Thou! to whom the world unknown
With all its shadowy shapes is shown;
Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene,
While fancy lifts the veil between;
Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!
I see, I see thee near!
I know thy hurry'd step, thy haggard eye
Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly!
COLLINS.
Adeline anxiously watched from her chamber window the sun set behind the
distant hills, and the time of her departure draw nigh: it set with
uncommon splendour, and threw a fiery gleam athwart the woods and upon
some scattered fragments of the ruins, which she could not gaze upon
with indifference. Never, probably, again shall I see the sun sink below
those hills, said she, or illumine this scene! Where shall I be when
next it sets--where this time to-morrow? sunk perhaps in misery! She
wept at the thought. A few hours, resumed Adeline, and the Marquis will
arrive--a few hours, and this abbey will be a scene of confusion and
tumult: every eye will be in search of me, every recess will be
explored. These reflections inspired her with new terror, and increased
her impatience to be gone.
Twilight gradually came on, and she now thought it sufficiently dark to
venture forth: but before she went, she kneeled down and addressed
herself to Heaven. She implored support and protection, and committed
herself to the care of the God of mercies. Having done this, she quitted
her chamber, and passed with cautious steps down the winding staircase.
No person appeared, and she proceeded through the door of the tower into
the forest. She looked around; the gloom of the evening obscured every
object.
With a trembling heart she sought the path pointed out by Peter, which
led to the tomb: having found it, she passed along forlorn and
terrified. Often did she start as the breeze shook the light leaves of
the trees, or as the bat flitted by gamboling in the twilight; and
often, as she looked back towards the abbey, thought she distinguished
amid the deepening gloom the figures of men. Having proceeded some way,
she suddenly heard the feet of horses, and soon after a sound of voices,
among which she distinguished that of the Marquis; they seemed to come
from the quarter she was approaching, and evidently advanced. Terror for
some minutes arrested her steps; she stood in a state of dreadful
hesitation: to proceed was to run into the hands of the Marquis; to
return was to fall into the power of La Motte.
After remaining for some time uncertain whither to fly, the sounds
suddenly took a different direction, and wheeled towards the abbey.
Adeline had a short cessation of terror; she now understood that the
Marquis had passed this spot only in his way to the abbey, and she
hastened to secrete herself in the ruin. At length, after much
difficulty, she reached it, the deep shades almost concealing it from
her search. She paused at the entrance, awed by the solemnity that
reigned within, and the utter darkness of the place; at length she
determined to watch without till Peter should arrive. If any person
approaches, said she, I can hear them before they can see me, and I can
then secrete myself in the cell.
She leaned against a fragment of the tomb in trembling expectation, and
as she listened, no sound broke the silence of the hour. The state of
her mind can only be imagined by considering that upon the present time
turned the crisis of her fate. They have now, thought she, discovered my
flight; even now they are seeking me in every part of the abbey. I hear
their dreadful voices call me; I see their eager looks. The power of
imagination almost overcame her. While she yet looked around, she saw
lights moving at a distance; sometimes they glimmered between the trees,
and sometimes they totally disappeared.
They seemed to be in a direction with the abbey; and she now remembered
that in the morning she had seen a part of the fabric through an opening
in the forest. She had therefore no doubt that the lights she saw
proceeded from people in search of her: who, she feared, not finding her
at the abbey, might direct their steps towards the tomb. Her place of
refuge now seemed too near her enemies to be safe, and she would have
fled to a more distant part of the forest, but recollected that Peter
would not know where to find her.
While these thoughts passed over her mind, she heard distant voices in
the wind, and was hastening to conceal herself in the cell, when she
observed the lights suddenly disappear. All was soon after hushed in
silence and darkness, yet she endeavoured to find the way to the cell.
She remembered the situation of the outward door and of the passage, and
having passed these, she unclosed the door of the cell. Within it was
utterly dark. She trembled violently, but entered; and having felt about
the walls, at length seated herself on a projection of stone.
She here again addressed herself to Heaven, and endeavoured to
reanimate her spirits till Peter should arrive. Above half an hour
elapsed in this gloomy recess, and no sound foretold his approach. Her
spirits sunk; she feared some part of their plan was discovered or
interrupted, and that he was detained by La Motte. This conviction
operated sometimes so strongly upon her fears, as to urge her to quit
the cell alone, and seek in flight her only chance of escape.
While this design was fluctuating in her mind, she distinguished through
the grate above a clattering of hoofs. The noise approached, and at
length stopped at the tomb. In the succeeding moment she heard three
strokes of a whip; her heart beat, and for some moments her agitation
was such, that she made no effort to quit the cell. The strokes were
repeated: she now roused her spirits, and stepping forward, ascended to
the forest. She called Peter; for the deep gloom would not permit her to
distinguish either man or horse. She was quickly answered, Hush!
Ma'mselle, our voices will betray us.
They mounted and rode off as fast as the darkness would permit.
Adeline's heart revived at every step they took. She inquired what had
passed at the abbey, and how he had contrived to get away. Speak softly,
Ma'mselle; you'll know all by and by, but I can't tell you now. He had
scarcely spoke ere they saw lights move along at a distance; and coming
now to a more open part of the forest, he set off on a full gallop, and
continued the pace till the horse could hold it no longer. They looked
back, and no lights appearing, Adeline's terror subsided. She inquired
again what had passed at the abbey when her flight was discovered. You
may speak without fear of being heard, said she, we are gone beyond
their reach, I hope.
Why, Ma'mselle, said he, you had not been gone long before the Marquis
arrived, and Monsieur La Motte then found out you was fled. Upon this a
great rout there was, and he talked a great deal with the Marquis.
Speak louder, said Adeline, I cannot hear you.
I will, Ma'mselle--
Oh! heavens! interrupted Adeline, What voice is this? It is not Peter's.
For God's sake tell me who you are, and whither I am going?
You'll know that soon enough, young lady, answered the stranger, for it
was indeed not Peter; I am taking you where my master ordered. Adeline,
not doubting he was the Marquis's servant, attempted to leap to the
ground; but the man, dismounting, bound her to the horse. One feeble ray
of hope at length beamed upon her mind; she endeavoured to soften the
man to pity, and pleaded with all the genuine eloquence of distress; but
he understood his interest too well to yield even for a moment to the
compassion which, in spite of himself, her artless supplication
inspired.
She now resigned herself to despair, and in passive silence submitted to
her fate. They continued thus to travel, till a storm of rain
accompanied by thunder and lightning drove them to the covert of a thick
grove. The man believed this a safe situation, and Adeline was now too
careless of life to attempt convincing him of his error. The storm was
violent and long, but as soon as it abated they set off on full gallop;
and having continued to travel for about two hours, they came to the
borders of the forest, and soon after to a high lonely wall, which
Adeline could just distinguish by the moonlight, which now streamed
through the parting clouds.
Here they stopped: the man dismounted, and having opened a small door in
the wall, he unbound Adeline, who shrieked, though involuntarily and in
vain, as he took her from the horse. The door opened upon a narrow
passage, dimly lighted by a lamp, which hung at the further end. He led
her on; they came to another door; it opened, and disclosed a
magnificent saloon splendidly illuminated, and fitted up in the most
airy and elegant taste.
The walls were painted in fresco, representing scenes from Ovid, and
hung above with silk, drawn up in festoons, and richly fringed. The
sofas were of a silk to suit the hangings. From the centre of the
ceiling, which exhibited a scene from the Armida of Tasso, descended a
silver lamp of Etruscan form; it diffused a blaze of light that,
reflected from large pier glasses, completely illuminated the saloon.
Busts of Horace, Ovid, Anacreon, Tibullus, and Petronius Arbiter,
adorned the recesses, and stands of flowers placed in Etruscan vases
breathed the most delicious perfume. In the middle of the apartment
stood a small table spread with a collation of fruits, ices, and
liqueurs. No person appeared. The whole seemed the works of enchantment,
and rather resembled the palace of a fairy than any thing of human
conformation.
Adeline was astonished, and inquired where she was; but the man refused
to answer her questions; and having desired her to take some
refreshment, left her. She walked to the windows, from which a gleam of
moonlight discovered to her an extensive garden, where groves and lawns,
and water glittering in the moonbeam, composed a scenery of varied and
romantic beauty. What can this mean! said she: Is this a charm to lure
me to destruction? She endeavoured, with a hope of escaping, to open the
windows, but they were all fastened; she next attempted several doors,
and found them also secured.
Perceiving all chance of escape was removed, she remained for some time
given up to sorrow and reflection; but was at length drawn from her
reverie by the notes of soft music, breathing such dulcet and entrancing
sounds as suspended grief and awaked the soul to tenderness and pensive
pleasure. Adeline listened in surprise, and insensibly became soothed
and interested; a tender melancholy stole upon her heart, and subdued
every harsher feeling: but the moment the strain ceased, the enchantment
dissolved, and she returned to a sense of her situation.
Again the music sounded--music such as charmeth sleep--and again she
gradually yielded to its sweet magic. A female voice, accompanied by a
lute, a hautboy, and a few other instruments, now gradually swelled into
a tone so exquisite as raised attention into ecstasy. It sunk by
degrees, and touched a few simple notes with pathetic softness, when the
measure was suddenly changed, and in a gay and airy melody Adeline
distinguished the following words:
SONG.
Life's a varied, bright illusion,
Joy and sorrow--light and shade;
Turn from sorrow's dark suffusion,
Catch the pleasures ere they fade.
Fancy paints with hues unreal,
Smile of bliss, and sorrow's mood;
If they both are but ideal,
Why reject the seeming good?
Hence! no more! 'tis Wisdom calls ye,
Bids ye court Time's present aid;
The future trust not--Hope enthralls ye,
"Catch the pleasures ere they fade."
The music ceased; but the sounds still vibrated on her imagination, and
she was sunk in the pleasing languor they had inspired, when the door
opened, and the Marquis de Montalt appeared. He approached the sofa
where Adeline sat, and addressed her, but she heard not his voice--she
had fainted. He endeavoured to recover her, and at length succeeded; but
when she unclosed her eyes, and again beheld him, she relapsed into a
state of insensibility; and having in vain tried various methods to
restore her, he was obliged to call assistance. Two young women entered;
and when she began to revive, he left them to prepare her for his
reappearance. When Adeline perceived that the Marquis was gone, and that
she was in the care of women, her spirits gradually returned; she looked
at her attendants, and was surprised to see so much elegance and beauty.
Some endeavour she made to interest their pity; but they seemed wholly
insensible to her distress, and began to talk of the Marquis in terms of
the highest admiration. They assured her it would be her own fault if
she was not happy, and advised her to appear so in his presence. It was
with the utmost difficulty that Adeline forbore to express the disdain
which was rising to her lips, and that she listened to their discourse
in silence. But she saw the inconvenience and fruitlessness of
opposition, and she commanded her feelings.
They were thus proceeding in their praises of the Marquis, when he
himself appeared; and waving his hand, they immediately quitted the
apartment. Adeline beheld him with a kind of mute despair while he
approached and took her hand, which she hastily withdrew; and turning
from him with a look of unutterable distress, burst into tears. He was
for some time silent, and appeared softened by her anguish: but again
approaching and addressing her in a gentle voice, he entreated her
pardon for the step which despair, and, as he called it, love had
prompted. She was too much absorbed in grief to reply, till he solicited
a return of his love; when her sorrow yielded to indignation, and she
reproached him with his conduct. He pleaded that he had long loved and
sought her upon honourable terms, and his offer of those terms he began
to repeat; but raising his eyes towards Adeline, he saw in her looks the
contempt which he was conscious he deserved.
For a moment he was confused, and seemed to understand both that his
plan was discovered and his person despised; but soon resuming his usual
command of feature, he again pressed his suit, and solicited her love.
A little reflection showed Adeline the danger of exasperating his pride
by an avowal of the contempt which his pretended offer of marriage
excited; and she thought it not improper, upon an occasion in which the
honour and peace of her life was concerned, to yield somewhat to the
policy of dissimulation. She saw that her only chance of escaping his
designs depended upon delaying them, and she now wished him to believe
her ignorant that the Marchioness was living, and that his offers were
delusive.
He observed her pause; and in the eagerness to turn her hesitation to
his advantage, renewed his proposal with increased vehemence--To-morrow
shall unite us, lovely Adeline; to-morrow you shall consent to become
the Marchioness de Montalt. You will then return my love and----
You must first deserve my esteem, my Lord.
I will--I do deserve it. Are you not now in my power, and do I not
forbear to take advantage of your situation? Do I not make you the most
honourable proposals?--Adeline shuddered: If you wish I should esteem
you, my Lord, endeavour, if possible, to make me forget by what means I
came into your power; if your views are indeed honourable, prove them so
by releasing me from my confinement.
Can you then wish, lovely Adeline, to fly from him who adores you?
replied the Marquis with a studied air of tenderness. Why will you exact
so severe a proof of my disinterestedness, a disinterestedness which is
not consistent with love? No, charming Adeline! let me at least have the
pleasure of beholding you till the bonds of the church shall remove
every obstacle to my love. To-morrow----
Adeline saw the danger to which she was now exposed, and interrupted
him. _Deserve_ my esteem, Sir, and then you will _obtain_ it: as a first
step towards which, liberate me from a confinement that obliges me to
look on you only with terror and aversion. How can I believe your
professions of love, while you show that you have no interest in my
happiness?--Thus did Adeline, to whom the arts and the practice of
dissimulation were hitherto equally unknown, condescend to make use of
them in disguising her indignation and contempt. But though these arts
were adopted only for the purpose of self-preservation, she used them
with reluctance, and almost with abhorrence; for her mind was habitually
impregnated with the love of virtue, in thought, word, and action; and
while her end in using them was certainly good, she scarcely thought
that end could justify the means.
The Marquis persisted in his sophistry. Can you doubt the reality of
that love, which to obtain you has urged me to risk your displeasure?
But have I not consulted your happiness, even in the very conduct which
you condemn? I have removed you from a solitary and desolate ruin to a
gay and splendid villa, where every luxury is at your command, and where
every person shall be obedient to your wishes.
My first wish is to go hence, said Adeline; I entreat, I conjure you, my
Lord, no longer to detain me. I am a friendless and wretched orphan,
exposed to many evils, and I fear abandoned to misfortune: I do not wish
to be rude; but allow me to say, that no misery can exceed that I shall
feel in remaining here, or indeed in being any where pursued by the
offers you make me. Adeline had now forgot her policy: tears prevented
her from proceeding, and she turned away her face to hide her emotion.
By Heaven! Adeline, you do me wrong, said the Marquis, rising from his
seat and seizing her hand; I love, I adore you; yet you doubt my
passion, and are insensible to my vows. Every pleasure possible to be
enjoyed within these walls you shall partake,--but beyond them you shall
not go. She disengaged her hand, and in silent anguish walked to a
distant part of the saloon: deep sighs burst from her heart, and almost
fainting she leaned on a window-frame for support.
The Marquis followed her: Why thus obstinately persist in refusing to be
happy? said he: recollect the proposal I have made you, and accept it
while it is yet in your power. To-morrow a priest shall join our
hands--Surely, being, as you are, in my power, it must be your interest
to consent to this? Adeline could answer only by tears; she despaired of
softening his heart to pity, and feared to exasperate his pride by
disdain. He now led her, and she suffered him, to a seat near the
banquet, at which he pressed her to partake of a variety of
confectionaries, particularly of some liqueurs of which he himself drank
freely: Adeline accepted only of a peach.
And now the Marquis, who interrupted her silence into a secret
compliance with his proposal, resumed all his gaiety and spirit, while
the long and ardent regards he bestowed on Adeline overcame her with
confusion and indignation. In the midst of the banquet, soft music again
sounded the most tender and impassioned airs; but its effect on Adeline
was now lost, her mind being too much embarrassed and distressed by the
presence of the Marquis to admit even the soothings of harmony. A song
was now heard, written with that sort of impotent art by which some
voluptuous poets believe they can at once conceal and recommend the
principles of vice. Adeline received it with contempt and displeasure;
and the Marquis perceiving its effect, presently made a sign for another
composition, which, adding the force of poetry to the charms of music,
might withdraw her mind from the present scene, and enchant it in sweet
delirium.
SONG OF A SPIRIT.
In the sightless air I dwell,
On the sloping sun-beams play;
Delve the cavern's inmost cell,
Where never yet did daylight stray.
Dive beneath the green sea waves,
And gambol in the briny deeps;
Skim every shore that Neptune laves,
From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.
Oft I mount with rapid force
Above the wide earth's shadowy zone;
Follow the day-star's flaming course
Through realms of space to thought unknown:
And listen oft celestial sounds
That swell the air unheard of men,
As I watch my nightly rounds
O'er woody steep and silent glen.
Under the shade of waving trees,
On the green bank of fountain clear,
At pensive eve I sit at ease,
While dying music murmurs near.
And oft on point of airy clift,
That hangs upon the western main,
I watch the gay tints passing swift,
And twilight veil the liquid plain.
Then, when the breeze has sunk away,
And ocean scarce is heard to lave,
For me the sea-nymphs softly play
Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.
Their dulcet shells! I hear them now,
Slow swells the strain upon mine ear
Now faintly falls--now warbles low,
Till rapture melts into a tear.
The ray that silvers o'er the dew,
And trembles through the leafy shade,
And tints the scene with softer hue,
Calls me to rove the lonely glade;
Or hie me to some ruin'd tower,
Faintly shewn by moonlight gleam,
Where the lone wanderer owns my power
In shadows dire that substance seem.
In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,
And pausing silence makes more dread;
In music breathing from below
Sad, solemn strains, that wake the dead.
Unseen I move--unknown am fear'd!
Fancy's wildest dreams I weave;
And oft by bards my voice is heard
To die along the gales of eve.
When the voice ceased, a mournful strain, played with exquisite
expression, sounded from a distant horn; sometimes the notes floated on
the air in soft undulations--now they swelled into full and sweeping
melody, and now died faintly into silence, when again they rose and
trembled in sounds so sweetly tender, as drew tears from Adeline, and
exclamations of rapture from the Marquis: he threw his arm round her,
and would have pressed her towards him; but she liberated herself from
his embrace, and with a look, on which was impressed the firm dignity of
virtue, yet touched with sorrow, she awed him to forbearance. Conscious
of a superiority which he was ashamed to acknowledge, and endeavouring
to despise the influence which he could not resist, he stood for a
moment the slave of virtue, though the votary of vice. Soon, however, he
recovered his confidence, and began to plead his love; when Adeline, no
longer animated by the spirit she had lately shown, and sinking beneath
the languor and fatigue which the various and violent agitations of her
mind produced, entreated he would leave her to repose.
The paleness of her countenance and the tremulous tone of her voice were
too expressive to be misunderstood; and the Marquis, bidding her
remember to-morrow, with some hesitation withdrew. The moment she was
alone she yielded to the bursting anguish of her heart; and was so
absorbed in grief, that it was some time before she perceived she was in
the presence of the young women who had lately attended her, and had
entered the saloon soon after the Marquis quitted it; they came to
conduct her to her chamber. She followed them for some time in silence,
till, prompted by desperation, she again endeavoured to awaken their
compassion: but again the praises of the Marquis were repeated: and
perceiving that all attempts to interest them in her favour were in vain
she dismissed them. She secured the door through which they had
departed, and then, in the languid hope of discovering some means of
escape, she surveyed her chamber. The airy elegance with which it was
fitted up, and the luxurious accommodations with which it abounded,
seemed designed to fascinate the imagination and to seduce the heart.
The hangings were of straw-coloured silk, adorned with a variety of
landscapes and historical paintings, the subjects of which partook of
the voluptuous character of the owner; the chimney-piece, of Parian
marble, was ornamented with several reposing figures from the antique.
The bed was of silk, the colour of the hangings, richly fringed with
purple and silver, and the head made in form of a canopy. The steps
which were placed near the bed to assist in ascending it, were supported
by cupids apparently of solid silver. China vases filled with perfume
stood in several of the recesses, upon stands of the same structure as
the toilet, which was magnificent, and ornamented with a variety of
trinkets.
Adeline threw a transient look upon these various objects, and proceeded
to examine the windows, which descended to the floor and opened into
balconies towards the garden she had seen from the saloon. They were now
fastened, and her efforts to move them were ineffectual: at length she
gave up the attempt. A door next attracted her notice, which she found
was not fastened; it opened upon a dressing-closet, to which she
descended by a few steps: two windows appeared, she hastened towards
them; one refused to yield, but her heart beat with sudden joy when the
other opened to her touch.
In the transport of the moment, she forgot that its distance from the
ground might yet deny the escape she meditated. She returned to lock the
door of the closet, to prevent a surprise, which, however, was
unnecessary, that of the bed-room being already secured. She now looked
out from the window; the garden lay before her, and she perceived that
the window, which descended to the floor, was so near the ground, that
she might jump from it with ease: almost in the same moment she
perceived this, she sprang forward and alighted safely in an extensive
garden, resembling more an English pleasure ground, than a series of
French parterres.
Thence she had little doubt of escaping, either by some broken fence, or
low part of the wall; she tripped lightly along, for hope played round
her heart. The clouds of the late storm were now dispersed, and the
moonlight, which slept on the lawns and spangled the flowerets yet heavy
with rain drops, afforded her a distinct view of the surrounding
scenery; she followed the direction of the high wall that adjoined the
chateau, till it was concealed from her sight by a thick wilderness, so
entangled with boughs and obscured by darkness, that she feared to
enter, and turned aside into a walk on the right; it conducted her to
the margin of a lake overhung with lofty trees.
The moonbeams dancing upon the waters, that with gentle undulation
played along the shore, exhibited a scene of tranquil beauty, which
would have soothed a heart less agitated than was that of Adeline: she
sighed as she transiently surveyed it, and passed hastily on in search
of the garden wall, from which she had now strayed a considerable way.
After wandering for some time through alleys and over lawns, without
meeting with any thing like a boundary to the grounds, she again found
herself at the lake, and now traversed its border with the footsteps of
despair:--tears rolled down her cheeks. The scene around exhibited only
images of peace and delight; every object seemed to repose; not a breath
waved the foliage, not a sound stole through the air: it was in her
bosom only that tumult and distress prevailed. She still pursued the
windings of the shore, till an opening in the woods conducted her up a
gentle ascent: the path now wound along the side of a hill where the
gloom was so deep, that it was with some difficulty she found her way:
suddenly, however, the avenue opened to a lofty grove, and she perceived
a light issue from a recess at some distance.
She paused, and her first impulse was to retreat; but listening, and
hearing no sound, a faint hope beamed upon her mind, that the person to
whom the light belonged, might be won to favour her escape. She
advanced, with trembling and cautious steps, towards the recess, that
she might secretly observe the person, before she ventured to enter it.
Her emotion increased as she approached; and, having reached the bower,
she beheld, through an open window, the Marquis reclining on a sofa,
near which stood a table, covered with fruit and wine. He was alone, and
his countenance was flushed with drinking.
While she gazed, fixed to the spot by terror, he looked up towards the
casement; the light gleamed full upon her face, but she stayed not to
learn whether he had observed her, for, with the swiftness of sound, she
left the place and ran, without knowing whether she was pursued. Having
gone a considerable way, fatigue at length compelled her to stop, and
she threw herself upon the turf, almost fainting with fear and languor.
She knew, if the Marquis detected her in an attempt to escape, he would,
probably, burst the bounds which she had hitherto prescribed to himself,
and that she had the most dreadful evils to expect. The palpitations of
terror were so strong, that she could with difficulty breathe.
She watched and listened in trembling expectation, but no form met her
eye, no sound her ear; in this state she remained a considerable time.
She wept, and the tears she shed relieved her oppressed heart. O my
father! said she, why did you abandon your child? If you knew the
dangers to which you have exposed her, you would, surely, pity and
relieve her. Alas! shall I never find a friend! am I destined still to
trust and be deceived?--Peter too, could he be treacherous? She wept
again, and then returned to a sense of her present danger, and to a
consideration of the means of escaping it--but no means appeared.
To her imagination the grounds were boundless; she had wandered from
lawn to lawn, and from grove to grove, without perceiving any
termination to the place; the garden-wall she could not find, but she
resolved neither to return to the chateau, nor to relinquish her search.
As she was rising to depart, she perceived a shadow move along at some
distance: she stood still to observe it. It slowly advanced and then
disappeared; but presently she saw a person emerge from the gloom, and
approach the spot where she stood. She had no doubt that the Marquis had
observed her, and she ran with all possible speed to the shade of some
woods on the left. Footsteps pursued her, and she heard her name
repeated, while she in vain endeavoured to quicken her pace.
Suddenly the sound of pursuit turned, and sunk away in a different
direction: she paused to take breath; she looked around, and no person
appeared. She now proceeded slowly along the avenue, and had almost
reached its termination, when she saw the same figure emerge from the
woods and dart across the avenue: it instantly pursued her and
approached. A voice called her, but she was gone beyond its reach, for
she had sunk senseless upon the ground: it was long before she revived:
when she did, she found herself in the arms of a stranger, and made an
effort to disengage herself.
Fear nothing, lovely Adeline, said he, fear nothing: you are in the arms
of a friend, who will encounter any hazard for your sake; who will
protect you with his life. He pressed her gently to his heart. Have you
then forgot me? continued he. She looked earnestly at him, and was now
convinced that it was Theodore who spoke. Joy was her first emotion;
but, recollecting his former abrupt departure, at a time so critical to
her safety and that he was the friend of the Marquis, a thousand mingled
sensations struggled in her breast, and overwhelmed her with mistrust,
apprehension, and disappointment.
Theodore raised her from the ground, and while he yet supported her, let
us fly from this place, said he; a carriage waits to receive us; it
shall go wherever you direct, and convey you to your friends. This last
sentence touched her heart: Alas, I have no friends! said she, nor do I
know whither to go. Theodore gently pressed her hand between his, and,
in a voice of the softest compassion, said, _My_ friends then shall be
yours; suffer me to lead you to them. But I am in agony while you remain
in this place; let us hasten to quit it. Adeline was going to reply,
when voices were heard among the trees, and Theodore, supporting her
with his arm, hurried her along the avenue; they continued their flight
till Adeline, panting for breath, could go no further.
[Illustration 05]
Having paused a while, and heard no footsteps in pursuit, they renewed
their course: Theodore knew that they were now not far from the garden
wall; but he was also aware, that in the intermediate space several
paths wound from remote parts of the grounds into the walk he was to
pass, from whence the Marquis's people might issue and intercept him.
He, however, concealed his apprehensions from Adeline, and endeavoured
to soothe and support her spirits.
At length they reached the wall, and Theodore was leading her towards a
low part of it, near which stood the carriage, when again they heard
voices in the air. Adeline's spirits and strength were nearly exhausted,
but she made a last effort to proceed and she now saw the ladder at some
distance by which Theodore had descended to the garden. Exert yourself
yet a little longer, said he, and you will be in safety. He held the
ladder while she ascended; the top of the wall was broad and level, and
Adeline, having reached it, remained there till Theodore followed and
drew the ladder to the other side.
When they had descended, the carriage appeared in waiting, but without
the driver. Theodore feared to call, lest his voice should betray him;
he, therefore, put Adeline into the carriage, and went in search of the
postillion, whom he found asleep under a tree at some distance: having
awakened him, they returned to the vehicle, which soon drove furiously
away. Adeline did not yet dare to believe herself safe; but, after
proceeding a considerable time without interruption, joy burst upon her
heart, and she thanked her deliverer in terms of the warmest gratitude.
The sympathy expressed in the tone of his voice and manner, proved that
his happiness, on this occasion, almost equalled her own.
As reflection gradually stole upon her mind, anxiety superseded joy: in
the tumult of the late moments, she thought only of escape; but the
circumstances of her present situation now appeared to her, and she
became silent and pensive: she had no friends to whom she could fly, and
was going with a young chevalier, almost a stranger to her, she knew not
whither. She remembered how often she had been deceived and betrayed
where she trusted most, and her spirits sunk: she remembered also the
former attention which Theodore had shown her, and dreaded lest his
conduct might be prompted by a selfish passion. She saw this to be
possible, but she disdained to believe it probable, and felt that
nothing could give her greater pain than to doubt the integrity of
Theodore.
He interrupted her reverie, by recurring to her late situation at the
abbey. You would be much surprised, said he, and, I fear, offended that
I did not attend my appointment at the abbey, after the alarming hints
I had given you in our last interview. That circumstance has, perhaps,
injured me in your esteem, if, indeed, I was ever so happy as to possess
it: but my designs were overruled by those of the Marquis de Montalt;
and I think I may venture to assert, that my distress upon this occasion
was, at least, equal to your apprehensions.
Adeline said, she had been much alarmed by the hints he had given her,
and by his failing to afford further information concerning the subject
of her danger; and--She checked the sentence that hung upon her lips,
for she perceived that she was unwarily betraying the interest he held
in her heart. There were a few moments of silence, and neither party
seemed perfectly at ease. Theodore, at length, renewed the conversation:
Suffer me to acquaint you, said he, with the circumstances that withheld
me from the interview I solicited; I am anxious to exculpate myself.
Without waiting her reply, he proceeded to inform her, that the Marquis
had, by some inexplicable means, learned or suspected the subject of
their last conversation, and, perceiving his designs were in danger of
being counteracted, had taken effectual means to prevent her obtaining
further intelligence of them. Adeline immediately recollected that
Theodore and herself had been seen in the forest by La Motte, who had,
no doubt, suspected their growing intimacy, and had taken care to inform
the Marquis how likely he was to find a rival in his friend.
On the day following that on which I last saw you, said Theodore, the
Marquis, who is my colonel, commanded me to prepare to attend my
regiment, and appointed the following morning for my journey. This
sudden order gave me some surprise, but I was not long in doubt
concerning the motive for it: a servant of the Marquis, who had been
long attached to me, entered my room soon after I had left his lord, and
expressing concern at my abrupt departure, dropped some hints respecting
it, which excited my surprise. I inquired further, and was confirmed in
the suspicions I had for some time entertained of the Marquis's designs
upon you.
Jaques further informed me, that our late interview had been noticed and
communicated to the Marquis. His information had been obtained from a
fellow-servant, and it alarmed me so much, that I engaged him to send me
intelligence from time to time, concerning the proceedings of the
Marquis. I now looked forward to the evening which would bring me again
to your presence with increased impatience: but the ingenuity of the
Marquis effectually counteracted my endeavours and wishes; he had made
an engagement to pass the day at the villa of a nobleman some leagues
distant, and, notwithstanding all the excuses I could offer, I was
obliged to attend him. Thus compelled to obey, I passed a day of more
agitation and anxiety than I had ever before experienced. It was
midnight before we returned to the Marquis's chateau. I arose early in
the morning to commence my journey, and resolved to seek an interview
with you before I left the province.
When I entered the breakfast room, I was much surprised to find the
Marquis there already, who, commending the beauty of the morning,
declared his intention of accompanying me as far as Chineau. Thus
unexpectedly deprived of my last hope, my countenance, I believe,
expressed what I felt, for the scrutinizing eye of the Marquis instantly
changed from seeming carelessness to displeasure. The distance from
Chineau to the abbey was at least twelve leagues; yet I had once some
intention of returning from thence, when the Marquis should leave me,
till I recollected the very remote chance there would even then be of
seeing you alone, and also, that if I was observed by La Motte, it would
awaken all his suspicions, and caution him against any future plan I
might see it expedient to attempt; I therefore proceeded to join my
regiment.
Jaques sent me frequent accounts of the operations of the Marquis; but
his manner of relating them was so very confused, that they only served
to perplex and distress me. His last letter, however, alarmed me so
much, that my residence in quarters became intolerable; and, as I found
it impossible to obtain leave of absence, I secretly left the regiment,
and concealed myself in a cottage about a mile from the chateau, that I
might obtain the earliest intelligence of the Marquis's plans. Jaques
brought me daily information, and, at last, an account of the horrible
plot which was laid for the following night.
I saw little probability of warning you of your danger. If I ventured
near the abbey, La Motte might discover me, and frustrate every attempt
on my part to save you; yet I determined to encounter this risk for the
chance of seeing you, and towards evening I was preparing to set out for
the forest, when Jaques arrived, and informed me that you was to be
brought to the chateau. My plan was thus rendered less difficult. I
learned also, that the Marquis, by means of those refinements in luxury,
with which he is but too well acquainted, designed, now that his
apprehension of losing you was no more, to seduce you to his wishes, and
impose upon you by a fictitious marriage. Having obtained information
concerning the situation of the room allotted you, I ordered a chaise to
be in waiting, and with a design of scaling your window, and conducting
you thence, I entered the garden at midnight.
Theodore having ceased to speak:--I know not how words can express my
sense of the obligations I owe you, said Adeline, or my gratitude for
your generosity.
Ah! call it not generosity, he replied, it was love. He paused. Adeline
was silent. After some moments of expressive emotion, he resumed; But
pardon this abrupt declaration; yet why do I call it abrupt, since my
actions have already disclosed what my lips have never, till this
instant, ventured to acknowledge. He paused again. Adeline was still
silent. Yet do me the justice to believe, that I am sensible of the
impropriety of pleading my love at present, and have been surprised into
this confession. I promise also to forbear from a renewal of the
subject, till you are placed in a situation where you may freely accept,
or refuse, the sincere regards I offer you. If I could, however, now be
certain that I possess your esteem, it would relieve me from much
anxiety.
Adeline felt surprised that he should doubt her esteem for him, after
the signal and generous service he had rendered her; but she was not yet
acquainted with the timidity of love. Do you then, said she in a
tremulous voice, believe me ungrateful? It is impossible I can consider
your friendly interference in my behalf without esteeming you. Theodore
immediately took her hand and pressed it to his lips in silence. They
were both too much agitated to converse, and continued to travel for
some miles without exchanging a word.