Adelaide was sad, though the words of the priest had, in some degree,
allayed the anxiety she felt for him she loved; but yet she was
sad--very sad. There were now other causes of depression weighing down
her mind, which during the fever of apprehension she had not
experienced. She now felt what it was to quit her father's house, a
fugitive--under his anger--under, perhaps, his curse. There might
indeed be matter of consolation in her thoughts; there might be a full
justification of her conduct to her own heart. She might feel, or
might believe, that she had done no wrong. Scanning her motives as
severely as she could, she might, with a clear conscience, say, that
not for any personal feeling,--not for love, or from weakness, had she
neglected a duty to a parent; that passion, or fancy, or attachment,
had not shared, even in a degree, in what she had done. Though she
loved as deeply as she was loved in return, and owned to her own heart
that she had made no sacrifice of aught but the girl's timidity, still
it was sad to quit the home of youth as an outcast. It weighed upon
her that her father's last words to her should have been those of
anger and bitterness; that the eye which had ever looked beaming upon
her, even when it fell cold and harsh on others, should at length have
blazed with rage as it rested on her face.
Apprehension, too, mingled with such painful sensations. What if the
early discovery of all that had taken place should frustrate the
object which had made her willing, eager in her consent? What if her
absence, and that of her young husband, in a moment of peril, should
leave her father exposed to the dangers from which she would fain have
shielded him? Her heart sank as she thought of it; and, moreover, she
said to herself, with a sigh--for all women, and most men, think of
the world's opinion, more or less--"People will believe that I have
yielded to love for Ferdinand to disobey my father on the most vital
point, and they will condemn me justly, and think my punishment hardly
severe enough."
She felt very sad then: she could take no pleasure in the scenes
through which she passed, though the green woods were everywhere
pleasant to the eye, and often many a lovely spot peeped in upon her
through the sloping chasms in the hills, as she went along. In vain
Bertha, with gay talk, strove hard to win her from her heavy thoughts;
and though the men who accompanied her were kind and civil in their
rude way, yet nought could win a smile to poor Adelaide's lip.
The sun rose high, and looked down into the dells through which they
wound along, gilding the banks of moss, and chequering the narrow road
with waving filigree work, of yellow light and green shade. He began
to sink behind the branches of the higher trees, and a cool, fresh air
followed his decline. Through the most unfrequented parts of the wide
forest, which stretched far along the hills, they took their way,
avoiding village, and hamlet, and farm, and even keeping at a distance
from the course of the stream. The paths they chose were those of the
woodman; or the hunter; but even the latter trod them so seldom, that
more than once, from a thicket close at hand, the wild roe bounded
away; and twice or thrice, where a shady glade opened into the heart
of the wood, a stag was seen raising his antlered head, and gazing
steadfastly at the unwonted sight of a cavalcade crossing his own
habitual solitude.
At length, after four hours' slow riding, the man who seemed the
leader of the little troop which had been sent to guard Adelaide on
her way, drew in his horse, saying, "I think, lady, we must now be
beyond all danger, and can well afford to halt for an hour to refresh
ourselves and our horses, under the trees, with the provisions which
my lord, the Abbot, has bountifully supplied."
"If the horses need refreshment, let us stop," replied Adelaide: "I
would not have the poor beasts misused for me; but you need not halt
on my account: I do not need any repose, and am only anxious to
proceed as fast as may be."
The good man, however, chose to take it for granted that the cattle
did want food and rest, though they had fed well at the abbey, and had
rested for some hours. Bertha, too, to say the truth, was right glad
of some refreshment; for she had had a weary and an apprehensive
night; and hers was a light heart, that forgot its fears as soon as
danger was no longer very apparent.
Adelaide dismounted, then, as soon as she saw that it needs must be
so; and seated on the turf, beneath a spreading beech tree, a
plentiful meal was laid out before her, with some of the rich wines of
the abbey; of which good cheer her companions failed not to partake
more plentifully than she did herself. The horses, tethered near, fed
on some oats which had been brought for their need, and finished their
meal upon the forest grass; and thus nearly an hour passed without any
sign of an intention to move.
The sun where they sat was shining brightly upon a small open space in
front, not a cloud seemed to shadow any part of the sky, and the tops
of the distant hills, seen through the brake, appeared peculiarly
sharp and clear. But, in the midst of this serenity, Adelaide's quick
ear caught a peculiar rolling sound, coming apparently from a distance
on the right, and starting up, she asked, "Is not that thunder?"
adding, "let us go on quickly, I pray you, Sir."
"Oh, 'twas but the wind amongst the trees, lady," answered the man,
hardly moving a limb: but his assertion was contradicted a moment
after by a louder and a nearer peal.
All was now bustle and hurry. The horses were prepared in haste, the
remnants of the meal packed up, and the whole party mounted. But
scarcely had Adelaide advanced a hundred yards, when a bright flash
broke across the path; and, ere she had gone half a mile, the rain
poured down in torrents. The leader of her little troop was now really
kind: often and anxiously he looked back towards her; would fain have
stripped himself of his cloak to defend her better from the large,
heavy drops that, as they fell, went through and through the gown of
black serge which she wore above her ordinary dress; and sent two men
away, to the right and left, to see if they could find any cottage, or
woodman's hut, which would afford a covering from the storm. A shed
was at length discovered, and there two weary hours were passed, till
the lady declared, looking up to the sky, that she would rather
proceed, notwithstanding the continued rain, than delay her journey
longer. The leader of the troop was not unwilling, and, after a short
pause, they again began their march, and proceeded for a mile, or
somewhat more, uninterrupted. The rain still poured upon their heads,
and, far from affording any shelter, the trees seemed but to collect
the water amongst the branches, and then let it fall in larger drops
upon the travellers as they passed. But at length they seemed to
approach the verge of the wood; for, through the avenue of tall
beeches which they were now pursuing, Adelaide could see an open field
of green corn, with some shrubs and scattered brushwood beyond again,
though the grey film of heavy drops, which hung like a thin curtain
over all the distant objects, prevented her from distinguishing
anything clearly. It was evident, however, that the leader of the band
thought they were approaching a point of some danger; for he sent on
one of his horsemen a little in advance, to reconnoitre the ground,
and followed more slowly, as if unwilling to advance till he had
received intelligence. The man returned in a minute at full speed, and
said something, in a low tone, which the lady did not distinctly hear.
Instantly, however, the leader turned to her, exclaiming, "Ride back,
lady, with your woman. There are armed men in front, who, he thinks,
have seen him: ride back to the shed. We will--"
But, ere he could finish his sentence, or Adelaide could ask any
questions, there was the sound of many horses' feet beating the plashy
ground at a quick pace; and, looking between the shoulders of the
horsemen who were in front, the lady saw a number of mounted men
coming rapidly down the road. All was, in a minute, confusion and
bustle: Adelaide's male companions hastening to spread out across the
road before her, at once to conceal her flight and to prevent pursuit.
Without waiting to see more, she drew her rein in terror, and urging
her horse into its quickest pace, dashed away till she reached the
narrow turning which led to the small woodman's shed, up which she
instantly directed her course, nor stopped till she saw the rough hut,
with its thatched roof raised upon six bare poles. There, however, she
paused, and looked behind, thinking that Bertha was following; but the
girl was not to be seen.
The lady listened; but for a moment no sound was heard: then the quick
trampling of horses' feet reached her ear; and Adelaide fancied that
Bertha was coming; but the beasts and their riders passed by the end
of the little path,--at least she believed that they must have done
so, for no one appeared, and the sounds grew gradually fainter and
more faint, till at length they died away. The poor girl's heart sank.
What had become of her companions? she thought; what had become of
Bertha? Had they met with her father's soldiery, and been routed and
driven back? and was she left there, in the midst of the wood, alone,
and without help or guidance? Every fearful image that fancy could
call up presented itself to her mind; and, though Adelaide was not
faint-hearted, yet, for a time, her courage failed at the thought of
all that might occur to her under such circumstances. She struggled
against her terrors, indeed,--she would not dwell upon the dangers;
and she was nerving her mind to consider calmly what it was best for
her to do, when again the trampling sound of horse was heard; and,
leaving the beast that bore her, under the woodman's shed, she drew
back amongst the trees, and listened. The next moment a loud voice
exclaimed, as if shouting to some distant companions, "Here; the hoofs
have turned up here. Come on, come on!"
It was evidently not one of the party which had accompanied her from
the abbey who was now seeking her, for they knew whither she had gone;
and the lady drew further back, still hiding herself amongst the wet
trees and bushes, yet leaving herself just room to see what passed on
the open spot around the shed. The boughs had hardly ceased waving
where she had pushed them aside, when, first a single soldier,
leading his horse by the bridle, appeared, and then two or three
others, mounted. Their faces were strange to her; they were none of
the men of Ehrenstein; but that they were seeking her, soon seemed
clear, for one of them exclaimed, "Ah, here's the girl's horse--take
care; don't frighten it;" and, bending down low, behind the bushes,
Adelaide remained as still as death; but with a beating heart. What
more was said she did not hear, though the men remained some time, and
seemed to converse eagerly: but that which appeared most strange was,
that, as far as she could see, they made no attempt to search the
copses around; and at length, mounting their horses again, rode
quietly, but quickly, away.
For several minutes, she did not venture to raise her head; but when
at length she did so, and looked towards the shed, she saw that the
jennet which had brought her thither was gone. At first her brain
seemed to swim with terror, and her knees shook violently. Alone,
in a part of the country which she did not know, without any means
of proceeding but such as her own weary and trembling limbs
afforded--surrounded, perhaps, by those who were seeking to carry her
to an imprisonment which would almost be worse than death--or in the
midst of wild, lawless bands, which were but too numerous in those
days,--with night fast approaching, and no shelter near but the wide
wood, what was she to do?--whither was she to go?--where could she
find refuge?
Such agonizing thoughts rushed rapidly through her mind, and it was
long ere she could calm herself sufficiently to reflect upon any plan
of action. At length, however, she remembered the green corn which she
had seen growing at the opening of the road, and she thought, too,
that her eyes had rested upon the foliage of the vine. Such signs of
cultivation implied the proximity of some careful hands, and as these
things recurred to her, hope began to revive.
"I will wait," she said, at length, "till night begins to fall, and
then quietly find my way forward, and seek out the peasant's dwelling
who has tilled those fields. Though rude, the boors are kind-hearted;
and I am sure they will give me shelter for the night, and, perhaps,
help me on my way to-morrow."
She seated herself, therefore; and, though still grieved, anxious, and
sad, confidence in some degree returned. She prayed, and her heart
felt strengthened and comforted. The nightingale broke out into song,
in a tree overhead. A timid hare ran along before her--paused, and
stood erect with lifted ears--ran on--paused again and listened more
than once before it was lost to her sight; and Adelaide thought, "Why
should not I, frightened, and in danger, like this poor beast, follow
its example, and make my way forward with the same careful caution?"
She resolved to do so; and rising, she crept back to the small path
that led from the woodman's shed to the wider road which she had
lately been travelling, and then gazed along it as far as the eye
could reach. Nothing was visible; though in the cool evening light,
with the sun just upon the horizon, shining out from beneath the
exhausted clouds, she could see clearly as far as a spot about two
hundred yards in advance, where the path, taking a turn, was lost
amongst the trees. With a cautious step she went on, pausing to listen
every minute, till she gained a sight of the continuation of the
little way. All was still clear; but yet she feared to trust herself
in the wider road, which she could now perceive crossing the path she
was following; and, drawing somewhat back behind an oak, she watched
eagerly for a moment or two, while the sun sank, the rosy light that
tinged the clouds overhead died away, and the grey shadow of the
coming night was cast upon the earth.
"I must go on," she said to herself; but still she dreaded to do so,
and did not move, till suddenly a tall hart came slowly trotting down
the road, passed the end of the path in which she was, after standing
for a moment to gaze, as if considering which way he should take, and
disappeared in the very direction in which she was proceeding.
"There is no one there," thought the poor girl; "the beast's instinct
shall serve my weaker sense, and give me courage to go on."
Without further hesitation she went upon her way, turned up the road
to the right, and followed it quickly, for the light was failing fast.
Night had completely closed in ere the trees ended; and she found
herself standing by a field of green corn, with what seemed a little
patch of vineyard on a slope beyond, and a dim line of trees farther
forward still. The stars were out in the sky above, for by this time
the stormy clouds had cleared away; but there was, in the scene, a
pleasanter light to the eye of the poor wanderer, than even the
twinkling lamps of heaven. At some distance to the right, were seen a
number of what she concluded were cottage windows, with rays, as if
from fires or candles within, streaming forth upon the darkness; and,
at her side, she saw the commencement of a path, apparently leading,
to the village or hamlet.
She was very weary; but that sight gave her strength; and, with a
quickened pace, she hurried on. The lights grew more distinct as she
advanced, and she caught a faint glimpse of the buildings before her.
There were cottages, evidently, and a little church; but a larger
and more imposing edifice appeared on the left. It might be a
stronghold--it might be a monastery or convent; and Adelaide tried to
recollect all she had heard of the places in the neighbourhood, in
order to divine what the building could be that now rose before her
eyes, towering higher over the trees every step, as she came nearer.
She knew not, however, how far she had gone, or what direction she had
taken, and she only puzzled herself with conjectures, till she arrived
at the first house of the village, which stood a little in advance of
those tall walls, from which no light proceeded. From two windows of
the lesser building, indeed, the friendly rays were streaming
plentifully; and Adelaide determined to pause there, and ask for
shelter; but she found some difficulty in approaching it. It was a
small house, within a garden, apparently neither the cottage of a
peasant, nor the dwelling of a farmer; for there was a low wall round
the garden, and that wall, again, was surrounded by a foss, full of
water. It did not seem, indeed, defensible against any large force;
but it was, at all events, guarded against the sudden attack of
maurauders; and Adelaide thought she could see the wall winding along
till it joined that of the larger building behind. On the side next to
her she could find no entrance, nor any means of passing the moat; but
when she had walked on, round the angle of the wall, there appeared a
little wooden bridge, and a door, with the masonry raised several feet
on either side, so that no one approaching by the bridge could leap
over into the garden. By the side of the door was the large iron
pulley of a bell; but the young wanderer paused, doubting whether she
should ring there, or go on to one of the cottages a little further up
the hill. She was very weary, however; her limbs felt powerless; her
heart was faint; and with a feeling like despair, she put forth her
hand and rang the bell.
The next minute she heard a door open within the enclosure, and a step
cross the garden. Then a wooden shutter was drawn back from before a
small aperture in the gate, barred with iron; and a voice asked, "Who
is there?"
It was a woman's tongue; and oh, how sweetly it sounded in Adelaide's
ears!
"I have lost my way in the wood," she replied, "and have suffered
much. I am wet, weary, and faint, and I pray you give me shelter for
the night, in Our Lady's name."
"Are you alone, poor thing?" asked the woman.
"Quite," answered the lady: "I was not alone in truth, for I had some
men from the abbey of--" She paused, and omitting the name, went
on--"from the abbey, with me and my maid; but we were met by an armed
band, who attacked us, and I fled. Since then I have wandered on, and
know not where I am."
The woman uttered a short exclamation, as of surprise; but she opened
the door quickly, and Adelaide, the moment after, stood in a little
garden pleasantly laid out in walks covered over with vines trained
upon poles.