CHAPTER V.Lady Margaret walking hastily off, had arrived near the Convent of St. Mary, as the last ray of the setting sun blazed in the west, and threw its golden light over the horizon. Close to the convent, is built the chapel where the young Marquis and all the family of Altamonte are interred. It stands upon a high barren cliff, separated by a branch of the sea from the village of Belfont, to which any one may pass by means of the ferry below. To the north of the chapel, as far as the eye can trace, barren heaths and moors, and the distant view of Belfont and St. Alvin Priory, present a cheerless aspect; while the other side displays the rich valley of Delaval, its groves, gardens and lake, with the adjacent wood.At this spot Lady Margaret arrived, as has been said, at sun-set. She thought she had been alone; but she heard a step closely following her: she turned round, and, to her extreme surprise, beheld a man pursuing her, and, just at that moment, on the point of attaining her. His black brows and eyes were contrasted with his grizzly hair; his laugh was hollow; his dress wild and tawdry. If she stopped for a moment to take breath, he stopped at the same time; if she advanced rapidly, he followed. She heard his steps behind, till passing near the convent he paused, rending the air with his groans, and his clenched fist repeatedly striking his forehead, with all the appearance of maniac fury, whilst with his voice he imitated the howling of the wind.Terrified, fatigued and oppressed, Lady Margaret fled into the thickest part of the wood, and waited till she conceived the cause of her terror was removed. She soonperceived, however, that the tall figure behind her was waiting for her reappearance. She determined to try the swiftness of her foot, and sought with speed to gain the ferry:—she durst not look behind:—the heavy steps of her pursuer gained upon her:—suddenly she felt his hand upon her shoulder, as, with a shrill voice and loud laugh, he triumphed at having overtaken her. She uttered a piercing shriek; for on turning round she beheld....His name I cannot at present declare; yet this I will say: it was terrible to her to gaze upon that eye—so hollow, so wild, so fearful was its glance. From the sepulchre, the dead appeared to have arisen to affright her; and, scarce recovering from the dreadful vision, with a faltering step, and beating heart, she broke from that grasp—that cold hand—that dim-fixed eye—and gained with difficulty the hut of the fisherman, who placed her in safety on the other side of the cliff.The castle bell had already summonedthe family; dinner awaited; and the duke having repeatedly enquired for Lady Margaret, was surprised to hear that she had returned home alone and after dusk. The servant, who informed him of this circumstance, said that her ladyship appeared extremely faint and tired; that her women attendants had been called; that they apprehended she was more ill than she would acknowledge. He was yet speaking, when, with a blaze of beauty and even more than her usual magnificence of dress, she entered, apologised for the lateness of her appearance, said the walk was longer than she had apprehended, and, taking her brother’s arm, led the way into the dining room. But soon the effort she had made, proved too great:—her colour changed repeatedly; she complained that the noise distracted her; she scarcely took any part in the conversation, and retiring early, sought a few hours’ repose.Mrs. Seymour accompanied her out,whilst the rest of those whose curiosity had been much excited in the morning, narrated their morning adventures and enquired eagerly concerning Lord Glenarvon’s character and mode of life. At the mention of his name, the colour rushed into Calantha’s face. Was it himself she had seen?—She was convinced it was. That countenance verified all that she had heard against him: it was a full contradiction to all that Lady Trelawney had spoken in his favour; it expressed a capability of evil—a subtlety that led the eye of a stranger to distrust; but, with all, it was not easily forgotten. The address to the people of Ireland which Lady Avondale had read before with enthusiasm, she read now with a new, an undefinable sensation. She drew also those features—that countenance; and remembered the air he had sung and the tones of his voice.—She seemed to dive into the feelings of a heart utterly different from what she had ever yet observed: a sort ofinstinct gave her power at once to penetrate into its most secret recesses; nor was she mistaken. She heard, with eager curiosity, every anecdote narrated of him by the country esquires and gentry who dined at the castle; but she felt not surprised at the inconsistencies and absurdities repeated. Others discredited what was said: she believed the worst; yet still the interest she felt was undiminished. It is strange: she loved not—she admired not that countenance; yet, by day, by night, it pursued her. She could not rest, nor write, nor read; and the fear of again seeing it, was greater than the desire of doing so. She felt assured that it was Lord Glenarvon:—there was not a doubt left upon her mind respecting this circumstance. Mrs. Seymour saw that Calantha was pre-occupied: she thought that she was acquainted with the secret which disturbed Lady Margaret—that horrid secret which maddened and destroyed her:for, since her adventure at the Priory, Lady Margaret had been ill.It was not till after some days retirement, that she sent for Calantha, and when she visited her in her own apartment, she found her silent and trembling. “Where is your boy?” she said. “He sleeps: would you that I should bring him you?” “I do not mean your son: I mean that minion—that gaudy thing, you dress up for your amusement—that fawning insect Zerbellini.” Calantha shuddered; for she knew that a mother could not thus speak of her child without suffering acutely. “Has my pretty Zerbellini done any thing to deserve such unkind words from you? If so, I will chide him for it. Why do you frown? Zerbellini haste here: make your obeisance to Lady Margaret.” The boy approached: Lady Margaret fixed her eyes steadily upon him: the colour rushed into her cheek, then left her pale, as the hue of death. “Oimè si muoja!” exclaimed,Zerbellini: “Eccelenza si muoja;” and he leant forward to support her; but Lady Margaret moved not.Many moments passed in entire silence. At last, starting as if from deep reflection, “Calantha” she said, “I know your heart too well to doubt its kindness:—the presence of this child, will cause the misery of your father.” “Of my father!” “Do you not guess wherefore? I read his feelings yesterday: and can you my child be less quick in penetrating the sentiments of those you love? do you not perceive that Zerbellini is of the very age and size—your lost—and—lamented brother would have been? ... and certainly not unlike the duchess.” She hesitated—paused—recovered herself. “I would not for the world have you suggest this to a human being. I would not appear to have said—what you, out of an affectionate regard might—should—have considered.”—“I am astonished: you quite amaze me,” replied Calantha; yet she too well guessed her feelings.You heard your father yesterday say, how necessary it was for him to attend the general meeting at Belfast: he flies us to avoid this boy—the likeness—in short, oblige me, place him at the garden cottage, or at the Rector of Belfont’s—he will attend to him. I am told you mean to leave your children with Mr. Challoner: if so, he might likewise keep this boy. His strong resemblance—his age—his manner—have given me already the acutest pain.—My brother will never demand any sacrifice of you;—but I, Lady Avondale,—I solicit it.—“Shall I be refused”? “Dearest aunt, can you ask this? Zerbellini shall be immediately sent from the castle.” “Oh no: such precipitate removal would excite curiosity.” “Well then, allow me to place him, as you say, under the care of the Rector of Belfont and his wife—or—” “But how strange—why—did you never observe this before?”“Calantha,” said Lady Margaret, ina hollow tone, “it is the common talk: every one observes it: every eye fixes itself upon him, and seems to—to—to—reproach—to-morrow—morn—to-morrow morning, I must quit this place—business of importance calls me away—I hope to see you shortly: I shall return as soon as possible—perhaps I shall not go.—The trifle I now suggest, is solely for my brother’s sake.—If you mention one word of this to any one, the sacrifice I ask will lose its value. Above all, if the Count Gondimar is made a confidant.” “Fear not: I shall request as of myself, that Zerbellini may be placed with my little son: but you cannot think how much you surprise me. My father has seen the boy so often; has spoken so frequently with him; has appeared so perfectly at his ease.”“The boy,” said Lady Margaret, “is the living picture of—in short I have dreamt a dreadful dream. Shall I confess my weakness, Calantha: I dreamt last night,that I was sitting with a numerous and brilliant assembly, even in this very castle; and of a sudden, robed in the white vestments of an angel, that boy appeared—I saw his hand closely stealing behind—he had a dagger in it—oh it made me sick—and coming towards me—I mean towards your father—he stabbed him.—These phantasies shew an ill constitution—but, for a short time, send the child away, and do not expose my weakness—do not love. I have many sorrows—my nerves are shattered—bear with me—you know not, and God forbid you should ever know, what it is to labour under the pressure of guilt—guilt? aye,—and such as that brow of innocence, that guileless generous heart, never can comprehend.” “My aunt, for God sake, explain yourself.” Lady Margaret smiled. “Oh not such guilt either, as to excite such looks as these: only I have suffered my heart to wander, child; and I have been punished.”Calantha was less surprised at this conversation, from remembering the secret Gondimar had communicated, than she otherwise must have been; but she could not understand what had given rise to this paroxysm of despair at that particular moment. A singular circumstance now occurred, which occasioned infinite conjecture to all around. Every morning, as soon as it was light, and every evening at dusk, a tall old man in a tattered garb, with a wild and terrible air, seated himself in front of the castle windows, making the most lamentable groans, and crying out in an almost unintelligible voice, “Woe, on woe, to the family of Altamonte.” The Duke was no sooner apprised of this circumstance, than he ordered the supposed maniac to be taken up; but Lady Margaret implored, entreated and even menaced, till she obtained permission from her brother to give this wretched object his liberty.Such an unusual excess of charity—suchsudden, and violent commiseration of a being who appeared to have no other view than the persecution and annoyance of her whole family, was deemed strange; but when they no longer were molested by the presence of the fanatic, who had denounced their ruin, they ceased to converse about him, and soon the whole affair was forgotten. Calantha indeed remembered it; but a thousand new thoughts diverted her attention, and a stronger interest led her from it.
Lady Margaret walking hastily off, had arrived near the Convent of St. Mary, as the last ray of the setting sun blazed in the west, and threw its golden light over the horizon. Close to the convent, is built the chapel where the young Marquis and all the family of Altamonte are interred. It stands upon a high barren cliff, separated by a branch of the sea from the village of Belfont, to which any one may pass by means of the ferry below. To the north of the chapel, as far as the eye can trace, barren heaths and moors, and the distant view of Belfont and St. Alvin Priory, present a cheerless aspect; while the other side displays the rich valley of Delaval, its groves, gardens and lake, with the adjacent wood.
At this spot Lady Margaret arrived, as has been said, at sun-set. She thought she had been alone; but she heard a step closely following her: she turned round, and, to her extreme surprise, beheld a man pursuing her, and, just at that moment, on the point of attaining her. His black brows and eyes were contrasted with his grizzly hair; his laugh was hollow; his dress wild and tawdry. If she stopped for a moment to take breath, he stopped at the same time; if she advanced rapidly, he followed. She heard his steps behind, till passing near the convent he paused, rending the air with his groans, and his clenched fist repeatedly striking his forehead, with all the appearance of maniac fury, whilst with his voice he imitated the howling of the wind.
Terrified, fatigued and oppressed, Lady Margaret fled into the thickest part of the wood, and waited till she conceived the cause of her terror was removed. She soonperceived, however, that the tall figure behind her was waiting for her reappearance. She determined to try the swiftness of her foot, and sought with speed to gain the ferry:—she durst not look behind:—the heavy steps of her pursuer gained upon her:—suddenly she felt his hand upon her shoulder, as, with a shrill voice and loud laugh, he triumphed at having overtaken her. She uttered a piercing shriek; for on turning round she beheld....
His name I cannot at present declare; yet this I will say: it was terrible to her to gaze upon that eye—so hollow, so wild, so fearful was its glance. From the sepulchre, the dead appeared to have arisen to affright her; and, scarce recovering from the dreadful vision, with a faltering step, and beating heart, she broke from that grasp—that cold hand—that dim-fixed eye—and gained with difficulty the hut of the fisherman, who placed her in safety on the other side of the cliff.
The castle bell had already summonedthe family; dinner awaited; and the duke having repeatedly enquired for Lady Margaret, was surprised to hear that she had returned home alone and after dusk. The servant, who informed him of this circumstance, said that her ladyship appeared extremely faint and tired; that her women attendants had been called; that they apprehended she was more ill than she would acknowledge. He was yet speaking, when, with a blaze of beauty and even more than her usual magnificence of dress, she entered, apologised for the lateness of her appearance, said the walk was longer than she had apprehended, and, taking her brother’s arm, led the way into the dining room. But soon the effort she had made, proved too great:—her colour changed repeatedly; she complained that the noise distracted her; she scarcely took any part in the conversation, and retiring early, sought a few hours’ repose.
Mrs. Seymour accompanied her out,whilst the rest of those whose curiosity had been much excited in the morning, narrated their morning adventures and enquired eagerly concerning Lord Glenarvon’s character and mode of life. At the mention of his name, the colour rushed into Calantha’s face. Was it himself she had seen?—She was convinced it was. That countenance verified all that she had heard against him: it was a full contradiction to all that Lady Trelawney had spoken in his favour; it expressed a capability of evil—a subtlety that led the eye of a stranger to distrust; but, with all, it was not easily forgotten. The address to the people of Ireland which Lady Avondale had read before with enthusiasm, she read now with a new, an undefinable sensation. She drew also those features—that countenance; and remembered the air he had sung and the tones of his voice.—She seemed to dive into the feelings of a heart utterly different from what she had ever yet observed: a sort ofinstinct gave her power at once to penetrate into its most secret recesses; nor was she mistaken. She heard, with eager curiosity, every anecdote narrated of him by the country esquires and gentry who dined at the castle; but she felt not surprised at the inconsistencies and absurdities repeated. Others discredited what was said: she believed the worst; yet still the interest she felt was undiminished. It is strange: she loved not—she admired not that countenance; yet, by day, by night, it pursued her. She could not rest, nor write, nor read; and the fear of again seeing it, was greater than the desire of doing so. She felt assured that it was Lord Glenarvon:—there was not a doubt left upon her mind respecting this circumstance. Mrs. Seymour saw that Calantha was pre-occupied: she thought that she was acquainted with the secret which disturbed Lady Margaret—that horrid secret which maddened and destroyed her:for, since her adventure at the Priory, Lady Margaret had been ill.
It was not till after some days retirement, that she sent for Calantha, and when she visited her in her own apartment, she found her silent and trembling. “Where is your boy?” she said. “He sleeps: would you that I should bring him you?” “I do not mean your son: I mean that minion—that gaudy thing, you dress up for your amusement—that fawning insect Zerbellini.” Calantha shuddered; for she knew that a mother could not thus speak of her child without suffering acutely. “Has my pretty Zerbellini done any thing to deserve such unkind words from you? If so, I will chide him for it. Why do you frown? Zerbellini haste here: make your obeisance to Lady Margaret.” The boy approached: Lady Margaret fixed her eyes steadily upon him: the colour rushed into her cheek, then left her pale, as the hue of death. “Oimè si muoja!” exclaimed,Zerbellini: “Eccelenza si muoja;” and he leant forward to support her; but Lady Margaret moved not.
Many moments passed in entire silence. At last, starting as if from deep reflection, “Calantha” she said, “I know your heart too well to doubt its kindness:—the presence of this child, will cause the misery of your father.” “Of my father!” “Do you not guess wherefore? I read his feelings yesterday: and can you my child be less quick in penetrating the sentiments of those you love? do you not perceive that Zerbellini is of the very age and size—your lost—and—lamented brother would have been? ... and certainly not unlike the duchess.” She hesitated—paused—recovered herself. “I would not for the world have you suggest this to a human being. I would not appear to have said—what you, out of an affectionate regard might—should—have considered.”—“I am astonished: you quite amaze me,” replied Calantha; yet she too well guessed her feelings.
You heard your father yesterday say, how necessary it was for him to attend the general meeting at Belfast: he flies us to avoid this boy—the likeness—in short, oblige me, place him at the garden cottage, or at the Rector of Belfont’s—he will attend to him. I am told you mean to leave your children with Mr. Challoner: if so, he might likewise keep this boy. His strong resemblance—his age—his manner—have given me already the acutest pain.—My brother will never demand any sacrifice of you;—but I, Lady Avondale,—I solicit it.—“Shall I be refused”? “Dearest aunt, can you ask this? Zerbellini shall be immediately sent from the castle.” “Oh no: such precipitate removal would excite curiosity.” “Well then, allow me to place him, as you say, under the care of the Rector of Belfont and his wife—or—” “But how strange—why—did you never observe this before?”
“Calantha,” said Lady Margaret, ina hollow tone, “it is the common talk: every one observes it: every eye fixes itself upon him, and seems to—to—to—reproach—to-morrow—morn—to-morrow morning, I must quit this place—business of importance calls me away—I hope to see you shortly: I shall return as soon as possible—perhaps I shall not go.—The trifle I now suggest, is solely for my brother’s sake.—If you mention one word of this to any one, the sacrifice I ask will lose its value. Above all, if the Count Gondimar is made a confidant.” “Fear not: I shall request as of myself, that Zerbellini may be placed with my little son: but you cannot think how much you surprise me. My father has seen the boy so often; has spoken so frequently with him; has appeared so perfectly at his ease.”
“The boy,” said Lady Margaret, “is the living picture of—in short I have dreamt a dreadful dream. Shall I confess my weakness, Calantha: I dreamt last night,that I was sitting with a numerous and brilliant assembly, even in this very castle; and of a sudden, robed in the white vestments of an angel, that boy appeared—I saw his hand closely stealing behind—he had a dagger in it—oh it made me sick—and coming towards me—I mean towards your father—he stabbed him.—These phantasies shew an ill constitution—but, for a short time, send the child away, and do not expose my weakness—do not love. I have many sorrows—my nerves are shattered—bear with me—you know not, and God forbid you should ever know, what it is to labour under the pressure of guilt—guilt? aye,—and such as that brow of innocence, that guileless generous heart, never can comprehend.” “My aunt, for God sake, explain yourself.” Lady Margaret smiled. “Oh not such guilt either, as to excite such looks as these: only I have suffered my heart to wander, child; and I have been punished.”
Calantha was less surprised at this conversation, from remembering the secret Gondimar had communicated, than she otherwise must have been; but she could not understand what had given rise to this paroxysm of despair at that particular moment. A singular circumstance now occurred, which occasioned infinite conjecture to all around. Every morning, as soon as it was light, and every evening at dusk, a tall old man in a tattered garb, with a wild and terrible air, seated himself in front of the castle windows, making the most lamentable groans, and crying out in an almost unintelligible voice, “Woe, on woe, to the family of Altamonte.” The Duke was no sooner apprised of this circumstance, than he ordered the supposed maniac to be taken up; but Lady Margaret implored, entreated and even menaced, till she obtained permission from her brother to give this wretched object his liberty.
Such an unusual excess of charity—suchsudden, and violent commiseration of a being who appeared to have no other view than the persecution and annoyance of her whole family, was deemed strange; but when they no longer were molested by the presence of the fanatic, who had denounced their ruin, they ceased to converse about him, and soon the whole affair was forgotten. Calantha indeed remembered it; but a thousand new thoughts diverted her attention, and a stronger interest led her from it.