Who is't can read a woman?
SHAKSPEARE.
Arthur Stanhope found M. de Valette at Pemaquid, according to the
information of father Gilbert; for the priest had, in fact, left him
there on the preceding evening, and it was from him that he learned the
tidings of La Tour's imprisonment.
Soon after his interview with Stanhope, at Mount Desert, father Gilbert
obtained permission to visit the confessor at Penobscot, during the
absence of a priest who usually attended him; nor did this voluntary act
of charity excite any suspicion against one who had gained so high a
reputation for zeal and sanctity. Antoine saw, and instantly recognized
him; and, suspecting that his visit to the fort was prompted by a wish
to learn the situation of La Tour, he, under the seal of confession,
imparted his yet immature plan of escape, and, almost beyond his hopes,
found in him a very able assistant and adviser.
Father Gilbert was aware that La Tour favored the Hugonot cause; but he,
with reason, doubted the sincerity of his motives; for he encouraged
the Catholic religion throughout his settlement, and supported the
authority of the priests. He knew that Mad. de la Tour was warmly
attached to the protestant cause, and that her influence was extensive;
the establishment of the true-faith, therefore, seemed to depend on La
Tour's support and assistance; and if some measures were not soon
adopted to procure his freedom, D'Aulney would probably detain him long
in confinement, or perhaps send him to France, to await the slow process
of a trial. If any feelings of personal regard towards La Tour
influenced the priest, they were unacknowledged even to his own heart;
for he carefully excluded every earthly object from his affections, and
seemed to endure life, only in the hope that a severe and constant
discharge of his sacred duties would, at length, insure him a happy
release from its painful bondage.
Towards the close of the day preceding La Tour's escape, De Valette
received a message from father Gilbert, requiring him to return, without
delay, to the neighbourhood of fort Penobscot. Though he assigned no
reason for his request, nor gave any intimation of his plans, the young
Frenchman reposed implicit confidence in his discretion; and, moreover,
as a good Catholic, he was so habituated to the control of a spiritual
guide, that he did not hesitate a moment to comply with this desire.
Stanhope was rather surprised at this ready submission on the part of
De Valette, which was, by no means, a prominent trait in his character;
but, as nothing could be gained by remaining at Pemaquid, he consented
to accompany him, on his nocturnal voyage.
The wind favored their passage, but the evening was dark and gloomy;
and, with no certain object in view, their progress was tedious in the
extreme. The vessels kept close in company, but it was after midnight
when they reached the place appointed by father Gilbert; and, presuming
that they should hear nothing from him till morning, they anchored near
each other, off the shore of Mount Desert. The morning twilight was just
breaking on the distant hills, when the watch from De Valette's vessel
descried an approaching boat. It was occupied by three persons, two of
them labored at the oars, and the third sat in the midst, with folded
arms, in a state of perfect immobility.
"That is father Gilbert, but who brings him hither?" exclaimed De
Valette, as they drew up to the ship's side, and pulled in their oars.
La Tour sprang upon the deck, flinging aside the disguise which he had
till then retained; and a shout of joyful recognition was echoed by
every voice in either vessel. Antoine was received on board with
enthusiasm; and, in answer to the eager inquiries which poured from
every lip, La Tour briefly related the circumstances of his escape,
though he carefully suppressed any allusion to the assistance of Mad.
d'Aulney. It was long before the tumult of gratulation subsided; but
father Gilbert, who alone remained cold and unconcerned, retired from it
as soon as possible, and resumed the guidance of his little bark, which
had safely borne him on many a solitary voyage. The chant of his matin
hymn rose, at intervals, on the fitful breeze; and Stanhope watched him
till he disappeared behind the point of land round which he had followed
him on the preceding day.
La Tour, convinced that all the force which he could at present command
was insufficient to contend with D'Aulney, whose strength had been
greatly, though perhaps without design, misrepresented to him, ordered
the sails to be set for a homeward voyage; and, before sunrise, the
shores of Penobscot were left far behind them.
The remainder of the night, which succeeded La Tour's release, was
passed by Madame d'Aulney, in a state of morbid excitement. She watched
alone by the side of her sleeping infant, and even maternal solicitude
was, for a time, suspended by the intense interest, which her own
perilous adventure, and the safety of La Tour awakened. She felt that
she had done a deed, for which, if by any chance discovered, she could
never hope to obtain forgiveness from her incensed husband. Still, her
conscience acquitted her of any motive criminal in its nature, or
traitorous to his real interest; and the reflection that it had been in
her power to confer an essential benefit on the man whom she had once
deeply, though most unintentionally, injured, was inexpressibly soothing
to her feelings. She counted the moments, which seemed to linger in
their flight, and started at the slightest sound, till sufficient time
had elapsed to convince her that he must have proceeded far on his way,
towards a place of safety.
The dreaded discovery was indeed deferred beyond her utmost
expectations. The guard, who was to relieve Antoine, repaired to his
post at the appointed time; and, though surprised to find it vacated,
yet as the door was perfectly secure, he contented himself with uttering
an oath at his comrade's negligence, and in a few moments it was almost
forgotten. An hour or more passed away, and no motion was heard within;
morning advanced--he thought it strange that his prisoner should enjoy
such sound repose, and a suspicion of the truth began to dawn upon his
mind. He unbarred the door, and his suspicions were, of course,
instantly realized. Repenting the easy faith which had suffered him to
delay an examination, he hastened to impart the intelligence, which soon
spread dismay and confusion throughout the garrison.
Madame d'Aulney heard the loud voices, and hurried steps of the soldiers
without, and the quick note of alarum, whose fearful summons could not
be mistaken. These sounds, though long expected, struck heavily on her
heart; and she uttered a fervent petition to the Virgin, to speed the
wanderer on his doubtful way. She heard various reports of what had
taken place, from her attendants; but she prudently waited for the storm
of passion to subside, before she ventured into the presence of M.
d'Aulney, conscious that the utmost effort of self-command would be
necessary to meet his eye with her usual composure.
"Methinks you are tardy this morning, madame!" he said, stopping in his
hurried walk, and looking fixedly on her countenance, as she at length
entered the room where he was alone.
"Our sick child must plead my excuse," she replied; "he still requires a
watchful care, and I am unwilling to consign him to any one less
interested than myself."
"You are a fond mother," said D'Aulney, resuming his walk; "but, there
are few husbands who choose to be neglected for a puling infant."
"The duties of a wife and mother are closely blended," she returned;
"and I trust I have not been deficient in the performance of either."
"You well know," he said, peevishly, "that I have no fancy for the
nursery, with its appendages of children and nurses; and yet, for three
days, you have scarcely condescended to quit it for an instant. Yes, for
three days," he repeated, again stopping and looking earnestly at her,
"you have secluded yourself from me, and your cheek has grown pale, as
if some cherished care, or deep anxiety, had preyed upon your thoughts!"
"And what anxiety can exceed a mother's?" she asked, the tears springing
to her eyes; "what care so ceaseless and unwearied, as her's, who
watches over the helpless being to whom she has given existence; whose
sufferings no other eye can comprehend; whose infant wants demand the
constant soothings of her enduring tenderness, and exhaustless love! And
has this excited your displeasure?"
"My own affairs have chafed me, Adèle," he said, more gently; "a
favorite project has miscarried, and the vengeance I have so long
desired is foiled, in the very moment when I believed success undoubted;
all this, too, through my own easy credulity, and a lenity, which its
object ill deserved from me!"
"You have erred on the safer side," said Madame d'Aulney, timidly; "and
your own heart, I doubt not, will acknowledge, in some cooler moment,
that it is far better to forego the momentary pleasure of revenge, than
to commit one deed which could stain your name with the guilt of tyranny
and oppression."
"You know little of the wrongs," he answered, sternly, "which for years
have goaded me; and which, if unrevenged, would brand me with worse than
a coward's infamy. The artifice, which has so often baffled my plans;
the arrogance, which has usurped my claims; even you, gentle as you
are, would scorn me, if I could forgive them!"
"Mutual injuries require mutual forgiveness," she replied; "and, in the
strife of angry passions, it is not easy to discriminate the criminal
from the accuser. But," she added, seeing his brow darken, "you have led
me into a subject which can only betray my ignorance; you well know that
I am wholly incompetent to judge of your public affairs; and I have
never ventured to obtrude upon your private views, or personal
feelings."
"You have too much of a woman's heart, Adèle," he said, "to become the
sharer of important councils; a freak of fancy, or a kindly feeling,
might betray or destroy the wisest plan that could be formed."
"Nay," she answered, smiling, "I have no wish to play the counsellor;
and it is well, if my husband can be satisfied with the humble duties
which it is my sole ambition to fulfil."
"And there are enough of these within the limits of our own household,"
D'Aulney replied; "though you are but too ready to extend your
benevolent exertions beyond; you were, for instance, most zealous, the
saints only know why, to save the life of that scoundrel soldier of La
Tour's, when he lay sick here;--I would that he had died!--and, trusting
to your commendations, and his apparent honesty, I raised him to my
favor, and gave him a post, which he has but now most basely betrayed.
Fool, that I was, to think he could have served with such a master, and
not bring with him the taint of treachery!"
"Poor Antoine!" said Madame d'Aulney, equivocally; "he made fair
professions, and the most suspicious could not have doubted his
sincerity. _You_ did not _then_ object to my rendering him those slight
services, which, you thought, might attach him more strongly to your
cause; and I could not think he would repay me with ingratitude. But I
marvel that you, who are so habitually wary and discerning, should have
been deceived by his pretensions; the friend, or servant, who has once
proved perfidious, is unworthy any future confidence."
D'Aulney started, as if stung by the last remark, and looking keenly on
her, replied,
"He is not the only traitor whom I have fostered and protected; some
other hand has been busy in this work, and, though it were the dearest
that I have on earth, my wrath should not abate one tittle of its
justice."
"It was, indeed, a bold adventure!" said Mad. d'Aulney, with admirable
composure; "but if, as I am told, a priest gained access to the prisoner
through Antoine's intervention, they would scarcely deem it necessary to
run the hazard of employing any other agency; and let us not be guilty
of injustice, by indulging suspicions of the innocent."
"I have closely questioned the father confessor on this subject," he
replied, thoughtfully; "and I learn that a stranger, one of his own
crafty order, yesterday visited him; and that soon after leaving his
apartment, he was observed in close conference with the wretch Antoine;
but the guard denies admitting any one through the gate at a later hour;
though a priest, or, as is now supposed, the prisoner in his garb,
passed out after midnight, with the deserter, who gave some plausible
excuse for departing at that unseasonable hour."
"The men are terrified by your anger," said Mad. d'Aulney, "and probably
contradict each other in their natural eagerness to justify themselves;
you permitted the priests to enter freely, and no one can be blamed for
obeying your commands, which did not prohibit a stranger under the
sacred habit."
"The confessor's illness," resumed D'Aulney, with bitterness, "has
gathered all the priests in the land around him; and this goat, who
entered with the herd, is doubtless a creature of La Tour's; but,
beshrew me, were the holy father in the last extremity, I would not
admit another, without a scrutiny which no artifice could escape."
"You have many prisoners left," said Madame d'Aulney, carelessly; "and
this one, though the chief, was he so very important as to justify all
this severity?"
"It matters not, madame," he answered, sternly; "but I care not to have
my wishes thwarted by cunning; my plans defeated by fraud and artifice.
Yet your curiosity shall be gratified," he added; "or, tell me, do you
not already know who has so narrowly escaped the punishment his crimes
have well deserved?"
"You told me," she replied, "that it was a lieutenant of M. de la
Tour's, and I have, of course, sought no further information."
"It is well that you did not;" he said, hastily; "but suppose I should
now tell you that it was the miscreant, La Tour himself, would that
palliate the severity of which you are so ready to accuse me?"
"It would not extenuate the subterfuge which at first concealed the
truth from me," she answered, with an indignant blush, "nor atone for a
want of confidence, which I had not deserved from you."
"And of what importance was this mighty secret to _you_?" he asked,
sarcastically; "methinks you should rather thank me for the kindness
which saved you"--
"It was well," she interrupted, in an accent of decision, "and now let
it pass forever. Your kind precaution, fortunately, has prevented some
suspicions, which, I perceive, you were but too ready to indulge."
"I yet trust he has not quite escaped;" resumed D'Aulney, after a
moment's pause; "I have sent out parties in every direction through the
neighbouring country, and swift boats across the bay; and he must be
gifted with almost supernatural powers, to elude pursuit. His return
shall be loudly celebrated," he added, with a gloomy smile; "and you
shall not complain, Adèle, that we do not call you in to the
rejoicings!"
"I think he will avoid giving that triumph," she replied; "for he
doubtless anticipated your pursuit, and was prepared to elude it; some
of his own people were, most probably, in concert with the priest, to
secure him a safe retreat."
"I doubt not that you wish it," said D'Aulney, angrily; "that you
rejoice in his success, though it abolish my fairest schemes, and
prolong a conflict which has already proved pernicious to my fortune and
interests."
"I can wish for no event," she answered, mildly, "which would retard
your honorable designs, and defeat any rational prospect of happiness or
advantage; neither can I adopt prejudices which I do not comprehend, or
wish evil to one who has never injured me."
"It is well, madame," he replied; "and your benevolence, perchance, will
be rewarded. But, though he now escape, believe me, the hour of
vengeance will one day arrive; I will follow him till he surrenders the
possessions so unlawfully retained, and ceases to assume a power which
has no longer an existence, but in name."
"And is it for a name only, that you contend?" asked Mad. d'Aulney;
"must our domestic peace and safety remain in jeopardy, and the din of
strife forever ring around us, because a powerless enemy refuses to
yield imaginary rights?"
"You are wilfully ignorant on this subject," he replied; "and shew
little of that submission, which a dutiful wife should feel for her
husband's judgment; but it is enough that I know the justice of my own
cause, and that I bear a sword, which has ever been faithful to its
trust. Go you," he added, tauntingly, "and count your rosary, and mutter
to the saints a prayer with every bead; it may be they will protect the
traitor, whom your good wishes have already followed."
So saying, he abruptly left the room; and Madame d'Aulney, with tearful
eyes, and an oppressed heart, hastened to the retirement of her own
apartment.