The midnight pass'd--and to the massy door,
A light step came--it paused--it moved once more;
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key.
LORD BYRON.
La Tour endured the first days of confinement with more patience than
could have been expected from his irascible disposition; his mind was
continually excited by hopes of speedy release, and plans of future
vengeance. D'Aulney's visit to him was not repeated, and his solitude
remained unbroken, except by the person who brought him food, and who
generally performed his office in perfect silence. But the third day
passed more heavily away; he listened to every sound from without his
prison, and as none reached him, which announced approaching succor, he
could not repress an audible expression of anger and disappointment, at
his nephew's tardiness. A thousand plans of escape were formed, and
instantly rejected, as visionary and impracticable. He too well knew the
severe and cautious temper of D'Aulney, to suppose he would leave any
avenue unguarded; and, of course, an attempt of the kind could only end
in defeat, and perhaps a restriction of the few privileges he then
enjoyed. A sentinel watched continually at the outside of his door;
others were stationed near enough to lend assistance on a word of alarm;
and his window, even if the bars could be forced, was rendered secure by
the vigilance of a soldier placed beneath to protect it. His own
strength and address were therefore unavailing; the conviction vexed and
mortified him, and he paced his apartment with rapid steps, till his
harassed feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of irritability.
Daylight disappeared, and the evening advanced in gloom and darkness;
not a star shone in the heavens, and the moon vainly struggled with the
clouds which overshadowed her. A hollow blast, at intervals, swept
across the grated window, then murmured into total silence; the waves
rolled sullenly below, and occasionally the measured dash of oars from
some passing boat was mingled with their melancholy cadence. La Tour's
meditations were broken by the sentinel entering with a light; and as he
placed it on a wooden stand, he lingered a moment, and regarded the
prisoner with peculiar attention. He, however, took no notice of it,
except to avert his face more entirely from, what he considered, a gaze
of impertinent curiosity. The soldier, as he re-opened the door, again
turned, and seemed on the point of speaking; but La Tour could endure
no intrusion, and a glance of angry reproof from his eye, induced a
precipitate retreat. He almost instantly repented this vehemence; for
that parting look was familiar to him, and possibly he might have
received some desirable information.
But it was too late to recall what he had done; and La Tour again sunk
into a train of reflections, though of a more tranquil nature than those
which before agitated him. Recent occurrences had revived the
recollections of earlier years; and he looked back, with softened
feelings, on those peaceful scenes, which he had left in youth to buffet
with the storms of life, and the still fiercer storms of passion. His
thoughts were, at length, exclusively occupied with the appearance of
the female whom he so unexpectedly encountered on the first evening of
his imprisonment, and whose features he had instantly identified with an
image once most dear to him; but which had, long since, been absorbed in
the pursuits of interest, and the struggles of ambition. The time had
indeed gone by, when associations, blended with that image, could deeply
agitate him; and, connected as they were, with his aversion to D'Aulney,
they tended to excite emotions of anger rather than of tenderness.
But, whatever was the nature of his feelings, they were shortly diverted
to another channel by a low sound from without the door, which announced
the cautious withdrawing of its bolts. The next instant it was opened by
the guard who had before entered; and La Tour, surprised at his
appearing so unseasonably,--for it was after midnight--was about to
question him, when he pointed significantly to the door, and again
hastily retired.
"Antoine!" exclaimed La Tour, suddenly recognizing in him a soldier of
his own, who, on some former occasion, had been taken prisoner by
D'Aulney, and voluntarily remained in his service. The call was
unanswered; but presently the door again opened, and a figure entered,
dressed in priestly guise, with a cowl drawn closely over his face. La
Tour, at first, thought only of father Gilbert; and, with undefined
expectation, rose to meet him; but another glance showed, that this
person was low in stature, and altogether different in appearance from
the monk. He retreated, with a sensation of keen disappointment; and
believing that he saw before him some emissary from D'Aulney, he asked,
impatiently,
"Who are you, that steal in upon my solitude at this untimely hour? that
garb is your protection, or you might have reason to repent this rash
and unwelcome intrusion!"
The object of this interrogation and menace seemed to shrink from the
searching gaze of La Tour; and, without returning a word in reply,
covered his face with both hands, as if still more effectually to
conceal his features.
"What trick of priestcraft is this?" demanded La Tour, angrily; "is it
not enough, that I am held in duresse by a villain's power, but must I
be denied, even the poor privilege of bearing my confinement unmolested?
What, silent yet!" he added, in a tone of sarcasm; "methinks, thou art a
novice in thy cunning trade, or thou wouldst not be so chary of thy
ghostly counsel, or so slow to shrive the conscience of a luckless
prisoner!"
"St. Etienne!" replied a voice, which thrilled his ear, in
well-remembered accents; and, at the same moment, a trembling hand
removed the cowl which covered a face glowing with confusion, and
confined the light ringlets, that again fell profusely around the neck
and brow.
"Adèle!" exclaimed La Tour, springing towards her; then suddenly
retreating to the utmost limits of the room, while every nerve shook
with powerful emotion. He closed his eyes, as if fearing to look upon a
face that he had last seen in the brightness of his hopes; and which
twelve years had left unchanged, except to mature the loveliness of
earliest youth into more womanly beauty and expression, and to deepen
the pensiveness, that always marked it, into a shade of habitual
melancholy.
"Adèle, are _you_ too leagued against me?" resumed La Tour, with
recovered firmness, and looking stedfastly on her; "have _you_ entered
into the secret counsels of my foe? and are you sent hither to torture
me with your presence? to remind me, by it, of past, but never to be
forgotten, injuries--of the worse than infernal malice, with which he
has ever pursued me, and for which, I exult in the hope of one day
calling him to a deadly reckoning!"
"Speak you thus of my husband?" she asked, in an accent of reproof; "and
think you such language is meet to be addressed to the ear of a wife?"
"Aye, of your husband, lady," said La Tour, yielding to his chafed and
bitter feelings; "he was once my friend, too; the friend who won my
confidence, only to abuse it, who basely calumniated me, in absence, who
treacherously stole from me the dearest treasure of my heart. Adèle," he
continued more calmly, "I do not love you _now_; that youthful passion,
which was once the sun of my existence, has lost its strength in other
ties, and sterner duties; but, can I meet your eye again, and not recall
the perfidy which drove me forth, from friends and country, an
adventurer in the pathless wilderness? can I look upon your face, and
not curse the wretch, who won from me its smiles, who burst our love
asunder, in all its purity and fervor, while yet unruffled by one shade
of doubt, one fear of disappointment?"
"La Tour," said Mad. d'Aulney, striving to conceal her emotion, "why all
this bitter invective? now, indeed, most vain and useless! why wound my
ear, by accusations which _I_ surely do not merit, and which is a most
ungrateful theme, when uttered against one whom I am bound, by every
tie of duty and interest, to respect! If you believe me innocent"--
"I do believe you are most innocent!" interrupted La Tour, impetuously;
"yours was a heart too guileless to deceive, too firm in virtuous
principle to be sullied, even by a union with the vicious and depraved.
No, Adèle, I have never cherished one feeling of resentment towards you;
you, like myself, was the victim of that baseness, which invented a tale
of falsehood to deceive you, of that meanness, which flattered your
father's ambitious hopes, by a boast of rank and wealth; while my only
offer was a sincere heart, my only wealth, an untarnished name, and a
sword, which I hoped would one day gather me renown, in the field of
honor."
"Enough of this," said the lady, exerting all her firmness; "it is
unwise to recall the past, nor is this a fitting time to indulge in
reminiscences of pain or pleasure; the night is fleeting fast, and every
moment of delay is attended with danger."
"What mean you?" asked La Tour, a sudden hope of release darting through
his mind; "_I_ fear no danger; but _you_ may well dread a tyrant's
wrath, should you be seen hovering around a prison, which he would be
loath to cheer with one ray of brightness."
"I must first see you depart," she replied; "and then, I trust, the good
saints will guide me safely back to the couch of my sick infant, from
which I stole, when every eye was closed in sleep, to attempt your
liberation."
"My liberation!" said La Tour, in surprise; "may heaven bless you for
the kind thought, Adèle; but you deceive yourself, if you admit the
possibility of effecting it."
"You know not my resources," she answered, with a smile; "but listen to
my plan, and you will no longer remain incredulous; I am persuaded the
chance of success is much greater than the danger of discovery, and
unless we _do_ succeed, I fear you will have much, and long to suffer."
"There is no chance which I would not hazard," said La Tour, "to free
myself from this hateful prison, which is more intolerable to me than
the most hopeless dungeon ever invented by despotic jealousy. Yet I
would endure any sufferings, rather than involve _you_ in difficulty, or
for an instant expose you to the suspicion of one, too unrelenting, I
well know, to extend forgiveness, even to those who have the strongest
claims on his tenderness."
"Passion and prejudice render you unjust," said Mad. d'Aulney; "but this
hour and place are too dangerous to authorize idle scruples, and what is
to be done can admit of no delay. Yet I will first remove your
apprehensions on my account, by assuring you, that my husband thinks me
ignorant of your situation, and, of course, my interference in your
escape cannot be suspected." She blushed deeply as she added, "from
whatever cause, he has carefully concealed your imprisonment from me,
and induced me to believe, that a lieutenant, only, led on your people
to the engagement with him, and that he was the present occupant of this
apartment. I need not add, that the transient glimpse I accidentally
obtained of you, undeceived me, and that I have confined this discovery
entirely to my own breast."
"Dastard!" exclaimed La Tour, indignantly; "this jealous care accords
well with the baseness of his heart; and I wonder not that he fears to
lose the affection which was so unjustly gained, if, indeed, it were
ever truly his."
"Must I again ask you, La Tour," she said, with a displeased air, "to
refrain from these invectives, which I may not, cannot listen to, and
which render my attempt to serve you, almost criminal?"
"Forgive me this once only, madam," said La Tour, "and I will endeavor
not to offend again. And now, will you have the goodness to impart your
plan to me; and, if you are excluded from blame and danger, how shall I
bless the generous courage which prompted you to appear in my behalf!"
"My confessor has been ill for several days," said Mad. d'Aulney; "and,
during his confinement, two missionary priests, attached to the
settlement, have frequently attended him, and been permitted to pass the
gates without questioning, whenever they chose. Early this morning, I
encountered a priest, of very peculiar appearance, whose person was
entirely unknown to me; he was going to the sick man's apartment, and, I
have since learned, supplied the place of one who usually attended, but
had unexpectedly been called away. There was something in his tall
figure, and the expression of his pale and melancholy features, which
arrested my attention; I closely remarked him, and perceived that he
looked round inquisitively, though he wore an air of calm abstraction,
which would scarcely have been suspected by an indifferent observer."
"It must have been father Gilbert," said La Tour; "and, if he is
concerned, I would place the utmost confidence in his prudence and
fidelity."
"That is his name," said Mad. d'Aulney, "as I was afterwards told by
Antoine, the guard, who now waits at the door"--
"Antoine! _he_ cannot be trusted," interrupted La Tour; "he has once
deserted my cause, and joined the standard of an enemy, and I cannot
again rely on his integrity."
"He was seduced from his duty," returned Mad. d'Aulney; "but, I believe,
has sincerely repented of his error, and is now anxious to atone for it.
You shall judge for yourself. A few weeks since, he was so dangerously
ill, that very faint hopes were entertained of his recovery; and,
hearing that he was a stranger, and in many respects destitute, I was
induced to visit him, and administer such comforts as his state
required. What he termed my kindness, excited his warmest gratitude, and
he unburthened his conscience to me, of the crime which seemed to lie
heavily on it. He considered his disorder a visitation of Providence,
inflicted as a punishment for his desertion; and he wished most
earnestly to return to your service. I was pleased with the good
feelings he displayed, but advised him to rest contented for the
present, promising to aid his wishes if any opportunity offered; and,
from that time I have seen little of him, till since your arrival."
"And you have now engaged his assistance?" asked La Tour; "well, be it
so; once more in the open air, I fear not even treachery; and, furnished
with a trusty weapon, I bid defiance to every obstacle that can oppose
my freedom."
"Caution you will find more useful than strength," said Mad. d'Aulney;
"and by its aid we have thus far succeeded, even beyond my expectations.
This afternoon, I observed father Gilbert in conversation with Antoine;
and, trusting to the sincerity of the latter, I soon after found a
pretext for speaking with him, and cautiously introduced the subject of
your escape. He was ready, at every risk, to assist in any measures
which could be adopted; and informed me that it had already been
discussed between himself and the priest, and that he was, this night,
to stand sentinel at your door. Nothing could be more propitious to our
views; and, in the course of the day, we have found means to arrange
every thing, I hope, with perfect safety."
"This is indeed a kindness, a condescending interest, of which I am
wholly unworthy," said La Tour, with energy; "how, Adèle, can I ever
show you the gratitude, the"--
"Speak not of that, La Tour," she hastily interrupted; "think now of
nothing but your safety; trust implicitly to the guidance of Antoine;
and, I trust, it will soon be insured."
"And you," said La Tour, "who have generously hazarded so much to aid
me--how can I be satisfied that you will escape unharmed? how can I
leave you, in uncertainty and peril?"
"Believe me," said Mad. d'Aulney, "I am perfectly secure; Antoine will
desert his post to go with you, and suspicion must rest entirely on him,
and father Gilbert. The priest waits for you without the fort; and, once
with him, pursuit will be unavailing, even if your flight is soon
discovered; delay no longer, the morning watch approaches, and you must
be far from hence, before another guard appears to relieve Antoine.
These garments will sufficiently disguise you," she added, divesting
herself of a loose robe and monkish cloak, which covered her own dress;
"the soldier on duty will take you for a priest returning from the
confessor's room, and you will probably pass unquestioned, as the
priests, of late, have free access here at all hours."
"And whither do you go, and how elude observation?" asked La Tour.
"I have only to cross the passage, and descend a narrow staircase," she
replied; "both of which were left to the vigilance of Antoine; and I
shall reach my own apartment, without encountering any one."
A low rap was at that moment heard without the door; Mad. d'Aulney, at
the sound, turned quickly to La Tour, and offering him her hand, with a
melancholy smile, she said,
"It is time for us to part; and may the blessed saints be with you, St.
Etienne, and guide you from hence in safety; we may never meet again,
but my prayers will always intercede for your happiness and prosperity."
"God bless you, Adèle," said La Tour, in a subdued voice, taking her
hand respectfully, "for this night's kindness; for all that you have
ever shewn me, words are too feeble to express my gratitude; may heaven
watch over you, and make you as happy as you deserve to be: farewell!"
Mad. d'Aulney turned from him in silence; and Antoine instantly opening
the door, in obedience to a signal from her, she addressed a parting
word of good will to him, and hastily descended the stairs. La Tour
stood with his eyes fixed on her retiring figure, till Antoine ventured
to urge his departure, by reminding him, that every moment's delay
increased the danger of discovery. He started at the suggestion; and,
wrapping the cloak around him, and drawing the cowl closely over his
face, they proceeded in perfect silence, leaving the door secured, as
before, by bolts and bars, in the hope that it might lull suspicion for
a short time, or, at least, retard the moment of certain discovery. They
passed out into the open air, through a door which Antoine had the means
of opening, and thus avoided the sentinels who guarded the usual
passage.
The continued darkness favored La Tour's disguise; they safely reached
the gate, and Antoine informed the guard that he was ordered to conduct
the holy father out, and that he had, himself, a commission from his
lord, which would detain him several hours. They were immediately
permitted to pass. Every obstacle was then surmounted, and, with
feelings of exultation, La Tour again stood upon the ocean's verge, and
listened to the rushing of the wind and waves, beneath the free and
ample canopy of heaven. He looked back towards the fort, visible by a
few glimmering lights, and the gratitude and tenderness which had so
recently subdued his stern and haughty spirit, were strangely blended
with revenge and hatred against the man, from whose power he was then
escaping.
Antoine uttered a shrill whistle, which was answered by the dash of
oars; and a skiff presently shot from a little bay, and drew near the
spot where they waited. Father Gilbert was in it; La Tour grasped his
hand, in silence; and Antoine, taking the oars, applied all his strength
and dexterity, to bear them swiftly over the dark and troubled waters.