CHAPTER LXXXVIII.“Sure what a stormy night it is! Lard help us, Mr. Mac Allain,” said the nurse, as she wrapped her thick cloth mantle over the sweet slumberer that fondled in her bosom, and got into a post-chaise and four with much trepidation and difficulty. “I never saw the like! there’s wind enough to blow us into the sea, and sea enough to deluge the land. The Holy Virgin, and all the saints protect us!” Gerald Mac Allain having with some trouble secured the reluctant and loquacious matron, now returned for another and a dearer charge, who, trembling and penitent, followed him to the carriage. “Farewell, my kind preserver,” said Calantha, her voice scarcely audible. “God bless, God protect you,dear lady,” said the old man in bitter grief. “Take care of Henry. Tell my father that I have been led to this step by utter despair. Let no one suspect your friendly aid. Lord Avondale, though he may refuse to see me, will not be offended with the kind hearts that had pity on my misfortunes.” “God bless you, dear lady,” again reiterated the old man, as the carriage drove swiftly from the gates.But the blessing of God was not with Lady Avondale; she had renounced his favour and protection in the hour of prosperity; and she durst not even implore his mercy or his pardon in her present affliction. Thoughts of bitterness crowded together: she could no longer weep—the pressure upon her heart and brain would not permit it.“Eh! dear heart, how the carriage rowls!” was the first exclamation which awoke her to a remembrance of her situation. “We are ascending the mountain.Fear not, good nurse. Your kindness in accompanying me shall never be forgotten.” “Och musha, what a piteous night it is!—I did not reckon upon it.” “You shall be rewarded and doubly rewarded for your goodness. I shall never forget it. Lord Avondale will reward you,” “Hey sure you make me weep to hear you; but I wish you’d tell the cattle not to drive so uncommon brisk up the precipice. Lord have mercy, if there ain’t shrouds flying over the mountains!” “It is only the flakes of snow driven by the tempest.”“Do not fret yourself thus,” continued Lady Avondale. “I will take care of you, good nurse.” “I have heard say, and sure I hope it’s no sin to mention it again, my lady, that the wind’s nothing more than the souls of bad christians, who can’t get into Heaven, driven onward, alacks the pity! and shrieking as they pass.” “I have heard the same,”replied Calantha mournfully. “Och lard! my lady, I hope not: I’m sure it’s a horrid thought. I hope, my lady, you don’t believe it. But how terrible your dear ladyship looks, by the light of the moon. I trust in all the saints, the robbers have not heard of our journey.—Hark what a shriek!” “It is nothing but the wind rushing over the vast body of the sea. You must not give way to terror. See how the child sleeps: they say one may go in safety the world over, with such a cherub: Heaven protects it. Sing it to rest, nurse, or tell it some merry tale.”The carriage proceeded over the rocky path, for it could scarce be termed a road; the wind whistled in at the windows; and the snow drifting, covered every object. “There it comes again,” said the affrighted nurse. “What comes?” “The shroud with the death’s head peeping out of it. It was just such a night as this, last Friday night as evercame, when the doctor’s brother, the prophet Camioli, on his death-bed, sent for his ungrateful daughter, and she would not come. I never shall forget that night. Well, if I did not hear the shriek of the dear departed two full hours after he gave up the ghost. The lord help us in life, as in death, and defend us from wicked children. I hope your dear ladyship doesn’t remember that it was just on this very spot at the crossing, that Drax O’Morven was murdered by his son: and isn’t there the cross, as I live, just placed right over against the road to warn passengers of their danger.—Oh!”...“What is the matter, nurse? For God sake speak.” “Oh!”... “Stop the carriage. In the name of his Grace the Duke of Altamonte, I desire you to stop,” cried a voice from behind. “Drive on, boys, for your life. Drive on in mercy. We are just at Baron’s Down:—I see the lights of the village, at the bottomof the hill. Drive for your life: a guinea for every mile you go.” The nurse shrieked; the carriage flew; jolts, ruts, and rocks, were unheeded by Calantha. “We are pursued. Rush on:—reach Baron’s Down:—gallop your horses. Fear not. I value not life, if you but reach the inn—if you but save me from this pursuit.” “Stop,” cried a voice of thunder. “Fear not.” “Drive Johnny Carl,” screamed the nurse. “Drive Johnny Carl,” repeated the servant.The horses flew; the post boys clashed their whips; the carriage wheels scarce appeared to touch the ground. A yell from behind seemed only to redouble their exertions. They arrive: Baron’s Down appears in sight: lights are seen at the windows of the inn. The post boys ring and call: the doors are open: Lady Avondale flew from the carriage:—a servant of the duke’s arrested her progress. “I am sorry to make so bold;but I come with letters from his grace your father. Your Ladyship may remain at Baron’s Down to-night; but to-morrow I must see you safe to the castle. Pardon my apparent boldness: it is unwillingly that I presume to address you thus. My commands are positive.”“Sure there’s not the laist room at all for the ladies; nor any baists to be had, all the way round Baron’s Down; nor ever so much as a boy to be fetched, as can take care of the cattle over the mountain,” said the master of the inn, now joining in the conversation. “What will become of us?” cried the nurse. “Dear, dear lady, be prevailed on: give up your wild enterprise: return to your father. Lady Anabel will be quite kilt with the fatigue. Be prevailed upon: give up this hopeless journey.” “Youmay return, if it is your pleasure: I never will.” “Your ladyship will excuse me,” said the servant, producing some letters; “but I must entreat yourperusal of these, before you attempt to proceed.”“You had better give my lady your best accommodations,” said the nurse in confidence to the landlord: “she is a near connexion of the Duke of Altamonte’s. You may repent any neglect you may shew to a traveller of such high rank.” “There’s nae rank will make room,” retorted the landlord. “Were she the late duchess herself, I could only give her my bed, and go without one. But indeed couldn’t a trifle prevail with the baists as brought you, to step over the mountains as far as Killy Cross?” “There’s nae trifle,” said a man, much wrapped up, who had been watching Lady Avondale—“there’s nae trifle shall get ye to Killy Cross, make ye what haste ye can, but what we’ll be there before ye.” Calantha shuddered at the meaning of this threat, which she did not understand; but the nurse informed her it was a servant of Sir Richard Mowbrey’s.
“Sure what a stormy night it is! Lard help us, Mr. Mac Allain,” said the nurse, as she wrapped her thick cloth mantle over the sweet slumberer that fondled in her bosom, and got into a post-chaise and four with much trepidation and difficulty. “I never saw the like! there’s wind enough to blow us into the sea, and sea enough to deluge the land. The Holy Virgin, and all the saints protect us!” Gerald Mac Allain having with some trouble secured the reluctant and loquacious matron, now returned for another and a dearer charge, who, trembling and penitent, followed him to the carriage. “Farewell, my kind preserver,” said Calantha, her voice scarcely audible. “God bless, God protect you,dear lady,” said the old man in bitter grief. “Take care of Henry. Tell my father that I have been led to this step by utter despair. Let no one suspect your friendly aid. Lord Avondale, though he may refuse to see me, will not be offended with the kind hearts that had pity on my misfortunes.” “God bless you, dear lady,” again reiterated the old man, as the carriage drove swiftly from the gates.
But the blessing of God was not with Lady Avondale; she had renounced his favour and protection in the hour of prosperity; and she durst not even implore his mercy or his pardon in her present affliction. Thoughts of bitterness crowded together: she could no longer weep—the pressure upon her heart and brain would not permit it.
“Eh! dear heart, how the carriage rowls!” was the first exclamation which awoke her to a remembrance of her situation. “We are ascending the mountain.Fear not, good nurse. Your kindness in accompanying me shall never be forgotten.” “Och musha, what a piteous night it is!—I did not reckon upon it.” “You shall be rewarded and doubly rewarded for your goodness. I shall never forget it. Lord Avondale will reward you,” “Hey sure you make me weep to hear you; but I wish you’d tell the cattle not to drive so uncommon brisk up the precipice. Lord have mercy, if there ain’t shrouds flying over the mountains!” “It is only the flakes of snow driven by the tempest.”
“Do not fret yourself thus,” continued Lady Avondale. “I will take care of you, good nurse.” “I have heard say, and sure I hope it’s no sin to mention it again, my lady, that the wind’s nothing more than the souls of bad christians, who can’t get into Heaven, driven onward, alacks the pity! and shrieking as they pass.” “I have heard the same,”replied Calantha mournfully. “Och lard! my lady, I hope not: I’m sure it’s a horrid thought. I hope, my lady, you don’t believe it. But how terrible your dear ladyship looks, by the light of the moon. I trust in all the saints, the robbers have not heard of our journey.—Hark what a shriek!” “It is nothing but the wind rushing over the vast body of the sea. You must not give way to terror. See how the child sleeps: they say one may go in safety the world over, with such a cherub: Heaven protects it. Sing it to rest, nurse, or tell it some merry tale.”
The carriage proceeded over the rocky path, for it could scarce be termed a road; the wind whistled in at the windows; and the snow drifting, covered every object. “There it comes again,” said the affrighted nurse. “What comes?” “The shroud with the death’s head peeping out of it. It was just such a night as this, last Friday night as evercame, when the doctor’s brother, the prophet Camioli, on his death-bed, sent for his ungrateful daughter, and she would not come. I never shall forget that night. Well, if I did not hear the shriek of the dear departed two full hours after he gave up the ghost. The lord help us in life, as in death, and defend us from wicked children. I hope your dear ladyship doesn’t remember that it was just on this very spot at the crossing, that Drax O’Morven was murdered by his son: and isn’t there the cross, as I live, just placed right over against the road to warn passengers of their danger.—Oh!”...
“What is the matter, nurse? For God sake speak.” “Oh!”... “Stop the carriage. In the name of his Grace the Duke of Altamonte, I desire you to stop,” cried a voice from behind. “Drive on, boys, for your life. Drive on in mercy. We are just at Baron’s Down:—I see the lights of the village, at the bottomof the hill. Drive for your life: a guinea for every mile you go.” The nurse shrieked; the carriage flew; jolts, ruts, and rocks, were unheeded by Calantha. “We are pursued. Rush on:—reach Baron’s Down:—gallop your horses. Fear not. I value not life, if you but reach the inn—if you but save me from this pursuit.” “Stop,” cried a voice of thunder. “Fear not.” “Drive Johnny Carl,” screamed the nurse. “Drive Johnny Carl,” repeated the servant.
The horses flew; the post boys clashed their whips; the carriage wheels scarce appeared to touch the ground. A yell from behind seemed only to redouble their exertions. They arrive: Baron’s Down appears in sight: lights are seen at the windows of the inn. The post boys ring and call: the doors are open: Lady Avondale flew from the carriage:—a servant of the duke’s arrested her progress. “I am sorry to make so bold;but I come with letters from his grace your father. Your Ladyship may remain at Baron’s Down to-night; but to-morrow I must see you safe to the castle. Pardon my apparent boldness: it is unwillingly that I presume to address you thus. My commands are positive.”
“Sure there’s not the laist room at all for the ladies; nor any baists to be had, all the way round Baron’s Down; nor ever so much as a boy to be fetched, as can take care of the cattle over the mountain,” said the master of the inn, now joining in the conversation. “What will become of us?” cried the nurse. “Dear, dear lady, be prevailed on: give up your wild enterprise: return to your father. Lady Anabel will be quite kilt with the fatigue. Be prevailed upon: give up this hopeless journey.” “Youmay return, if it is your pleasure: I never will.” “Your ladyship will excuse me,” said the servant, producing some letters; “but I must entreat yourperusal of these, before you attempt to proceed.”
“You had better give my lady your best accommodations,” said the nurse in confidence to the landlord: “she is a near connexion of the Duke of Altamonte’s. You may repent any neglect you may shew to a traveller of such high rank.” “There’s nae rank will make room,” retorted the landlord. “Were she the late duchess herself, I could only give her my bed, and go without one. But indeed couldn’t a trifle prevail with the baists as brought you, to step over the mountains as far as Killy Cross?” “There’s nae trifle,” said a man, much wrapped up, who had been watching Lady Avondale—“there’s nae trifle shall get ye to Killy Cross, make ye what haste ye can, but what we’ll be there before ye.” Calantha shuddered at the meaning of this threat, which she did not understand; but the nurse informed her it was a servant of Sir Richard Mowbrey’s.