"Away, away my steed and I
Upon the pinions of the wind!"
_Mazeppa._
"Thou false fiend, thou liest!
I do defy--deny--spurn back and scorn ye!"
"That thus a son should stand and hear
The tale of his disgrace."
BYRON.
The indignant Lester, to whom the story now reverts, had no sooner left
the presence of Kate Bellamont and the field of archery, than he
hastened to the stables, saddled his horse with his own hand, and threw
himself across his back. Then, turning his head northward towards Castle
More, he gave him the rein, and, without forming any definite aim or
object, but goaded onward simply by the fiery impetus of his feelings,
with a feverish desire to leave far behind the scene of his disgrace,
rode away at full speed.
His thoughts were dark and confused; his heart full; his spirit sore! He
looked neither to the right nor left, and gave backward glance to turret
nor lattice--for he was all unskilled in that book of riddles, woman's
heart! and what hope then had he, that he should turn his head for beck
or signal of return? If he had been a little more experienced, or
somewhat better read in this book of mysteries, where every line of the
text is contradicted by a page of annotations, he might have known that
a signal would have been flying for him--at the very last moment! But,
alas for poor Kate Bellamont! alas for both! her voice, and the wave of
her snowy arm were alike in vain! He rode onward, seeing, feeling, being
conscious of nothing save his own deep disgrace and misery; and at each
fierce pang that reflection inflicted, he buried his spurs deep, and
dashed forward as if he would fly from his thoughts, or find relief from
them in swift motion.
The forest into which he rode, and in the depths of which he disappeared
from the earnest gaze of Kate Bellamont, was very ancient and of great
extent, and intersected by many roads winding in all directions through
its dark bosom: it was inhabited chiefly by woodsmen and foresters, but
contained, besides, two solitary hunting-lodges, a league asunder,
appertaining to the contiguous estates of Bellamont and Castle More. At
the northern termination of this wood, two leagues distant from Castle
Cor, on the crest of a rock that overhung a small woodland lake or mere,
was situated Castle More; a single square tower, with a low turret
rising at each angle, and defended on the inland side by a high wall
with bastions and a deep moat. It was, at the date of this narrative,
the abode of Lady Lester, the widow of General Lord Lester, who had
fallen a few years before while gallantly fighting in Spain. Since his
death she had withdrawn herself from the sphere of the court, and
excluded herself almost altogether from society; devoting her time to
the performance of the severe religious duties usually imposed by the
Catholic church only on religieuses, and to the observance of rigorous
and frequent fasts; and it was rumoured that she even inflicted upon
herself painful penance with rods, and slept through Lent in a crown of
thorns. In these austerities her friends, and, also, sensible and
discreet people, saw only the diseased melancholy of a widowed wife who
had been fondly devoted to her departed lord, finding relief, as woman's
sorrow often will, in a life of religious seclusion. But the suspicious
and evil disposed, the humble labourer and marvel-loving hind, saw in
her stern religious life only painful penance for crimes committed in
early life, and were wont to shake their heads and lower their voices
whenever the "Dark Lady of the Rock" was named.
But, notwithstanding her austere life, Lady Lester was not indifferent
to the claims of young Lord Robert. Her heart had been wrapped up in the
high-spirited boy from his childhood; and as he grew in stature and
grace, next to her graven images, she worshipped him. Unrestrained by
paternal fear, and indulged by Lady Lester in every idle wish, he grew
up to the age of seventeen with a spirit that never had been curbed;
with a temper that never had known a check. Though by nature of a
generous and noble disposition, as the unavoidable result of such a
course, he was the slave of passion and the victim of self-impulse; with
the will to act justly, but without the power to guide that will: like a
noble bark that has lost its rudder and is driven furiously along by its
out-spread sails, which, managed by skill and discipline, might yet
become the instruments of its safety, to irremediable shipwreck and
ruin. If educated at all, he was taught to regard all the retainers of
his vast estates as vassals; beings of meaner mould; a race of mortals
who had somehow smuggled themselves into existence long after Adam
founded his ancient family--poachers on the world's manor--now doomed,
for their punishment, to crawl as slaves on the earth they had dared to
come upon unbidden. He was taught to regard all unnoble as ignoble; and
to consider them as an inferior and secondary race, and only created to
be subservient to the will of those of his caste and rank. With such
notions he became haughty and arrogant, and cherished a spirit of pride
of birth, combined with a jealousy of his privileges, that at all times
was sufficiently prompt to show itself.
With two such opposite characters; a generous and just one--the gift of
nature; an imperious and haughty one--the result of education, he was as
uncertain as the wind, variable as the evening cloud. There was but one
mind that could control his; one spirit to whose power his own would
bend; but one voice that could act upon his passions with a gentle
influence, and, with a word, chase the darkest cloud from his brow, even
as the harp of the youthful minstrel banished the gloomy spirit of evil
from the soul of Saul! This potent person was Kate Bellamont: the wand
she used, Cupid's magical bow. By its aid she brought his haughty will
in subjection to her own mild sway, and converted the lion into the
lamb. She had been his playfellow from childhood; they had strolled,
fished, hunted, boated together. Others might be in company, but somehow
Kate and Robert seemed to be attracted to each other by a mysterious
affinity: if they fished, he baited her hook and took off the fish when
she caught them; if there was a ramble, they were certain to stray off
together and lose themselves in the forest, and always were the last
back to the castle; if there was a party to sail on the mere, Robert and
Kate were sure to be seated near each other!
By-and-by they began to advance into their teens: when Kate got to be
fifteen, she began to grow very shy of her playfellow; would not let him
kiss her as he was wont; nor ramble with her his arm encircling her
little round waist. She ceased running races with him, and began to call
him "Lord Robert;" and would blush if he happened to turn and catch her
eye fixed musingly upon his face. Robert himself also began to show
signs of change. He grew diffident and silent in her company; looked at
her for a long time together without saying a word; then would turn away
and sigh, and look again, and sigh again. He became less violent, less
frequently angry; his voice became gentle and subdued: and he began to
show signs of fear in her presence, and trembled if she laid her hand on
his arm, which, of late, she was very careful not to do. Indeed, there
is no describing half the signs by which their progress from the
playmate state of chrysalis to the lovemate state of ripe youth was
marked. Robert Lester very soon found that he was very unhappy away from
Kate, and very happy in her presence. The maiden, on her part, was not
long in discovering that the days were very long when Robert did not
visit Castle Cor, and that she thought of him, somehow, a great deal
more than she used to do. It evidently was very clear that she loved to
look from the battlement of the tower at the four distant turrets on the
top of Castle More, when he was away, much oftener than she had done the
year before. Things went on in this manner, though from worse to worse,
till about a week before Kate's sixteenth birthday, when it chanced that
she and her quondam playfellow were riding slowly homeward, after an
unsuccessful pursuit of a stag, which, after having led them within a
mile of Castle More, doubled and turned upon its track towards the
south, and plunged into a morass not far from Castle Cor; so, as night
was approaching, they had given up the pursuit, and turned their horses
heads towards the castle.
They had been slowly riding side by side for some time, breathing their
horses, neither speaking a word, but occasionally exchanging timid
side-glances in the way young people sometimes do without lifting their
eyelids. If by chance their eyes met, both instantly averted their
heads, switched their horses, or plucked a leaf; but, in a few seconds,
their heads would gradually come round, the pupil of the eyes steal into
the corners and again meet, causing a second time very great
embarrassment, and very guilty colouring of cheek and brow, as if each
had been detected by the other in some crime. So they rode together in
this pleasant manner for full half a mile; and one would believe, from
their silence and the wide space they guardedly preserved between each
other, that they had quarrelled. But their countenances, though grave,
looked too happy and sentimental for that; besides, a slight smile, or,
rather, just the soft reflection of one, played about their mouths. This
for several weeks past had been precisely their bearing towards one
another whenever they happened to be alone together; but, when in the
presence of others, they both gave way to the highest tone of gayety and
spirits. It was all very strange, very!
The lover at length looked ahead, and saw, through an opening in the
forest, the towers of Castle Cor not a quarter of a mile distant. He
involuntarily reined in his horse, and looked full in Kate's face; his
lips parted; he essayed to speak, but his voice adhered to his jaws. So
he gasped, sighed, and laid his hand eloquently on his heart. Kate also
saw the towers, and reined up at the same moment he did; looked demurely
on the ground, and then, as if she had nothing better to do, let fall
her riding whip, notwithstanding she had to untie it from her wrist to
do so. Instantly Lord Robert threw himself from his saddle, giving the
bridle a slight shake as his foot left the stirrup, a hint which the
sagacious animal obeyed by bounding off towards the stables, and took it
from the ground; then blushingly, and with a conscious look, as if
contemplating a daring deed, he presented it to her. As, with averted
eyes, she extended her hand for it, he placed in it tremblingly, instead
of the whip, his own hand. She neither started nor turned her head, but
her young bosom rose and fell quick, and he thought the hand fluttered
with a new pulsation as it lay in his. She did not withdraw it. He grew
confident, and slightly, very slightly, pressed a finger. Thereupon the
little hand only throbbed the quicker. He pressed two, then three
fingers, and then, with a boldness that grew with the occasion, he
folded the soft, gloved hand all in his own. The next moment he coloured
with conscious guilt, and looked up into her face as if about to throw
himself upon her mercy. But she was so intently watching the rich dies
of a sunset cloud that she evidently did not know what he was about; so,
instead of asking pardon and looking very sad, he put on a very happy
countenance, and, ever and anon casting his glance upward to her face,
began, little by little, to draw off her glove. But, as she made no
demonstrations of being aware of what he was doing, he pulled the glove
quite off. For an instant he held it suspended, while he stole a very
doubtful glance into her half-averted face; the next moment the warm,
snowy hand was pressed between his own, and then, growing bolder apace,
he began to cover it with kisses. Hereupon the maiden slowly turned her
head and looked down at the bold youth with a look that she doubtless
meant to be a reproving one; he cast his eyes to the ground, still
holding the quiet hand nestled between both his own, and said, in a soft
whisper,
"Kate!"
"Robert!" was the equally gentle suspiration in reply.
"Are you angry?"
"I ought to be."
"Then you are not?" was the half-joyful, half-doubting interrogation.
"No," was breathed in accents so very gentle that it was conveyed to him
by the movements of the lips alone.
"Shall we walk to the castle?"
"Yes."
And the young lady, studiously avoiding his eyes, was gently and
passively assisted to the ground; as she touched it, his arm glided
about her taper waist, and somehow their lips met, and again met, and
met again, and met so often, that the horse was far out of sight before
the fact forced itself on the mind of the maiden.
"Robert, desist! There! my horse has galloped off!"
"Shall I bring him to you?" asked the delighted youth, in a tone that
showed he did not very much apprehend she would despatch him on such a
mission.
"No, we can walk. But it is so foolish!"
"What?"
"Nothing."
And they walked on together for a few moments in silence.
"Kate!"
"Robert."
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"May I seal the confession?"
"A fine time to ask leave now!" she said, laughing.
Another kiss, and then another, and then a great many others, firmly
sealed this little love affair, and placed them on a perfect
understanding with each other. They were from this moment lovers! They
quarrelled only twenty times in the subsequent interval of a week that
preceded her birthday; than which no greater proof need be advanced to
show the new relation in which they stood to each other. But, then, they
always made up again; the youth, whose hasty spirit caused him five
times out of seven to be the offender, being ever ready to atone by
every loverlike device.
But such a sad breach as had been made between them this day was without
a parallel. To his own mind it seemed too wide to be repaired; too gross
to be atoned for by words. He, on his part, felt that the lofty
character and proud spirit of Kate, though love plead never so loudly,
would not brook the insult her feelings had received by the wild
outbreak of his passions in her presence. He felt that he had forfeited
all title to a place in her affections; and that her indignation was
justly roused by the outrageous deed he had madly attempted: with
bitterness of heart he acknowledged that he deserved to be banished for
ever from her presence, and to be remembered by her only with contempt.
But he knew not of what enduring material a maiden's heart is composed;
he knew not that, when love takes possession of it, like a magnet thrown
among some delicate machinery of steel communicating to every part a
portion of its own mysterious nature, it penetrates and pervades every
attribute, converts every passion to its own hue, and renders each
feeling subservient to itself. To its arbitrament all things are
referred. Reason, judgment, prudence, and even piety become secondary to
the will of this autocrat of the heart; and a deaf ear is turned even to
the counsels of the wise and good when they do not conform to its
dictates. Such is the power of love--wondrous, vast, incomprehensible! A
religion without a god or a future; unbounded in its power; universal in
its extent; all-pervading in its influences!
He galloped along through the winding avenues of the silent forest,
scarce roused from his sad meditations by the startled deer that fled at
his approach, yet stooping mechanically as some old oak flung its
gigantic arm low across the path. Unconsciously he urged on his noble
horse to its utmost speed; his bonnet pressed down over his gloomy brow;
his eyes dark and settled in their expression; and his hand nervously
grasping the rein. At one moment he would drop his head upon his breast,
and be overcome by the bitterness of grief. At the next he would throw
back his head, and with eyes flashing fire, gnash his glittering teeth,
shake his clinched hands above his head, and curse in the face of
Heaven; while the horse, catching his fierce spirit, would erect his
bristling mane, and bound madly forward like the wind. These terrible
paroxysms of mingled grief and rage would pass away, and then he would
ride slowly, with his arms folded, and with an expression of settled
despondency. Three several times did he check his horse, and,
half-turning him round towards Castle Cor, pause, and seem to deliberate
between the suggestions of mingled hope and doubt. But, after a few
seconds' thought, he would shake his head despairingly and again spur
forward.
In one of his moods of sullen gloom, with his arms folded across his
breast, his head drooped, the reins lying loosely upon the horse's neck,
he came upon an old ruin half a league from Castle More, and within the
boundaries of its wide domain. Here and there, amid a confusion of
moss-grown fragments that everywhere strewed the ground, rose to his eye
a mouldering buttress; the half of a Gothic window; a ruined tower,
lifting itself in melancholy loneliness, in the last stages of decay;
or, a doorway choked to its lintel with rubbish. Over all crept the ivy,
that lovely emblem of charity, binding up, with its slender fingers, the
wounded towers; covering with its thick robe of leaves the nakedness
that time had exposed; and, where it could neither heal nor strengthen,
wreathing about the dilapidated walls garlands of enduring verdure.
It was the ruins of a chapel, where, centuries before, the barons of
Castle More had worshipped. Now all was desolation. Its bell was hushed;
its choir for ever silent. The priests--the worshippers, where were
they? sleeping beneath the ruins of the crumbling chancel; their high or
holy names, which no man remembers, carved deep in the superincumbent
marble. Apparently coeval with the fallen temple, near its eastern end
grew an aged tree, spreading over half the ruin its huge broad arms as
if it would fain protect, in its desolation, the relics of that
structure whose days of honour it had witnessed. A soft evening
sunlight, struggling through the tops of the surrounding forest, shed a
crimson glow over the whole scene, and imparted a quiet and sacred
character to the spot that took from it its aspect of desolation. It
stood there lonely and majestic in its ruin, forcibly suggesting to the
mind the idea (for there does exist a mysterious sympathy of association
between man and inanimate objects) of calm, Christian old age, ripe in
years and holiness, gathering about itself, with dignity and grace, its
mantle of decay.
Wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, the horseman was absently following the
path that wound among the ruins, when, as he turned a sudden angle of
the pile, his horse started and nearly threw him from his saddle. Roused
to a sense of his situation, he recovered his seat, seized the bridle,
and looked up. Directly in his path stood a woman, in a short scarlet
cloak, then, as now, the favourite colour of the Irish peasantry,
leaning on a long white staff, curiously carved with mysterious figures.
She was beneath the middle height, and hideously hunch-backed. Her hair
was bright red, of extraordinary length, and hung down in masses nearly
to the ground. Around her forehead was bound a cincture of beads, woven
into singular devices, which confined a sort of turban of green silk.
Her complexion was bronzed by exposure, but evidently once had been
fair. Her features were stern and almost masculine, yet bearing traces
of feminine beauty: the straight forehead, contracted by a rigid frown;
the aquiline nose; the arched brow, and thin, well-shaped lips, with a
roundly turned chin, were all, evidently, wrecks of what had once been
beautiful. Her eye was large, full, and clear, and would still have been
handsome but for a lurking devil in it. But the unsightly deformity of
her person, if natural, must always have served to render nugatory any
charm of countenance; and, whatever might have been her attractions in
youth, her present appearance was calculated to excite only feelings of
mingled fear and disgust. The young man gazed at her a moment as she
stood in his path, and then, in a tone that was in unison with his
present humour, said fiercely,
"Curses light on thee, hag! Stand from my path, or I will ride over
thee, and trample thy hideous carcass with my horse's hoofs."
"Robert Lester, as men call thee," she said, without changing her
position, in a cold, hard voice, and with a malicious laugh, "thou hast
been crossed in thy will, and art out of temper. Dost wish revenge?"
"Woman, avaunt! I want none of thy counsel. From my path, or I will ride
thee down!"
As he spoke, the impatient horseman struck his spurs deep into his
horse's flanks, and urged the animal forward; the beast reared and
plunged fearfully to either side, but refused to advance.
"Ha, ha, Robert More! If men will obey thee thy brute will not. He has
the eye to see dangers that are hidden from mortal vision."
"Witch--fiend!" cried the young man, fiercely, "I will dismount and hurl
thee from the path if thou bar my way farther. Stand aside and let me
pass!"
And a second time the infuriated rider urged the terrified beast
forward, but was nearly unhorsed by his efforts to turn from the road.
In an instant he leaped to the ground and advanced upon her. She smiled
scornfully as he approached, caught the arm he extended to seize her,
and held him in her grasp with the force of a vice.
"Ha, ha, Robert More! thou art defeated."
Quick as lightning, with his other hand he drew from his breast a
hunting-knife, and, elevating it above her head, said, in a cool,
decided tone,
"Elpsy, release me, or I sheath this blade in thy heart!"
She fixed her dark wild eyes upon his face an instant, and reading
aright its resolute expression, let go her grasp.
"'Tis well for thee, Elpsy," he said, returning the blade to his bosom;
"thou hast saved thy wretched life, and thy blood is not on my soul. Now
leave the path!" he added, sternly. "By the cross! ere I will be bearded
thus on my own lands, I will command my retainers to hurl thee into the
sea."
"_Thy_ lands! _thy_ retainers! Ha, ha, ha, Robert _More_! I have in
store a punishment for thee and for thy pride, that will repay me for
all thy arrogance! Oh, how thy haughty soul will writhe! how thy proud
spirit will groan! _Have I not a cup for thee to drink?_--Oh, have I!
Ha, ha, ha!"
The foreboding words and wild laugh of the hag sunk deep into the soul
of the young man. He was impressed by her manner as much as by her
language, and, with a changing cheek, said quickly,
"What mean these dark words, Elpsy?"
"Dark! yes, they are dark to thee now, but I can make them clear as the
sun at noon; ay, proud Robert of Lester! they shall scorch thee! wither
thy soul! cause thy heart to shrink! thy neck to bow! thy head to lie in
the very dust! Oh, will not the lowest slave among the vassals that wait
thy word pity thee, when thine ears receive what I would reveal!"
The wild prophetic air, the energy and taunting scorn with which she
spoke, alarmed while it enraged him.
"Madness! Woman--fiend! monster of deformity! speak, I command thee."
"_Thou_ command _me_, Robert Lester! Well, there will be a time! Wouldst
thou know what I have to reveal?" she asked, fixing on him her scorching
eyes.
"Beware if thou art mocking my fears! I will pluck thy tongue from thy
throat, and fling it to my hounds if thou hast trifled with me!"
"What I will tell thee will be so true, thou wilt indeed wish the tongue
that spoke it had been plucked from its roots ere it had given it
utterance. Nevertheless, the time has come for thee to hear; and I may
no longer delay the recital of what, for thy sake," she added, with a
softer manner, "I would bear close locked in my breast to the grave.
But," she concluded, in a lofty tone, "what is to be revealed must be
made known, though the heavens were to fall and the earth to quake. Who
shall stay the hand of fate when once it is lifted to destroy?"
"Elpsy," said Lester, in a deep and earnest voice, unable to throw off
the presentiment of coming evil her words had awakened, "I would believe
thou hadst something to make known to me either of good or evil, though
of the latter alone I know thou art the minister. Yet, if thou hast
aught to say, I am ready to listen, good mother!" he added, in a mild
and persuasive tone.
"Robert More," she said, in a voice of super-human softness, while the
frigid and austere character of her face passed away, and her features
assumed a more womanly and gentler expression; "those last few words
were kindly spoken, and became thee: they have touched my heart--for
even Elpsy has a heart," she said, with sarcastic bitterness; "for those
kind expressions I would withhold from thee the knowledge of the doom
that awaits thee. But it is not for me," she added, in an enthusiastic
voice, and with returning wildness of the eye; "it is not for one like
me to refuse to obey the decree that has gone forth against thee. As a
mortal, I pity thee! as a woman, I could weep for thee! and as--No," she
interrupted herself, and muttered, "no, he shall not know all now; he
shall not learn all till my soul is on the wing; then, _then_ will it be
time enough!" She then added aloud, "as the minister of the invisible
world, I must do as I am commanded. Robert More, if you can bear to hear
what I am doomed to tell, follow me!"
"Nay, Elpsy, speak to me here."
"Obey me!" she commanded, in an authoritative voice, that had a singular
power over his will, and which he had not the ability to resist.
Without waiting for a reply, or looking round to see if she were
followed, she turned from the bridle-path, and, bounding with great
activity and with a sort of mad exhilaration of spirits over the
fragments of stone that lay in her way, directed her course towards a
low door at the foot of the crumbling tower. He hesitated a moment, and
then, leaving his horse cropping the long rich grass that grew among the
ruins, followed her. She entered the ruin, and, guided by a dim twilight
that penetrated through the top of the ruinous arch, led the way along a
covered passage which ran in the direction of the chancel. Its extremity
was wrapped in total darkness.
"Elpsy, I will follow thee no farther," he called, after advancing till
he could no longer take a step safely in the impenetrable gloom that
surrounded him, while she walked before him with a free, rapid, and
confident pace.
"Take the end of my staff," she said, returning a few steps and placing
it within his reach.
"Thy cabalistic wand, woman!" he repeated, in a tone of horror,
recoiling from her several paces and crossing himself. "Avoid thee!"
Like many among the highborn and educated of that day, Lester was not
above the superstitious notions of the times, and assented to, perhaps
without firmly believing, the existence and power of sorceresses. Among
the great number of these singular beings that about this time rose up
and filled the minds of all men, both in Great Britain and the
New-England colonies, with pious alarm and godly horror, was Elpsy More,
or "Elpsy of the Tower," for by both of these names she was known, who
had the reputation, above all others who practised the black art, of
being on the most intimate footing with his Satanic highness. Dark and
wild were the tales that had gone forth, and were repeated in hall and
cot, of the supernatural deeds of this communer with the world of
spirits. By the imaginations of the credulous and timid she was invested
with powers that could belong only to the Creator of the universe; and
it was believed by all good Catholics, that every Whitsuntide the devil
came to dine with her in the chancel of the old church, making a table
of the marble tomb of Black Morris O'More; who, as the tradition went,
sold his soul for the love of a beautiful lady, who turned out to be a
fiend, and on the bridal night flew away with him into the regions of
wo.
When Lester crossed the threshold of the gloomy gallery, these tales of
diablerie had come crowding thick upon his memory, painted in their most
vivid hues by his imagination; and with all his daring his blood ran
cold in his veins: nevertheless, he had continued to grope on until he
could go no farther, when he called to her. As the staff she offered
came in contact with his hand, he had shuddered and shrunk back,
remembering how that it was said her crutch was given her by her master,
who had charmed it by hardening it in the fires of the ever-burning
lake; and that whomsoever she touched with it, or even pointed it to,
that wore neither cross, bead, nor blessed relic about his neck, his
soul would surely be lost. Lester trembled as these legends passed
through his mind, crossed himself, and with great devotion muttered a
_paternoster_.
"Here, then, is my hand!" she said, seeing his hesitation.
"Fearful being, I will not go with thee."
"Robert More, obey me! There is my hand. It shall not harm thee," she
added, in that peculiar tone which held such a singular power over his
volition.
Without replying, he took the extended hand and followed her through the
dark passage a few yards farther, when she stopped and said,
"Heed thy footsteps! Here are steps--thou must go down with me."
As she spoke she began to descend a flight of stone stairs into a vault
beneath. He would have held back, but she gently and irresistibly led
him down, when they stood upright in a damp chamber, in which a faint
light struggled through an opening in the floor of the chapel above. The
dank, noisome atmosphere of the place, and its subterraneous position
beneath the chancel, filled him with awe and fear.
"Woman, whither have you led me?" he asked, in a voice deep with the
mingled emotions of suspicion, alarm, and resentment.
"Into the tomb where rest the bones of Black Morris O'More," she
answered, in a voice that sounded hollow and sepulchral.
"Mother of Heaven!" he gasped, "then is my soul lost!"
"Thou wilt little heed thy soul, proud youth, when thou hast heard my
tale."
"Be speedy with thy story, then; for, good or ill befall, I will not
long remain here."
"Fear not; thou art in no danger! Step cautiously, and I will guide thee
across this chamber to my own house. This is only the anteroom to it.
Ha, ha!" she laughed frightfully. "See! I have grim Morris O'More to
stand guard over my door."
As she said this she struck something, which, in the darkness, rattled
like bones suspended from the ceiling of the vault.
"Sorceress!" cried he, shuddering at the sound, "I will go no farther."
"Come with me, Robert More!" she said, firmly; "and see thou fall not
over the tomb of Black Morris in the way."
She drew him by the arm as she spoke with a strength far beyond his own.
He felt for his hunting-knife, determined to free himself by striking
her with it.
"Hold!" she cried, divining his intentions; "I will not harm thee. Here
is my abode!"
While speaking, she struck against the opposite wall with her staff, and
a door flew open, exposing the interior of a small circular chamber
receiving a dim light from the sky, which was seen calm and blue through
the roofless tower above.
"Welcome to the abode of Elpsy of the Tower!" she said, with irony.
"'Tis not the princely one thou art accustomed to, but it will serve thy
present purpose. Didst know that on thy domains thou hadst such a brave
woodland palace? Look about thee!"
The young man entered the room with a feeling of relief that he no
longer was in the very sepulchre, though still within reach, of the tomb
of Black Morris the accursed. The apartment in which he now found
himself originally had been constructed by the priests for the
preservation of the sacred vessels of the church in times of hostile
invasion of their domains. It was a subterranean room, situated beneath
a circular tower or turret that rose at the southeast angle of the
chapel. The tower once had contained three floors, one above the other;
the mortises for the sleepers being yet visible, ranged regularly and at
equal distances around the inner side. The top or roof of the tower,
with its battlement and Gothic ornaments, had long since fallen in; and
the floors, down even to the ground that formed the floor of the witch's
apartment and the very foundation of the tower, had successively decayed
and disappeared. The only entrance to this tunnel-like turret was the
door from the sepulchre by which he had been admitted. From this vault
to the chambers formerly above, access had been obtained by a circular
stairway within the tower and conducting from floor to floor, the beds
of the beams and fixtures which supported them still remaining in the
masonry. The object of these once-existing upper chambers of the round
tower is involved in mystery, though tradition hath given to the "three
tower-chambers" each their own wild tale of dark superstition and
priestly crime.
As he stood in the vault in the bottom of the tower, and looked far out
at the sky, it was like gazing upward from the bottom of a well. The
light came in strongly at the top, but grew fainter and fainter as it
penetrated deeper, till only a dim twilight reached the chamber below.
He recognised the tower as the loftiest of the ruin which often he had
made a landmark when hunting, and ascertained thereby his position: this
discovery rendering him more at his ease, he turned to survey the
subterranean abode which Elpsy had chosen.
In the midst of the floor was a heap of cinders, on which stood a small
iron kettle, apparently the only utensil she used for preparing her
food. A stone escutcheon, broken from one of the tombs, served her for a
seat, and a pile of fern and leaves for a bed. These constituted all the
necessaries that her singular and solitary way of life called for. But
there were other objects that attracted his attention, and thrilled his
blood as he gazed on them. Beside the door, its bones tied together with
strips of deer's hide, hung a skeleton of great size, its ghastly jaws
carefully bound up and grinning horribly, and its hollow, bony sockets
filled with stag's eyes wildly staring at him. Sculls, cross-bones, and
other hideous mementoes of the charnel-house were arranged along the
sides of the walls; while charms, amulets, and all the numerous
instruments of sorcery lay about. Through the open door he beheld the
stone effigy of Black Morris, which had slided from its recumbent
posture above his tomb by the sinking of the earth, standing nearly
upright, staring with his stony gaze into the round chamber, before
which swung the skeleton of which his tomb had been despoiled. The tomb
itself was open, and its black sepulchral mouth yawned as if it would
gladly receive a new occupant.
Terrible to Lester's nerves was the trial produced by this scene. Bold
and fearless as he was by nature, he could not suppress emotions of fear
(the cowardice of superstition) at the situation and circumstances in
which he had suffered himself to be drawn by the taunting language of a
wild weird woman, who not only was the professed enemy of all mankind,
but had manifested hostile feelings towards himself. He nevertheless
resolved that, having adventured, he would go through with it, trusting,
with religious faith, that all good saints would help him against
spiritual foes; while for protection against mortal ones, ay, even Elpsy
herself, he trusted to his own coolness, and, if it should come to that,
the broad sharp blade of his hunting-knife. Having fortified his mind
with this resolve, he felt more confidence; and being now in some degree
familiarized with his situation and the ghastly objects around him, he
turned to address the sorceress, who, on entering, had seated herself on
a scull, and, with her chin buried between her hands, continued to fix
her dark eyes upon his face with a mingled expression of pity and
malignant triumph. Before he could speak she rose, and, laying her hand
on his arm, said, in a tone between sadness and derision,
"How like you my abode, my lord?"
"'Tis a gloomy place."
"Ay, and many a gloomy day have I spent in it. Sit ye down on that
stone, _Lord Lester_!" she added, laying a peculiar emphasis upon the
last two words; "'tis a knight's shield, and should be a fit seat for
_thee_!"
"Is it thus, Elpsy, you use the sculptured armour and the sepultured
bones of my ancestors?" he said, in an indignant tone.
"_Thy_ ancestors?" she repeated, scornfully. "Sit thou there, _Lord
Lester_. Dost hear, Lord Lester? Open thine ears, and drink in the title
and style well--for 'twill be the last time they will fall upon them."
"Cease your mockery, woman! Say what thou hast to say, and quickly."
"Listen!" she said, seating herself on a scull opposite to him, while a
struggle between sympathy and malicious exultation was visible on her
features. "Young, and fair, and brave to look upon withal!" she said,
muttering to herself, and gazing on him steadfastly and thoughtfully; "a
coronet would grace that brow even as if 'twere born to it. Robert
Lester, or Robert More, for men call thee both," she said aloud, bending
her face towards him, and speaking in an impressive manner, "now listen
to the tale I have in store for thee. Fix thine eye upon me that I may
see it blench as I go on. Oh! it's a tale for a Christmas eve, I trow!"
She was silent a few seconds, as if sending her thoughts back through
the past; then, in a low voice, which rose or fell, was wild or sad,
slow or rapid, as her subject moved her, she began:
"Eighteen long years ago there dwelt by the seaside a poor fisherman,
honest, hard labouring in his vocation, but contented with his lot,
never having known better. He was a widower, but had an only daughter,
his sole companion, and the only link that bound him to his kind. This
child grew up to be a tall and comely maiden. Her eyes were of the rich
brown hue of the ripe chestnut. Her hair, soft as the floss of Florence,
was a fair brown; but when the winds that came off the sea would toss it
in the sunlight, there played over it a blaze of gold. It never had
known confinement, but floated like a sunset cloud about her head."
"What has this to do with thy tale?" demanded Lester, impatiently.
"Listen!" she said, calmly but firmly; her features, as her thoughts
seemed to dwell pleasurably on the beauty of the maiden, becoming more
humanized, while her voice modulated and harmonized with the words she
uttered. "This fair maid grew up, unknowing and unknown; budding and
blooming like a lone flower by the seaside. Her laugh was merry as the
carol of the glad lark as it soars and sings; her spirits were light as
the sparkling foam of the summer's sea; her heart as pure as the
moonbeam that slept on the wave. Her happiness was in her father's smile
and in his paternal love; and, besides her little cot, and the wide sea
which she loved, and the tall cliff that towered above her home, she
knew not, until she had entered her eighteenth year, that there was any
other world. Alas, for that maiden, that she had not remained in
ignorance! Alas, for her, that her heart was not as cold as the moonbeam
it resembled in its purity! One black and stormy night, a voice,
shouting for aid, reached the ears of the old fisherman and his child,
heard above the howlings of wind and roaring of the angry deep.
"'Rise, my child!' he cried, 'there is life in peril.'
"In a few moments they were by the seaside, and by flashes of lightning
beheld a small bark driving towards the shore before the tempest. On its
prow stood a group of men, who waved their arms wildly as the lightning
showed to them the forms of the old man and his daughter standing on the
beach, and shouted for help. Swift and irresistible, like an affrighted
courser, the fatal vessel drove onward, now lifted high on a surge, now
plunging into a yawning chasm, till at length, borne to a great height
on a wave, she trembled an instant on its top, and then, descending like
an arrow, struck against the bottom and was dashed to pieces. Wild,
fearful, unearthly was the shriek that pierced the ears of the fisherman
and his child! They looked where, a moment before, it went careering
over the foaming billows, and the lightning gleamed only upon fragments
of the wreck, human heads, and wildly waving arms. One solitary cry rent
the air after she struck, and then naught but the shriek of the winds,
like a human wail, and the tumult of the sea as it lashed the shore in
its fury, was to be heard."
"What has this to do with the tale I came hither to learn?" asked the
youth, impatiently; nevertheless, had he listened to her with interest,
deeply impressed by the energy of her voice and manner, as she warmed in
her narrative.
"Much," she said, quietly. "Listen! The fisherman, with his hair
streaming in the wind, and his garments wet with the spray, long
traversed the beach to see if human life had been cast on shore. He was
accompanied by his daughter, who, with her golden locks glancing in the
lightning, her lofty forehead calm and firm with womanly energy, and her
fair young face lighted up with the noble spirit that inspired her to
the task, looked like some bright spirit of peace that had come to stay
the tempest. They watched by that lonely shore till the dawn broke,
when, by its first faint glimmer, the maiden discovered an object like a
human form lying on the edge of the sea beside a rock, whither it had
been tossed by the stormy waves. With a cry between hope and mistrust
she sprang fearlessly towards the object--for, in the stern duties of
humanity to its suffering kind, fear nor false delicacy have no place,
and, if they had, that maiden was too good, too ignorant of life to know
either. As she came close to it, she saw that it was the body of a man.
She placed her hand upon his temples. They were warm. He was alive!
Alas, far better would it have been for her had he been cold as the
stone beside which he lay! His pulse was very faint; she could just feel
it throb like a fine chord vibrating against her finger. He was lying
upon his side naturally, like one in sleep. It was not yet light enough
to see whether he was young or old, but she knew, from the soft smooth
skin of his brow, that many winters of manhood had not passed over his
head. With her aid her father bore him to their hut, and, after bathing
his forehead and hands in spirits, and applying for his restoration the
few but effective means known to those whose lives are passed on the
sea, he opened his eyes, and, after a little while, was able to sit up.
After having waited a few moments to recall his faculties, he seemed to
have become conscious of his situation, and the fatal cause which led to
it: with a smile of gratitude he looked up, and, glancing first at the
father and then at the daughter, acknowledged, in a voice and with a
look that thrilled to the heart of the poor maiden, how much he owed
them for their exertions in saving his life."
"This is a long story, Elpsy, and, methinks, little to the purpose!"
interrupted Lester.
"Listen! His language was courteous, and his speech addressed alone to
her; his manner was also gentle, and such as would please a maiden. He
got up and walked to the window to look out upon the beach, which was
strewn with fragments of the wreck; and, as he did so, she was struck
with his noble figure, and proud, soldierly air; and the soft sadness
that came over his face, as he surveyed the melancholy relics of his
gallant vessel, touched her heart. He was not above thirty years of age,
with a high, fair brow, and a cheek, though sunburnt, bright as a
child's. His hair was of a silvery hue, that harmonized with his
complexion, and flowed long and in shining waves about his shoulders.
His eyes were as blue as if they had been mirrors to reflect the
summer's sky, and, as she met them, were tender, yet ardent, in their
expression. His smile was fascinating, and his rich voice was full of
melody and most manly in its tones. Poor fisher's daughter! She gazed on
him bewildered with love, and lost her heart ere she scarce knew she
possessed one! He turned away from the window, and his eyes met the
fervent gaze of the maiden. She blushed; her eyelids fell; her young
bosom heaved tumultuously, and the worldly-wise stranger read her heart
at a glance.
"The evening of that day (for hour after hour did he linger beneath the
fisherman's lowly roof) they sat together in the door of her cot. He
took her hand, and told her, in a low, gentle voice, how he had sailed
homeward from Spain, where he had been fighting as a soldier; and how,
with his companions, he had been, the last night, driven by the tempest
on that inhospitable shore when within five leagues of his destination;
and how that he had lost much treasure by the shipwreck, but that her
presence had made him forget all he had lost; that her smile repaid him
for all that he had suffered. Poor maiden! The hours wore away, yet they
seemed minutes to her; the stars came out, and the tardy moon rose! He
discoursed to her of love, and she listened! Her ears drank in his
words! Her heart was no longer her own. He told her that he loved her,
and received her ingenuous confession in return. He then told her of a
brave tower, that stood amid broad lands five leagues northward, which
owned him as master, and this, he said, he would make her the mistress
of if she would become his bride. She believed and promised. He then
said he must leave her, but would return in a few days in a fair ship,
and claim its fulfilment. The next morning he took his departure. She
wept sorely in his arms when he left her. But, ere her father, who had
been pursuing his daily toil on the deep, returned, she had dried up her
tears and clothed her face with smiles to meet him, lest her sorrow
should make him sad. She did not tell him of her love or the promise of
the stranger: it was the first time she had harboured a secret in her
guileless heart. She was silent from maidenly modesty; for, with the
love that had got into her heart, had entered many new feelings hitherto
unknown to her.
"Sad and heavy passed the days, when one evening, as she stood upon the
beach looking, now southward for the light skiff of her father, and,
much oftener, northward for the expected bark of her lover, she saw the
evening sun glancing on a white sail that appeared coming round a
promontory a league distant to the north. It bent its course towards the
beach. Her heart fluttered. She knew not what to do for joy; and, in her
impatience, could have flown along the white sand to meet it! Steadily
it bore down towards her. She now forgot to look for the little skiff of
her father; her eyes were fixed alone on the coming bark! It approached
nearer and nearer. She could see forms on the deck. As it came closer,
high on the poop, standing alone like its master spirit, she discovered
her lover. He waved his hand to her, and, as she answered it, the vessel
came to; a boat was launched, and he sprang into it. A few strokes of
the oar sent it to the land, and, leaping out, the handsome stranger
clasped the lovely maiden in his arms.
"'Come, gentle maid,' he said, in accents of love; 'come and be the
bride of my home and heart.'
"'Not without my father!' she said, looking anxiously to see if she
could descry his boat.
"'Think not of him now,' said he; 'he shall soon come, and cheer with
his presence your new home.'
"'He will grieve when he finds I have left him,' she said, with filial
tenderness. 'I cannot go.'
"'He shall, ere long, see you again,' he said, gently leading her along;
'come, dearest, fly with me to the abode I have prepared for you. This
shall be our bridal night!'
"The maiden suffered herself to be borne to the waiting bark; its sails
were trimmed to the breeze, and swiftly it cut its way through the
crested billows towards the direction from which it came."
"Hast done?" asked the impatient Lester.
"Hear me!" said Elpsy, in a stern tone. "The morning's sun shone upon a
dark square tower, with a single wing that looked upon the sea, and his
beams penetrated a stained lattice, and fell in brilliant and varied
dies on the floor of a chamber within it. In that chamber sat the
fisher's daughter; and the fair-locked stranger was bending over her as
she sat by the window, dallying with her golden tresses. The night upon
the sea had been her bridal night! But, alas! unblessed by priest,
unmarked by altar, or prayer, or vow! She was neither bride nor maid."
Here the witch's voice trembled with emotion, while her eyes grew rigid,
and her brow became gloomy and fearful to look upon.
"Who did this maiden this foul wrong?" asked the youth, with a flashing
eye.
"Hurtel of the Red-Hand!"
"Ha! that rebel Irish chief, who, to save his head, fled to the
Colonies, and who, for his bloodthirsty spirit, got the title of 'The
Red-Hand?'" demanded Lester, with interest.
"The same."
"I would have sworn it! Go on."
She smiled grimly, and then continued:
"For many days he was devoted to his victim; but amused her, when she
besought him to heal her wounded honour by the words of the holy mass of
marriage, with idle excuses; and so she was put off from day to day,
till she found there was life within her bosom, and that she was about
to become a wedless mother.
"Gradually he got to neglect her, and daily grew more and more estranged
from her; and at length, heading a secret conspiracy, his tower became
the rendezvous of insurgent leaders, and day and night rung with
bacchanalian revels. Lonely she sat, evening after evening, in her
solitary chamber, with her face resting on her hand, and her eyes
looking south over the sea; her thoughts winging their way to her lowly
cot and its humble occupant, who, perhaps, mourned his daughter as
having perished in the deep.
"At length she became a mother. _He_ was away at the time, at the head
of a party of conspirators bound on an expedition of treason and
bloodshed. On the third day afterward he returned. She heard the tramp
of horses, and with hurried joy opening the lattice--for,
notwithstanding his neglect, she loved him still--saw him riding rapidly
towards the tower, followed only by a single rider, and leading by the
rein a palfrey, on which was mounted a beautiful lady; she saw that her
head drooped, that she appeared sick and faint, and that he supported
her by passing one arm about her waist. A pang of jealousy, the first
she had ever known, shot through her bosom. They reined up beneath the
window: she saw him take her in his arms from the saddle, and bear her
within the tower. Then, with surprise, she heard him, in a loud tone,
give commands for all the defences of the castle to be put up, as if he
expected to encounter a siege. She returned again to her couch faint and
sick at heart, and waited his appearance. An hour elapsed ere he came,
and painful were the thoughts that agitated her bosom. When at length
she heard his footsteps, she rose to meet him with a smile of love, with
her infant extended in her arms. His dress was disordered and bloody, as
if he was just from conflict; and she at once saw, for affection is
quick and suspicious ever, that his brow was dark and angry.
"'Ha!' he cried, scornfully, 'what have we here?'
"'The pledge of your former love,' she said, with gentle reproof,
offering it to his arms.
"'By the head of St. Peter!' he exclaimed, pushing her rudely away, and
fixing upon her a terrible look (which but one other living can give,"
said Elpsy, with peculiar emphasis, fixing her gaze upon Lester), "'I
brought thee not hither to breed brats! Fling it from the window!'
"And, without deigning to cast a glance upon it, he strode across the
chamber, while, with a cry of pain and mortal anguish, she sunk down
upon the floor. He turned and looked back at her for a few seconds, and
then said fiercely,
"'Rise, woman! I have brought a lady hither who will need thy services
ere the dawn. Up, I say. Thou shalt be her servant if I bid thee. Such a
station will best suit thy birth. Up, or I will tear thy brat from thee
and cast it from the balcony.'
"She clung convulsively to her babe and rose from the ground. But was
she not changed in that little while, Robert More? Was not her deep love
turned into deep hate? Ay! as if by the wave of a wand her soul was
changed, and she became a different being. 'Tis but a step from the
deepest love to the deepest hate in woman's heart, when she feels that
she is deliberately injured. Then lightning is not quicker than the
change--hell not deeper than her hate! She rose from the floor another
creature. He saw the alteration in her countenance, and, for a moment,
his guilty spirit cowered. But Satan helped him to banish all feeling
from his breast, and he waved her sternly away.
"'Whither?' she asked, meeting his fierce gaze with a cool glance of
contempt.
"'To the chamber opening from the hall,' he said, in a tone of less
authority, dropping his eyes before her steady look.
"As he went out he muttered to himself, but the mother's open ears
caught the meaning of the words,
"'That child shall die!'
"She shuddered, but spoke not: clasping her child to her bosom after he
had left her, she tottered from the room and descended to the hall.
Entering the apartment designated, she there beheld the lady whom she
had seen ride up to the tower. She was reclining on a couch, and
appeared to be overpowered by fatigue and grief. She was very lovely,
with fine dark eyes that were filled with tears, and raven hair that was
spread dishevelled over her pillow. She turned her face as the door
opened, and her countenance brightened with hope as she saw the approach
of one of her own sex. The young mother advanced to the couch and
offered her consolation. The lady glanced at the swaddled infant, and
asked if she were the wife of 'Hurtel of the Red-Hand.'
"'No,' was the sad, yet stern, reply.
"The lady ceased to inquire further, and, being in her turn asked how
she came there, said that she was a noble lady and a wife."
"A noble lady!" repeated Lester, with interest.
"Now that there is high blood spoken of, you can feel an interest in my
story," she said, sarcastically. "Listen! She told how her lord had gone
that morning at the head of a party of gentlemen to attack a strong
position of the insurgents, when, anxious and impatient for
intelligence, she rode out, accompanied by several servants, nearly a
league from her castle, in hopes of meeting him or a messenger. She got
no tidings of him, and was on her return, when one overtook her with a
message from her lord, saying that he had gained a signal victory over
the conspirators, who were totally routed with great slaughter, and that
their chief, Hurtel of the Red-Hand, had barely escaped with his life."
"A battle with conspirators, and defeat of Hurtel of the Red-Hand. By
Heaven! woman, my father once fought and conquered this same chief!
Ha--your looks! what--speak--was it--was she--no--go on, it cannot be!"
The sorceress smiled mysteriously and continued,
"'I had hardly received this joyful news,' she said, 'when three
horsemen, riding at full speed, came spurring behind us. They were
passing us, when one of them, whom I recognised as Hurtel of the
Red-Hand, turned in his saddle as he dashed by, and, looking at me
earnestly, exclaimed,
"'The countess, by all that's fortunate! This will help redeem the day's
reverses, and give me a chance for my head!"
"'As he spoke he threw himself, with his company, sword in hand, upon my
servants, and, after a brief struggle, in which he lost one of his
party, either slew or dispersed them; and then, ere I had time to
collect my thoughts, he seized the rein of my palfrey and conveyed me
hither. His object must be either ransom, or, more probably, the hope of
being able, with me in his power, to make his own terms with the
victorious party, of which my noble lord is captain. You, who have so
recently become a mother, will sympathize with me at this crisis.'
"I will briefly pass over the events that followed," continued Elpsy.
"Before dawn the Lady Lester was prematurely delivered of a male child;
a fine, black-eyed boy, healthy and robust; but, through weakness and
mental anxiety, she soon after became insensible, and neither caressed
nor opened her eyes to look upon it. At sunrise the insurgent chief
entered the chamber, and demanded which was the fisher's brat. There was
an expression upon his face and a dark look in his eye that boded ill.
With a convulsive shudder the mother shrunk from his gaze and flew to
the bed, on the foot of which slept the two infants. She was just about
to clasp her own to her heart, with the resolution to defend it with her
life, when suddenly she checked the maternal impulse, and, turning to
him, said, as if her conduct would depend upon his reply,
"'What would you do with it?'
"'Give it me!' he demanded, more fiercely, 'or I will slay both thee and
thy young one.'
"And he approached her menacingly as he spoke.
"She once more bent over the babes! She dared not disobey: yet a
mother's love called loudly at her heart. Her babe's life was all in all
to her. It must be saved! She thought only of saving it!
"'I wait!' he said, sternly.
"Instinctively she caught up the babe of the noble lady and placed it in
his arms.
"''Tis here! But spare, oh, spare it!' she cried, as he strode from the
chamber with it in his rude grasp.
"Her heart smote her for what she had done. Leaving behind her her own
babe, which she had saved by this maternal deception, she followed,
clinging to him, and entreating him to spare the innocent. He heeded her
not, but advanced rapidly to a balcony that overhung the water thirty
feet above it, and, heedless of her cries, cast it over. She sprang
forward, and saw that the swaddling robe in which it was wrapped had
caught the point of a sharp rock, and that it hung suspended by it
within a foot of the water. With a cry of joy she had nearly sprung off
to save the babe, when, seeing that, by a bold leap from the balustrade,
she could reach a projecting rock, from which she could clamber down to
the water, she prepared to take it. But her exclamation caused him to
turn back; and seeing the fall of the child had been so singularly
arrested, and that she was about to attempt its rescue, he grew black
with rage, and with a violent blow, as she was in the act of springing
to the rock, struck her from the balcony into the sea. As she fell she
caught by the edges of the cliff, and, in some degree, broke her fall,
but, nevertheless, descended heavily into the water. It was not deep,
and she recovered her feet, caught the babe in her arms, and, staggering
to a sandy part of the shore, sunk down insensible. When she recovered
her senses the sun was high in the heavens. She attempted to rise, but
found she was deeply bruised, and that her spine was much injured by
striking against the rock in her descent. She looked up to the balcony.
It was closed, and all was silent. It was evident that the murderer,
supposing the fall fatal, had not the courage to watch her descent, and
had retired.
"She immediately resolved not to enter the castle again. With her soul
turned to bitterness, burning with vengeance against the author of her
wrongs, and suffering with pain, she prepared to seek, with the infant
she held in her arms, her father's cot. For her own babe she had no
fears. She knew that it would ever be regarded as that to which the lady
had given birth. It was fifteen miles to her native hut; yet weary,
suffering, ill, she dragged herself thither by the evening of the second
day. Her father, who had long mourned her dead, met her with open arms.
He pitied and nursed her for many long months till she recovered her
health; but her beauty of form was gone for ever. Her soul grew dark
with her woes; vengeance took the place of love in her heart towards him
who had so basely wronged her; and bitterness against all her species
rankled in her breast, and hourly grew deeper and deeper. Her senses at
length became unsteady. She grew restless and moody, and, after two
years abode with her father, she wandered forth, leaving with him the
boy, and never more returned to her natal roof. She sought a wild home
in the vicinity of her own son, where she could daily see him, watch
with pride his growth, and even speak with him unknown and unsuspected.
But when, as he increased in years and stature, he began to look like
his father, she began to hate him too, though, alas! it cost her many a
pang to do so.
"She now learned, that on the evening of the day on which she had been
hurled from the balcony, the husband of the lady, followed by fifty
armed men, surrounded the tower and demanded her surrender of her
captor. He replied that he would give her up on two conditions: first,
that his lands should not be confiscated: secondly, that he should be
permitted to ride forth, wherever he would, unmolested; which terms the
noble lord promised should be complied with if his lady should say she
had received no insult at his hands; and if, further, he would bind
himself to quit the realm within nine days thereafter. To this he
assented. The gates were shortly after thrown open, and, mounted on the
blood-bay charger which he always rode, he paced forth from his
stronghold, passed slowly and sternly through the lines of besiegers,
and, after trotting deliberately till he had got a great ways beyond
them, put spurs to his horse and rode off, no man knew whither: though
there is _one_ knows," she added, mysteriously, as if alluding to
herself, "that within nine days he was on the sea, bound to the New
World.
"The noble lord took possession of the tower, and joyfully embraced his
lady, and thanked her, saying, that 'notwithstanding she had been a
prisoner, she had not forgotten to make him a father;' and he took up
and kissed the babe as if it had been his own flesh and blood, instead
of sharing the mingled current that flowed in the veins of Hurtel of the
Red-Hand and the fisher's daughter; and from thenceforward he took him
home and made him the heir of his house. A little after that this brave
lord fell in the wars, nor ever knew he the truth to his last dying
breath. Thus ends my story, _Lord Robert of Lester_! Who, think you, was
this noble lord and lady?"
The young man had listened to the latter part of her narration with
thrilling attention. As she was drawing to the conclusion, he sprang
from his feet, and laid a hand on either shoulder of the narrator, and
looked steadily into her eyes, as if he would read there the dreadful
secret he anticipated, yet dared not meet. He listened to each word that
fell from her lips with the most absorbing and painful interest--his
lips parted--his eyes starting from their sockets--his face convulsed,
and brought close to hers--his fingers almost buried in the flesh of her
shoulders! When, at the conclusion, she put the sarcastic question to
him, which he trembled lest he could too well answer, his hands stole
from her shoulders and suddenly fastened upon her throat.
"Woman! sorceress! die!" he hoarsely whispered, through his clinched
teeth, with terrible energy.
She freed herself from his grasp with an extraordinary effort, and flung
him from her, laughing loudly and wildly!
"Ha, ha, ha! _Robert of Lester!_ Does my story please thee, my _lord_!
_my_ retainers! my _domains_!"
He looked at her for a moment with appalling calmness, and then,
approaching her, said, in an even tone, but in a hollow voice that was
horrible to hear,
"Woman or demon, tell me truly, who was this noble lady who gave birth
to a son?"
"Elizabeth of Lester, the 'Dark Lady of the Rock,'" was the firm reply.
"Was this change of infants surely made?" he asked, in the same tone.
"I have said it."
"And what became of her child?"
"'Twas left with the fisherman."
"Does he now live?" he asked, with sudden interest.
"He does!"
"As a fisher's lad?"
"He follows the craft of him who reared him."
"On the beach beneath Castle Cor?"
"You have said."
A strange expression, too complicated to analyze, passed across his
features. But he continued with the same awful calmness:
"The woman--the daughter--what became of her?"
"Thou wilt know hereafter."
"And her own boy--ha! _was_ it a _boy_?" he asked, suddenly.
"It was."
"He was taken home by my--by--Lord Lester?"
"Yes."
"Have they had no children since, woman?"
"None, ever, save him who was born beneath the roof of 'Hurtel of the
Red-Hand.'"
"And this infant--this bastard child--this lowborn boy, grew up within
the halls of Castle More as its liege lord?"
"He did!"
"And that boy stands before you?"
"He does!"
His calmness was appalling to witness. She shrunk from looking him in
the face, and cowered before the light of his eyes.
"Mysterious woman! how thou camest by the knowledge of these things I
know not. I believe thou hast spoken truth; thy tale hangs too well
together for malice to invent."
He struggled with strong emotion. His brow darkened, his face worked
convulsively. At last he seemed to have resolved on a settled purpose.
"Who knows this hellish secret besides thyself?" he asked, his
penetrating glance resting on her face.
"None but thee," she said, meeting his eye with a wary look, as if
anticipating danger from the tone of his voice.
"To every human eye, then, but _thine_, I am Lord of Lester?"
"Who of mortal mould should suspect thee to be other than he, when she
who bore thee not believes thee to be the fruit of her womb."
"Thou wilt swear this?"
"I say it."
"'Tis enough. Does this fisher's boy know the secret of his birth?"
"No!"
"Does the old man?"
"No!"
"Thou wilt swear it?"
"I say it."
"'Tis well, woman! Thou shalt die!"
As he spoke he drew from his breast his hunting knife and sprang upon
her. She detected the momentary lighting up of his eye ere he made the
spring, and alertly avoided the blow by leaping through the door: he
fell forward, and the blade shivered against the stone sides of the
tower.
With a laugh of derision she fled along the passage pursued by him. Her
voice and also her footsteps ceased as he reached the steps leading
upward from the tomb, and, without any sound to guide him, he groped his
way along the gallery. At length he approached the light; but, although
he could see through the door out into the forest, she was nowhere
visible! After vainly searching every part of the ruin, he abandoned the
attempt, remounted his horse, and spurred towards Castle More.