved. His face was oval, his nose aquiline, and his mouth so exquisitely formed, as to give grace and expression to all the other features: he was much thinner, but some inches taller than Edwin; yet the whole of his appearance shewed that confinement and ill health had stolen, in their thievish and destroying progress, many of the natural graces from his face and person: his hair waved in careless ringlet over his forehead, and hung down some length on his shoulders; he was still wrapped in a loose morning gown, wore slippers, and his linen was of the finest texture.
With some difficulty, but not without the assistance of Albert, they drew him by degrees into something like conversation; but he did not appear perfectly to understand all they said; and, when they mentioned the days beginning to lengthen, the increasing and reviving influence of the fun, the beaut of the moon and stars, he sighed,—wished he could see and admire them as other men did, and inquired if they thought any but himself and Albert were denied so many of the blessings which he had been told God had given for the use and benefit of all his creatures. Edwin replied, painful as it was to recollect, he had no doubt but at that moment thousands of the fellow-mortals sustained even greater hardships and deprivations than himself.
"Must you and these sweet creatures ever do the same?"
He hoped not, but fortune was so fickle in the favours she bestowed, and every thing so uncertain, it was impossible to tell what might or might not happen in the course of a few years.
"It is surely very strange, (said the prisoner,) and I think those people, whose hard hearts and hands contrived and made prisons, are the most proper, indeed the only persons who should be forced to inhabit them."
This observation produced a general smile, which they hoped would pass unnoticed, but it did not escape him, and he said, while a faint colour flushed his cheek, he knew he was very ignorant; but he begged they would not despise him for so great a misfortune. After this he only ventured to ask a few questions, but at the moment of doing so seemed to shrink into himself, and to be astonished at his own temerity. This shyness and reserve they trusted would wear off, as he became familiarized to their visits and conversation; they therefore took no notice of his absence or timidity, but endeavoured by every attention to draw him from his own painful and humiliating reflections, and by a few well-timed praises strove to give him self-confidence.
After staying as long as time and the nature of their visit would permit, and giving proper directions to Albert in regard to the medicines and nourishing restoratives they had brought with them, they reluctantly arose to depart. Observing their design, he held his hands before his eyes, to prevent his seeing them go, and exclaimed, "Don't, don't leave me!—I cannot bear it. I never never shall see you again:—you will forget me, you will leave me for ever!"
His extreme agitation alarmed and affected them all. They knew not how to go, and yet to stay longer might risk a discovery.
"Speak, Roseline, (said Edwin,) and if possible quiet these distressing apprehensions."
Roseline, as soon as she could sufficiently command the tone of her voice, took hold of his trembling hand, which was cold as death, and gently intreated him to hear her with composure. He looked at her with passive acquiescence, and she proceeded to assure him that it was their united and determined intention to repeat their visits as often as their own and his situation would permit: but that, for his sake particularly, they were under the necessity of acting with caution, and carefully guarding against the possibility of a discovery.—If he were so much affected when they left him, they must visit him less frequently than they wished.
"Ah! no, no;—do not think of me, or what I may feel: that is of no consequence, only say you will come again and again."
"On my honour we will, and continue to do so while you remain an involuntary resident in this castle."
"I am satisfied, (said he, sighing inwardly as he spoke; then, fixing his eyes on Roseline,)—if you would come every day,—talk to me, and look at me thus gently,—if you would continue to pity my weakness and pardon my ignorance, I should not think this a prison but a paradise, and could be content to end my useless days in this dungeon."
This pathetic address Roseline could not acquire sufficient resolution to answer, and, while her heart felt intolerably oppressed, the silent rears, which stole softly down her cheek, explained the nature of her feelings. Madeline, finding the scene was become too painful, rose, and bade him god night. Roseline gently withdrew the hand which for some moments had been clasped in his, and Edwin, seeing the necessity of immediately retiring, tenderly bade him fare-well.—
Finding they were resolute to depart, he dropped on his knees by the couch, and concealed his face in the pillow. They insisted on Albert's not leaving his master, and hurried back to their own apartment in a state of mind difficult to be described, carrying with them a variety of feelings, which, though new and painful, they wished should be retained in their remembrance.
As it was now two hours beyond their usual time of going to bed, the great clock having struck the aweful hour of twelve, Edwin, without stopping to make any comments on the scene that had so recently occurred, instantly took his leave. Madeline put on her night-clothes, and, after talking a few minutes, sunk into the lethean arms of sleep. Not so her friend; sleep deserted her pillow: in vain she sought and wished for its approach, to obliterate new and uncomfortable sensations. It was extremely odd that the image of the prisoner haunted her imagination with such persevering obstinacy, that, notwithstanding she closed her eyes, she could not exclude him from her mental sight; and, what was still more strange and unaccountable, though she saw he was less polished than those with whom she was accustomed to associate, without education, and entirely ignorant of the world,—a prisoner for she knew not what, yet still she thought, and was extremely angry with herself for so doing, the he was the handsomest man, and had the most prepossessing and elegant form she had ever seen. His manners too!—could any thing be more captivating than the manners of this uninformed son of nature, whom cruelty and injustice had immured in the dungeons of her father's castle!
A few hours sleep might, and she trusted would, restore her to a more just and rational way of thinking; if not, he who caused her judgement to mislead her would perhaps be the means of its returning to its proper function.
We will now therefore leave her to try an experiment, which has often produced as powerful an effect, and, stealing the mind by a temporary oblivion from the objects of its sudden partiality, has likewise stolen, by the dawn of the succeeding morning, all recollection of woes, which, in a moment of unguarded susceptibility, had found a passage to the heart. Whether it had this convenient soporific, and be-numbing property on the mind of Roseline, we are not now at liberty to declare; but, if it should not, we hope some of our readers will make allowance for the unfashionable taste of a young lady, who lived so many ages before themselves; who was unhacknied in the devious paths of life, with a mind unvitiated by pride or the pangs of envy, and who had seen little or nothing of the world beyond the precincts of the castle she inhabited.