"I have been anxious for you, my children," said Father George, as
they entered his little chamber by the side of the chapel. "What,
weeping, Adelaide! Are you not happy? Have you a doubt?"
"None, none," she answered, holding out her hand to Ferdinand. "I know
not why you sent for us, Father, but I am sure that whatever you
counsel is right, and I feel that my fate is linked to his, as my
heart is to his heart, and his to mine, I do believe; but there are
other tears than sad ones, good Father, and though mine are not sad,
they might well be so, considering all the objects on the path
hither."
"Say, solemn, rather, my child," answered Father George; "but for the
rest: if you can love and do love, as I believe, there is happiness
before you. Are you prepared, Adelaide, to bind yourself to him you
love by bonds that cannot be broken?"
She looked down, and the blood mounting into her cheek, then left it
as pale as alabaster; but her lips moved, and in a lone tone, she
said, "I am."
"And you, Ferdinand," continued the priest, "are you prepared, at all
risks, to wed this fair lady--not with the vehement and ardent fire of
youth, though that I know you feel, but with the steadfast purpose and
desire to make her reasonable happiness, your great end and object of
existence; to seek it by all means, and at all times; to do her right
in every word, and thought, and deed; to be to her what God intended
man to be to woman, her support and strength, her protection and
her comfort, more than a friend, more than a brother, more than a
lover--one with herself in every good wish and purpose? Answer me
thoughtfully, my son, for I take a great responsibility upon me. I
counsel her to give her hand to you against every worldly custom and
all human policy; and if you ever make her regret that deed, the
sorrow and the shame will rest on me."
"I am ready, Father," answered Ferdinand, "to take her hand as the
best gift that Heaven could give me, on the conditions and in the
terms you say. We are not like many others, Father, we have known each
other from youth's early days, when childhood has no concealments, and
the heart is without disguise. Deep affection and sincere regard have
ripened, on my part at least, into love that never can change, for one
whose heart I know too well to doubt that it can alter either.
Whatever dangers may beset our way--and I see many--there will be none
from changed affection.--But I beseech you play not with my hopes. I
know not much of such things, it is true, but I have heard that there
are difficulties often insuperable in the way of those who, at our age
and in our circumstances, would unite their fate together."
"There are, my son," answered Father George; "but in your case I have
removed them. Here, under my hand," he continued, laying it as he
spoke upon a roll of parchment on the table, "I have a dispensation
from our Holy Father, the Pope, for your immediate marriage; and for
weighty reasons which I have stated to him by the mouth of his Legate,
he gives me full authority and power to celebrate it whenever occasion
shall serve. No moment could be more favourable than the present--no
moment when it is more needful. Dangers, my son, there may be; but
they are not such as you anticipate; and watchful eyes are upon you to
ward off anything that may menace; but fail not either of you, if you
see the slightest cause for alarm, to give me warning by some means;
and now, my children, come with me; for the night wears, and you must
not be long absent."
Ferdinand took Adelaide's hand in his, and followed the priest into
the chapel, by the small door, in the side of his little room, which
led almost direct to the altar. He gazed at her fondly as he went, and
joy, the deepest he had ever felt in life, was certainly in his heart;
but there was something in the hour and the circumstances which
softened and solemnized without decreasing that joy. Adelaide turned
but one momentary glance on him, and it was almost sad, yet full of
love. There was anxiety in it--ay, and fear over and above the timid
emotion with which woman must always take that step which decides her
fate for happiness or unhappiness through life. She seemed less
surprised indeed at all that had taken place with the good priest than
her lover. The object for which Father George had sent for them did
not appear so unexpected to her as it did to him. It seemed as if she
had had a presentiment or a knowledge of what was to come; and
Ferdinand now understood the agitation which she had displayed just
before they entered Father George's cell. She went on, however,
without hesitation--ay, and without reluctance, and in a moment after
they stood together before the altar. The candles thereon were already
lighted, and a small gold ring lay upon the book. All seemed prepared
beforehand, but ere Father George commenced the ceremony, he bade
Ferdinand unlock the chapel door and leave it ajar. As soon as the
lover had returned to Adelaide's side, the words which were to bind
them together for weal or woe, through life, began. She answered
firmly, though in a low tone; and when the ring was at length on her
finger, Ferdinand heard, or thought he heard, a voice without murmur,
"It is done!"
The fair girl marked it not; but, as if overcome by all the emotions
of that hour, stretched out her arms to her young husband, and leaned
upon his breast. She wept not, but she hid her eyes, saying in an
earnest but trembling tone, "Oh, dear Ferdinand, remember, remember
all you have promised."
"I will, love, I will," he answered. "You are my own, sweet bride; and
I will ever cherish you as the better part of my own life. Shall I now
lead her back, Father?"
"Nay," said the priest, "there is more yet to be done. The church's
part is over, and the bond irrevocable; but yet the laws of the land
require something more, and every form must be fulfilled. But all is
prepared. Come with me once more, and sign the contract. Then, after a
moment's rest, you may go back--Yes," he added, after some thought and
apparent hesitation, "you had better go back for this night at least.
But I will not trust you to stay there long. You are both too young,
too inexperienced, and too fond, to conceal from the eyes of others
the bond that is between you. Keep yourselves ready, however, and I
will arrange the means for your flight, and a safe asylum."
"Could we not go at once," asked Ferdinand, as they followed to the
priest's chamber, "to the house of good Franz Creussen? He seems to
know much of my fate, and to love me well."
"Not to-night, not to-night," answered Father George; "you forget who
may be met on the way thither. Nay, return for this night, and be
cautious where you are. Ere to-morrow you shall hear more; but in the
mean time, in case of need, no arm will be found stronger to aid, no
heart more ready to serve you, than that of good Franz Creussen. You
may trust to him in any case, for he does love you well, and has
proved his love to you and yours, ere now." The contract was signed;
and, when all was complete, the priest opened the door, saying, "Keep
the key I have given you carefully, Ferdinand, it may serve you in
many ways; but to-morrow you shall either see or hear from me. And
now, farewell, my children, God's benison and the holy church's be
upon you!"
With this blessing they departed; and Adelaide and Ferdinand returned
to the castle more slowly even than they had come thence. It often
happens in life that one emotion drowns another; and although they
could not but know that there were dangers of many kinds before them,
and though the gloomy scenes which they had so lately passed through
still lay on their road back, yet the rapturous joy of the moment, the
knowledge that they were united beyond the power of fate, as they
thought, to sever them, swallowed up apprehension and awe, and left
nought but one of those wild visions of happiness which occasionally
break upon the night of life.
As on the occasion of Ferdinand's former visit, neither sights nor
sounds that could create alarm awaited them on their return. The
untrimmed lamp stood burning faintly where they had left it, and
passing quickly through the vaults, they soon reached the hall above.
There they lingered for some time, and then extinguishing the light,
found their way through the other passages, and up the stairs; but the
grey eye of morning was faintly opening on the world when the young
husband returned to his own chamber. Casting himself on his bed, he
strove to sleep; but for nearly an hour the wild emotions of his heart
kept him waking, and then for a short time he slept with heavy and
profound slumber. What it was that woke him he knew not, but he raised
himself with a sudden start, and looked round as if some one had
called. He saw that the sun had climbed higher than he had imagined,
and rising, he dressed himself hastily, but with care, then gazed for
a single instant in sweet thought out of the window, and breaking of
his reverie, suddenly turned to the door. He fancied he must be still
dreaming when he found that it would not yield to his hand. He shook
it vehemently, but it did not give way. He strove to burst it open,
but it resisted all his efforts.
"This is strange, indeed!" he said to himself, with his thoughts all
whirling and confused, in agitation, anger, and apprehension; for
where there is aught to be concealed, fear has always some share in
the sensations which any event unaccounted for produces. After a
moment's thought, however, he calmed himself, and walking to the
casement, looked down upon the wall below. The height was
considerable, and no sentinel was underneath at the moment; but the
measured tread of a heavy foot was heard round the angle of the tower;
and the young gentleman waited calmly till the man paced round, and
came under the spot where he stood. "Ho! Rudolph," he said, "some one,
in sport, I suppose, has locked my door; go in and bid them open it."
The man obeyed, but returned in a minute or two after with another,
who looked up to the window, saying, as soon as he saw the young
gentleman's face, "It is that young fellow, Martin of Dillberg, Sir,
who has locked it; and he will not give up the keys declaring he has a
charge to make against you when our lord returns, and that he will
keep you there till he does."
Ferdinand's heart beat a good deal with very mixed sensations, but he
answered instantly,--"Who commands in this castle when the Count and
his knights are away?"
"Why you, Sir, certainly," answered Rudolph; "but I can't see how we
can help you, as the lock is on your side of the door, and we dare not
venture to lay hands on Count Frederick's man. Can you not contrive to
push back the bolt with your dagger?"
"I have tried while you were away," answered Ferdinand. "Hie you to
the stable, Rudolph, bring me one of the strong ropes you will find
there, fix it on the end of your lance, and stretch the end up to me.
I will soon teach this Martin of Dillberg who has the gravest charge
to make against the other."
The two men hastened to obey; and Ferdinand remained at the casement,
anxiously looking for their return. Ere they appeared, however, he
heard their voices speaking apparently to another person; and one of
the soldiers exclaimed aloud,--"Get you gone, Sir! You have no command
here. If you attempt to take hold of it I will break your pate; and if
Master Ferdinand, when he gets out, bids us shut you up for your
pains, we will do it."
"Rudolph! Herman!" shouted Ferdinand from the window, "make sure of
his person. He is a traitor and a knave!"
The men did not hear him, but came on, carrying between them a heavy
coil of rope, the end of which was speedily stretched out upon the
point of the lance, to such a height that he could reach it. Then
fastening it rapidly to the iron bar which separated the casement into
two, Ferdinand took the rope between his hands and feet, and slid down
upon the platform.
"Now follow me, quick," he cried. "Where is this treacherous hound? By
Heaven! I have a mind to cleave his skull for him."
"He was just now at the steps going down to the court," replied the
man Herman; "but you had better not use him roughly, Sir. Shut him up
till our lord returns."
"Come on then, come on," cried Ferdinand, still hurrying forward; "we
shall lose our hold of him. He dare not stay and face me."
It was as he thought, for by the time he reached the court, Martin of
Dillberg was mounted and passing the drawbridge. A sneering smile of
triumph and malice curled his lip as Ferdinand advanced under the
arch, and turning his horse for an instant, he exclaimed, "I go to
give news of you to your friends, good Sir. Pray where were you at
midnight? You, my good men, if you will follow my advice, will keep
that youth within the castle walls, for he is a traitor to his lord
and yours, as I will prove upon him at my return."
Thus saying, he wheeled his horse and spurred away; and Ferdinand,
with as light a look as he could assume, turned back into the castle.
The two men paused for a minute to converse together, and Ferdinand,
hurrying on, passed twice through the corridor with a heavy step, in
the hope that Bertha might hear him and come forth. She did not
appear, however, and then going out to the battlements, he passed by
the window where she usually sat and worked. She was there, and alone,
and making a sign towards the corridor, he returned thither without
delay. In a few minutes the gay girl joined him, but she instantly saw
from his look that something had gone amiss, and her warm cheek turned
somewhat pale in anticipation of his tidings.
"Hie you to Father George with all speed, Bertha," said Ferdinand;
"tell him that I fear that young hound, Martin of Dillberg, has
tracked me and your lady to the chapel last night, or else saw me come
forth from her chamber. Bid him hasten to help us, or we are lost, for
the young villain is gone to bear the news to the Count. Hark!--there
are trumpets!" and springing to the window, he looked out.
"The Count, upon my life!" he exclaimed. "Away, Bertha, away!"
"But I shall meet them!" exclaimed the girl, wildly; "and I shake so,
I am ready to drop."
"Here, take this key," cried Ferdinand; "it opens the small door out
of the great hall; then straight on along the passage, down the well
stairs, and through the vaults--straight as you can go. You cannot
miss your way. If you would save me, your lady, and yourself, you must
shake off all idle terrors. You have now full daylight, and it streams
into the vaults as clear as it does here. Leave the door unlocked
behind you."
"I will go," said Bertha, "if all the ghosts in the church-yard were
there. But I must first warn my lady;" and away she sped.