Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,
Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave,
Where flame-eyed fury means to frown--can save.
The surgeon of the place, having examined the Marquis's wound, gave him
an immediate opinion upon it, and ordered that he should be put to bed:
but the Marquis, ill as he was, had scarcely any other apprehension than
that of losing Adeline, and declared he should be able to begin his
journey in a few hours. With this intention he had begun to give orders
for keeping horses in readiness, when the surgeon persisting most
seriously, and even passionately to exclaim that his life would be the
sacrifice of his rashness, he was carried to a bedchamber, where his
valet alone was permitted to attend him.
This man, the convenient confident of all his intrigues, had been the
chief instrument in assisting his designs concerning Adeline, and was
indeed the very person who had brought her to the Marquis's villa on the
borders of the forest. To him the Marquis gave his further directions
concerning her: and, foreseeing the inconvenience as well as the danger
of detaining her at the inn, he had ordered him, with several other
servants, to carry her away immediately in a hired carriage. The valet
having gone to execute his orders, the Marquis was left to his own
reflections, and to the violence of contending passions.
The reproaches and continued opposition of Theodore, the favoured lover
of Adeline, exasperated his pride and roused all his malice. He could
not for a moment consider this opposition, which was in some respects
successful, without feeling an excess of indignation and inveteracy,
such as the prospect of a speedy revenge could alone enable him to
support.
When he had discovered Adeline's escape from the villa, his surprise at
first equalled his disappointment; and, after exhausting the paroxysms
of his rage upon his domestics, he dispatched them all different ways in
pursuit of her, going himself to the abbey, in the faint hope that,
destitute as she was of other succour, she might have fled thither. La
Motte, however, being as much surprised as himself, and as ignorant of
the route which Adeline had taken, he returned to the villa impatient of
intelligence, and found some of his servants arrived, without any news
of Adeline, and those who came afterwards were as successless as the
first.
A few days after, a letter from the lieutenant-colonel of the regiment
informed him, that Theodore had quitted his company, and had been for
some time absent, nobody knew where. This information, confirming a
suspicion which had frequently occurred to him, that Theodore had been
by some means or other instrumental in the escape of Adeline, all his
other passions became for a time subservient to his revenge, and he gave
orders for the immediate pursuit and apprehension of Theodore: but
Theodore, in the mean time, had been overtaken and secured.
It was in consequence of having formerly observed the growing partiality
between him and Adeline, and of intelligence received from La Motte, who
had noticed their interview in the forest, that the Marquis had resolved
to remove a rival so dangerous to his love, and so likely to be informed
of his designs. He had therefore told Theodore, in a manner as plausible
as he could, that it would be necessary for him to join the regiment; a
notice which affected him only as it related to Adeline, and which
seemed the less extraordinary, as he had already been at the villa a
much longer time than was usual with the officers invited by the
Marquis. Theodore, indeed, very well knew the character of the Marquis,
and had accepted his invitation rather from an unwillingness to show any
disrespect to his colonel by a refusal, than from a sanguine expectation
of pleasure.
From the men who had apprehended Theodore, the Marquis received the
information, which had enabled him to pursue and recover Adeline; but
though he had now effected this, he was internally a prey to the
corrosive effects of disappointed passion and exasperated pride. The
anguish of his wound was almost forgotten in that of his mind, and every
pang he felt seemed to increase his thirst of revenge, and to recoil
with new torture upon his heart. While he was in this state, he heard
the voice of the innocent Adeline imploring protection; but her cries
excited in him neither pity nor remorse: and when, soon after, the
carriage drove away, and he was certain both that she was secured and
Theodore was wretched, he seemed to feel some cessation of mental pain.
Theodore, indeed, did suffer all that a virtuous mind, labouring under
oppression so severe, could feel; but he was at least free from those
inveterate and malignant passions which tore the bosom of the Marquis,
and which inflict upon the professor a punishment more severe than any
they can prompt him to imagine for another. What indignation he might
feel towards the Marquis, was at this time secondary to his anxiety for
Adeline. His captivity was painful, as it prevented his seeking a just
and honourable revenge; but it was dreadful, as it withheld him from
attempting the rescue of her whom he loved more than life.
When he heard the wheels of the carriage that contained her drive off,
he felt an agony of despair which almost overcame his reason. Even the
stern hearts of the soldiers who attended him were not wholly insensible
to his wretchedness, and by venturing to blame the conduct of the
Marquis they endeavoured to console their prisoner. The physician, who
was just arrived, entered the room during this paroxysm of his distress,
and both feeling and expressing much concern at his condition, inquired
with strong surprise why he had been thus precipitately removed to a
room so very unfit for his reception?
Theodore explained to him the reason of this, of the distress he
suffered, and of the chains by which he was disgraced; and perceiving
the physician listened to him with attention and compassion, he became
desirous of acquainting him with some further particulars, for which
purpose he desired the soldiers to leave the room. The men, complying
with his request, stationed themselves on the outside of the door.
He then related all the particulars of the late transaction, and of his
connection with the Marquis. The physician attended to his narrative
with deep concern, and his countenance frequently expressed strong
agitation. When Theodore concluded, he remained for some time silent and
lost in thought; at length, awaking from his reverie, he said, I fear
your situation is desperate: the character of the Marquis is too well
known to suffer him either to be loved or respected; from such a man you
have nothing to hope, for he has scarcely any thing to fear: I wish it
was in my power to serve you, but I see no possibility of it.
Alas! said Theodore, my situation is indeed desperate, and--for that
suffering angel--deep sobs interrupted his voice, and the violence of
his agitation would not allow him to proceed. The physician could only
express the sympathy he felt for his distress, and entreat him to be
more calm, when a servant entered the room from the Marquis, who desired
to see the physician immediately. After some time, he said he would
attend the Marquis; and having endeavoured to attain a degree of
composure which he found it difficult to assume, he wrung the hand of
Theodore and quitted the room, promising to return before he left the
house.
He found the Marquis much agitated both in body and mind, and rather
more apprehensive for the consequences of the wound than he had
expected. His anxiety for Theodore now suggested a plan, by the
execution of which he hoped he might be able to serve him. Having felt
his patient's pulse, and asked some questions, he assumed a very serious
look; when the Marquis, who watched every turn of his countenance,
desired he would, without hesitation, speak his opinion.
I am sorry to alarm you, my Lord, but here is some reason for
apprehension: how long is it since you received the wound.
Good God! there is danger then! cried the Marquis, adding some bitter
execrations against Theodore.--There certainly _is_ danger, replied the
physician; a few hours may enable me to determine its degree.
A few hours, Sir! interrupted the Marquis; a few hours! The physician
entreated him to be more calm. Confusion! cried the Marquis: a man in
health may, with great composure, entreat a dying man to be calm.
Theodore will be broke upon the wheel for it, however.
You mistake me, Sir, said the physician; if I believed you a dying man,
or, indeed, _very_ near death, I should not have spoken as I did. But it
is of consequence I should know how long the wound has been
inflicted.--The Marquis's terror now began to subside, and he gave a
circumstantial account of the affray with Theodore, representing that he
had been basely used in an affair where his own conduct had been
perfectly just and humane. The physician heard this relation with great
coolness, and when it concluded without making any comment upon it, told
the Marquis he would prescribe a medicine which he wished him to take
immediately.
The Marquis again alarmed by the gravity of his manner, entreated he
would declare most seriously, whether he thought him in immediate
danger. The physician hesitated, and the anxiety of the Marquis
increased: It is of consequence, said he, that I should know my exact
situation. The physician then said, that if he had any worldly affairs
to settle, it would be as well to attend to them, for that it was
impossible to say what might be the event.
He then turned the discourse, and said he had just been with the young
officer under arrest, who, he hoped, would not be removed at present, as
such a procedure must endanger his life. The Marquis uttered a dreadful
oath, and, cursing Theodore for having brought him to his present
condition, said he should depart with the guard that very night. Against
the cruelty of this sentence the physician ventured to expostulate; and
endeavouring to awaken the Marquis to a sense of humanity, pleaded
earnestly for Theodore. But these entreaties and arguments seemed, by
displaying to the Marquis a part of his own character, to rouse his
resentment and rekindle all the violence of his passions.
The physician at length withdrew in despondency, after promising, at the
Marquis's request, not to leave the inn. He had hoped, by aggravating
his danger, to obtain some advantages both for Adeline and Theodore; but
the plan had quite a contrary effect: for the apprehension of death, so
dreadful to the guilty mind of the Marquis, instead of awakening
penitence, increased his desire of vengeance against the man who had
brought him to such a situation. He determined to have Adeline conveyed
where Theodore, should he by any accident escape, could never obtain
her; and thus to secure to himself at least some means of revenge. He
knew, however, that when Theodore was once safely conveyed to his
regiment, his destruction was certain; for should he even be acquitted
of the intention of deserting, he would be condemned for having
assaulted his superior officer.
The physician returned to the room where Theodore was confined. The
violence of his distress was now subsided into a stern despair more
dreadful than the vehemence which had lately possessed him. The guard,
in compliance with his request, having left the room, the physician
repeated to him some part of his conversation with the Marquis.
Theodore, after expressing his thanks, said he had nothing more to hope.
For himself he felt little; it was for his family and Adeline he
suffered. He inquired what route she had taken; and though he had no
prospect of deriving advantage from the information, desired the
physician to assist him in obtaining it: but the landlord and his wife
either were, or affected to be, ignorant of the matter, and it was in
vain to apply to any other person.
The sergeant now entered with orders from the Marquis for the immediate
departure of Theodore, who heard the message with composure, though the
physician could not help expressing his indignation at this precipitate
removal, and his dread of the consequences that might attend it.
Theodore had scarcely time to declare his gratitude for the kindness of
this valuable friend, before the soldiers entered the room to conduct
him to the carriage in waiting. As he bade him farewell, Theodore
slipped his purse into his hand, and turning abruptly away, told the
soldiers to lead on: but the physician stopped him, and refused the
present with such serious warmth that he was compelled to resume it. He
wrung the hand of his new friend, and being unable to speak, hurried
away. The whole party immediately set off; and the unhappy Theodore was
left to the remembrance of his past hopes and sufferings, to his anxiety
for the fate of Adeline, the contemplation of his present wretchedness,
and the apprehension of what might be reserved for him in future. For
himself, indeed, he saw nothing but destruction, and was only relieved
from total despair by a feeble hope that she whom he loved better than
himself might one time enjoy that happiness of which he did not venture
to look for a participation.