CHAPTER XVII.

“What a change.”

Whenthe sisters retired to their apartment for the night, Frances’ exuberantly gay spirits received a sad check; she saw at a glance, how thoroughly unhappy Julia was.

The extraordinary change in Edmund’s circumstances, was freely talked over and wondered at, even in the presence of Alice; and she ventured to express her joy on the occasion, and to comment on how delighted her aunt, and, indeed, every servant at Lodore would be, when they should hear of what had happened.

A few moments of silence followed herdismissal, during which, Frances looked enquiringly at her sister.

“Well, we have had a full explanation,” said Julia.

“Indeed!” cried Frances, “and what did he say, Julia?”

“Oh, treated all the friendship, that all or any of us could offer him, with sovereign contempt!”

“Impossible! you must have misunderstood him.”

“Oh no, there was no room for misunderstanding; he was explicit enough, I assure you! Why, he was little short of angry, (as if it was my fault, that Lady Susan chose to prefer the Marquis of H.), that hope had been all, he said, that, in his eyes, gave value to existence; and he would, therefore, leave England for ever!” The firmness our heroine had been affecting, here gave way, and her voice faltered. Frances embraced her.

“Oh, and he talked all sorts of ridiculousnonsense,” continued Julia, as she vainly endeavoured to check her tears, “about dying an honourable death, and said, that my congratulating him, on his late good fortune, was a mockery. I used, I am sure, to pity him, if he only looked melancholy for a moment; but really, this caricature, of sorrow, one cannot sympathise with!” Julia seems to forget a grand distinction: when she used to feel such indulgent pity for the melancholy look, she believed that love, for herself, was its source; it was quite another thing now; she could see the folly of being in despair about any body else.

“And what a time,” said Frances, “to behave ungratefully! It is certainly very unlike Edmund. Indeed Julia, I think you must have mistaken him, some way.” Julia shook her head. “We used, you know, to imagine,” continued Frances, “that it would be such a time of rejoicing, whenever Edmund was discovered to be some great person, (asMr. Jackson always said would be the case;) and now, the time is come; and we only seem to have lost our own Edmund. How could I have been so mistaken! I was absolutely certain that he was breaking his heart about his love for you: yet, if he was, this would not be the time to be in particular despair about it, just when, it is most probable, that papa would give his consent. So, I suppose, I must have been mistaken.”

Frances had had a thousand things to tell her sister about her new old acquaintance, Beaumont; but the melancholy subject they had been just discussing, and Julia’s tearful countenance, made her think it all such nonsense, that she determined not even to mention the subject.

… “Why,Did I look upon her fatal beauty!”

… “Why,

Did I look upon her fatal beauty!”

Wesaid, that one of our hero’s appellations, was still Edmund. Written at full length, his names and titles are, Edmund-Oscar, Ormond, Earl Fitz-Ullin. As an infant, previous to his being stolen from home, he had always been called Edmund, to please his mother, from whose father he derived that name; but, after that Lady’s death, and the second marriage of the Earl, it became the custom of the family, to call the nurse’s boy, (who then filled the place of the stolen child,) by the name of Oscar, one to which Lord Fitz-Ullin was partial, as having been frequently borne by the representatives of the title.

Our hero remained but one day at Lodore. To Mrs. Montgomery he explained every thing, but the cause of his own feelings: the state of them he did not attempt to hide. When Mrs. Montgomery spoke of Lady Susan’s marriage, as the cause of his despairing letter, he neither confessed that it was, nor said that it was not. This conduct the kind old lady construed into a confession, that she was right. She, accordingly, after endeavouring to rally him, without being able to extort a smile, closed the subject, by gently hinting, that she had expected more firmness of mind from him: and hoping, that a little change of scene, would make him, very shortly, see things in quite another point of view.

Even Mr. Jackson, who, according to the determination he expressed on first hearing Edmund’s letter read, had gone up to town, even he had not been able to draw forth aword on the subject. Once, indeed, Fitz-Ullin said, after a long reverie, and when no question had been asked: “The longer I live, Jackson, the more strongly I feel the excellent truth of your early lessons; had I always obeyed the suggestions of conscience, not only in the letter, but in the spirit; had the plain road, pointed out by duty, been resolutely trod; without waiting to inquire of passion, if there were not a flowery by-path that would, ultimately, lead to the same end; my present sufferings had possibly been, at least, less poignant than they are.”

Mr. Jackson was, for a moment, puzzled, almost alarmed. “You can only mean,” he said, “that it would have been more strictly honourable in you, to have avoided Lady Susan’s society, while your birth was unknown, and your fortune limited—Yet—as things have turned out—had her Ladyship entertained a reciprocal preference, why—”

“In your kind zeal to place me on good terms with myself,” said Edmund, mournfully, “you are becoming a sophist, Jackson! What had my sense of duty to do with events which I did not, could not foresee?”

This was a sort of admission, that Mr. Jackson had been right, in ascribing Edmund’s wretchedness to his disappointment, about Lady Susan; but nothing more was said on the subject then, or at any other time.

Fitz-Ullin, without evincing any desire to enjoy his new found rank and fortune, joined his ship immediately. He seemed to seek escape, from the mental exertion of considering whither he should fly, by thus subjecting himself to the necessity of going wherever, and doing whatever, the service should require of him. Among the particulars, respecting the discovery of our hero’s birth, which the late circumstances brought to light, it appeared that his nurse, who, when she wrote to Mrs.Montgomery, thought herself dying, not only recovered and repented of her repentance, but married again, a man who would have made a market of the secret, had Ormond been without principle. This man was among the persons, who made the offers already mentioned. He undertook that his wife, the nurse, should not be forthcoming; or, that were she obliged to come forward, she should, on cross-examination, purposely so contradict herself, as to invalidate her evidence.

It was, therefore, of his own free will, that poor Ormond had resigned at once, the rank, the wealth, and the home, in which he had from infancy lived, believing them his birth-right. His twin sister, who was in courtesy called Miss Ormond, had received a very superior education, to fit her for the situation of governess.

It is a remarkable circumstance, that, in point of fact, the actual fund which had suppliedan education, so fatal in its consequences, was the wages of sin; the very remuneration bestowed by the munificent Earl, on the dependant he had seduced. Thus, as by a remarkable retribution, this command of money in the hands of the guilty mother, became the means of blighting the young hearts of both her ill-fated children, and bringing her own grey hairs with shame and sorrow to the grave.

The poor young woman had been settled for some years, in the capacity of governess, in a highly respectable private family, at the time that the marriage between Ormond and her was attempted; which was one of the reasons why the wretched mother was not aware how far matters had gone, till almost the last moment.

“The Monarch takes his dazzling seat.… NoblesFlock, to offer willing homage.”

“The Monarch takes his dazzling seat.

… Nobles

Flock, to offer willing homage.”

Thepresentation of the sisters took place, and threw open, at once, the floodgates of dissipation: while the London season, at its height, offered all its fascinating varieties. But, to Julia, every day appeared the same. The only impression she seemed capable of receiving, from the ever changing scenes in which she was engaged, was, from all, a sense of weariness. The newspapers alone, had power to interest her; except, that she derived a melancholy pleasure from listening to the praises, by Lady Oswald, of Edmund’s generous kindness to herself, and to her son Arthur, now our hero’s cousin.

To Frances, on the contrary, all was novelty and brilliancy. She never felt so much inclined to be quite happy; and would have been so, but for her sympathy with her sister. She little thought that what so much exhilarated her spirits, was but the first approach of that desperate malady, First Love, which, in its more advanced stage, caused the fixed melancholy of Julia. Frances found a most agreeable variety, in the mode of passing her time. Mr. Beaumont, for instance, could not venture to call every day, so that the days he did call, were distinguished by that memorable event; and the days he did not, by his driving past under the windows, fifty or an hundred times in his curricle. Or, they met in the park; or, danced together at one or more of the gay engagements of the evening; or, he found his way into Lord L.’s box at the opera, or, &c., &c., &c.

Beaumont, whose hopes received so muchsupport from his vanity, on the very first evening, found that prop fail him, as his feelings became more seriously interested; and doubts and fears accumulated, as the value of the wished-for object, increased in his estimation.

We pass some splendid alliances, which, it was evident, would have been offered to Julia, but for the decided discouragement shown by her to all. Lord L. too, conscious that rank and beauty such as Julia’s, when accompanied by immense fortune, possessed claims that might, at any time, secure a suitable establishment, determined not to press upon her any choice, she did not freely make. Indeed, his answers to such as requested his permission to address his daughter, were to that effect.

We believe that, added to the above reason, Lord L. had still a lingering wish, of which he was perhaps unconscious, and for whichhe would possibly have found it difficult to account satisfactorily. We mean, a wish to see Julia united to Fitz-Ullin; to whom he had taken an almost unreasonable fancy; considering how little he had seen of him.

As to Frances, Beaumont’s declared attentions to her, and her pleased acceptance of them, kept all others at a distance.

At length the London scene closed, and the family party returned to Lodore-House, to celebrate the birth-day, which, by making the sisters of age, placed their being heiresses to Lord L.’s extensive estates, beyond contingency; for, even in the event of their father marrying again, his whole property was entailed on the children of his first marriage; in failure of a son to go, at his death, to such daughter or daughters, as should live to be of age, and their heirs for ever. Lord L. had been too much in love when he married, to contemplate the possibility of losing hisbeautiful young wife, and wishing to marry again. His Lordship’s lawyers, indeed, attempted to hint something of the kind; but, with a countenance of horror, the young lover had refused to listen to such cold-hearted suggestions.

Such anniversaries as the present, Mrs. Montgomery always wished to have kept under her own roof, where the actual event had taken place.

Henry had preceded Lord L. and his daughters into Cumberland; for, either accidentally or purposely, he had been too late for the sailing of the Euphrasia.

“The sun had set in rich magnificence:The west was a region of golden light,Inscrutable in lustre, involvingThe imagination in its oceanOf effulgence: while from its distant shoresOf miraculous brightness, came floating,On mid air, light fleeces of gold. SlowlyThe silent moments stole a chill o’er thisEnchantment, the bright wand’rers disappeared;The western paradise closed her gates;And gray twilight, sat on the mountain side.”

“The sun had set in rich magnificence:

The west was a region of golden light,

Inscrutable in lustre, involving

The imagination in its ocean

Of effulgence: while from its distant shores

Of miraculous brightness, came floating,

On mid air, light fleeces of gold. Slowly

The silent moments stole a chill o’er this

Enchantment, the bright wand’rers disappeared;

The western paradise closed her gates;

And gray twilight, sat on the mountain side.”

Themorning after the festival given for the birth-day, Mrs. Montgomery, partly from having taken cold, and partly from fatigue, felt far from well, and consequently remained in bed the entire of the day. Julia sat with her grandmother all the morning. After dinner,Frances relieved guard, and begged of her sister, as the evening was fine, to take a little walk.

Lord L. was dining with Lord Borrowdale. Henry had quitted Lodore-House that morning, saying, that he was setting out to join the Euphrasia, which, it appeared by the papers, was shortly expected in the Sound.

Julia, therefore, walked out quite alone, she directed her steps towards the desolate vale, where her mother had first found poor Edmund. She seated herself. Her eyes rested on the western hill. It was topped by a few scattered trees, the grouping and even the ramifications of which, were accurately traced out by the bright glow of the heavens behind them. The eastern side of the slope was in shadow, and the woods that clothed it hung to the very waters’ edge, while the lake at its foot, reflecting the crimson clouds above, appeared a sheet of fire. The dazzle of the sun’s immediate presence being removed,(for he had just dropped behind the hill,) the relieved eye could now view with delighted leisure, all the beauty, magnificence, and infinite variety of the scene, wherein, each moment, changes were wrought, imperceptible in their approaches, but in their effects, picturesque and splendid, as the most vivid descriptions of enchantment.

Amid the clouds, cloud-formed castles turreted with gold, and temples, sustained by pillars which seemed of fire, arose, spread, united, brightened, divided, and sunk again. Imagination could fancy them dissolving in the intensity of their own lustre. Where these had been, mimic vessels now appeared, of fleecy whiteness, sailing on the liquid gold. These melted next, and waves of clouds, rolling themselves together heap on heap, rose to mountains ranged across the west, and shutting out almost all its glories. Yet on their purple summits, there seemed to linger floating forms, still ofvivid hues, though each moment losing something of their brightness, till, gradually, they became of a sombre grey, as, one by one, they clothed themselves in mist, and, blending with the deepening shadows, disappeared. The upper sky, however, was still streaked with alternate grey and gold, which the face of the water, faithfully as a mirror, reflected. The real mountains which surrounded the lake, and the little islands which lay slumbering on its surface, had become masses of an almost jetty black, and there was little light remaining any where, when a solitary row-boat put off from the opposite shore. As it crossed one of the illumined paths, which reflected from the sky still appeared on the water, the working of its oars was, for the moment, visible, together with the strongly defined form of one who, with folded arms, stood erect at its bow. Julia certainly saw, for the moment described, as we see with the mind’s eye what crosses us inthought, the boat, and the figure, for the appearance they made at the time afterwards floated on her memory. Yet she remained motionless.

“Whither art thou gone, fair spirit? In what caveOf the rock shall I find thee?”

“Whither art thou gone, fair spirit? In what cave

Of the rock shall I find thee?”

Itbecame dark, the usual hour for tea at Lodore-house approached. The drawing-room was lit for the purpose, the tea equipage placed, and, finally, the steaming urn brought in. Still there was no person in the room.

At length Frances entered. She looked round with some surprise. She approached the table, and touched lightly, with her taper finger, the side of the tea-pot. Finding it cold, she wondered that Julia had not made tea. She rang the bell, and desired that Lady Julia might be called. Alice was sent to Julia’sroom. Julia was not there, but three notes were found, conspicuously placed, on her dressing table, one directed to her father, one to her grandmother, and one to her sister. They were all couched in gentle and affectionate terms. The attachment which had induced her to the present step, she said, had long subsisted. She had only waited to be of age. They should hear from her shortly, she added, when she should give them an address, by which she should get their letters, without their knowing where to find her; for that she meant to remain in concealment, till they had all pronounced her free pardon, were it for years!

This discovery produced the greatest consternation. What was to be done?—As a first step, Lord L. was sent for.

“He crosses the beam on the wave.”… “The nightComes rolling down, the face of ocean fails,Cromla is dark, with all its silent woods.”

“He crosses the beam on the wave.”

… “The nightComes rolling down, the face of ocean fails,Cromla is dark, with all its silent woods.”

… “The night

Comes rolling down, the face of ocean fails,

Cromla is dark, with all its silent woods.”

Weleft Julia seated on the shore of the lake. She had certainly seen, for one short moment, the boat with the figure standing in it, but had, it would seem, lost again the consciousness of what she had seen, in the deep reverie of her own thoughts.

She remained on the same spot, though the darkness thickened around her, till there was scarce a ray of even twilight left.

She was at length aroused, by hearing near her the splash of oars. Looking towards the sound, she could just discern close to theshore, a boat, its dark dimensions made visible by the comparative light of the water’s surface; while, at the same instant, the figure of a man, in a great cloak, which spread abroad like immense black wings, alit beside her, as if from the air. The effect was produced by the flying leap of one who, from the boat, by aid of a long pole, flung himself to land.

The next moment, Julia found herself lifted into the boat, and the next, the pole had forced the keel off the gravelly beach, and the oars were plying with an eagerness which defeated the intended purpose, for they rather glanced upon, than laid hold of the water, till a voice of thunder, with a sort of explosion, cursed the awkwardness of the rowers, and the plunges became heavier and more regular.

“But little the quiet to any ear,Of that night, or the sleep, to any eye.”

“But little the quiet to any ear,

Of that night, or the sleep, to any eye.”

LordL. now arrived at Lodore-house. The dreadful intelligence was given, the notes shewn. He was stunned, it was entirely incredible. He roused himself, and was incensed.

There could be no doubt that it was with Henry she had eloped, notwithstanding all her declarations of indifference towards him. These, it was now evident, had only been made to throw her friends off their guard, and gain time, till, by being of age, she was enabled to act in defiance of her father, without forfeiting her property.

While calling for his horses, he made some breathless inquiries among the servants.

No one had seen Lady Julia come in, since she had walked out immediately after dinner. Alice had attended on that occasion with her walking things. She declared that the notes were not on the table, when her young Lady went out, and that the drawers which were now open and empty were then shut; and that the jewel-box, which was now gone, was then in one of the drawers, which she had opened to take out a pair of gloves, and afterwards locked again. It would thence appear, that Julia, or some one entrusted by her with her keys, must have returned privately, previous to her final departure, and taken away such of her clothes, trinkets, &c., as she wished to carry with her.

Lord L. was now on horseback. Also Mr. Jackson, who, as usual on all emergencies, had been summoned.

“Within the cave of yonder hill.”… “Monsters,Cumbrous as moving fortresses, draw near.”

“Within the cave of yonder hill.”

… “Monsters,Cumbrous as moving fortresses, draw near.”

… “Monsters,

Cumbrous as moving fortresses, draw near.”

Theboat which had borne Julia from the vale of Borrowdale, now neared a very wild part of the further shore. One of the rowers grappling the bank with a boat-hook, the boat fell alongside the rocks. The person who seemed to command the others stood up, shook the immense folds of his cloak, lifted Julia to land, and holding her trembling arm firmly within his, hurried her up the rugged coast. They were soon in a narrow valley, resembling the chasm which it may be supposed the rending in twain of a mountain might form. The stranger whistled, and was answered by a similarsound, which seemed to proceed from within that portion of the mountain, which, its rough and shaggy face studded with jutting rocks, and hung with underwood, rose almost perpendicularly on their left.

On turning round one of the most considerable of those projections, a stream of light crossed the path a little way before them, though the source whence it came was not yet visible. They continued to approach the spot; and now a clanking of chains was heard, soon after which, they arrived at the entrance of a cavern, the interior of which was strongly illuminated by a large faggot fire.

Here a most extraordinary apparition presented itself. It was in the act of coming forward from a distant part of the cave. On reaching about its centre, it halted. It either was, or from the lowness of the roof and strangeness of the light, it appeared to be, of gigantic stature; the very shadow which itcast traversed the floor, and rose over the arched side, dilating and contracting as the blazes of the faggots moved; and throwing all behind it into the deepest gloom.

The appearance we are describing, did not owe its whole bulk to one object; but whether what seemed to be the principal being of the composite monster, was male or female, mortal or devil, it was not very easy to determine. It was seated upright, and in masculine fashion, on the back of a creature little removed from the living skeleton of a horse. It wore, what seemed to have been intended, more in mockery than in modesty, for a petticoat; which piece of feminine attire being, by the mode of sitting adopted by the rider, rendered of little avail, a considerable portion of sooty coloured but fleshy limbs were visible; while arms of a like description were planted, what is vulgarly termed a-kimbo. The countenance also partaking of the Ethiop’s hue, the blackenedeyelids gave an additional glare to the impudent glee of the eye, and the sooty lips, spread by a grin indicative of coarse mirth, displayed teeth, to which contrast gave a dazzling whiteness; yet which served but to light up a thick-lipped mouth, the expression of which inspired a feeling of disgust it is impossible to define. The rest of the features, had a dauntless bearing, a certain fearlessness superadded to their shamelessness. This latter characteristic, indeed, pervaded the whole air of a figure, which was crowned by a mis-shapen and much abused man’s hat, worn on one side of the head. It happened to be that which was in shadow, while the brow on the side next to the burning faggots, the cheek on the same side, the chin, the swell also of the limbs, the folds of the petticoat; all, in short, which rounded or protruded, was so curiously bronzed by the golden glare of the fire-light, that the whole apparition had muchthe effect of a great equestrian metal cast, magically gifted with life; for the horse too, if horse it might be called, partook of the partial illumination.

The animal was large boned and stood high, whilst its heavy head hanging to its shrunken neck, nearly touched the ponderous hoof of the advanced fore-foot. It was blind of one eye, and dim from behind a filmy mist, gleamed the spark of life which still remained in the other. Its shoulders were galled, its knees broken, and its gaunt and extraordinary appearance completed by the uncommon accoutrement of weighty iron chains, which hung trailing on the ground on either side.

The thus unenviably mounted rider had paused, as has been already noticed, in the centre of the cave, when our heroine and her conductor presented themselves at its mouth. On their entering, a loud coarse laugh echoed round the vault, which through all its hoarsenessand discordance, had just enough of the tones of a female voice, to insult every association on the subject of woman’s loveliness. Our equestrian, towards whom we fear we must in future use a feminine pronoun, kicked the creature on which she was mounted, with both the heels of her iron-shod wooden shoes. This appeared to be a signal well understood between the parties; for the wretched animal immediately commenced its operations by lifting one of its heavy hinder feet, placing it on the shaggy fetlock of one of the fore ones, and stumbling.

“Dang thee, thoo deevil!” she exclaimed, pulling him up by a bridle of rope, which served, on occasion, the double purpose of whip, never being required but about the neck and shoulders, the above noticed method with the heels, serving to enliven the hinder parts.

In a voice of thunder, the ruffian, who still held Julia’s arm fast within the folds of hiscloak, uttered the monosyllable, “Stop!” He was obeyed, and now received from the hands of his mounted assistant, a parcel, containing a bonnet and cloak of the commonest description. These he commanded Julia to put on; and roughly assisting in removing those she had worn for her evening walk, he flung them into the fire, where they were quickly consumed.

During the moment that intervened between the taking off one muffle, and the close wrapping of her form in the other, a painter might have found a striking subject in the uncongeniality with the surrounding scene, and contrast with the fierce and coarse actors in it, of Julia’s entire appearance. The youthful grace of her figure, simply but elegantly dressed, in that most becoming of all costumes—a summer evening home half-dress of soft white muslin; while the noble as well as lovely countenance, the fair throat, the beautifulhair, were also (by the temporary removal of the bonnet as well as cloak) fully displayed. Another moment, and our heroine’s coarse disguise had converted the gentle vision into the similitude of a market-woman, or farmer’s servant. Her terrific waiting-man, who had stood in the stead of waiting-maid, on the completion of her metamorphosis, lifted her from the ground, and placed her on the shoulders of the horse, where, immediately, the rough sooty arm of the rider, with the muscles of a blacksmith, and the flesh of a woman, was wrapped tightly round her waist.

Meanwhile the two fellows who had rowed the boat entered. The glare of light which now fell on their faces and figures, shewed them to be of the same tribe of savages to which belonged the woman already described. The chief distinction was, that they wore not the sole female attribute displayed by her,the petticoat. The covering substituted by them consisting of a scanty species of soot-coloured shirt and drawers, leathern aprons, and a quantity of jet black dust. Their sinewy arms were bare, the shirt-sleeve being pushed up to the shoulder, while the front part of the same garment hung loosely open down to the girdle, exhibiting an abundant growth of such covering as nature sometimes bestows on bipeds of this description, in common with the four-footed race. Beards of unchecked luxuriance covered their chins and upper lips, bushy whiskers met the beards, and the long, wild, disorderly hair of the heads, crowning all, left little that could be called face. That little was either black or blackened, and gave to the eyes, as they reflected back the fire-light, something of the appearance already remarked in those of the female: in point of expression, however, theirs, instead of the gleeful leer of unshrinking impudence whichcharacterized her’s, had the quick pursuing flash of ferocity.

“All right?” demanded the mysterious stranger, as they appeared. “Awe right!” they replied, and passed on, till their figures were lost in the darkness which veiled the distant part of the cave. From thence a clanking of chains was soon heard, and shortly after the savage forms re-appeared; but now mounted on animals so like the one already described, that an enumeration of their points would be unnecessary. One of the fellows also led a horse of a rather better description, which the commander of the party took from him, and mounted. The cavalcade now quitted the cavern.

“Wherefore comest thou, lovely maid, I said,Over rocks, over mountains, why art thouOn the desert hill, why on the heath alone?”

“Wherefore comest thou, lovely maid, I said,

Over rocks, over mountains, why art thou

On the desert hill, why on the heath alone?”

Juliaand her conductors proceeded at a quicker pace than the first appearance of their horses promised. Their way lay over a ridge of mountains; both the ascent and descent were rugged and dangerous in the extreme, and occupied some hours. At length Julia became sensible that they were crossing a wide common.

She looked anxiously round for some human habitation, but could discover nothing indicative of cultivation or of life, except that almost at the verge of the horizon, as well as at a considerable distance from each other, shedescried three great fires, close to each of which arose a single round tower, with a large mound beside it. Gradually, the party seemed to be approaching nearer and nearer to one of these towers. Julia could at length distinguish dark figures, moving between her sight and the light of the fire, which light had from the first rendered the tower a conspicuous object. She felt a slight sensation of hope revive within her, but determined to make no attempt to call for assistance, till certain that she was near enough to be heard, lest her cries should be forcibly stifled as they had been at first. They now arrived close to the tower and fire. Figures (but alas! too like those in whose hands she already was,) moved on the top of the mound, around a circle which yet none seemed to enter. Slight as was the hope which the sight of such beings could inspire, Julia now cried for help. The figures on the mound immediately whirled theircaps in the air, huzzaed, and as the wild sound died away, broke into brutal laughter.

Julia became instantly silent as death. Her principal conductor dismounting, lifted her from the horse, and taking a firm grasp of her arm, dragged her up the mound. It seemed formed of some loose material, which gave way under her feet, and brought her to her knees more than once.

Arrived at the top, Julia perceived that she stood on the edge of a circular opening or pit, which, from the dark vacuum that met the eye, appeared bottomless. She shrunk back, and clung, as if for protection, even to the ruffian who had led her to its verge.

At this moment, a huge dark object passed through the air over their heads with a swinging motion, and then descended over the mouth of the pit. It was a black formless machine, hollow within, and suspended from above by chains. The stranger lifted Juliafrom her feet, placed her in it, then stepped in himself, and it instantly began to descend. He stood firmly and still held her arm, that, as she too was obliged to stand, she might not by the motion lose her balance. With an involuntary impulse of terror, she looked over the side of the machine; all below was darkness. With a despairing gaze she raised her eyes, and fixed them on the round aperture above. It appeared to lessen every moment, while the voices of those they had left on the brink grew fainter and fainter. They continued descending, and at length, a confused hum arose from below. They descended still, and gradually, the mingled din increased both in loudness and distinctness, till the clanking of chains and strokes of hammers could be distinguished, through shrieks, yells, and coarse wild laughter.

Still they descended, and now, in his usual voice of thunder, Julia’s companion uttereda strange halloo, which bellowed fearfully in the narrow void to which its echoes were confined. It seemed to be a summons to hitherto invisible beings, for immediately, a glare of unnatural light appeared below, and, moving through it, fiend-like forms as black as ebony.

They received and steadied the machine as it rested on the ground, and then, on beholding what were its contents, set up loud laughter, accompanied by huzzas. The stranger looked fiercely at them, which seemed a little to check their mirth. Julia, instead of closing her eyes or fainting, was for the moment roused by despair, to a peculiarly vivid reception of surrounding impressions. And strange were the sights that met her gaze. The most fearfully gloomy vaults spread on every side; their low roofs, sustained by immense pillars of shining jet. The flooring, the walls, the roofing, every where of the same material. Long low aisles or passages,branching of in various directions, some lost in total darkness; in others, the view terminated by a far perspective, dimly illuminated, and filled with moving shadowy forms, the black countenances invisible through the obscurity, while the numberless eyes, that seemed scintillations from the unearthly lights the place afforded, were scattered over the gloomy region, like stars in the dark vault of midnight. To complete the wild effect of the whole scene, these terrific beings were all busily employed excavating on every side, as if to increase the dimensions of their infernal realm.

“More fire than lustre had his eye, his formLess grace than grandeur.”“Why am I summoned here, to mix with thineMy secret words, within the horrid caveOf Moma?”

“More fire than lustre had his eye, his formLess grace than grandeur.”

“More fire than lustre had his eye, his form

Less grace than grandeur.”

“Why am I summoned here, to mix with thineMy secret words, within the horrid caveOf Moma?”

“Why am I summoned here, to mix with thine

My secret words, within the horrid cave

Of Moma?”

Nearone of the entrances to ⸺haven, the chimneys and slating of a miserable looking row of houses, appear quite at the feet of the traveller; consequently, on a level with the road which runs along the brow of the hill, in the side of which the backs of the houses are sunk, while their faces front the valley.

About an hour after the conclusion of the events related in our last chapter, but still before day-break, a horseman approached at a rapid pace along the road just described.He turned the animal suddenly down a narrow rugged abrupt descent, which brought him immediately in front of the said row of houses.

The rider stopped, and, loosing his foot from the stirrup at the side nearest the miserable dwelling, close to which his horse now stood, kicked the door. It opened, and a figure appeared, the outlines of which, as shewn by the light from behind, were easily to be recognised, as those of the female equestrian. From the length of time, however, which has elapsed, it may not be quite so easy to trace in her that bold strolling thief and beggar, whom we have seen in the very first chapter of this history, treat poor Edmund so cruelly. Yet she is the same individual. By origin she was, what in Cumberland is called, a bottom lass; the most opprobrious of terms, meaning one of those creatures, found to swarm in that region of darkness, denominated, in the country of which we speak, “the bottom.” Creatureswho, if they can claim a mother for the first few weeks after their birth, rarely can a father.

We are not aware that the profligate being whose history we are thus tracing back, was ever christened; yet, in some way or other, she had obtained the appellation of Jin of the Gins.

Jin, notwithstanding her lack of noble birth, happened to possess, in extreme youth, some natural beauty; and by that circumstance was promoted, at the early age of seventeen, to the rank of nominal wife to a travelling tinker. With him, for a few years, she travelled, begged, pilfered, and drank.

During this period it was that Edmund had, for the sake of his fine clothes, become her prey. Shortly after having abandoned him, she was caught in the act of achieving a more than usually daring robbery, for which she must have been hung, had she not escapedfrom the magistrates before she could be committed to the county jail. On this occasion she returned, at about three and twenty, to her old asylum, the bottom; where, shrouded in coal-dust and darkness, she has, up to the present period, which brings her to about the age of three or four and forty, laboured at bottom-work in the bowels of the earth, and often beneath the bed of the ocean, amid hundreds of her own description.

To account for the equestrian prowess of Jin of the Gins, we must here remark, that near to ⸺haven, and not far from the row of houses just described, there is a broad covered way, leading down to the works by a descent so gradual, that horses, cars, and even waggons can enter by it; while daily may be seen emerging from it troops of colliers, mounted on such animals as in a late chapter we have described, accoutred too with chains which, like the traces of a just-loosed carriage-horse,trail on either side, ready to hook to cars, waggons, &c.

But to return to the scene which was just commencing. The rider, in answer to whose summons we left Jin in the act of opening the door, on the threshold of which she now stood, accosted her thus, “Well, Jin of the Gins, how is it with you?”

“Nane the bether for yeer axin,” she retorted.

“Is Sir Sydney come?” continued the querist.

“Comed!” she repeated, “Aye, and maire nor him.”

Our traveller threw his bridle to the gentle groom, whistled, advanced a foot over the threshold, and paused in the act, till he heard an answering whistle from within. He then proceeded, and entering a miserably small earthen-floored apartment, on the side of the passage, stood before Julia’s late conductor. This mysterious personage was still wrapped inhis boat cloak. He sat leaning on a little rickety round table, whereon was placed a lantern which suffered but little of the light it contained to escape, having, in place of glass, sides of rusty tin, perforated with small holes like those of a colander.

“You have secured her, then?” said the traveller, as he entered.

“Where is Lord L.?” inquired the stranger, without rising or noticing the question put to him.

“Pursuing on a wrong track,” replied the traveller.

“Have you brought the title-deeds?” demanded the stranger, in a tone that few would have liked to have answered with a negative. The traveller unbuttoned his great coat and took off his hat. It was Henry!

“I have,” he replied, after a moment of hesitation, and slowly undoing a button or two of the inner coat.

“Give them to me, then!” said the stranger fiercely.

Henry drew a parcel of parchments halfway from his breast, then paused.

“What do you hesitate about, Sir?” said the stranger.

“I do not mean,” commenced Henry, “to sell the Craigs at present.”

“What of that?” said the stranger.

“You shall have the half of the rents,” continued Henry, in an expostulating tone, “and when, at Lord L.’s death, she inherits her proportion of his estates, then the Scotch acres may go to the hammer, and you shall have the whole of the money they bring.”

The stranger, while with his eyes fixed on the face of the speaker, he listened, had been slowly extracting a brace of pistols from his pockets, and laying them on the table.

“And pray what security have I for all this unless the title-deeds are in my own possession?”he demanded scornfully, and with affected coolness. Then, with a sudden yell of rage, resembling the neigh of a wild horse, and grinning in a terrific manner, he vociferated, “Lay down the parchments, Sir!” striking the table as he spoke so violently with his clenched hand, that the lantern spun round like a child’s top; and one of the pistols leaping to the ground, went off.

Henry took the packet from his breast, and laid it down in silence.

The stranger drew it towards him, unfolded it, and corrected its tendency to relapse into its former folds, by laying his pistols on either margin, picking up for the purpose the one which had fallen. He then proceeded to open the door of the lantern, whence poured a powerful but partial light on the writings, and on his own countenance, as he bent over them in the act of examining their contents. A fur travelling cap, with a band tight to theforehead, displayed, fully, features of terrific strength, and which, at the same time, presented a horrible sort of caricature of manly beauty, distorted almost to wildness by the habitual exaggeration of every desperate feeling. The scrutiny of the documents occupied some time, during the whole of which Henry stood, and was silent. The stranger having completed his task, refolded the parchments, and placed them in his breast; then, closing the lantern, and restoring thus the scene of conference to its former state of twilight, he re-charged the pistol, which had gone off in its fall, placing it with its companion in his pockets, and while doing so, said in a somewhat pacified tone: “These deeds will not enable me to sell the estate without your concurrence; though, their being in my hands, will secure me against your doing so without mine. I shall be perfectly satisfied, at present, with half therents; but, that I may have no doubt or difficulty in receiving the said moiety, you must, as soon as the marriage shall be proved——.”

“Have you procured witnesses?” interrupted Henry.

“I have: they are to meet us at ⸺.”

“Will they swear direct, that the ceremony was performed without unwillingness on her part, or compulsion on ours?”

“Certainly! What else are they paid for?”

“And that will be sufficient?”

“Together with the certificate of the clergyman and clerk.”

“The clergyman is my old chum—of course?” said Henry. “He would, I know, have no scruples, were she gagged and handcuffed at the altar!”

“Of course not,” replied the stranger. “But, to return to my subject: As soon as the marriage shall have been proved, so asto entitle you to a legal controul over the property, you must employ a proper agent, give him sufficient powers and directions, to one-half of each year’s rent to an address through which I can receive it without reference to you, and the other half to an address by which you can receive it, without making your actual residence known (that is, should concealment long continue necessary). Have you any hope of reconciling Julia herself?”

“Not the slightest!” returned Henry. “When, indeed, she has been my wife,” he continued, “long enough to be, perhaps, a mother, she may not choose the publicity of a trial. Indeed, by that time, neither my aunt, nor even Lord L. himself, could wish, I should think, to go to extremities with so near a relation: even were the whole truth to come out. In short, it could answer no desirable purpose! Lord L. must know that his daughter would be more respectable inthe eyes of the world as my wife, and supposed to be willingly so, than by seeking any redress the law could then give her, were it even possible to procure full evidence that the marriage was compulsory, which I expect we shall render impossible: so that I have no fears on that score. The three notes this evening (for I left my fellow behind on pretext of bringing my luggage) passed examination. I shall, therefore, have no difficulty, while abroad, in keeping up a regular correspondence in her name with all her friends. In short, when the numberless circumstances, however trivial in themselves, which I have now for so long caused to bear on the one point, receive this last crowning evidence, there will not remain the shadow of a doubt on the mind of any one, that Julia has only waited to be of age to elope with me. I expect, in fact, that the conviction on the mind of every one will be so strong, that they will not think it necessaryto examine into any thing; and that one-half the precautions we have taken will prove quite unnecessary. It is not at all unlikely, too, that after a time she may, for the sake of being permitted to return to this country, and reside near her friends, consent to declare, personally, I mean, to her own family, that she married me willingly; in which case, we could take up our residence at the Craigs.”

“In short,” continued Henry, “once she is in my power, I can compel her to do any thing! How is she to help herself I’d be glad to know?”

“Fitz-Ullin is expected in the Sound, I find,” said the stranger, “what a confounded untimely blow that old beldam’s confession was! By the bye, I shall expect to be repaid the sums I have been obliged to give Jin of the Gins, to keep her silent till after your marriage; and now that she has been forestalled, (which was always what she feared,) and cannever get any thing from either party, her demands for compensation will be exorbitant. Those, however, you must satisfy, now that you will have funds.”

“How long is it now,” said Henry, “since she first consulted you on the possibility of making a market of her secret, without getting hanged.”

“A few weeks,” replied the stranger, “previous to that cursed masquerade at Arandale, when I wrote to you on the subject of the admission ticket.”

“That then was the first intimation you had,” said Henry, musing. “Had it not been,” he added, after a short silence, “for the fortunate chance of Ormond shooting himself, all must certainly have been lost.”

“There was too much left to chance in that business,” retorted the stranger. “That night at Arandale should have rid us of all anxiety on the subject. I ought to have answered hisfirst question by blowing out his brains! And that, before I palsied my arm with that cursed fencing! Never, certainly, were there time and place so well calculated for committing an act of the kind with perfect impunity. Since then, it has never been possible to get near him, with any thing like a chance of escape. I deserved, however, to fail for using such pitiful half measures, where so much was at stake.”

“I never thought his removal so very necessary,” observed Henry.

“Fool!” replied the stranger, “How, if the public disclosure had been made under almost any other circumstances? When can you come to ⸺?” he added.

“I must first,” replied Henry, “join the Euphrasia, to avoid, in case of failure, any thing like proof against me. It is impossible for her to have the most remote guess who you are, so that were she even to escape, while she had not yet seen me, all would still be safe!In short, we had better not meet even for a moment, till we meet at the altar.”

The stranger paused, as if considering the subject; then, standing up, said, “True! you set out immediately.”

Henry replied in the affirmative; and thus they parted.

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