Mrs. Coningsby found the Marquis and his son seated amongst some
pine-clad rocks on the southern side of the Parsonage. She made an
apology for the length of her absence, and the continuation of Mr.
Athelstone's, by relating to his Lordship much of what her nephew had
communicated.
Meanwhile, Cornelia and her sister had joined Ferdinand, and sat with
him in a recess of the cliff which fronted the sea. Its genial airs,
warm from the south, suggested the more balmy ones of Italy and Spain,
to the imagination of Alice, and she soon saw all vestiges of gloom
pass from the brow of the young Spaniard, as with encreasing animation
he answered her various questions on the subject of his travels and
of his country. Cornelia enquired about the remains of ancient Rome,
the eruptions of Vesuvius, and who, amongst the celebrated living
characters of Italy and France, he personally knew. Alice paid little
attention to his replies on these subjects, but made him describe the
gardens of Naples, and the luxuriant landscapes which double their
beauties in the translucent waters of its bay. She then talked of
the orange groves of his own country; and asked whether it were true
the Spanish ladies reposed every day after dinner by the sides of
fountains, under the shade of these delicious arbours. He listened to
her questions with delight. It was the ingenuous curiosity of fifteen,
seeking information with the confidence of innocence; and he answered
her with a minuteness, that shewed his pleasure in dwelling on themes
congenial to her taste.
Cornelia perceived that the share she wished to take in the discourse,
was almost wholly disregarded; but pleased to see their guest restored
to good humour, and Alice interested in such improving conversation;
she cheerfully moved towards her mother and the Marquis, and soon
became wholly absorbed in their discussions.
The dinner-hour of the Parsonage once more assembled its family and
guests around the social board. Peace had resumed her sway in every
breast. The voice of unconscious tenderness had soothed the jealous
irritability of Ferdinand, and his smiles diffused a complacency over
the seriousness of his father, that harmonized with the beneficent
serenity of their host. Mrs. Coningsby discoursed with the energy of an
imagination whose first fires still glowed in their embers. The equable
Cornelia looked around with satisfaction on the general cheerfulness,
while Alice, whatever might be her volatile changes of place, always
found herself settle by the side of the entertaining Spaniard. Gay as
joy itself, and vibrating in every nerve the happiness she bestowed,
she sported, like the young halcyon on waves of sunshine.
Louis was not less animated. His heart no longer upbraided him; and in
his own element of blameless enjoyment, with unchecked delight his eyes
followed the movements of Alice, as Ferdinand instructed her emulous
curiosity in the native dances of his country. The young Spaniard
seemed to have passed through the cave of Trophonius, so completely
was he transformed from the reserved, frigid being of the morning.
His late sallow complexion now flashed with the tints of health, and
the vivacity of his conversation almost obliterated from Cornelia's
remembrance the moody wretch who had rushed from her presence only a
few hours before. Alice hovered round him, like one of the zephyrs
which fanned their evening festivity; and at her desire he took her
mother's lute, and played and sung to it several Spanish ditties. He
reclined on a low sofa, beneath the open ivied-window, through whose
Gothic interlacing the breeze entered, with the soft light of the
stars. The tender melancholy of the airs shed a similar influence on
the spirits of the youthful party; and while they listened with pensive
delight to the last stanza of a plaintive seguedilla, the church clock
struck twelve.
From the distant quarter of the room where Mrs. Coningsby sat with her
uncle and the Marquis, she had observed the amusements on the opposite
side. On hearing the hour strike, she rose from her chair, and telling
the young people, it was not merely the _witching time of night_, but
that the sabbath morning was begun; she broke up their revels, and
dismissed them to their pillows.
Cornelia alone found uninterrupted slumber; Ferdinand did not sleep
that night; Alice wondered why she did not close her eyes; and Louis
lay meditating on the last four-and-twenty hours, till day dawned, and
wearied nature sank into repose.
The morning brought him a letter before he had quitted his bed. Its
seal was Wharton's _manche_ and _ducal coronet_. Louis held it some
time unopened in his hand. What new contention might it demand of him?
Was it to upbraid him for his flight? or was it an apology from the
Duke for his attempt to detain him? Whatever were its errand, the sight
of the letter recalled to him all the fascinations of its writer; and
with trepidation he broke the seal. His heart clung to every line,
while that of the volatile writer seemed winged, and lightly skimming
the surface he professed to dwell on. The latter ran thus,
"_Et hi Brute!_ was a mighty dextrous Parthian bolt, but it whistled
away, I know not whither. Would Cæsar have been so bad a marksman, as
not to have distinguished his own Anthony from the wretch who played
the brute part in the capitol? Why, de Montemar you are as much like
the lantern-jawed Cassius, as I to that nose-led Stoic! You are too
profound in canonization not to have read of a certain saint, no matter
his name, who, with a pair of convenient red-hot pincers, clutched the
devil by his feature of honour, and so dragged him roaring round the
world. Cassius was no saint, whatever he might be of a conjuror; but
I never hear your king-killing demagogues vaunting of their _prince
of patriots_, without seeing the pincers at his nose. So, prithee, my
dainty Cæsar, no more misnomers if you would not have me requite you in
kind!
"And so, you even took the flood! I would not for happier hours, than
even those your stubbornness wrested from me, I would not have lost
that proof of your substance. You know I am _a being of vapour_!
People who say so, must not wonder that I should be glad to play the
atmosphere round something worth my while. Louis! had you not believed
them, would you have fled me like a pestilence?
"Being of a gentle nature, as full of ruth as perhaps I ought to be of
ruefulness, I will not bristle the grey locks of your venerable uncle
this Saturday night, by likening him to any old woman on earth or in
heaven. But I have a shrewd guess, that like the good lady Calphurnia,
he pretends to dream; and on the evidence of such whimsies will report
you my orisons!
----Pulchra Laverna,
Da mihi fallere, da justum sanctumque videri.
--Oh, wizards, how little do you know the mettle of Philip Wharton!--In
the face of day, and of these darkling augurs, I avow that it is my
object to make you my own! My true spirit, wearied with the tricks of
men, and their sordid chemistry,
Delights to quaff the yet untasted spring,
And pluck the virgin flower!
"Is there a cloak over this dagger, my panic-struck Cæsar?
"However, that there may be no more alarms in. Saint Cuthbert's
sanctuary, tell the holy man I have met Romulus's fate. If you look
for me to-night it must be amongst the stars; for, after this is
dispatched, neither Bamborough nor England, will hold your faithful.
"Bamborough Castle, Saturday night."
"Gone!" cried Louis, pressing the letter between his folded hands,
"neither Bamborough nor England now holds its noble writer!" He turned
towards the window, which commanded a view of the sea. The distant
waves were sparkling beneath the beams of the morning sun: "beyond
those he is sailing away, far from dark suspicion, and ungrateful de
Montemar.--Ah, if he, indeed, knew I had so readily imbibed my uncle's
belief, that he is deceitful, and seeking to betray me in the dearest
interests of man!--would he thus subscribe himself my _Faithful_?--Does
he not, by that single word, avow his trust in my honour, and his own
disinterested attachment to me?"
Again he read the letter; it contained nothing which he might not
shew to Mr. Athelstone. There was not a word in it, excepting the
declaration of reciprocal fidelity in that of the signature, which
implied a confidence; or even hinted at the preservation of his secret;
and this implicit trust still more affected Louis.--"Noble Wharton!"
cried he, "this is Alexander drinking the suspected bowl!--and you
shall find that I am faithful."
He sprang out of bed, and hastily dressed himself. But just as he was
hurrying out of the door with the letter in his hand, he paused.--"Why
should I be thus eager to put myself into purgatory?"--He returned
into the room.--"My dear, good, but precise uncle," continued he,
"cannot understand this man! He will find an argument to blame all that
I admire in this open, daring spirit. But at least, he must acknowledge
that here he is no hypocritical designer! I will shew it to him."
Louis continued to fluctuate amidst a variety of reflections and
resolutions, till the bell for family morning prayers roused him from
his indecisive meditations; and putting the letter in his breast, he
descended to the library.
When the duty was done, and he arose from his knees, he found the young
Spaniard by his side; and rising from the same posture, which he had
taken between him and Alice. Louis looked surprised: Ferdinand smiled;
and without waiting to be questioned, said, that the preceding night he
had enquired of Miss Coningsby what was meant by the vesper and matin
bell, which rang after he and his father had withdrawn to rest, and
before they appeared in the morning. She was so good as to explain it
to him; and he had thus taken the liberty to join the family devotion.
While the domestics were making their reverential bows to the Pastor as
they retired, Mrs. Coningsby observed her young guest. She expressed
her pleasure at meeting him in so sacred an hour; "but you are not of
the church of Calvin or of Luther?" asked she.
"No," replied he, "but I am of the church of their master. And that, I
trust, does not exclude me from yours!"
"That plea will open the gates of Heaven to you!" cried the Pastor
with a benign smile, as he passed from the reading-desk into the
breakfast-room.
It was some time before the Marquis came from his chamber; but when he
did join the morning group, being ignorant of his son having mingled
in what he would have deemed an heretical rite, he contemplated that
son's renovated appearance with comfort unalloyed. He could not account
to himself how such a change from weakness to activity; from despairing
melancholy to gay cheerfulness; could have been wrought in the short
space of two days; unless he might attribute it to the influence of the
Saint, before whose defaced shrine he had knelt the preceding day, when
he wandered alone to the solitary abbey. While he sat absorbed in these
thoughts, Mrs. Coningsby mentioned to the younger part of the circle
what had been discussed the evening before between herself and Mr.
Athelstone.
As the season approached when she and her family usually emigrated to
Morewick-hall, she now proposed going earlier; and that the Marquis and
his son, accompanied by her nephew, should make a tour with herself and
her daughters to the interesting scenery in the neighbourhood. "You
will find the Hall more befitting your reception than this lonely
rock," continued she, addressing the Marquis; "but Lindisfarne is my
uncle's Patmos; and when here, he loves to live like a hermit in his
cell."
"Rather," returned Ferdinand, with an answering smile: "like the
privileged saint, emparadised with angels!"
Louis guessed that one view in this scheme, was to take him out of the
way of the Duke; and with something between a sigh and a smile, in
thinking the precaution was no longer necessary; he warmly seconded
his aunt's proposal. The eyes of Alice and of Ferdinand met in pleased
sympathy. And Cornelia, addressing the Marquis, soon awakened an
interest, in him, he did not expect to find in the projected excursion.
She talked to him of Alnwick, of its chivalrous trophies; and of the
stone chair of Hotspur, which still overlooks its battlements. She
then passed to the Castle of Warkworth: and spoke of the anchorite's
chapel, dug in the heart of its rock. As she discoursed of the hero of
Halidown; and narrated the sorrows of his friend, the devout penitent
of the hermitage, her share of the Percy blood glowed on her cheek
and in her language: and the Marquis, aroused to all his military and
religious enthusiasm, often grasped the cross of his sword, and mingled
a prayer with the aspirations of a soldier.
Meanwhile Alice enumerated to Ferdinand, the charming variety of their
walks at Morewick; particularly along the meandering banks of the
Coquet, and in view of the very hermitage Cornelia was describing to
his father. Ferdinand accepted with delight her promise of conducting
him to the cell by her own favourite path; over a little rustic bridge
that joined the Morewick-grounds to an old romantic mill, which stood
on an island embowered in trees, and dashed the foaming waters of its
wheels through the pendant branches which swept the surface of the
water. A boat, paddled by the miller's son, would convey them, under
as deep a shade, to the opposite shore; and then, by a winding walk,
traced in the wild wooded scenery by the hand of the hermit himself,
she would lead him over the rocky heights to the cell; where for sixty
years the mourning lover of murdered beauty had fed upon his tears day
and night! "I know the pleasure with which Louis will accompany us;"
added she, "and if it be moon-light he will like it better, for he
often tells me, the garish hour of sunshine is no time for visiting the
hermitage of Warkworth."
Louis did not hear what was passing, for he had chosen the opportunity
of his uncle's guests being engaged in conversation with his cousins,
to inform Mr. Athelstone that Duke Wharton had left Bamborough. When
the good old man had read the Duke's letter, he pressed his nephew's
hand as he returned it, and said with a playful smile, "It is well, and
we will not grudge him his apotheosis!"
The remainder of the sabbath passed in the Pastor's family, as became
the purity of its master's faith, and the simplicity of his manners. At
the usual hours for the public celebration of divine worship, he and
his little household, all excepting his Roman Catholic guests, repaired
to the parish church.
Towards the close of the afternoon service, (while the Marquis had
again absented himself, and was retired to the interior ruins of the
abbey;) Ferdinand placed himself at the window of his bed-chamber,
which commanded a view of the church-path, to watch the re-appearance
of the only saint which now engaged his idolatry. With what
pleasureable curiosity, excited by his sentiments for Alice, which gave
him an interest in all that concerned her, did he see the massy oaken
doors unfold from under the low Saxon arch, and the island train issue
forth in their clean but coarse Sunday attire! Four generations in one
family, first met his eye. A hale old fisherman, with grizzled locks
and a ruddy though weather-ploughed cheek, supported on his sinewy arm
the decent steps of his dame; who, dressed in a camlet gown of her own
spinning and a linen apron and cap of spotless white, looked smilingly
behind on the group that closely followed:--Her athletic son, and his
comely wife; each restraining the capering steps of a chubby boy and
girl, as they led them forth from the house of God. The aged patriarch
of the race, his head whitened by the winters of nearly a century,
closed the procession; leaning one hand on a staff, and the other
on the arm of his youngest grandchild; a pretty young woman, whose
down-cast eyes shewed how cautiously she was guiding the faultering
steps of her venerable grand sire.--Of such simple and sincere
worshippers was the congregation of Lindisfarne; and as Ferdinand
observed their composed and happy countenances, he felt that their's
must be the religion of peace.
"Yes;" cried he, "where innocence dwells, there must be genuine piety.
Nothing is there to impede the free communion between earth and heaven.
The blameless spirit does not fear to lift up its eyes in the presence
of its Creator: it is still clothed in the brightness of His beams. But
the guilty wretch--polluted--bereft!--Oh, what can hide his nakedness
from the Omniscient eye?--Not the unction of man.--I have had enough of
that.--What breath of mortal absolution can still this raging fire!" He
smote his breast as he spoke, and tore himself from the window.
Mrs. Coningsby and her daughters had prepared tea in the drawing-room
a long time before the different members of her little circle drew
their chairs around it. The Pastor was paying his customary sabbath
visitations to the infirm from age, sickness, or sorrow. Ferdinand was
yet in his chamber; struggling with an agony of soul, more grievous
than penance that priest ever inflicted. And Louis, having accompanied
his uncle to the door of one of the fisher's huts, instead of returning
home, walked on unconsciously, till he found himself in the cemetery of
the old monastery, and saw the Marquis approaching him from the western
aisle.
Supposing his Lordship had come there, merely as an admirer of
antiquity, Louis did not hesitate to join him; and entering into
conversation on this idea, he began to point out the most perfect
specimens of its ancient architecture; and to name the periods of
British history which they commemorated, as the times of the abbey's
erection, enlargement, or repairing. As he was master of his subject;
and spoke of its early founders, Oswald and Aidan, with not merely
historical accuracy, but reverence for their holy zeal; Santa Cruz
pressed the hand of his young companion; and attended with questioning
complacency, till he almost forgot he was not listening to a good
Catholic. He could not comprehend how a disciple of heresy, could have
more toleration for the professors of the Roman creed, than he had for
heretical infidelity; and therefore, with a hope that the Catholic
Faith, which Baron de Ripperda had abjured, was latent in his son,
the Marquis willingly gave way to the predilection he had conceived
for him; and strolled with him over the whole ruin. After having been
ascertained of the place where rested the mortal part of the exemplary
Saint Aidan; he again bowed to the vacant spot, at the right side of
the high altar, which had once contained the stone shrine of the holy
Cuthbert.--Louis conducted him to a cell, now choaked with docks and
nettles, which had once been the penitentiary of a King. Near this
half-buried vault, lay several flat crosiered tomb-stones of different
dates; and amongst them were two mitred brothers of the Barons of
Athelstone and of Bamborough.
"You are nobly descended, Mr. de Montemar!" observed the Marquis; "By
your mother's side from these powerful Northumbrian Barons.--By your
father's, from the princely house of Nassau, and the more illustrious
Ripperda of Andalusia. These were all faithful sons of the cross!--but
now that their posterity have embraced the schisms of infidelity--oh,
my ingenuous young friend, are you not at this moment ready to exclaim,
_How am I fallen!_"
"No, my Lord," returned Louis, "I have too British a spirit, to
regret the feudal power which was founded on the vassalage of my
fellow-creatures,--and though my father may have forfeited all claim
to the restitution of his paternal rights in Spain, by having become a
proselyte to the religion in which I have been educated; I cannot deem
any depression of rank a debasement, which is incurred in so sacred a
cause."
Santa Cruz drew his arm from his companion. Such adherence to
principle, had it been on his side of the argument, would have filled
the Marquis with admiration; but in the present case, it gave his
growing partiality for the son of Ripperda, so severe a shock, that he
sunk into stern silence and turned out of the abbey. Not a word was
spoken during their walk homeward. And when they entered the Parsonage,
the Marquis bowed coldly to the Pastor; while, with a similar air of
reserve, he accepted the seat presented to him by the side of Mrs.
Coningsby.
The whole party were now assembled; but an embarrassing gravity
pervaded them all. None knew exactly how to explain it; but it arose,
rather from the several individuals thinking too intensely of each
other, than from indifference to each other's society. Louis alone had
straying thoughts; and they were wandering far and wide:--sometimes
with his noble friend, throwing himself in loyal gallantry at the feet
of a dethroned Queen and her Son. Then the image of his father, and of
Spain, would occupy his mind. He seemed to be present with him in that
country; where, though denied the honours of his race, the fame of his
services proclaimed that he did more than possess them--he deserved
them!--"I am not fallen;" said Louis to himself; "when sprung from
such a father! What is there in mere title or station, to render a man
truly great?--It is action, that makes the post, that of honour, or
disgrace.--And, God of my fathers! give me but the opportunity to serve
my country; and no man shall say the name of Ripperda has suffered
degradation!"
Louis started from his chair, in the fulness of his emotion, and
hastily crossed the room. He chanced to take the direction to a recess
between the book-case and the porcelain cabinet.
"You are right to remind Cornelia of her duty," cried the Pastor, "open
the door; and she will then recollect, that nearly an hour has elapsed
since she ought to have given us our Sunday's evening anthem."
Louis immediately threw open a pair of small folding-doors, and
discovered an organ, with the oratorios of Handel on its music-stand.
Cornelia did not require a second reminder.--She took her seat before
the instrument; and with tones that might--
"Create a soul under the ribs of death,"
sang the divine strains of "_I know that my Redeemer liveth_."
As the pealing organ swelled the note of praise, the Marquis almost
imagined himself in his own oratory; and that he heard the seraphic
voice of his daughter Marcella, chaunting her evening hymn to the
Virgin. Tears Filled the father's eyes; he drew near the instrument;
and crossing his arms over his breast, with the silent responses of
the heart, he re-echoed every word and every note of the holy song.
When Cornelia struck its last triumphant chords, and was rising from
her seat, he entreated her to prolong strains so well suited to the
vesper-hour, and the feelings with which he listened.
Mr. Athelstone joined in the request; remarking, that as he loved
a peculiar consecration of the instruments of worship, he never
permitted this organ to be opened but on the seventh-day, or other holy
festivals; and, that when it was once touched by his Saint Cecilia,
his greatest pleasure was to hear its sounds, till the hour of night
closed them in prayer. Cornelia re-commenced, with the overture of the
Messiah; and the evening ended in unison with the piety of her uncle
and his guest: in hymns to the great Author of universal harmony.