During the time that De Willows was cherishing an increasing affection
for Madeline, the youthful Edeliza, now in the sixteenth year, was in
a situation more distressing. She had long been accustomed to consider
De Willows in the light of a playfellow, and to be gratified by his
almost undivided attention, while to him her's was wholly confined.
With Camelford she would sometimes romp, if De Willows were absent,
but, as soon as he returned, she would fly to him, and complain of the
young lieutenant's having wearied her by playing too roughly.
Love even with the inexperienced is generally quick-fighted. Edeliza
had observed, with a kind of trembling apprehension, and a fear she
knew not how to account for, the attentions De Willows paid to
Madeline. She was angry,--she was shocked,--thought her not half so
handsome as she once had been, and wondered what the gentlemen could
see to admire in so ghostly a figure; her brother, De Clavering,
Hugh Camelford, and Elwyn, might make as much fuss as they pleased
about the beautiful nun, as they chose to call her, that De Willows
should be so blind, so provoking, she could not bear to recollect;
however, as she would soon be obliged to return to the nunnery, she
hoped De Willows would then forget she had ever left it, and recover
his senses.
Thus was the little blind god, who had been the delight and the
torment of all ages, beginning to play cross purposes at the castle,
and aiming his arrows at hearts too innocent to guard against or
repel their attacks. De Willows had ever admired Edeliza as a
beautiful and interesting child; he had been in the habit of seeing
her, from the time she was ten years old, every day; therefore her
progress towards womanhood had passed in a manner unperceived, and
he had indulged himself and his little favourite in the same fond
and playful endearments as had taken place from the first of their
meeting, and that without forming an idea of there being either
danger or impropriety in so doing. Had any one informed De Willows
that Edeliza was cherishing a growing affection for him, which, if
unreturned, would endanger her future peace, he would have treated
it as the idle chimera of their own whimsical brain; but, had he once
seriously supposed he was destroying her happiness, and planting the
thorn of anguish in her innocent bosom, his heart was so much the
seat of true honour, he would have stabbed in his own breast rather
than have acted unjustly by the daughter of his friend.
It happened about this period that Sir Philip de Morney was obliged
to go to London in order to settle a law-suit which had been long
depending, and which had harassed his mind very much. De Huntingfield
was to take the command of the castle during his absence, being the
oldest officer in the place. De Willows, though of higher rank, was
too young to be entrusted with a charge of so much importance, and
gladly yielded the honour to one so much his superior in years. Sir
Philip departed with reluctance, took leave of his family with
tenderness, and promised to return the first moment after the affair
was settled.--Lady de Morney was reconciled to the temporary absence
of her husband by the important business which had called him away.
The young friends, having slept for several nights undisturbed, had
almost lost all remembrance of their fears before the departure of
Sir Philip, whose absence happened very opportunely to gratify their
curiosity in visiting every part of the castle, Edwin having promised
to procure the keys, and accompany them.
Two nights after Sir Philip's departure, having spent a cheerful
evening, they retired to rest in unusual good spirits, but were
awakened about midnight by a war of the elements, and what made the
scene more terrific, though it was in the depth of winter, the thunder
rolled in tremendous peals over their heads, the sturdy walls of the
castle appeared to shake from their centre to the battlements, and
the lightning flashed upon the walls, and gleamed along the vaulted
passages, as if to make horror visible. The young ladies dressed
themselves, and Edwin tapped at the door with a light, inviting
them to go down into one of the lower rooms, to which he would
accompany them.
Cheered and revived by the sound of his voice, they readily agreed
to his proposal, and in a few minutes opened the door to admit
their conductor. They made as little noise as possible, fearful of
disturbing Lady de Morney, if she was not already alarmed by the
tempest; and, to prevent the possibility of doing so, they agreed
to go down a winding staircase that led through one of the towers,
and which was seldom used by the family. They crept slowly along,
when, in one part of it, which was rather wider than the rest, they
passed four steps, which led to a door in the wall, and which
appeared so well secured by locks and bars, as if it never was
intended to be opened.
"For heaven's sake, (whispered Roseline,) to what room does that door
lead? I never saw it before."
"I entreat you (said the trembling Madeline) not to stop in this
horrid place to ask questions, (for the humid and unwholesome dews
of night and noxious vapours hung on the walls.) Though I am not
afraid now Edwin is with us, yet I may take cold by staying here."
Edwin pressed the hand which was resting on his arm to his throbbing
bosom, and hurried them into the room the family had left, and they
were all truly rejoiced to find an excellent fire still blazing on
the wide-extended hearth, round which they seated themselves, and
neither Madeline nor Edwin uttered a single complaint at having been
so unseasonably disturbed.
The tempest having spent it fury, subsided by degrees into a calm,
and the party, entering into conversation, almost forgot it had ever
been. Roseline however repeated her question respecting the door they
had seen in their way down the staircase. Edwin assured her he knew
no more than herself to what place it belonged: he had heard that
the restless ghost of some one had been bound in the apartments to
which it led, and that orders had been given for it never to be
opened. He had once made some inquiries of his father, but was
desired by him never to ask any questions till he came to years of
maturity, nor to explore any of the secret passages or entrances
to the castle.
"Then, surely, (said Madeline,) it would be extremely wrong to
disobey the commands of Sir Philip, merely to satisfy an idle and
perhaps blamable curiosity."
"At the moment (interrupted Edwin) that I admire the complying
sweetness of the gentle Madeline, I must beg pardon for retaining
my own resolution of seeing those parts of the castle from which I
have been so long secluded. I am now arrived at an age that surely
deserves to be trusted, or I must be unfit to live in a situation
like this. My father's reasons for the secresy he has observed so
long, I am unacquainted with; but I will most assuredly avail myself
of his absence to gratify my curiosity. I know where the keys are
deposited, and in a night or two will begin my nocturnal search. If
you and Roseline are in the humour to accompany me, it is well; if
not, I shall certainly go by myself."
"As that might be dangerous, (said Roseline, who rejoiced to find
him so resolute,) you must promise to take me along with you."
To this he assented, and Madeline agreed, with some little confusion,
to be of the party, concluding, Sir Philip must be wrong in not
granting his son's request. This matter settled, they retired for
the rest of the night, to forget, in the arms of sleep, not only the
castle and the nunnery, but the whole world.
The next night they were surprised by an unusual noise, that seemed
to be immediately under them. It appeared something like the rattling
of a carriage over stones. Groans too they thought they heard; and,
after dressing themselves, Roseline called her brother, to convince
him their alarms were not the effects of imagination. He heard the
same sounds, and, in looking round their apartment, and into an
adjoining closet, he discovered a trap-door, that was very curiously
concealed under a board, which slided over it. He attempted to lift
it up, but found it was secured by a lock which was hid in a small
projection of the wall.
Finding it impossible to obtain a passage, they determined to defer
their search till the succeeding night, when Edwin promised to secure
the keys. He stayed with them till daylight dissipated their fears;
they then retired to repose; but sleep deserted their pillows. A
thousand vague conjectures occupied their minds, and Madeline, for
the first time in her life, wished herself absent from the castle:
that there was something to discover appeared beyond a doubt; but,
whether the discovery would serve to relieve or increase their
anxiety, was as hazardous as it was uncertain; however, as Roseline
and Edwin were resolute to make the attempt, she determined not to
oppose them.
Edwin revolved in his mind how he might be able to find some clue to
guide him, and resolved to apply to an old soldier, whose whole life
had been spent in the castle, to give him some account respecting
it. He was fond of retracing past scenes, and, when once he began
talking, knew not when to stop. From him Edwin learned all he wanted
to be informed; by him he was told the use of the keys, and received
every necessary direction. The old man, considering himself honoured
by holding converse with the governor's son, told him every
circumstance he knew or could recollect. The next day was spent in
the same manner as usual. De Clavering was uncommonly facetious,
De Willows particularly cheerful, Hugh Camelford entertaining, and
De Huntingfield busy in the active duties of his important office.
The afternoon being remarkably clear, mild, and serene, the whole
party agreed to ascend to the top of the castle, and walk on the
ramparts, for the benefit of air and exercise. Edeliza would not quit
the arm of De Willows, therefore Madeline was left uninterrupted to
the care of Edwin.
The air was reviving, the prospect picturesque and interesting; for
notwithstanding the season, nature had still beauties to catch the
inquiring eye, and awaken the gratitude of innocent and cheerful
hearts. A few evergreens, scattered here and there among the leafless
trees afforded shelter to innumerable birds. The red breast warbled
his artless song, surrounded by a number of chirping sparrows, who
seemed gaily to flutter around, making a most uncommon bustle, which
was occasioned by a shower that had lately fallen.
"Confound these impertinent noisy little devils! (said De Clavering,)
I wish I had my gun, and I would most assuredly put an end to some
of this clatter."
"For shame, toctor, (cried Camelford;) what! would you testroy such
pretty harmless creatures as these? Rather save your ammunition for
the enemies of your king--that would be coot sport indeed!--then,
my man of mettle, we should be petter employed; but let the
sparrow-family lif, and enjoy their prating."
"I believe you are nearly allied to that same family, (replied the
doctor,) and therefore I do not wonder at your being anxious to
preserve your relations."
"Petter not provoke me, toctor. I am in a valiant humour just
now, and, as Cot shall pless me, I will not pocket an affront from
any one."
"Pack it up in your knapsack, (replied the doctor drily,) and say,
as our Saviour did, when tempted, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"--for
really Hugh, I often think the devil has jumped into your skull,
and, by kicking about your brains, has made you so hot headed."
"Then the best thing I can do (replied Camelford) would be to put
myself under your tirection to lay this same tevil, and by the time
you had trained me of all my Welch ploot, he would leave my lifeless
carcase to be poiled for your improvement; but avaunt, thou cataplasm
of cataplasms!--I defy thy incantations, plisters, and pleedings."
"I believe the young dog will live the longer, (cried the doctor,
addressing De Willows,) but who among us will deny or defy the sweet
influence of these lilies and roses that are now blooming around us."
"I do not pretend to any such philosophic apathy," replied De Willows.
"If you did, your looks would betray you, (retorted Edwin.) To deny
the united influence of love and beauty is not the province of
a soldier."
"Do all soldiers admire beauty, and fall in love?" inquired the
artless Edeliza, looking earnestly at De Willows.
"I believe so, my sweet little girl, (he answered;) love and death
are alike inevitable."
"But not equally dangerous, (said the laughing Roseline;) for I never
heard of any one dying of the wounds given by the little blind god,
though thousands fall victims to the more certain arrows sent from
the furnace of war."
"By the crate Cot, (said Camelford,) I had rather tie by the wounds
of a pair of pright eyes than by those of a cannon, loaded by the
hands of an ugly tog, who like a putcher delights in ploot."
"More fool you, (replied De Clavering;) the death in the one case
would be glorious and instantaneous,--in the other, foolish and
lingering,----"
"Unless I applied to a toctor to put me out of my misery, and then
I should get rid of it in a trice."
"A truce with your compliments, good folks, (said Roseline;) suppose
we endeavour to reconcile ourselves to the world, and all its strange
vagaries, by a dance in the great hall. This proposal met with
general approbation; to the great hall they descended, and, surrounded
by the rusty armour of their hardy forefathers, they enjoyed in the
mazy windings of the lively dance, a pleasure as innocent as it was
amusing, Lady de Morney herself being a gratified spectator of
the scene.
This hall was decorated, if we may use the term, with a vast number
of suits of armour, belonging to the family of Norfolk. One, more
light and higher finished than the rest, appeared to have belonged
to a youth of Edwin's size. He was prevailed on to fit it; and, armed
cap-a-pie, strutted about in bold defiance, and threw down his
gauntlet, daring any one to single combat who should deny the palm
of beauty being due to the lady he should name.
"Suppose I threw down my glove," said de Willows."
"You would soon take it up again, (replied Edwin, somewhat
scornfully,) as I fancy our taste in beauty to be the same."
De Willows coloured,--Madeline appeared uneasy,--and Edeliza declared
armour was the most frightful dress she ever saw, while the younger
part of the family jumped round their brother, and with eagerness
made many inquiries concerning the use of every part of his dress,
and requested their mother to let them wear some of the nodding
plumes which hung in lofty state around them.
In the course of the evening, Edwin gave Madeline a hint to retire
early to her chamber, having obtained possession of the keys, and
gained such directions as could not fail to satisfy their curiosity
and guide them in their researches. Madeline silently acquiesced,
and imparted, with trembling impatience, the tidings to her friend.
She was thoughtful and absent the rest of the evening, and availed
herself of the earliest opportunity of withdrawing to her chamber.
Roseline very soon followed her, and, as soon as the family had
retired to rest, Edwin stole gently to their apartment. They had
anxiously expected his arrival, and therefore gave him immediate
admittance.
Roseline rejoiced at seeing her brother, and eagerly inquired if he
was sure that he had the keys that would enable them to proceed. He
then produced a most enormous bunch, with a dark lantern, which was
to guide them through the intricate labyrinths of the castle, and
advised Madeline and his sister to guard against the damps of the
passages they had to go through, and to arm themselves with their
whole stock of resolution, lest their terror should betray him.
Roseline assured him her fears were conquered by her strong desire
to explore the secrets of their habitation, and Madeline promised
not to let her apprehensions impede their progress. Edwin lighted
his candle, and with some difficulty unfastened the trap-door he had
discovered in their closet; but, on opening it, a kind of noxious
vapour ascended, that almost tempted them to give up their design.
A flight of broken brick steps, of amazing depth, carried them into
a narrow winding passage, in which it was impossible for more than one
person to move forward at once.
Madeline caught hold of Edwin's coat, and Roseline followed her
with a lighted candle in her hand. For some time they groped along,
frequently stumbling over the stones which had fallen from the
mouldering walls, and trembling lest this passage should lead them
into danger. Edwin frequently stopped to encourage them to go on,
assuring them they had nothing to apprehend. By degrees the path
widened, and, on suddenly turning, they entered a kind of square,
round which were several doors, but so low, they did not seem made
to admit men but dwarfs. Going up to one of them, Edwin pushed it
open with his foot, and he was convinced they were the dungeons in
which prisoners of war were confined. Some contained only bedsteads,
iron rings, and fetters; in one of them they saw a human skull; in
another was a coffin, which appeared to have stood there for ages,
and with its silent inhabitant was falling to decay.
They proceeded till they came to a door which was so thickly studded
over with nails, bolts, bars, and locks, this it impeded their
farther progress. Edwin would fain have attempted to open it, but
was prevented by his shivering and terrified companions.
"Brother, (cried Roseline,) we have seen quite enough to satisfy us
for one night."
"Another time, Edwin, (added Madeline,) I shall feel less
repugnance to proceed. But how do you know that door does not lead
to some apartment where the restless spirit of another discontented
ghost may be confined, by some potent spell, till released by the
intrusion of beings who now wander amid the gloomy scenes of life
as he once did?"
"No such thing, (replied the intrepid and resolute Edwin;) that door
is an entrance to a subterraneous passage, which leads from this
castle to Mettingham, merely to give entrance to troops in any case
of emergency, or to cover the retreat of others that may want
to escape."
"But, as it has not been used, either for the one purpose or the
other, since my father resided here, (said Roseline,) it may now be
a shelter for thieves and traitors; therefore, for heaven's sake,
let us now return to our apartment."
Edwin, whose disposition was as amiable as his manners and person
were captivating, no longer contended with their wishes, but led
the way for them as he had done before, and, as he was a fine tall
youth, was obliged to stoop as he went along.
Just as they came near the foot of the steps which led to their
apartment, they saw, or thought they saw, a faint light gleam across
a passage which led to another part of these gloomy habitations, and
they imagined they perceived the figure of some one disappear at
their approach. This alarmed the whole group, and they hurried up
the stairs as hastily as their fears would let them. Having cautiously
fastened the trap-door, they sat down to recover themselves, and
recollected with a degree of horror and disgust the gloomy scenes
they had visited; but the light, and the figure they had all caught
a transient view of, dwelt most forcibly on their minds. Madeline
declared she should never have sufficient resolution to re-visit
these abodes of terror, contrived by the stern hands of despotism
and ambition.
"When we think, as we surely may, (said she,) with some degree of
certainty, how many poor souls have languished out a life of misery
in these gloomy cells, can we wonder if they are haunted by all they
have entombed? Shut out not only from the world, but from every
comfort, nature too recoils and shudders at the cruelties that may
have been practised on the poor victims thus buried in the bowels
of the earth."
"All this may be very true, my sweet Madeline, (interrupted Edwin,)
but I am determined to re-visit them. Perhaps some poor sufferers
may still remain in the castle; if so, it would be delightful to
soften the rigours of their fate."
"True, my dear brother, (cried Roseline, her eyes illumined with the
soft beams of genuine benevolence and philanthropy,) I will certainly
attend you."
"To quiet the fears of our lovely friend, (said Edwin,) I will
request old Bertrand, who has lived in this castle from the time we
came into it, to accompany and direct us in our search after misery.
I am told too, (he added,) there is a passage which leads from this
castle into the chapel of your nunnery. If I can find it out, I shall
certainly pay you a visit, and steal you from your cell; for, my dear
Madeline, whatever may be the truth and the virtues of our holy
religion, it is doubtless one of its abuses to shut from the world
those lovely works of the creation best calculated to enliven and
adorn it. Can it be deemed a greater crime to doom a worthless, or,
suppose I say, and innocent, man, to languish in a dungeon, that it
is to compel an unfortunate female to waste her days in the austere
walls of a nunnery,--kneel to the unfeeling image of a saint,--watch
the midnight lamp,--seclude herself from all social enjoyments,--and
linger through life in solitary sadness without a friend, or a lover,
to cheer her on her way?"
"Hush, for heaven's sake! (said the frightened Madeline;) if Father
Anselm heard you talk thus lightly and profanely of our holy religion,
I should be for ever debarred seeing you and Roseline again, for life
shut out from the world, and compelled to take the veil."
"Never, by heaven! (cried Edwin, thrown entirely off his guard by
the tender confusion and agitation of Madeline:) you shall take no
vows but such as love and nature dictate. I would perish a thousand
times,--lose a thousand lives to preserve you from a fate that would
not only make you wretched, but me for ever miserable.--Roseline has
long known that you are dear to my heart. Say,--ease me of the
torturing suspense I this moment feel,--do you not find an advocate
in your bosom that will plead my cause?"
Madeline trembled violently; her eyes were bent to the ground: She
would have fallen, had not Roseline flown to support her. She
attempted to speak, but the words died away inarticulately.
"I see how it is, (cried Edwin impassionately;) the happy De Willows
has gained by his attentions what I have lost by disgusting you with
mine: you hate, you despise me. I will solicit my father to let me
join the army: I will for ever remove this detested object from your
sight, and pray that the portion of happiness I have lost may be
redoubled to you."
Madeline, alarmed by the energy of this speech, was instantly roused
from the languor into which she had sunk.
"I hate no one, (said she softly;) but Edwin, you forget it would
be a crime in me to love. If, indeed, that had not been the case,--if
I were at liberty----"
"You would bless the happy De Willows with your hand."
"Never!--De Willows I regard as a friend: as any thing more I never
did,--never could think of him. I am you know banished from all
intercourse with the world;--my sentence has been long pronounced;
from that sentence there can be no appeal. Would to heaven I had
submitted to it, and never quitted the retreat to which parental
authority consigned me! At this painful moment my own feelings
inflict my punishment."
"Then you do not hate me? (cried Edwin, taking her hand.)--Only say
I am not quite indifferent to you, and I will endeavour to rest
satisfied, and ask no more; trusting that time may do much in my
favour; but, if you attempt to deprive me of all hope,--if you deny
me this innocent gratification, I will go to the wars."
"Ah! why will you press me to discover what it would be better to
conceal?--why will you tempt me to swerve from my duty to my God and
my parents, and make me a perjured, and unworthy sacrifice?--You
have, I fear, taught my heart a lesson it ought never to have learned:
but it must be the hard task of my future life to atone for the crime
I have committed in having suffered a mortal to rival that God, who
alone should have occupied all my thoughts and wishes."
Edwin threw himself at the feet of Madeline. His raptures were now
as unbounded as the conflict had been severe; and not till she sunk
fainting into the arms of her friend, could he be persuaded to quit
their apartment.
Happy was it for the party that Roseline had not only a greater
share of prudence and understanding that most of her sex, but
likewise more fortitude than is usually their portion. She soon
recovered, her friend soothed her into some degree of composure, and
endeavoured to inspire her with hopes that some plan might be adopted
which would remove those difficulties that threatened to divide two
hearts love had united, and which appeared formed by nature to make
each other happy. Roseline well knew her father would not only be
displeased, but shocked, if he discovered this unfortunate attachment,
and she blamed herself for having been the innocent cause of
involving two people so dear to her in such a hopeless scene of
complicated distress.
Notwithstanding the agonizing conflicts which had attended the
eclaircissement, the lovers felt a heavy burthen removed from their
hearts. Convinced of being mutually beloved, all other sorrows, all
other trials appeared light and trivial: they sunk into a more sweet
and peaceful slumber than they had long enjoyed,--dreamed of each
other, and arose the next morning with renovated spirits and
revived hopes.
Madeline wished the hour was arrived they were to renew their midnight
ramble, and thought, if she should meet a thousand ghosts, she should
not fear them, while Edwin, who loved her so tenderly and sincerely,
was near to guard her. She was eager too, but scarcely durst
acknowledge to herself she _wished_ the passage might be found which
led to the chapel in her nunnery.