"If solitude succeed to grief,
Release from pain is light relief;
The vacant bosom's wilderness
Might thank the pang that made it less.
The heart once left thus desolate
Must fly at last for ease--to hate."
_The Giaour._
The narrative once more returns to Mark, who, it will be remembered, had
arrived, on his way to Castle More, at a ruin in the midst of the forest
he was traversing, when the approach of two horsemen caused him to
withdraw from the path. As he did so, they were encountered and stopped
by some one who unexpectedly met them as they were galloping past the
lonely pile. Curious to know who they were and what could be their
business at that late hour, he entered the deep shadow of the tower, and
approached so near them as to discover that the men wore the livery of
Lady Lester, and that the person with whom they were talking was none
other than the witch Elpsy, with whose person he had been familiar from
childhood.
After Elpsy disappeared from the eyes of the old bucanier and his young
lieutenant at Hurtel's tower, she had continued to move rapidly through
the forest towards Castle Cor, without turning either to the right or
left. Sometimes she would skip forward with mad hilarity till exhausted;
at others, leap, and clap her hands, and shout, till the dales of the
old wood rung again with her shrieking laughter. From the unnatural
speed, and the wild, straight-forward direction in which she moved, her
sole object seemed to be to reach some point for which she aimed in the
least possible time. The scared owl hooted aloud at her approach, and
flew, with a heavy flap of his thick wings, deeper into the wood; the
hawk left his nest with a shrill cry; the deer fled from her path! On,
on she bounded and leaped mocking their notes of terror, like a demon
pursued. At times, when she crossed an open glade, where the moon poured
down her unobstructed radiance, she would suddenly stop and mutter, but
without appearing to notice the pale orb the sight of which, by
directing her thoughts into another, but not less turbulent channel,
seemed to have exercised a momentary influence on her. She had travelled
six miles in less than one hour's time, when she suddenly stopped in the
full light of the moon, looked up, and shook her open hands towards it
with a laugh of derision.
"Oh, ho! you need not look and watch, and watch and look, and keep your
pale face and shining eyes always fixed on me! Dost think I would commit
murder? and the little twinkling stars peer down as if they could espy a
knife in my hand! Look, ye little glittering winklings," she cried,
spreading upward her open palms, "dost see a knife? Ha, ha, ha! ye are
out there. I am too much for ye. No, I know ye well, with your winking
and your blinking at each other, and how, in the darkest night, one of
you always keeps watch, to spy the murders done in the absence o' the
sun; and then you whisper it through heaven, and tell it to the earth,
and then we hang for it. Oh, ho! I have a charm will put you to sleep.
Ha! you laugh, and grin, and gibber, that I have lost in a half hour's
tale what I have won by years of silence. Well, well, there'll be a
time! there'll be a time!"
Dropping her head, she appeared a moment as if in sullen thought, and
then muttered, in a tone and manner which, more than words, gave a key
to the wild phrensy that had hitherto possessed her,
"If _he_ cannot be Lord of Lester, neither shall HE! He dies! The eye of
the moon pierces not this wood! He dies! 'Tis long yet to dawn," she
abruptly added, moving forward, and speaking with more coherency. "If I
can find him ere the myrmidons of Lady Lester can reach him, should she
send for him, Castle More will ne'er own other lord than he who, but for
my foul tongue--may it wither in my throat!--would now have been Lord of
Lester. He dies! dies! dies! dies!" and, hasting her footsteps, she
continued to repeat the word at every stride, accompanying it with a
threatening gesture of her arm.
Her rapid speed soon brought her to the ruins of the abbey. Bounding
like an ape over the fallen blocks, she entered the door in the tower,
and with an unfaltering step traversed the gallery to her subterraneous
abode, which, after Lester's angry and fruitless pursuit of her, she had
left for Hurtel's tower, fearing that he might despatch a party from
Castle More in search of her, for the purpose, by her death, of
effectually silencing all question of his birth.
Entering her subterranean abode, she produced a light without flint, or
steel, or fire, but by smartly drawing two marks, in opposition to the
sign of the cross, on the wall with a small stick, the end of which
immediately emitted a blue flame, and, after a fierce, hissing noise,
shot up into a bright blaze. This, to the peasantry who had witnessed
it, was one of the strongest evidences of her being in league with the
devil, who, it was asseverated, kindled her stick for her in the
unquenchable fire.
She lighted a fragment of a rush candle by the flame, and, opening a
small box containing medicinal preparations, took therefrom a small vial
containing an amber-coloured liquid, and held it to the light. She
looked at it for a while with a look of vengeful satisfaction, and then
placed it in her bosom; afterward she took a rusty poniard from a
crevice in the wall, carefully felt its point, which was ground to a
keen edge, and, with a look of satisfaction, thrust it up into her
sleeve. Then extinguishing the light, she hastened past the tomb of
Black Morris, and with a quick, determined step, traversed the gallery
towards its outlet.
As she approached it she heard the tramp of horses. With a quick,
apprehensive cry, as if she at once divined the cause, she flew through
the passage into the moonlight, and saw two horsemen approaching at a
round pace, and going in the direction of Castle Cor: as they came
nearer, she recognised them as the chief forester and the seneschal from
Castle More. She permitted them to gallop along the road till they were
within a few feet of her, when she suddenly stepped forth from the black
shadow of the tower, and, with one arm outstretched brandishing the
stiletto, confronted them. The riders, taken by surprise, pulled their
horses back to their haunches, and both instantly exclaimed, with
superstitious dread,
"Elpsy!"
These were the horsemen Mark turned from his path to avoid.
"I am Elpsy," she repeated, in a lofty tone. "Whither ride ye, so fast
and free?
"If ye do not tell me true,
Horses each shall cast a shoe,
And evil bide ye, ill betide,
As ye on your journey ride!"
"There be strange doings at the castle, mother," said the seneschal,
pitching his voice to the true gossiping tone; "there's me young
loord--"
"Fait! but it's jist this--" interrupted the other; "our young masther,
Lord Robert, is not masther's son at all at all, and masther's son--"
"Murther! an' it's you dat have it wrong, Ennis, honey," cried the
other, interrupting him in his turn; "it's jist this, ould Mither
Eelpsy; Lord Robert is not my Lord Robert at all at all, and the raal
Lord Robert is--"
"And is it not the very woords I was afther tilling the crathur?"
interrupted the forester. "I will give it to ye, Eelpsy, dare, in the
right way."
"Hist with your tongues!" cried the impatient woman, having heard enough
to convince her that Robert had told the truth in saying that he openly
published his own shame. "Hold with your senseless words, fools! I can
tell ye more than both of ye together, and all Castle Cor, know."
"We know dat, ould mither! Don't forget to crass yourself, Jarvey,
honey," added the speaker, aside, making the sign of the cross on his
breast. "It's the great dale ye know, and the likes o' ye, and it's not
we that is to gainsay it this night."
"Whither ride ye?" she demanded, impatiently taking hold of the bridle
of one of the horses.
"Och, an' isn't it to bring with all speed that young jintleman o' the
world, Mark Meredith, the ould fisherman's son, to be sure, to Castle
More," said the forester.
"At whose bidding?" she demanded.
"Our lady's, the jewil!" answered the seneschal.
"Go back, and tell the Dark Lady of the Rock that thus says Elpsy, the
sorceress: 'He whom she seeks she will never find!'"
"But it's the disthress she'll be in," said the seneschal.
"And it's the deep grief o' the world that's upon her now," added the
other.
"Och, but it will be bad news to be afther bringing back to her that
sint us," pursued Ennis, with a howl.
"Widout iver having gone at all at all," said Jarvey, in a tone of
grief.
"A cush-la-ma-chree, Jarvey, but it's find the lad we must!" cried
Ennis, with sudden resolution.
"And it's the ould mither that's here, bliss her, 'll maybe till us
where he may be jist at this present," added Jarvey, insinuatingly.
"Do you hesitate to obey me! Go back, even as you came. If _she_ ask you
where the lad is, tell her Elpsy has said, '_Lester has no lord_!'"
"Och, hone! and will it be the world's thruth, Elpsy, hinney! It'll
break the spirit of her, in her lone bosom."
"And what'll the castle do widout a lord! That I should live to see it!"
wailed the seneschal.
"And must we go back to the Dark Lady wid dis heavy sorrow to the fore?"
asked the forester.
"E'en must ye! So!" she cried, turning, with a sudden jerk of the rein,
the head of one of the horses towards the direction in which they had
come. "Ride, ride," she added, in a commanding but wild tone, "nor look
behind till ye are safe within the gates, lest ye care to see the evil
one astraddle of your crupper."
"The houly crass protict us!" they both ejaculated, crossing themselves.
"Good e'en to ye, mither. It's yourself is the crathur for knowing the
world's thruth," added Jarvey, as if by flattery he would disarm any
evil intention she might cherish in reference to himself.
"And it's to her we're indibted for not riding tree leagues for nothing
at all at all, whin the lad's not to the fore! Faix, it's my thanks ye
have, ould Elpsy, for't, an' its yer due, were ye the ould divil
himself," returned Ennis, gathering up his rein. "Kape your head
straight between yer shoulder, Jarvey."
"It's me, honey, will niver be afther looking behint," replied Jarvey,
setting his face towards Castle More.
Thus taking leave of the wily woman, these two old simple-minded
retainers rode back again; their obtuse minds probably scarce
comprehending the nature of the loss Lady Lester had met with, the
exchanged fortunes of their late young master, nor the important object
of their mission.
She looked after them as they galloped away till they were lost in the
gloom of the forest, when, clapping her hands, she broke into a peal of
frantic merriment, which was more like the shriek of a fiend than like
human laughter.
"Ah, ha! have I not done it well! I met them here just in time. Satan
stands my friend yet! If he did make me lose the game, he has helped to
keep another from winning it. No, Lester shall never have a lord at the
expense of him who, but for my accursed tongue and his silly _honour_!
would still have been its master. Ho, ho! have I not done it! Now it
remains for me, ere he can learn the secret of his birth, to send him
where low and highborn are all on a level! This! and, if this fail,
_this_," she said, grasping first the vial and then the dagger, "shall
do my will! It's a wicked act--I know it!--'tis a deed of hell! I would
not harm the poor lad--no; for he is like an own child to me--but, then,
he is _not_ my child--and shall I see him in the seat from which _he_
has been cast out? No, no, this steel shall drink--this poison shall dry
up, his noble blood first!"
"Of whom do you speak in such fearful words, mother?"
She started with mingled terror and astonishment, and beheld standing at
her side the unconscious object of her thoughts. Her surprise at his
sudden, and, as she at first believed, supernatural appearance, for the
moment deprived her of her speech; she dropped the hand that held the
vial, which was dashed in pieces against a stone, and gazed on him for
several seconds with a disturbed and remorseful countenance.
"Did you hear all my words?" she at length had the resolution to ask,
advancing a step towards him, and speaking in a deep, husky tone.
"No, mother. I have been in the shadow of yonder bastion, waiting the
departure of those horsemen."
"Then you could not hear their speech?" she interrogated, with an
eagerness of voice and manner that he could not account for.
"No," he answered, firmly.
"You have not spoken with them?"
"No."
"They have not told you--that is, you are Mark Meredith, the grandson of
old Meredith, the fisherman? Speak, boy!"
"Surely I am, Elpsy; do you not discern my face by this moon? I fear,"
he said, in a kind tone, "you have not taken good care of yourself of
late, and are a little fevered. Go down to our hut, if you can walk so
far, and you will find a meal of fish there, of my own taking, which I
left my grandsire preparing for me. Bid him give you my portion.
Good-night, Elpsy, I have business at Castle More."
As he spoke he stepped aside to pass her and pursue his way. His
hospitable and kind invitation had touched her. She was not so seared
that gentleness and words of kindness could not find a vibrating chord
within her bosom. Gradually, as he spoke she relaxed her hand from its
grasp on the poniard, which, on discovering him, she had instinctively
concealed in the folds of her scarlet cloak, and extended it towards him
in a grateful manner. But the expression of his intention to proceed to
the abode of Lady Lester caused her suddenly to draw it back, while in a
quick, harsh tone of voice, and with great vehemence of manner, in which
alarm and apprehension were visible, she cried,
"Castle More! What hast thou to do at Castle More?"
"I bear a message to Robert of Lester! Detain me not, Elpsy; I have
already lingered on the way."
"Who sends thee?"
"The young lady of Bellamont."
"Thy message?"
"I know not. 'Tis in this sealed pacquet."
"Is this all for which thou art sent?"
"It is."
"No instructions--no commands?"
"None, save to make no delay at Castle More, lest my young lord and I
should renew a quarrel we had this day."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing. But why these rapid questions--this anxiety of manner? What
has come over thee, Elpsy?" he asked, with surprise.
She had put this series of interrogations to him with an irresistible
energy and rapidity, that left him no alternative but direct and instant
replies. At first she gave him no answer; her face worked convulsively,
and she seemed to be contending with some strong feelings, that she in
vain strove to get the mastery over. At length she muttered within her
lips,
"I had feared! But 'tis safe, safe. 'Tis a pity to slay the fair young
lad; but, if I do not, he will know that which he never must
know--become that he never shall become! He must not see Castle More. He
must die rather! Mark, come to me," she said, in a hollow and unearthly
tone; "I would whisper in your ear what I would not have the laughing
and grinning devils that flit about us in the air, hear! Come to me and
listen!"
While she was speaking she nervously grasped the handle of her dagger,
and took a step towards him. Her manner hitherto had already aroused his
watchfulness, and the tone of her invitation by no means increased his
confidence. He did not, indeed, suspect any attempt upon his life by
her; but, being familiar with her restless and violent nature, he was
prepared to expect some annoying violence; and for this he was
cautiously on the watch.
"Wilt not approach?" she said, in a coaxing tone. "'Tis a sweet and fair
tale I would tell thee! Ha, ha! as fair and sweet as I told the Lord
Robert yestere'en! Wilt not come?" she shouted, as she saw he continued
to step back as she advanced; "then will I come!"
She, with these words, made a spring towards him, seized him suddenly by
the breast, and brandished her poniard in the air. He was not unprepared
for this, sudden as it was: he caught her upraised arm, and bent it
backward over her head till she shrieked with pain, and, with a cool and
determined exertion of his whole strength, cast her from him so
violently as to hurl her to the earth. She sprang to her feet like a
cat, and, with a yell of rage, again leaped upon him. He avoided her
attack by lightly springing to one side, when, missing her blow, she
fell forward and struck her head on the edge of a stone, and sunk to the
ground senseless and bleeding.
He instantly flew to her relief, lifted her from the earth, and
attempted to assuage the flow of blood from a severe contusion that she
had received on the forehead. In a little time the loss of blood
restored her to consciousness; it also had the effect of subduing her
high fever of excitement, and making her comparatively calm. She
permitted him to bind a handkerchief, that he took from his own neck,
across her temples; but she neither spoke nor acknowledged his
attentions, but sat in sullen silence on the ground.
"Elpsy," asked the youth, at length, "why do you seek my life?"
"You can never know!" she replied, slowly shaking her head with morose
inflexibility.
"Have I wronged you?"
"Ask me not!"
"Is it thirst for blood, evil woman, that drives thee to this crime?"
"I would not slay thee, but thou and I, boy, can never live in the same
land!" she said, obstinately.
"Thou mightst have spared this attempt, then, on my life, for soon the
deep sea will roll between me and my native isle."
"How! Explain your words!" she asked, with awakened interest.
"I am resolved, as nature has denied me nobility of birth, to give it at
least to those who come after me."
"Speak on!" she cried, hanging on his words with intense expectation.
"I am going from my father's roof into the world, to see if I cannot
make men forget from what I have sprung!"
"Is this thy purpose, boy? Speak truly!"
"It is, Elpsy. Seven hours ago I had nearly linked my fortunes with the
yacht that takes the earl to England on the morrow--but--"
"But, what?" she eagerly demanded.
"My father--I thought of him, and--"
"Would not."
"I cannot desert him to suffering and want."
"And is this all?" she asked, her face lighting up with a newly awakened
thought.
"The sole cause."
She began eagerly to search her belt, and drew forth from it a heavy
purse. Shaking it with a gratified air, she then poured its glittering
contents on the ground beside her.
"See that pile of gold! To-morrow go in this king's ship, and it shall
be yours--there are three hundred guilders told--'twill give the old man
food and raiment for a longer life than his will be, and afterward buy a
coffin for his bones. Wilt go?"
"Mother," said he, his heart leaping with joy and hope, yet both
tempered with the doubt to which he gave utterance, "this wealth! is it
thine? How came you by it?"
"It matters not."
"I dare not touch it. I fear 'tis the price of sin--or, perhaps, of
blood."
"Fool; 'tis wealth I've had in store these eighteen years, given to me
by times by one who, if there be justice in Heaven or hell, is now
accursed on earth. There is no more evil in it than in every piece of
gold that the earth contains--all gold is evil--it is all but the price
of honour, of honesty, or of human blood. Take it, and depart from this
land."
He gazed on the glittering heap, and hope, by its aid, pictured bright
visions of the future, and the fruition of all his aspiring wishes.
Ambition once more awakened in his heart. Yet he hesitated. But, while
he did so, he thought of Kate Bellamont--of the proud Lester--of his
hopes of the future--of all that he had loved to contemplate; he even
gave a thought to Grace Fitzgerald: all that an aspiring mind like his,
at such a time, could be influenced by, had its effect upon him. She
narrowly watched his countenance, read rightly his thoughts, and,
feeling assured of his acceptance of it, mentally congratulated herself
that her object could be effected without the shedding of his blood. She
waited till she thought his mind was sufficiently ripe for her purpose,
then replaced the gold in the purse, and, balancing it in her hand,
said, "Before you take this purse, I name one condition of its
acceptance."
He looked to her to mention it.
"That you for ever drop your present name and assume another; that you
never breathe to mortal ear the place of your birth, nor give clew to
your country."
"I gladly promise this--for already I had resolved on it, Elpsy. I have
_one_ great motive for doing so. But what can be yours?"
"'Tis no matter. You promise this?"
"Cheerfully."
"Then take the gold for thy grandsire's support."
"Thanks, thanks, kind Elpsy--yet--"
"Not a word of objection. I have two favours to ask of thee."
"Name them," said he, with an eagerness that evinced a desire to serve
her.
"Promise that you will hold no speech with any one before thy
departure."
"I do," he said, after an instant's hesitation.
"Swear that thou wilt never set foot on this isle again."
"Nay, I will not swear it," he said, with determination.
"Wilt thou obey me? Swear it!" she cried, in a tone of fierce command.
"Who art thou that I should yield thee obedience, woman? I yield
obedience to none save my Maker!"
"Wilt thou swear?" she asked, with more composure.
"Never."
The resolute attitude he so unexpectedly assumed disconcerted her for an
instant. At length she said,
"Wilt thou promise never to return here under thy own, that is--thy
present name?"
"Yes, most freely. Now farewell, Elpsy; I must hasten to Castle More."
"You go not to Castle More!" she exclaimed, with singular emphasis.
"I am intrusted with a message, and must deliver it."
"Give it to me, I will be its bearer."
"Nay, I must myself place it in Lord Robert's hands, in person."
"Give it me, boy! I will bear it safely to its destination."
"No, Elpsy."
"Go to Castle More, and you sail not on the morrow," she said, in a
determined tone, replacing the gold in her belt.
He hesitated. After a brief struggle between his duty to Grace
Fitzgerald and her cousin, and his own wishes, he at length said,
falteringly,
"May I trust you to deliver it, Elpsy?"
"Yes."
He turned the billet, with its lock of hair, over and over, gazed on it
long and fondly on every side, and, from his reluctance to resign the
precious treasure, there appeared to have arisen a new bar to Elpsy's
purpose. At length he made a compromise with his feelings by slipping
off the braid of hair, and hastily concealing it in his bosom, while he
gave her the unsecured packet.
"Place it only in the hands of Robert of Lester, Elpsy."
"None else shall see it."
"Speedily, if you are not too ill."
"It will take many a harder buffet than that thou gavest me to make me
ill. He shall have it ere thou art half a league on thy return."
"Then, Elpsy, I go. Fare thee well, and may Heaven have you in better
keeping than your life now gives hope of. Will you call at times when I
am away to see my grandfather? He will be lonely."
"Many will be the gossip we'll yet have together. Now go! Take my
blessing--'twill do thee no harm, if it can do no good! When does the
ship sail?"
"The Earl of Bellamont will return from Kinsale in the morning, and 'tis
said that before noon she will be under weigh."
"The sooner the better. Go at once on board, nor let the rising sun find
thee on the land. Farewell."
"Farewell, Elpsy. Don't forget the poor old man!"
"He shall never want while Elpsy lives. Now fare thee well,
and--_remember_!" she added, impressively.
They now separated; the young man rapidly retracing his way to his hut,
with a buoyant tread and lightness of spirit, his imagination filled
with dazzling visions of the future; Elpsy bending her steps steadily in
the direction of Castle More, her soul exulting in the master-stroke of
policy she had effected. When he was no longer visible, she stopped,
and, opening the packet, by the light of the moon curiously examined the
locket and its device, the application of which, without understanding
its motto, she intuitively comprehended, and then read the contents of
the billet with a loud, scornful laugh.
"And would she meet him _now_ with love? Ha, ha! The haughty maiden
would toss her head, did he bear this to her, she knowing his birth.
Oh!" she added, with a malignant chuckle, "that I had let him married
her ere this secret had let out--would it not have been a brave thing
then to have brought down the pride of these gentles! If I could have
kept the secret till their honeymoon was over! Fiends!" she exclaimed,
with maddened disappointment, "what precious revenge I have lost! Shall
I not have a taste of what is left me? Shall I not yet tell her _who_
and _what_ he is? Oh, will it not be joy to my soul to witness her
ravings! I'll do't! I'll do't! There's something left yet to live for!
There's mischief yet to do in the earth. But I must first watch this
sprout of Lester--this fisher's boy! I shall not have to touch his life
if he'll get off before he learns his true rank; but I'll follow him
like his shadow, nor will I take eyes off him till the ship he sails in
goes out of my sight beyond the ocean's edge. Then will I to Castle Cor,
and see if Lady Kate will receive me, the bearer of this locket, 'with
love!' Haven't I a tale for her delicate ear! Oh, there is yet something
to live for! Elpsy'll not die while there's devil's work to do! So!
methinks I feel a little giddy for walking," she continued, tottering
against the trunk of a tree; "but I'll soon fall into my old gait. A
little bloodletting of a moonshiny night is ever good for the health."
Thus muttering to herself, she turned back towards the ruin, and began
to walk in the direction taken by Mark, at first slowly; but, gradually
gathering strength with motion and excitement, she soon strode through
the long, dark glades of the forest at a rate that soon brought her in
sight of him. Keeping so far in the rear as not to be discovered by him
should he chance to turn his head, she followed him out of the wood,
then down to the seaside and along the beach, till she saw him, just as
the day broke, lift the latch of the door of his humble cot and
disappear within. She then sought a recess in the cliff in the rear of
the hut, where, secreting herself in a clump of low bushes that grew
about it, she remained concealed until some time after sunrise, when she
saw him reappear accompanied by the fisherman, and beheld both go
together to the beach, launch their little fisher's bark, hoist the
sail, and leave the shore. She eagerly watched them as they stood off
from the land, and with unspeakable triumph saw them run alongside of
the yacht. With emotions of malignant joy, she beheld Mark take leave of
his grandsire and get on board, and the solitary old man quit the vessel
alone and steer in shore towards his desolate hut. As his skiff grated
upon the beach, she met him.
"So ho, father Meredith! thou hast been selling thy fish to a good
market. The English have the silver coin, which thou wilt scarce find at
the Cove ayond. What price gave these warsmen for thy herring the morn,
gossip?" she inquired, assisting him with her arm from the boat as she
spoke.
"It was no sale o' the herring at all, woman Elpsy," said the old man,
shaking his head mournfully, and placing the stone kedge of his boat in
a crevice in the rocks so as to secure it against being borne off by the
ebbing tide; "it's no a sale o' the fish, woman dear, but o' my own
flesh and blood. Och hone! och hone! and it's the ould gray-headed
man'll never see his face more!"
He turned towards the yacht as he spoke, and stretching forth his hands
towards it, wailed aloud: at length his lament ceased, or, rather,
changed to a flood of tender epithets, eloquent with the depth of Irish
sorrow, which he applied to the youth, while his dim eyes were vainly
strained towards the vessel, to distinguish once more his beloved form.
"What means this sorrow, father Meredith? Who hast thou sold?"
"The lad--my grandson! a-cush la-ma chree! I have sold him for gold.
There, woman, take thine again! I will none of it!" he cried, with
sudden vehemence, drawing the purse she had given Mark from his jacket,
and throwing it at her feet. "'Tis the price of blood, and I will not
have it, evil woman."
"Hear me, father Meredith," she said, deliberately placing her hands
upon his shoulders, and looking him earnestly in the face. "I know the
purpose of thy visit to yonder king's ship. I know whom thou hast left
there. Thou hast done well and wisely in permitting him to depart. He
has left gold for thy wants, and has told thee how he came by it. Twas
my gift to him and thee."
"'Tis the price o' his blood, woman!" he said, with a heavy moan of
mingled grief and indignation.
"'Tis the price of his life, old man! Were he not now in yonder
brigantine, the sands ere this would have drunken his blood," she added,
with fierceness. "Hist! ask not what I mean. What I have said is true. I
have sent him away to save his life, and that there may be one less
murder on the earth. Go to thy hut and content thee with this gold. 'Tis
a friendly gift, old father. 'Twill save thee from labour so long as thy
life shall last. I will come and gossip with thee o' evenings, and, hey!
sirs," she cried, skipping on before him with fantastic gambols, as he
placed his slender oars on his shoulder, "won't we pass the time
merrily? I will make fairies dance before thy door o' moonshiny nights
for thy entertainment; call the mermaids up from the bottom o' the blue
sea to sing thee to sleep when thou art aweary; and tell thee tales o'
hob-goblins and spirits till the moon fades in the morning. Oh, we will
have times, father Meredith!"
"But will he come back, Elpsy, woman?"
"The devil forbid!" she responded, half aloud. "Ay, father; thou wilt
yet see him return a brave sailor, and with piles o' wealth. Faith,
sirs, I would not wonder if he should build thee a castle with his gold,
and make a lord o' thee. Ha, ha, ha, father Meredith! thou wouldst make
a proper lord!"
"He, he, he! Elpsy, thou art pleasant. If the lad's gone, I'll make the
best o't till the saints give him back in good time. Come to my hut and
break thy fast, avourneen! He was ever o'er lofty, and had notions above
his class. He was unhappy, the creature, because he was not equal with
the young Lord o' Castle More. Be-dad! Elpsy, honey, one would ha'
thought he were of gentle blood!"
She started, and closely scrutinized the old fisherman's face; but,
seeing nothing to confirm her now constantly active suspicions, she
said,
"He was above his birth, as you say, gossip! The sea will be a school
for him, and teach him his place. He will make a better sailor than
lord. Ha, ha, ha! will he not, father Meredith?" and she laughed coldly
and sarcastically as she spoke.
"He was always a good sailor, Elpsy, woman! Ne'er a ship came int' the
Cove he went not up to her main truck; nor a craft lay becalmed i' the
sight o' the bay he went not aboard and through every part o' her. He
knew every rope in a ship as well as an admiral, the crathur! Ah, woman,
he could do an officer's duty this day as well as the keptain o' the
yacht yonder. He seemed to take to a seaman's life nat'rally, and it was
ever discontented he was in the skiff. He loved to talk o' big ships,
and foreign lands, battles by sea, and storms, and shipwreck, and the
likes o' them things; and, with all his high notions, he ever loved a
sailor betther than a lord, and the sailors all liked him, the jewil!"
"He is in his place, then, father Meredith," said Elpsy, chiming in with
the favourable train of the old fisherman's garrulous praises of the
youth. "Thou wouldst not call him ashore now an thou couldst."
"Nay, I would not say that, Elpsy, woman. Yet I begin to think the lad
be best where he is. Yet it will be a dark day to my soul when the ship
sails a-sea with him--the light o' my eyes! the core o' my heart! Och,
hone! Sad will be the day to the soul o' me, Elpsy, woman! Come in,
crathur, honey, an' take a bite o' the breakfast. It's you it is that's
the comfort o' my lone bosom now, avourneen!"
"No, no, I have much to do the mornin', old man!" she said, turning from
the door as the fisherman, after standing his oars up beside it, placed
his hand upon the latch. "Take the gold freely; it is thine!" she added,
casting it through the window upon the earthen floor of the cabin. "When
the ship sails I will eat."
"Take a drap o' the dew, Elpsy, dear!" continued the old man, the grief,
which at his age is always superficial, having, like a child's, been
diverted for the time by the rattling gossip of the weird woman.
"Elpsy will fast from all save water till the masts of yonder yacht are
shut from my sight by the meeting of sea and sky!"
She waved her hand with a lofty gesture as she spoke, as if she sought
to impress the fisherman by her manner alone, and strode away from the
hut towards the path that led up to the castle.
Grace Fitzgerald, after communicating the result of her interview with
Mark, had left Kate to her repose. But, with grief at her feud with
Lester, and her lively anticipations of beholding him at her feet, to be
raised from that humble posture to her forgiving embrace, her mind was
too active for rest, and sleep fled from her pillow, leaving it in the
sole possession of her ardent thoughts. With the first blush of day, her
face scarce less roseate than the morning sky with the consciousness of
her object, she rose and threw open her lattice, and turned her face,
with earnest expectation, towards the forest-path which led northward
towards Castle More. From time to time she would lean far out of the
window, and, with eager ear, listen as if to catch some distant sound.
At length, with a look and exclamation of disappointment, not undivested
of a slight shade of feminine pique, she closed the lattice and cast
herself upon her pillow again, saying, in a tone of wounded pride,
"I care not! he is unworthy of a thought! I will forget him and try to
sleep!"
She closed her eyelids, as if, at the same time, she expected her
fevered thoughts, like the flower which folds its leaves together when
the sun withdraws its light, would also shut themselves up and leave her
to repose. But she now thought more vividly and acutely than before. It
at length occurred to her that there might have been some delay on the
part of the messenger. Perhaps Lester had not yet got her pacquet, or
had just received it, and was now on his way to her!
"I will wait a little longer!" she said, unclosing her eyes, and rising
and going to the lattice.
A long time she remained here, with her eyes fixed on the forest path,
and her ears acutely set, to catch the most distant sound of horses'
feet.
"He comes not yet!" she sighed, with deep disappointment. "Yet he may
soon be here! Hark! is not that his horse? No, 'tis a deer bounding
along to the spring!"
At the moment a cool vein of wind from the sea chilled her, and,
glancing at her dress as she drew it together across her bosom, she
discovered, what she had hitherto been inattentive to, that she was in
her night-robes.
"And I dare say I should have run to meet him as I am! What a foolish
child!" she said, blushing with confusion and innocent shame. "'Tis
fortunate he did not come before! I will dress, and by that time he may
be here!"
Hope, hope, hope! Star of woman's love! In thy celestial journeyings,
thou dost never set on the limitless empire of her affections. Her wide
heart has no horizon beneath which thou canst go down and disappear.
Patient, long suffering, ever hoping to the last, she steers by thee her
bark of love through storm and danger, faithfully and fearlessly, never
losing sight of thee till, from her expectant eye, death steals the
power of reflecting longer thy radiance!
When she had completed her toilet, and found that there were still no
indications of Lester's approach, she became impatient, and, throwing a
hood and veil over her head, she left her chamber and hastened below.
For what purpose she hardly knew--impulse alone prompted her footsteps.
She hastened through the hall, and descended into the castle yard, and
directed her course towards the forest. She had entered the verge of its
gloomy shades, which the morning sun had scarcely yet driven out, and
was penetrating its depths, when she suddenly stopped.
"Where am I going? what am I doing?" she exclaimed, as if her feet had
been involuntarily obeying her thoughts hitherto, and she for the first
time had discerned that she was really doing what she supposed she was
only thinking of doing. Such absent reveries are peculiar to young
persons in love!
"Am I really going to meet him? I did not know that I did love Lester
so. But he would scorn me to find me here--I will hasten back as I
came--though I scarce have any consciousness how that was! What a simple
creature I have made of myself. I am afraid of my own ridicule. Oh love,
love, you do play the mischief with maiden's hearts when once you get
into them!" she said, sportively, yet ending her words with a deep sigh.
Turning back, she retraced her steps slowly towards the castle. As she
approached it, her eyes were attracted by the pavilions, which still
remained standing, and, bending her steps towards the lawn, she entered
that which had been the scene of the yesterday's festival. No signs of
the banquet remained--all, save the curtains of the tent, and one or two
rustic sofas within it, were removed. She seated herself on one of
these, and raising the north side of the tent-hangings by one of the
silken cords attached to them, was enabled, without being seen, to
command the avenue to the forest. With her person bent a little forward,
and holding her handkerchief in her hand, as if prepared to wave it at
an instant's notice, she sat watching in the direction in which she
expected Lester to appear.
"I will meet him here," she said; "I would not have even cousin Grace,
good as she is, to witness our interview of reconciliation. Oh, why does
he linger so! Well, Robert, I have been taught a lesson in a knowledge
of my own heart by this; and, let us but meet in peace once more, I will
bear much ere I will make either you or myself so miserable again."
She sighed deeply as she spoke, and a glittering tear, like a drop of
dew shaken from a spray, fell upon her hand.
"Surely he cannot love me, to linger so!" she said, dropping her aching
eyes, which had long kept watch on the distant path.
"Proud maiden, thou hast spoken truly! he loves thee not!"
Kate turned in alarm as the stern, harsh voice that spoke these words
sounded close to her ear, and beheld the weird woman.
"Elpsy!" she cried, rising and speaking between terror and surprise.
"The _witch_ Elpsy, lady," added the sorceress, sarcastically.
"What would you, woman?"
"Thyself."
"How mean you?" exclaimed the maiden, shrinking involuntarily back.
"Fear me not, lady!" she said, slowly and with mysterious emphasis, as
she gazed on the face of the fair girl, her eyes gloating with a
diabolical light; "I would not harm thy body, while I hold the key to
thy soul."
"Fearful woman, if woman, or even human, thou art, what terrible meaning
lies hidden beneath your words?"
"Thou lovest Robert of Lester?"
"Elpsy, I will not be questioned. Leave me," said Kate, her brow glowing
between maidenly shame and anger.
But Elpsy, without heeding her command or seeming to observe her
emotion, said, with the sardonic quiet that malice can put on when it
would wound,
"Thou didst despatch a messenger to Castle More the last night, lady?"
"How knowest thou this?" she demanded, evasively, startled at her
knowledge of what she believed known only to the parties immediately
interested.
"Is there aught, daughter of the house of Bellamont, that happens among
mortals," she said, in the elevated tone of mystery and supernatural
power she was wont to assume at such times, "that Elpsy the sorceress is
ignorant of?"
"I know thou art a dread and fearful woman," said Kate, with a thrill of
aversion, "and have power to do evil, which, rather than good, I have
heard it is thy delight to do."
"Ha, ha! thou hast well spoken," she responded, with a chuckling laugh,
that caused the maiden, with all her firmness, to shudder and start back
to the extremity of the pavilion.
"You fear me. Well, it is what I would have. Ho! 'Tis pleasant to be
feared by the lovely and the pure--by the strong and the mighty; to be
sought out by the noble, and have the homage of the low! Oh, it's a
brave thing, this holding sway over the minds of mortals. Kings may
govern their bodies--_we_ hold the empire of their souls! Ha, ha! So you
fear me, trembler?"
"An angel would tremble before thee, guilty one!"
"Ha, ha! I know it. Thou hast spoken it. It is the reward held out to us
that we shall one day master the good spirits."
"And how? Alone by the power of darkness and of sin! You conquer through
fear, not by strength. Therefore it is that good spirits dare not enter
the abodes of the prince of evil. Woman, thou art fearful; thy spells
sinful; thy soul lost for ever!" she cried, with virtuous horror united
to the natural enthusiasm of her character.
"Soul!" repeated the sorceress, with a writhing lip of derision;
"_soul_!"
"Hast thou no soul, woman, in the name of God!" exclaimed the maiden,
appalled by the emphasis she laid on the word as she repeated it a
second time.
The sorceress gazed on her a moment fixedly ere she replied, and then
advancing a pace towards her, said hoarsely,
"Yes!"
"Woman," continued Kate, with solemn earnestness, turning pale at the
manner in which she pronounced this monosyllable, "I know thou art
wicked and full of evil; but thou canst not have bartered thy eternal
life? have made compact with Sathanas, at the hazard of thy salvation?"
Elpsy was moved with surprise by the energy with which she was
addressed, and, banishing her derisive smile, answered in a more natural
tone,
"By compact no, lady! none save but with my own nature; even as all who
are mortal do barter away their souls when they obey the devil within. I
have served him in the shape of evil passions till his I am, soul and
body!"
"Say not so, Elpsy," said Kate, touched with pity by the sullen despair
and abandonment of her manner, although in it not a shade of remorse or
penitence was apparent even to her charitable gaze; "if you have sinned,
there is forgiveness to be had of Heaven! It is not too late to secure
your soul's future happiness. I know there is much that is kind and
humane in you when you are not gored by insults, or under the influence
of angry emotions. Abandon your course of life; seek forgiveness of Him
who died for the chiefest of sinners. I pity you, Elpsy."
The sorceress hung her head upon her breast in silence: her bosom heaved
with inward struggles; her harsh features became convulsed, and the
maiden thought she saw a tear fall from her eyes to the ground.
Encouraged by these signs of good, she added, approaching her in a
kindly manner,
"Cast off this assumed character, if, as I sincerely trust, it is not
irrevocably made thine own by thy soul's price. I will furnish for thee
a neat cottage not far from Cormac, the forester's, and thou shalt have
the comforts about thee thy old age craves. Do not despair of
forgiveness, Elpsy. God is merciful, and will meet thee in kindness more
than half the way if--"
"Angel! fiend! mock me not!" shrieked the woman, suddenly lifting her
face furrowed with tears, gnashing her glittering teeth, her eyes
flashing, her clinched hands shaking with nervous excitement, and her
whole bearing that of a pythoness enraged and fear-stricken. "There is
no God--no heaven for me! Yes, I am bought, body and soul! Talk not to
me of your Christ! For a moment I was carried back to childhood as you
spoke," she continued, with a sudden change of manner; "for I have been
once innocent as thyself. But 'tis past!" she cried, fiercely. "Your
words can move me no more! They have pressed out the last drop of
moisture that remained in my heart! I am adamant now--hard--hard--hard
as iron! Ha, ha, ha! Elpsy a Christian! Accursed be the name!"
Kate Bellamont, at this sudden and terrific outbreak from one whom she
believed had been softened by her words, retreated from the vehemence of
her language and the savage wildness of her manner, with the look and
attitude of one who suddenly beholds the lion which he has tamed start
suddenly from his playful embrace, and assume all at once the savage
ferocity of his nature. She was astonished beyond expression by this
unexpected ebullition of feeling, and her mind was appalled both by her
terrible language and the new ground she had assumed.
"Elpsy, stand from the door and let me pass!" she said, with firmness,
yet trembling through every fibre of her body, as Elpsy, after speaking,
continued to gaze on her in gloomy silence, and with a lowering and
menacing aspect.
"Nay," said the sorceress, placing herself full in the way, and speaking
with more mildness even than was usual to her, "I have news that
concerns thee."
"Me?"
"None else."
"Of what?"
"The young Lord of Lester."
"What of him? Thy looks--thy language--that fearful smile!"
"Dost love him?"
"It matters not to thee. Speak what thou hast to say, and quickly," she
cried, with an indefinable foreboding of evil.
"Thou dost, maiden. It is written in every lineament; speaks in every
action--yea, Robert of Lester is thy second self. Ha, ha, ha! Did I not
say I held the key to thy soul--ay, and I can unlock it, too!"
Having, in the first heat of her vengeance at finding herself defeated
by the course taken by Lester, resolved to divulge to Kate Bellamont the
secret of his birth that she might triumph in her humility and
wretchedness, Elpsy's fertile mind soon taught her how best to effect
her malicious, and, save its wickedness, aimless purpose. She now,
therefore, in a tone of assumed carelessness, added,
"But thou lovest him because he is noble like thyself! Were he lowly in
name and humble in birth, thou wouldst scorn him," she added, with the
manner of one who is trying the moral pulse of her victim: "this is ever
the way with the highborn."
"Were he lower born than the hind who herds my father's kine, he would
still be Lester, and noble to me!" she said, with a spirit that became
her lofty beauty and devoted love.
"This will never do," muttered Elpsy, thoughtfully, intent on her cruel
design, and forgetful of, and insensible to, the gratitude due to the
maiden for the kindly interest she had so recently expressed in her
welfare; in repayment of which, with all the maliciousness of a demon,
she was now taxing her ingenuity to dash from her lips the cup of
happiness which young love had offered to them.
"Were he a cowherd, he would have a cowherd's common soul, maiden!"
"Being common he then could not be Lester. But being Lester, though a
swineherd, that inherent nobleness, that is the birthright of his
nature, would shine out through his mean garb and calling, and make him
still, to my eyes, the Lester I love."
"Were he a slave--a serf--ay, chained to a galley, wouldst thou love him
still?"
"If misfortune, and not crime, brought him to this degradation--then
should I not love him less, but love him more!"
"If 'twere crime?"
"Couple it not with his name, woman," she said, with flashing eyes. "But
why this dark and subtle questioning? Speak, I command thee!"
"Thou hast no power to command me--I no will to obey. I will probe her
yet deeper!" she muttered. "If, maiden, there were a stain upon his
birth--"
"Well--" she quickly interrupted, with painful eagerness visible in
every lineament of her beautiful countenance: for her feelings were
highly wrought up, and, excited to expectation of something evil by the
manner of her interrogator, she was all nerves and on the rack of
torturing suspense. "Well--speak, prithee, woman! Why do you pause?"
"If 'twere proven he were a--a--"
"Say--"
"A--nay, 'twill wound thy ears!"
"Speak--I fear not--for I know thou canst lay no crime to his charge!"
"A _bastard_!" she said, laying a deliberate stress upon each syllable.
"Evil woman! away! Leave me!"
"It may be proved that he is not only this, but--"
"Away! Oh that I should listen to thy foul and slanderous speech."
"_Lowborn!_"
"In the name of Heaven, woman, cease! and give me way out, or I will
alarm the castle, and have thee punished for this insolence!"
As the indignant girl spoke she prepared to pass her, when the woman
laid her hand firmly on her wrist and detained her, while she said, in a
serious and imperious manner,
"Maiden, hear me! I am not mocking thee! What if I can prove him to thee
to be a lowborn bastard--the son of a peasant-girl, and palmed on Lady
Lester as her own?"
"Thou canst do no such thing with all thy wicked arts to aid thee,"
scornfully replied the maiden.
"What if I could do it! Wouldst love him then?"
"Yes."
"The bastard?"
"Yes, I tell thee."
"The son of a lowborn peasant?"
"He would still be Lester to me, so long as honour and truth were the
habitants of his bosom."
"Wouldst thou love him then?"
"Better and better for each misfortune he brought not on himself."
"Or serf--or galley-slave--or peasant--or bastard, he would still be
Lester in the eyes of thy love?"
"Yes! Stand aside, and let me pass forth."
"One word more, fair virgin. I must try," continued she to herself, "my
last card now. Her love outwits my invention. 'Tis a shield that turns
aside all my shafts. I think I now know her weakness, and so will put it
to trial. Suppose," she asked, in an indifferent tone, "this Robert of
Lester should take offence at thee--"
"Well--" she said, with interest.
"And should ride from thee in anger--"
"Proceed--prithee--"
"And, being too proud to atone, lets his pride grow till it beget hatred
and scorn of thee--"
"Well--"
"And so, from wounded love and rage, he forswears his noble name, and
leagues himself with pirates; and, out of revenge to thee, goes forth to
slay, and deluge the earth with blood and rapine!"
"Have you done?" she asked, in a tone of disdain for what she deemed the
idle words of the speaker.
"I have," she answered, with a peculiar smile, that troubled and
perplexed her. "But I would ask thee--wouldst love him then?"
"I will answer thee--if such things could be, which ne'er can be--No. In
this case, guilt would place for ever an impassable gulf between us.
But, as thou hast so much interest in him, let me pass that I may meet
him, for I hear his horse's feet in the forest," she said, with the
contempt of incredulity, yet trembling--so well the supposed case
advanced by Elpsy tallied with the circumstances under which Lester left
her--lest there might be some dreadful truth at the bottom.
"His horse's feet thou wilt never hear more. Himself thou wilt never see
more, save to thy sorrow."
"Explain, woman," she almost shrieked, grasping her by the shoulders,
and speaking with wild vehemence.
"Robert of Lester has become even as I have spoken. Maddened by thy
coldness--his pride stung--his self-love wounded--his feelings
lacerated, he has fled his home, and leagued himself with bucaniers."
"In the name of the blessed Heaven above, do you speak but a tithe of
the truth, woman?" she demanded, with fearful emotion.
"He galloped to the seaside, and a Danish bucanier being by chance in
shore, he threw himself on board, and put to sea with her."
"One word, only one word more! You saw this?"
"I did, and came hither to tell thee."
"Would to God I knew if thou didst tell the truth or no," she cried,
almost sinking upon the ground.
"Behold this token which he gave me, bidding me return it to the giver,
who, he said--mark the words, maiden!--was henceforth only worthy the
scorn and contempt of the noble heart she had broken," spoke the false
witch, taking, as if struck by a sudden thought, the locket and message
from her bosom and placing it in her hands.
"It is too true. Merciful Heaven, sustain me! Nay! Elpsy, touch me not.
I shall not fall. No, I _will_ not fall! If--if he can scorn
me--I--nay--do not support me--my pride will--will--oh--Lester,
Lester--you have killed me!"
With a deep moan, as if her heart were bursting, she fell into the arms
of the sorceress, who, not wholly unmoved by the wretchedness she had
caused, placed her on one of the settees, and, with a look of triumph,
gazed on her pale cheek, and watched the irregular and long-drawn
heaving of her bosom. Her success had been complete, and she experienced
a joy kindred to that of a fiend's when he beholds the fall of a good
man. She had made the happy miserable, and was content! She had wounded
the pride of the noble, and was satisfied. She had been the bearer of
guilt to innocence, and her task was accomplished!
After surveying for a few moments the lovely victim of her malice and of
her hatred of the highborn, which seemed to be placed deeper than any
other feeling in her bosom, she drew from her bosom a small vial, and,
removing the stopper, stooped over her and moistened her lips and
nostrils. The volatile essence of the evaporating fluid was instantly
inhaled, and produced a reviving effect. The colour returned to her
cheek, and, opening her eyes, she fixed on the sorceress a wild gaze.
"It is not all a dream, then!" she cried, putting back her hair from her
forehead and staring at her; "she is there! Lester! is he--is he--oh--I
cannot speak what I would--I remember--ah! I remember all. _She_ told me
so! Woman!" she all at once shrieked, "is thy tale false or true? Say it
is not true," she added, rising and holding her by the cloak, "and I
will fall down and kiss thy feet."
A triumphant light gleamed in the ruthless eyes of the sorceress. "Thou
art humbled by grief," she said, with torturing coolness. "It is a
pleasant thing to see the proud and high come down. Oh, if I had been
noble too, as well as fair, in my youth, I had been a bride instead
of--but I will not wound thine ears, maiden, with a word thou canst
never know the meaning of. It is only for the lowborn virgin to be
taught it by some highborn youth. What I have told thee is true. Robert
of Lester has leagued himself with pirates. One day I may tell thee more
of him."
"Hist!" she whispered, hoarsely. "I will hear no more of him. He is
nothing now to Catharine of Bellamont. Hark, there is the sound of
horses' feet! _He comes!_ False one, he is here!" she cried, darting
forward to the door of the pavilion.
Elpsy smiled grimly and followed her.
The sound of horsemen approaching was now distinctly heard, but it was
the noise of many horses advancing at speed. In a few seconds they
beheld emerge from the forest, not the form of Lester, but that of the
Earl of Bellamont, attended by three or four mounted servants.
"Has Elpsy spoken the truth, maiden?" asked the sorceress, her eyes
gleaming with the unpleasing smile habitual to her, when she observed
Kate to turn her face away in disappointment.
"Torture me not, evil woman; thy words, whether false or true, have
almost broken my heart."
At this instant the earl caught sight of his daughter, and, turning
aside from the avenue, galloped across the lawn towards the pavilion. He
was a gentleman of noble presence, with a dark, intelligent face, and
dignified features. The resemblance between himself and daughter was
instantly apparent. He rode with grace, and displayed admirable
horsemanship in the management of his fiery steed.
"A kiss, my sweet child," he said, as he threw himself from his horse
beside her. "You are abroad early! What, in tears? I have not been
absent three days, and yet you welcome me, Kate, with as much emotion as
if I had but returned from India. Nay, then, weep on my breast, silly
one, if you will. What, Elpsy here too!" he exclaimed, now for the first
time seeing the witch standing within the door of the pavilion--"I see
it all. She has been alarming you with some evil foretellings! Woman,
have I not forbidden thee to harbour or appear on the domains of Castle
Cor? Moral blight and misfare follow thy footsteps as surely as does
pestilence the path of the baleful dogstar. Depart!"
"I have done mine errand, proud earl, and therefore will go--but not at
thy bidding I depart," she added, gathering her scarlet cloak about her
hideous person.
"I care not if it be at the devil's--as it is most like to be--so I see
thee no more! Cease, my dove, that moan. Her charms are sand--her words
false--her prophecies the wildest dreams! Heed them not, if, as I
suspect, she has filled thy tender ears with them."
"Thou lovest thy daughter, earl?" she said, interrogatively, as she
prepared to depart.
"Too well to see her made miserable, vile sorceress!"
"See, then, thou do not make her so."
"How mean you?" he demanded.
"_Beware of a black plume!_" she added, mysteriously.
"Explain your meaning, woman!" he said, struck by her manner and the
menacing tones in which she gave him this prophetic warning.
The sorceress made no reply; but, turning her face towards the path that
led to the seashore, she rapidly traversed the lawn, and, waving her
hand warningly, disappeared down the path leading to the beach.
The cause to which her father attributed her sudden and unwonted grief
greatly relieved Kate; and by allowing him, through her silence, to
retain the impression he had formed, she was saved the embarrassment of
making him a confidant of her wounded affections by unfolding to him the
true cause--a task, in her present state of mind, impossible for her to
perform, and one which, at any time, would have been a sad trial to her
maidenly sensitiveness. In a few moments she became more composed: the
tide of her affections, which had been forced back upon the
fountain-head, having found a channel in paternal love through which to
flow, if not in the same direction as before, yet nearly in as deep and
strong a current.
She accompanied him to the castle, and for the remainder of the morning
was so occupied in forwarding the preparations for his departure and
that of her cousin, that she had little time to devote to her own
peculiar sorrows, leaving them for the lonely hours that would find her,
after they were gone, in the solitary chamber, mourning over her crushed
and blighted love. Yet a faint ray of the light of hope shone through
the darkness of her heart, and the faintly-cherished belief that the
tale of the sorceress might be false kept her from abandoning herself to
that hopelessness of grief, shame and utter wretchedness into which she
would have sunk had the truth been made manifest to her, divested of
every shadow of doubt.
END OF VOL. I.
NEW AND IMPORTANT WORKS LATELY PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS.
THE PRIVATE JOURNAL OF AARON BURR
During his Residence of four Years in Europe; with Selections from his
Correspondence.
Edited by MATTHEW L. DAVIS, Author of "Memoirs of Aaron Burr," &c.
LETTERS TO MOTHERS
By Mrs. L. H. SIGOURNEY, Author of "Letters to Young Ladies."
DEMONSTRATION OF THE TRUTH OF THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION
By ALEXANDER KEITH, D.D., Author of "Evidence of Prophecy," &c. Fourteen
beautiful Engravings on Steel.
THE FAR WEST; Or, a Tour beyond the Mountains.
Embracing Outlines of Western Life and Scenery; Sketches of the
Prairies, Rivers, Ancient Mounds, Early Settlements of the French, &c.,
&c.
THE LIFE OF CHRIST, in the Words of the Evangelists.
A complete Harmony of the Gospel History of our Saviour. For the use of
young Persons. Illustrated with Engravings after Chapman and others, by
Adams.
EVENINGS AT HOME; or, the Juvenile Budget Opened. By Dr. AIKIN and Mrs.
BARBAULD.
From the fifteenth London edition; Illustrated with Engravings after
Harvey and Chapman, by Adams.
VELASCO; A Tragedy, in five acts. By EPES SARGENT, Esq.
THE WORKS OF LORD CHESTERFIELD
Including his Letters to his Son, &c. To which is prefixed an original
Life of the Author.
THE HARMONY OF CHRISTIAN FAITH AND CHRISTIAN CHARACTER; AND THE CULTURE
AND DISCIPLINE OF THE MIND.
By JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M.D., F.R.S.E., Author of "Inquiries concerning the
Intellectual Powers and the Investigation of Truth," &c.
A MANUAL OF CONCHOLOGY
According to the System laid down by Lamarck, with the late Improvements
by De Blainville. Exemplified and arranged for the Use of Students. By
THOMAS WYATT, M.A. Illustrated by thirty-six plates containing more than
two hundred types, drawn from the natural shell.
PELAYO: a Story of the Goth.
By the Author of "Mellichampe," "The Yemassee," "Guy Rivers," &c.
HOW TO OBSERVE: MORALS AND MANNERS.
By HARRIET MARTINEAU.
THE WORKS OF EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, ESQ.
Containing Pelham; The Disowned; Devereux; Paul Clifford; Eugene Aram;
The Last Days of Pompeii; The Pilgrims of the Rhine; Falkland; Rienzi;
Ernest Maltravers, and Alice.
PUBLIC AND PRIVATE ECONOMY.
Illustrated by Observations made in England in the year 1836. Part
second. By THEODORE SEDGWICK.
INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN GREECE, TURKEY, RUSSIA, AND POLAND.
By the Author of "Incidents of Travel in Egypt, Arabia Petraea, and the
Holy Land."
With a Map and Engravings. In two vols.
THE NARRATIVE OF A. GORDON PYM, of Nantucket.
Comprising the details of a Mutiny and atrocious Butchery on board the
American brig Grampus, on her way to the South Seas, in the Month of
June, 1827.
RETROSPECT OF WESTERN TRAVEL.
By HARRIET MARTINEAU, Author of "Society in America." 2 vols.
CALDERON, THE COURTIER.
A Tale.
By the Author of "Pelham," "Alice," "Leila," &c, &c.
THE AMERICAN SCHOOL LIBRARY.
Published under the Direction of the American Society for the Diffusion
of Useful Knowledge.
BURTON; or, the Sieges.
By J. H. INGRAHAM, Esq., Author of "Lafitte," &c. 2 vols.
SACRED HISTORY OF THE WORLD.
By SHARON TURNER, LL.D. [Vol. III.--Family Library, No. 84.]
THE WORKS OF MRS. SHERWOOD.
Vol. 15. Containing Part Four of Henry Milner, &c., &c.
THE ROBBER.
By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq., Author of "Richelieu," &c. 2 vols.
GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND BELGIUM.
A Short Tour in 1835. By HEMAN HUMPHREY, D.D. 2 vols.
THE LADY OF LYONS:
A Play. By E. L. BULWER, Esq.
TRAVELS IN EUROPE:
Viz., in Great Britain, France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, and the
Netherlands. By WILBUR FISK, D.D.
CROMWELL: a Romance.
By H. W. HERBERT, Esq., Author of "The Brothers." 2 vols.
ANECDOTICAL OLIO:
Being a Collection of Literary, Moral, Religious, and Miscellaneous
Anecdotes.
By the Rev. Messrs. HOES and WAY.
CELESTIAL SCENERY; Or, the Wonders of the Planetary System displayed;
illustrating the Perfections of Deity and a Plurality of Worlds.
By THOMAS DICK, LL.D. With Engravings. [Family Library, No. 83.]
INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN EGYPT, ARABIA PETRAEA, AND THE HOLY LAND.
By an American. With a Map and Engravings. 2 vols.
THE MONK OF CIMIES, &c.
By Mrs. SHERWOOD. With a Portrait. [Mrs. Sherwood's Works, vol. 14.]
THE HISTORY OF AMELIA.
By HENRY FIELDING, Esq. With Illustrations by CRUIKSHANK.
LEILA; OR, THE SIEGE OF GRENADA.
By E. L. BULWER, Esq.
CAPTAIN KYD; Or, the Wizard of the Sea. By the Author of "Burton,"
"Lafitte," &c. 2 vols.
ANTHON'S SERIES OF CLASSICAL WORKS FOR SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES.
The following works, already published, may be regarded as specimens of
the whole series, which will consist of about thirty volumes.
FIRST LATIN LESSONS, containing the most important Parts of the
Grammar of the Latin Language, together with appropriate
Exercises in the translating and writing of Latin, for the Use
of Beginners.
FIRST GREEK LESSONS, containing the most important Parts of the
Grammar of the Greek Language, together with appropriate
Exercises in the translating and writing of Greek, for the Use
of Beginners.
A GRAMMAR OF THE GREEK LANGUAGE, for the Use of Schools and
Colleges.
A SYSTEM OF GREEK PROSODY AND METRE, for the Use of Schools and
Colleges; together with the Choral Scanning of the Prometheus
Vinctus of AEschylus, and the Ajax and OEdipus Tyrannus of
Sophocles; to which are appended Remarks on the Indo-Germanic
Analogies.
SALLUST'S JUGURTHINE WAR AND CONSPIRACY OF CATALINE, with an
English Commentary, and Geographical and Historical Indexes.
CAESAR'S COMMENTARIES ON THE GALLIC WAR; with the first Book of
the Greek Paraphrase; with English Notes, critical and
explanatory, Plans of Battles, Seiges, &c., and Historical,
Geographical, and Archaeological Indexes. With a Map, Portrait,
&c.
SELECT ORATIONS OF CICERO, with an English Commentary, and
Historical, Geographical, and Legal Indexes. With a Portrait.
End of Project Gutenberg's Captain Kyd (Vol 1 of 2), by Jonathon Holt Ingraham