HOW BERNHARD DELIVERED THE LETTER.
Gabrielle had now counted that eight-and-thirty hours had elapsed
since she had seen the figure of Ian appear for a moment at that
angle of rock, which was the first point whereon she hurried to gaze
in the morning, and the last one at night. So far as she knew, no
effort had yet been made to free her. Could his appearance, then,
have been reality? Was it not one of those flitting shadows, those
Doüblegangers, those dire forebodings of coming evil, of which she
had heard so often in the wild stories of Germany? Or was it merely
a conjuration of her own excited fancy, which clung to the image of
Ian as one might cling to the memory of the dead; for though Ian, by
many a kindness and by a thousand pretty attentions had
(_unconsciously_) left nothing undone to make this young and simple
girl love him, she had no hope of ever being loved in return; for,
true as the needle to the pole, his heart ever turned to that
provoking Highland love, which he had left behind him in the land of
the rock and eagle.
Of late, Ian's image had recurred less frequently to the mind of
Gabrielle, for in her excessive tribulation she wept for her father
and sister, and thought of them alone; but now the sudden vision of
that well-remembered form, so stately and so graceful, with the
glittering accoutrements, the waving tartan, and the eagle's double
pinions towering on his polished helmet, brought back all that secret
hope to her heart, and those dear thoughts, as yet unuttered save to
Ernestine. Again the old fascination stole over her senses, like a
chaste and mellowed light along a waveless sea; for tumult, storms,
and wrath, lay slumbering in its placid depths.
Evening had come again. Gabrielle was alone, and seated in one of
the little arched windows of her room. All was silent in that old
castle by the sea; not a breath of wind stirred the leaves of the
green oaks or copper beeches; not a murmur floated along the waters
of the narrow Belt.
The remembrance of the kind and loveable manner, the dark and
somewhat severely handsome face of Ian Dhu, excited in her breast a
new and unmitigated repugnance for her tormentor, Merodé; though the
count was also a handsome man, and (save when an occasional gleam of
misanthropy or hatred flashed in his eyes) had usually a merry and
reckless aspect.
Gabrielle was enduring another evening of her mechanical existence,
watching the daylight fade along the sea, and as the sun sank behind
the gravel hills, the low, flat, naked shores of Juteland--the
Jylland of the Danes--the foamy crests of the dancing billows
sparkled in gold, and the long sandy shore was steeped in the same
saffron light.
Merodé's offer of marriage, after every other means of persuasion had
failed, she considered a fresh insult; and about an hour before, he
had left her, with a remembrance that the three days he had given her
to think of it were rapidly drawing to a close.
"I assure you, my dear Gabrielle," he had said, in his usual easy and
assured way; "your marriage with me will suit your father's ideas
exactly. In fact he will be quite delighted to find that he is still
likely to have a son-in-law a count; for by this time he will
probably have learned all I told you yesterday, of poor
Kœningheim's death. Now, if _he_ had not been in such a devil of
a hurry to die, old Rupert-with-the-Red-Plume would have had both his
daughters countesses; but let us not despair, for of counts there are
more than plenty between this and the ramparts of Belgrade."
A voice below her window startled her; she looked down, and saw a
tatterdemalion, with a shock head of dark hair, that mingled with an
enormous and untrimmed beard, holding in his hands a conical white
hat and knotted stick, and with a long knife in his girdle. He was
seated on a fragment of that rock on which the castle was built; and
one side of which jutted into the tideless sea, while the outworks
seemed to be based on drifted sand. The stranger waved his battered
hat. Gabrielle shuddered and withdrew with a sudden emotion of
anger; for she remembered the pretended valet of Bandolo, and their
voyage in the dogger of Dantzig.
The visiter muttered an oath, and shrunk close to the wall, lest a
Merodeur, who leaned on his musket on the bartisan of the tower
overhead, should observe him. After a time Gabrielle resumed her
seat at the window, but immediately rose again, for the man was still
there. He made many signs which she did not understand; sometimes
touching his hat; at other times placing one finger beside his nose
and winking slily; then kissing his hand and laying it on his heart.
These were all Master Bernhard's modes of evincing a desire to
communicate something that was secret and important, while at the
same time he vowed fidelity and truth--and no doubt the memory of the
helmet full of trinkets, &c., awaiting him at Hesinge, made the
rascal (for the time) true as steel to his mission.
Believing that he was mocking her, Gabrielle again withdrew with a
sad and swelling heart; for now such a trivial circumstance as the
supposed insolence of this man fretted her.
On her pretty face disappearing a second time, Bernhard uttered a
tremendous oath, gave his conical hat a violent punch on the crown,
and began to whistle on two of his fingers, uttering low and peculiar
notes, indicative of various things best known to himself, who had
acquired this accomplishment in the common prison and Rasp-haus; but
fears of the sentinel recurred to him, and he was compelled to revert
to patience and rending his beard, which made his face closely
resemble a black furze bush, with a cat looking out of it.
After a time Gabrielle returned to the window. The sun had now set;
its golden beams still lingered on the wavelets of the Belt; but the
man was yet beneath her window, seated on the shelf of rock, where
the yellow sea was rippling; and again he greeted her with his whole
vocabulary of nods, winks, and signs.
"This is strange pertinacity," thought Gabrielle; "the man is
intoxicated!"
At last, after searching in a deep pocket of his tattered doublet, he
fished up a little note, and displayed it with a glance of triumph,
holding the while his conical hat between it and the castle, lest the
sentinel should see. It was evident that he cared less about being
seen himself, than having his letter intercepted.
"A letter--from whom can it be?" thought Gabrielle, while her heart
beat with increased velocity; "and in his care, too! 'tis some fresh
insult--an officer of Merodé has discovered that I am here, and takes
this mode of sending me a billet, expressing a love, perhaps, as good
as his commander's."
Full of anger again at this idea, she again retired; and then
Bernhard bequeathed himself again to the devil--tore his hat with his
teeth, and stamped with rage. Curiosity made Gabrielle peep again,
and then Bernhard held up the letter with a sulky and indignant air,
and made a motion indicative of his intention to tear it in pieces,
if it was not accepted. Suddenly connecting the billet with the
recent appearance of Ian, she threw open her window, and Bernhard
with a joyful grin held up the letter.
"From Hesinge, lady," said he in a husky whisper; "from your sister."
"From Ernestine! ah, forgive me, forgive me for my reluctance and
delay!" replied Gabrielle, while her heart swelled almost to bursting
with sudden emotion; "ah, Heaven! how am I to obtain it--the window
is so high?"
"If you had a cord--quick, or that schelm of a Merodeur on the tower
top may send a bullet this way to pay the postage."
Gabrielle gave a hurried glance about her. There was not in all her
apartment a piece of cord. Ernestine's letter was not twenty feet
from her; she was in despair, and trembling with eagerness.
"O joy!" she exclaimed, as a sudden thought seized her; "this will
do!" and seizing her scissors, in a moment she ripped off six or
seven yards of silver braid from the skirt of her fardingale--a blue
satin brocade, one of many that Merodé (who had at his disposal
selections of all the best wardrobes in Juteland) had given her, and
which, for lack of others, she had been compelled to wear.
To this cord, which he thought was much too valuable for such a
purpose, Bernhard tied the note; Gabrielle towed it in like a little
fish, and, kissing her sister's handwriting, fell on her knees to
thank Heaven for sending her this; a mist came over her eyes--they
were full of hot salt tears; and though she trembled with eagerness
to read, for some moments she found herself incapable of doing so.
It was the familiar handwriting of her sister; but hurriedly and
tremulously written. Advice and directions were intermingled with
ardent expressions of regard; for though they were the daughters of
different mothers, the love between these two girls was as strong as
esteem, affection, and the tie of blood could make it. There was a
difference in their love, too; for Gabrielle looked up to her tall
and dark-eyed sister with something of a daughter's reliance and
respect; and Ernestine, from the habit of giving advice, and taking
charge of her blue-eyed and merry little sister (for she never could
alter her first impression, that Gabrielle was yet a child), had that
regard for her which we always have for those whom we protect.
Interrupted at every word or two by reiterated expressions of
sisterly regard, the letter urged that she should immediately escape,
if possible, from Helnœsland, as the Highlanders could only remain
at Hesinge for another day, after which they must march for
Helsingör; and that she must trust implicitly to the bearer--("What a
man to confide in!" thought Gabrielle, glancing at Bernhard's
tremendous beard)--the bearer, when could conduct her to a place near
Helnœs, where friends would be waiting to receive her.
"Escape--but how am I to escape?" thought Gabrielle, as her eyes
filled with tears, and she pressed her hands upon her burning
temples; "all the doors of the passages and ambulatories between this
and the court are kept closed and locked by Merodé or his creatures;
and the wall--it is so high! and I have only a day to decide; ah,
dear Ernestine, I have no hope--none--none!"
Again and again she read the letter, in the hope that it might
contain some hint; but there was no such item there.
"Are you coming, then--not just now; but when the darkness sets in?"
said Bernhard, who was still sitting below the window, and to whom
she turned for some advice.
"How can I descend? I will do any thing--any thing to escape from
this."
"Could you slide down a stout cord if I brought one?"
"I believe that I could."
"Are you not certain, young lady?"
"Oh yes! I am quite certain."
"Well, by ten o'clock I will be back again, for I do not like sitting
in view of that fellow on the tower head. I am in expectation of
receiving a shot every moment. Listen--collect all the valuables you
have, for I will expect a little fee from you for my trouble; I am
only a poor fellow who has lost his employment by the war. When you
have them all ready, secure your door inside."
"Alas! 'tis generally bolted on the _outside_."
"Well, pile whatever you can move against it--a bed, an almerie,
chairs, tables, every thing that will obstruct entrance, and give us
an opportunity of getting clear off; at least, so far as yonder
sandhills beyond the thicket, for there your friends will be waiting
you, even before this perhaps. Have all prepared, lady; in two hours
I will be back with a stout cord from one of the boats moored at the
point yonder."
Gabrielle had not words to thank him, but kissed both her hands, and
then, stealthily as a cat, he crept away. He had measured the wall
by a glance of his eye. In many an escape and robbery he had scaled
and descended a higher and more dangerous; thus he felt assured that
Gabrielle must be able to do so, too.
She turned to a sundial that was carved on the corner of one of the
windows, and found that it wanted exactly two hours of the time at
which this man was to return for her; and she was all impatience.
Could Gabrielle have conceived, or been informed, of half the
atrocities this outlaw had committed, she would rather, perhaps, have
remained with Merodé than trusted herself to his guidance; but she
had a pure soul and a charitable heart, and viewed the emotions and
impulses of other minds through the innocent medium of her own.
Thus, though she knew Bernhard to be the person who brought her to
Merodé, she now implicitly believed that he had lost his way at
Eckernfiörd, and been deceived, as well as herself. She even
imagined that her repugnance to his aspect was not so great as at
first; the villanous leer of his yellow eyes, seemed to be only a
comical twinkle; and his exuberance of beard and matted mass of hair,
like his rags and worn shoes, might only be the result of poverty;
and had she not heard Father Ignatius preach, that it was wrong to
despise the poor, for they were peculiarly the children of Heaven?
It seemed wicked to suspect the poor man who had come so far to free
and serve her; and, as if to make reparation, she selected the most
beautiful of her own rings (setting aside all the more valuable and
magnificent jewels with which Merodé had encumbered her room) as a
gift for her liberator.
Half an hour had elapsed, and now the sun's rays seemed to tremble
above the western horizon and the level shores of Juteland.
"In two hours and a half I shall be with Ernestine! Two hours and a
half--ah, my Heaven! can it be possible? At last! at last! Oh, how
I shall kiss her, and weep upon her breast! My dear, good, kind
Ernestine! My sister and my mother, too!"
Thus did Gabrielle mutter from time to time, as she watched the rays
slowly revolve round the sundial, and saw the shadow of the gnomon
gradually fade away; as the evening bells began to toll, the sun sank
behind Sleben, and his rays shot upwards, diverging with tenfold
brilliance as the coast between, became a darker and more defined
outline. The setting of the sun was the first approach to night.
She beheld it with joy, and, by the pure transparent atmosphere of
the northern evening, continued to watch the growing shadows, and
that landscape on which she hoped she was now gazing for the last
time.
Placid as a mirror of polished steel the water lay in the fiörd; the
scenery was calm and tranquil. Meadows of emerald green bespangled
with wild-flowers, or young corn-fields bending under the breath of
the soft summer wind, covered the long and narrow promontory of
Helnœs. Rising from the turf fires and cottage chimneys, the
silvery smoke curled far into the amber-coloured sky of evening; on
one side, lay a scene of peace and contentment, beautiful and rich as
browsing cattle, the fragrance of orchards and flowers, corn and
honey, could make it; on the other, lay the long blue waters of the
Belt, winding between Sleswig and Fuhnen-the-_Fine_.
All this was visible from her window in that grim old castle, which
was founded on a mass of rock, that, darkly and grey, jutted from
among the golden-coloured sand into the chafing sea. Silvering every
wavelet that rippled the calm surface of the narrow ocean, the soft
moon rose slowly above those level shores that hem in the waves, from
whence sailed those savage but adventurous conquerors, who gave their
name to all the land between the British channel and the Scottish
frontier.
Now, Gabrielle remembered the advice of Bernhard concerning the
barricading of her door; she rose hastily to execute it; and saw at a
glance, that, by placing a table between it and an angle of the wall,
she could effectually bar all entrance; for the door (which opened
inwards) was of oak, hinged with iron, and though old, was of great
strength, being received into the stone work all round; thus, if so
secured, nothing less forcible than a cannon-shot, or a
battering-ram, could affect it.
"Ah! how foolish I have been in never perceiving this before! How
many nights might I have slept in comparative peace, nor trusted to
the lingering honour and casual pity of Merodé."
Thus thought Gabrielle.
But half an hour, she calculated, was wanting of the time when
Bernhard would return; and she was preparing to secure her door in
the manner described, when the sound of steps in the passage arrested
her; the door was hastily opened, and her agitated heart almost
ceased to beat when she beheld the Count Merodé!