Fain would I draw a veil over the transactions of that night--but I
cannot--grief, and burning shame, forbid me to be silent--black deeds
are about to be made public, which reflect a stain upon our common
nature.
Rosamund, enthusiastic and improvident, wandered unprotected to a
distance from her guardian doors--through lonely glens, and
wood-walks, where she had rambled many a _day_ in safety--till she
arrived at a shady copse, out of the hearing of any human habitation.
_Matravis_ met her.---"Flown with insolence and wine," returning home
late at night, he passed that way!
Matravis was a very ugly man. Sallow-complexioned! and if hearts can
wear that color, his heart was sallow-complexioned also.
A young man with _gray_ deliberation! cold and systematic in all his
plans; and all his plans were evil. His very lust was systematic.
He would brood over his bad purposes for such a dreary length of time
that, it might have been expected, some solitary check of conscience
must have intervened to save him from commission. But that _Light
from Heaven_ was extinct in his dark bosom.
Nothing that is great, nothing that is amiable, existed for this
unhappy man. He feared, he envied, he suspected; but he never loved.
The sublime and beautiful in nature, the excellent and becoming in
morals, were things placed beyond the capacity of his sensations. He
loved not poetry--nor ever took a lonely walk to meditate--never
beheld virtue, which he did not try to disbelieve, or female beauty
and innocence, which he did not lust to contaminate.
A sneer was perpetually upon his face, and malice _grinning_ at his
heart. He would say the most ill-natured things, with the least
remorse, of any man I ever knew. This gained him the reputation of a
wit--other _traits_ got him the reputation of a villain.
And this man formerly paid his court to Elinor Clare!--with what
success I leave my readers to determine. It was not in Elinor's
nature to despise any living thing--but in the estimation of this
man, to be rejected was to be _despised_--and Matravis _never
forgave_.
He had long turned his eyes upon Rosamund Gray. To steal from the
bosom of her friends the jewel they prized so much, the little ewe
lamb they held so dear, was a scheme of delicate revenge, and
Matravis had a twofold motive for accomplishing this young maid's
ruin.
Often had he met her in her favorite solitudes, but found her ever
cold and inaccessible. Of late the girl had avoided straying far from
her own home, in the fear of meeting him--but she had never told her
fears to Allan.
Matravis had, till now, been content to be a villain within the
limits of the law--but, on the present occasion, hot fumes of wine,
cooperating with his deep desire of revenge, and the insolence of an
unhoped-for meeting, overcame his customary prudence, and Matravis
rose, at once, to an audacity of glorious mischief.
Late at night he met her, a lonely, unprotected virgin--no friend at
hand--no place near of refuge.
Rosamund Gray, my soul is exceeding sorrowful for thee--I loathe to
tell the hateful circumstances of thy wrongs. Night and silence were
the only witnesses of this young maid's disgrace--Matravis fled.
Rosamund, polluted and disgraced, wandered, an abandoned thing, about
the fields and meadows till daybreak. Not caring to return to the
cottage, she sat herself down before the gate of Miss Clare's
house--in a stupor of grief.
Elinor was just rising, and had opened the windows of her chamber,
when she perceived her desolate young friend. She ran to embrace
her--she brought her into the house--she took her to her bosom--she
kissed her--she spake to her; but Rosamund could not speak.
Tidings came from the cottage. Margaret's death was an event which
could not be kept concealed from Rosamund. When the sweet maid heard
of it, she languished, and fell sick--she never held up her head
after that time.
If Rosamund had been a _sister_, she could not have been kindlier
treated than by her two friends.
Allan had prospects in life--might, in time, have married into any of
the first families in Hertfordshire--but Rosamund Gray, humbled
though she was, and put to shame, had yet a charm for _him_--and he
would have been content to share his fortunes with her yet, if
Rosamund would have lived to be his companion.
But this was not to be--and the girl soon after died. She expired in
the arms of Elinor--quiet, gentle, as she lived--thankful that she
died not among strangers--and expressing, by signs rather than words,
a gratitude for the most trifling services, the common offices of
humanity. She died uncomplaining; and this young maid, this untaught
Rosamund, might have given a lesson to the grave philosopher in
death.
* * * * *