The next day every one prepared with high glee for Elwyn's promised
treat, and puzzled themselves with various conjectures as to what
kind of feast the miser would set before them. Bertha and Hugh Camelford
were very busy after something which those who saw them concluded would
be productive of mirth or mischief, no two dispositions being more
likely to succeed in a cause for which their humorous talents were
calculated; while poor Elwyn, in secret but unavailing regret, lamented
too late his yielding folly, in having been prevailed on to comply
with what he termed a very foolish and unreasonable request, viz. for
so many people to dine at his expence: but this he wisely kept to
himself, well knowing, if the part understood his sentiments, it would
expose him to their whole artillery of wit and ridicule; he therefore
made all the preparations for an excellent dinner, but his caution,
busy looks, anxiety, and distress, promised a much higher entertainment
than his repast could afford.
The company assembled at the proper time, and were seated in due form
and order, Lady de Morney at the head, and Elwyn at the bottom of
the table; when, having helped most of the party, Camelford requested
him to send him a slice of a large raised pie, which made a
distinguished figure.
Bertha cried out with well-affected terror, "Don't touch it; I am sure
'tis enchanted; I saw the crust move."
"Child, (cried Lady de Morney,) what do you mean?"
"What I say, madam, for indeed it was lifted up."
"Take care what you are apout, Elwyn, (said Camelford,) or, py Cot,
you may cut off the head of a conjurer, who has jumped into the pie
in honour of your feast."
"Suppose we let De Clavering dissect him, (said De Willows;) he
is undoubtedly the best hand at cutting up his own species."
De Clavering, who suspected some joke, cautiously raised up one side
of the crust, when, to the astonishment of the party, out jumped a
squirrel. Happy in having regained its liberty, it sprang across the
table, and immediately made its way into Edeliza's pocket, where it
was accustomed to fun for shelter. She was shocked at the danger from
which her favourite had escaped, caressed the little stranger, and
rejoiced at seeing it unhurt.
Everyone was surprised and alarmed at the unexpected appearance of
poor Pug, while the terror of the master of the ceremonies was somewhat
increased, when he saw a dish of blanc mange, which one of the ladies
was beginning to help, fall, and a variety of the most beautiful
shapes dissolve into water. This produced a general and hearty laugh.
"Fine teceptions these! (said Camelford.)--I suppose we shall find in
the rest of the pies life cats and togs, and see little Pertha turned
into a pillar of salt." As to Pug, he declared by Cot, Tavy Jones, and
the tifel, he never saw a coat run swifter on this belofed Welch mountains,
and he would pet fife hundred kineas he would not be peat if put in
podily fear.
The dishes were removed, and those originally ordered now brought on
to fill their places, which, if not altogether productive of so much
mirth, served to gratify a more craving and imporunate sense.--Elwyn
however was highly provoked and mortified at the tricks which had been
played on him, and swore, if he could discover the perpetrator, he would
insist on an apology, or compel him to take a little cold iron.
"That (said De Clavering) would be rendering your hospitality too
profuse. It would not only produce matter for conversation, but in
all probability furnish me with a job that might puzzle or improve me
in the art of surgery; and, as nature had entailed so many diseases
on us poor mortals, methinks no reasonable man would wish to
increase them."
"But, were it not for the unreasonable, (said De Willows,) you gentlemen
of the lancet and gallipot would not find sufficient opportunities to
employ your genius, and give such proofs of your chirurgical skill
and abilities."
"On my poor poty (said Hugh Camelford) I hope their apilities never will
be tried. Petter to eat squirrels, as Elwyn would have tempted us to do,
than be cutting up one another for pies and pasties!"
De Huntingfield unfortunately whispered to Roseline that he never saw
her so unusually serious, adding, he supposed she was thinking of
matrimony, and advised her to begin her attacks against Elwyn, while
the generous and hospitable fit was upon him; for, if she permitted
it to evaporate, Plutus, in all probability would again render every
avenue to his heart inaccessible to the power of love.
This remark brought the roses into her cheeks. She however denied
having formed any designs on one whose predominant passion set every
other at defiance, and declared herself perfectly guiltless of all
such hostile intentions. The hint however was sufficient to put her
upon her guard, and she exerted herself to prevent any further
observations of the like sort.
Madeline, now satisfied that the heart of Edwin was as much the slave
of the tender passion as her own, and beat responsive to her every
wish, would have relished the cheerful scene, had she not, in the
very moment of enjoyment, recollected it was the last time, for
perhaps a long long tiresome period, that she should make one of
the happy party.
Edwin, who guessed the nature of her feelings, sympathized too much
with her to be more at ease. De Clavering, who observed them both,
gave a humorous dissertation on the powers of sympathy, and execrated
its effects. The day however passed pleasantly, and the evening
concluded with a dance, in which the lively Bertha was permitted to
join, and had her favourite Hugh Camelford for a partner.--Edwin
withdrew with the ladies at an early hour. The rest of the gentlemen
returned with Elwyn to his apartment, much against his inclination,
and did not leave him till they had literally fulfilled their agreement
of emptying the miser's last bottle; then, consigning him to the care
of his servant, with difficulty found their way to their own rooms.
Neither Edwin nor his sister however had forgotten their unfortunate
friends. The former had stolen an opportunity of conveying a few nice
things to the dungeon, had delivered them to Albert, and spent half
an hour with his master, promising to renew his visit in the evening,
accompanied by the ladies. This threw a gleam of joy over the
countenance of the prisoner, who assured him he would not again
distress them by shewing so much reluctance at parting.
Albert was pressed by Edwin to enforce the necessity of his master's
endeavouring to recover all that he had lost of his reading, and by
that means acquire a proper and useful knowledge of the customs and
manners of the world, which would be absolutely essential to the
rendering it pleasant, should he ever obtain his freedom, and become
an active member of society.
"I shall find but little trouble, sir, (replied this excellent servant,)
in doing that which my poor master has himself been so anxious to
accomplish ever since he saw you and the sweet ladies, who have made
our situation in comparison comfortable. Nature had kindly done much
for him, education scarcely any thing. Now I foresee all will be right;
he is roused from his lethargy of desponding misery, and laments his
own ignorance in language, that shew him truly sensible of it. He has
insisted on being better dressed against the evening, and the book has
not been five minutes out of his hand since you left him."
"I will give you all the assistance in my power, (said Edwin,) and
fortunately at this time my father's absence renders the design less
hazardous. I have likewise another plan in my head, which I hope will
not only greatly contribute to his comfort, but do much towards the
more perfect re-establishment of his health, which I now begin to
think is not quite in the hopeless state the alarming situation in
which I first saw him led me to imagine."
Edwin next inquired of Albert how his master's wardrobe was furnished.
"I recollect (said he) you mentioned his desire of changing his dress.
I can supply his with any thing he wants."
"In that respect, sir, my master has no occasion to tax your bounty.
Toys and fine clothes were never denied, and for a long time they
had their influence, and served to amuse him."
"Good God! (said Edwin,) that this mystery could be explained!"
Albert shook his head, and immediately withdrew.
In the evening, Edwin, his sister, and Madeline, visited the prisoner;
but, if they were surprised before at the happy alteration a few hours
had produced in his looks, how much more so were they now at observing
the still greater progress in the improvement both of his health and
spirits.--He was drest in the most fashionable stile of the times,
with an elegance and neatness that astonished them: every part of his
dress was such as was only worn by persons of the highest rank,--his
clothes richly trimmed, his stockings silk, and his shoes fastened
with gold clasps.
At the approach of Roseline and her friend, his eyes sparkled with
delight. In fact, he appeared like one raised from the grave by a
miracle,--new fashioned and created. It was visible to all the party
that his chief attention was directed to Roseline. He watched her
every look, and the language of his artless soul was easily read in
every expressive and animated feature.
They were now tolerably cheerful. His fear, reserve, and timidity,
began gradually to wear off. He even ventured to address a question
to Madeline, and to gaze with tender earnestness on her friend. Edwin,
with an arch smile, reminded them it would be time to retire, when
Roseline had given proper directions respecting her patient, from whose
rapid recovery he foretold she would reap such honours as would firmly
establish her reputation, as the first female physician in the world.
"And as the best, the most gentle of her sex," added the prisoner,
blushing deeply as he ventured to express his gratitude.--"I owe
her more than life,--more than--"
"A truce with your thanks, my good friend, (cried Roseline, now
blushing in her turn.) and prove, you value our endeavours to render
you more comfortable by taking the utmost care of yourself, and by
not permitting you mind to swell on any circumstance likely to agitate
and distress you."
He promised to be directed by his friends, and to follow strictly
all their injunctions. Again they could not prevail on themselves
to leave him, till the night was pretty far advanced. On receiving a
promise from Edwin to visit him again the next morning, and one from
the ladies to be with him in the evening, he saw them depart without
any violent agitation; yet a visible gloom and reluctance pervaded
his features, not to be concealed by one who never had formed an idea
that it was either necessary or possible to disguise the feelings,
or disavow the sentiments of the heart.
Happy state of unspotted unsuspecting integrity! when no pangs of
guilt harass and corrode the mind with unceasing anguish! We can
scarcely prevail upon ourselves (when we recollect it incorruptible
advantages) to think such an enviable portion of internal peace
dearly purchased even with the loss of liberty; for, amidst all his
sufferings, out hapless prisoner could not recall on action that hung
heavy on his mind, or that awakened the scorpion sting of a reproaching
conscience. His life might justly be compared to the spotless pages
of a book, whose leaves no blot had yet defiled, but which remained
properly prepared to receive the fairest and most lasting impressions.
The expected summons for Madeline's return to the nunnery arrived.
However reluctant to obey so unwelcome a mandate, she was obliged
to comply. The parting between the lovers was attended with many
uncomfortable and unpleasant feelings.--Melancholy presentiments
were encouraged, which increased the distresses of the moment. She
could not leave the prisoner without shedding many tears. She even
envied his situation, and when she compared it with her own, it did
not appear so hopeless and solitary. He still retained on faithful
friend, and had lately met with others, who, if not so long known,
were equally attached to him: He would likewise see Edwin every day,
while she, immured in the hor d*val of a nunnery, as inimical to her
felicity as those by which he was surrounded had till then proved
to his, would be denied even the soothing influence of hope;--that
ignis fatuus of the mind had deserted its post, and left it open to
the sad encroachments of fruitless and unavailing regret.--Most severely
did she now condemn herself for every having quitted the holy asylum,
in which, if she had not found happiness, she had never felt such
conflicts as those she now endured.
Lady de Morney and Roseline accompanied her to the nunnery, and
delivered her up to the maternal care of the abbess, and the protection
of father Anselm. They both appeared pleased and satisfied with her
ready compliance with their commands, and rejoiced to see her look so
well. They had suffered great anxiety on her account, and the father,
who had visited her frequently during her indisposition, and had
cherished bu few hopes of her recovery, now told her he trusted she
would not more wish to forsake their holy sanctuary, as he doubted
not her illness was a penance inflicted by Providence for leaving it
at a season so particularly appropriated to the sacred duties of
the church.
Roseline, before she left the nunnery, accompanied Madeline to her cell,
the abbess having granted her this indulgence. Here they unobserved gave
way to the sad luxury of tears. They wept on each other's bosom, and the
sobbing Madeline, deaf to the soothing consolations of her sympathizing
friend, requested her to present Edwin with her grateful acknowledgements
for his many kind attentions, and which in the moment of parting she was
unable to express. She hoped he would not forget her, and begged his
sister to assure him, that, if she were compelled to take the veil, she
should retain his image in her heart, though her life were dedicated to
the service of her God. She likewise cautioned Roseline to beware, and
guard against the fly and dangerous intrusions of love, which brought
with them innumerable sorrows, and never to encourage hopes, as she had
done, which she feared would end in disappointment and misery.
Roseline knew these hints alluded to the prisoner; the blush which
tinged her cheek convinced her friend she was perfectly understood.
Indeed, she had before ventured to tell her, that, in her attentions
to relieve the miseries she commiserated, she might become too tenderly
a sharer in them, and, in freeing the captive from his fetters, might
herself be enslaved. Roseline thanked her friend, but denied the caution
being necessary, and instantly tool her leave, in order to put an end
to a conversation which now became unpleasant, and gave her more pain
than she chose to acknowledge.
The evening, as may be supposed, passed slowly and heavily at the
castle. Roseline felt unfeigned regret at the departure of her friend,
and Edwin found in her absence the deprivation of happiness; yet, as
it was unavoidable, he determined as much as possible to conceal his
distress from the prying eye of suspicion, and to employ every hour
he could command, in the service of the unfortunate prisoner, to whom
he felt himself irresistibly and unaccountably attached; but Edwin,
amidst his family at the castle, was not less internally wretched
than poor Madeline, counting her beads in her silent and solitary cell.
At the usual time Roseline and her brother revisited the interesting
object of her compassion. He expressed such rapture at seeing them,
and made so many acknowledgements for their friendship, that their
minds became insensibly harmonized, and their attention engaged.
Edwin now for the first time proposed removing his friend from the
dungeon to the haunted chamber, which no one dared to approach, and
which we before mentioned as having an entrance from the South tower.
Roseline obtained permission of her mother to keep possession of the
apartment into which she had accompanied Madeline; therefore they
thought his removal could be easily accomplished without any risk of
a discovery. It was agreed that Albert should attend the cells in
order to take away the provision regularly carried there. All these
matters settled, the following evening was appointed for the
accomplishment of their purpose, at the same time Edwin cherished
the most sanguine hopes that, with the assistance of Albert, and by
means of the subterraneous passage, he might sometimes obtain a
stolen interview with Madeline.
The next night Edwin, his sister, and Albert, accompanied the prisoner
to his destined apartment; but to describe his gratitude and joy, at
finding himself in a situation so comfortable and airy, would be
impossible. Every thing was new and delightful, and in the morning,
when the light (which but dimly enlivened his chamber on his arrival)
broke in upon his astonished sight, his raptures were alarming, and
his faithful attendant, with the utmost difficulty, prevailed on him
to confine them within the bounds of moderation, and cautiously to
indulge himself in looking at objects so surprising, but to other
people so familiar, they they seldom could spare a moment to
contemplate them.
When he viewed the sun, from one of the windows of his room, rising
in its utmost splendor, had not Albert prevented him, he had fallen
on his knees, and worshipped the brilliant luminary.--He observed
the birds with ecstacy, as they lightly skimmed through the boundless
regions of the air, and listened with a kind of throbbing agitation
as the lark warbled forth her morning oraisons, and, not till he had
shed tears, could he reduce his feelings to any degree of composure.
He admired the trees; his eyes rested on some of the distant hills,
and he told Albert he did not think the world had been so large and
fine a place. He next amused himself with looking round his apartment,
and at every little interval gave way to the effusions of genuine
transport.
Can it be wondered that so helpless a being should feel, on
experiencing such a change, more than mere language could express!
Liberated from misery by the benevolence of strangers,--a thousand
comforts bestowed which he had despaired of ever tasting, his
gratitude was as unlimited as his joy, and I am sure all my readers
will pardon him for still continuing to think his benefactors more
than mortal; yet at times he could recollect, with a sigh of trembling
regret, the dangers to which they exposed themselves in order to make
him happy.--Their parents, too, might shut them in a dungeon for their
disobedience. These reflections fortunately abated the fervour of this
high wrought feelings, or in all probability he would have brought on
a return of those complaints which had so much interested his young
friends in his behalf.--In a few hours he became more composed, and
endeavoured to remark every thing around him with serenity. As he was
now situated, Edwin and his sister could see him several times a day
without inconvenience or danger, and, to guard against any surprise,
they had taken care to lock the door at the foot of the stairs, strongly
fastened it within-side, and concealed the key, that none of the family
might wander that way.
In the evening, a new scene presented itself to the fight of the
prisoner, The moon and stars were pointed out to him by Edwin. At
first he mistook the moon for another sun, less brilliant, but as
beautiful. The stars he called little suns, and attempted to count
their number; and, while his eyes were raised in silent rapture to
the spangled firmament, he inquired why so much more pains had been
taken to decorate the heavens for the night, when mortals slept, than
for the day, when all nature was awake to wonder and adore. So delighted
was he with the sombre beauties of this all astonishing scene, that
it was with the utmost difficulty, after Edwin left him, that Albert
could prevail upon him to think of retiring to rest. No sooner however
was he convinced that his faithful attendant had lost in the arms of
sleep all remembrance of those scenes which kept him waking, than
her softly stole to the window, where he remained till the dews of
night and the cold blasts of an easterly wind drove him again to
his bed.
The few necessary articles which had been allowed him in his former
abode were now removed to his present one, and such added as would
tend to his comfort and convevience. As his food in the dungeon had
been conveyed to him by means of a turning cupboard, his having vacated
it could not be known so long as Albert attended at the proper times
to receive it; and, Edwin having shewn him another secret way, which
led from under the stairs in the South tower to his old habitation,
he would be able to go as often as he pleased, without any danger
of being discovered.
It was now two months after the prisoner's removal before Sir Philip
de Morney was able to fix a time for his return. A letter than arrived,
in which he mentioned, that, by the end of another fortnight, he hoped
to reach the castle. He informed Lady de Morney that he should bring
a friend with him for whom he had the highest regard, and he trusted
she would make such necessary preparations for his reception, as would
serve not only to prove the sincerity of his attachment, but the high
respect and esteem in which he was held by the rest of the family;
telling her it was no less a personage than Baron Fitzosbourne,
whose friendship had done him much honour, and in whose society
he found pleasure.
Lady de Morney, who perfectly understood by her husband's letter,
how anxious he was that his friend should be received with the utmost
splendour and hospitality, gave such orders as she hoped would
please the one and gratify the other.
In the mean while, the prisoner made such rapid improvements, as
astonished and delighted his youthful instructors. He was indefatigable
in storing his mind with all the knowledge the best authors could
impart. With returning health his memory regained its former power,
and all the natural and brilliant faculties of his mind recovered
their usual strength, and proved he was endowed with more than common
capacity and genius. His elegant form, animated features,--the serene,
ensnaring gentleness of his manners, and the mild sweetness of his
disposition, unfolded themselves by degrees, and endeared him beyond
expression to his friends.
As a curious and rare plant, guarded by the active hand, and watched
by the careful eye of the gardener, raises or depresses his hopes at
first putting forth its tender blossoms, till a kind and congenial
season brings it to maturity, and its beauties, suddenly bursting
on the sight, prove an ample reward for his fostering care,--so did
the heart of Roseline expand and rejoice at every proof the prisoner
gave of the goodness of his disposition, and the superior excellence
of his understanding.
It was clearly visible to Edwin and to Albert that a mutual passion
united the prisoner and Roseline, while every fleeting hour served more
and more to endear them to each other. Edwin, already entangled in
the toils of hopeless love, and enduring all the pangs of despair and
apprehension, trembled for the fate of a sister for whom he felt an
uncommon degree of fraternal affection, but to whom he could not
prevail on himself to mention a subject so delicate and distressing. The
prisoner made no attempt to conceal his ardent love for Roseline:--it
was an effort as far beyond his comprehension as his power, and,
though, he made no formal declaration, every word, look, and action,
betrayed the situation of his heart. Of the world he was totally
ignorant; of marriage he had not even thought,--that being a subject on
which they had never conversed, and his own situation, desperate and
hopeless as it was, now seldom engaged his attention. Roseline, and
Roseline alone, engrossed his every idea: while he saw her smile, and
heard the sound of her voice, he was contented and happy, and, when
she was absent, the wish, of rendering himself more worthy and better
able to converse with her, stimulated him to pay unremitting attention
to his own improvement, and the instructions he received; but, had he
been assured he should see her no more, he would have sunk into the
same apathy and indifference for life and its enjoyments from which
her kindness had drawn him.
After Madeline had left the castle, and before the return of Sir Philip,
Edwin, at the utmost risk of discovery, which would have involved him
and the object of his regard in danger and difficulties, prevailed upon
her to grant him several interviews in the chapel of the nunnery. One
night, Albert, having agreed to accompany him through the subterranean
passage, the trembling nun met them at their entrance, and seated near
the tomb which concealed the door, listened to the vows of her
lover.--Equally reluctant to part, they sat longer than usual, and
heard footsteps in the chapel. Madelin rightly concluded it was one
of the friars come to say mass for the soul of a nun lately dead. When
the ceremony was ended he departed, and, as the door closed after him,
the resolution of Madeline revived. She knew if they had been discovered,
even the life of Edwin would not be secure, and that she should
instantly be compelled to take those vows from which there was no
release but death.
Her own imprudence, and the danger to which her lover was exposed,
struck so forcibly upon her mind, that after he left her she could
scarcely acquire courage to return to the nunnery; and, as she passed
the aweful and silent receptacles of the dead, she was almost led to
think she heard a friendly voice warn her never again to be guilty
of so sacrilegious a crime. She glided quickly by the grave of the
nun who had been interred but a few days, and even imagined she could
perceive the earth move.--She had no sooner reached the cell, (into
which she hurried without daring to look to the right or to the left,
lest she should see the frowning spirit of some departed sister,)
than she fell on her knees, and earnestly intreated forgiveness of
the holy virgin. The next morning, far from finding her terrors abate,
they fained still greater ascendancy over her mind, by hearing that
father Anselm had been making inquiries about some footsteps he had
observed in the chapel when he went to early prayers. Recollecting
the unguarded warmth of Edwin's temper, and the eager tenderness with
which in an hour of yielding softness he prevailed upon her to indulge
him with these stolen interviews, she was fearful of acquainting him
that it was her determination to grant no more.--She wrote to her
friend Roseline, and entreated her to persuade her brother not to make
any attempts in future to see her in the chapel; but to them she left
the power of procuring as many opportunities as possible of meeting
without danger. She sincerely lamented being obliged to deprive herself
of the company of a lover to whom she was tenderly attached, and for
whose sake she was become an unwilling votary in the service of her God.
This letter was instantly communicated to Edwin by his sister. He could
not at first be easily reconciled to a measure so repugnant to his
feelings; but Roseline adding her intreaties to those of Madeline, and
pointing out the necessity of it, he became more willing to observe
the greatest caution, and to practise the most rigid present self-denial,
in order to secure his future happiness. She reminded him this it was
now four months before Madeline would enter on her year of probation,
previous to which something might happen favourable to their wishes;
observing, that their mother could at any time prevail upon the abbess
to grant Madeline leave for visiting the castle. These arguments had
so much effect, that Edwin promised his sister to make no farther
clandestine attempts to see her friend, till all other means were
rendered impracticable.
It happened about this time that Roseline was prevented, by a slight
indisposition, from visiting the prisoner for four or five days. At
first his alarm and distress were unspeakable. It was scarcely possible
to convince him that it was owing to ill health he did not see her,
and his restless impatience would have now betrayed the secret of his
heart, had it not before been discovered. He neither ate not slept;
all his spirits forsook him: the sun was no longer admired, the moon
and stars were deprived of their lustre. He wished to shun the light,
and, had all nature been lost in universal chaos, it had been a matter
of indifference now he saw not Roseline: he wondered what he could have
found to admire in any thing with which she was not connected.
Albert observed his master was very busy with his pen, and, in removing
a portfolio from his writing table, papers containing the following
sonnets dropped on the floor. He read and copied them, and gave them to
Edwin the next time he saw him.
Though they were written by one who had never drank at the Parnassian
fount, love had given such pathos to the language of taste and nature,
that he was charmed, and could not prevail on himself to with-hold
such a treasure from his sister, to whom in justice they belonged,
and who like another Iphigenia had in a manner raised a phoenix from
the same inanimate materials of which a Cymon had been formed.
Roseline, as she read the interesting proofs of genius and affection,
which she wanted not to convince her she was sincerely beloved, shrunk
from the agitated and trembling feeling of her own heart, which too
well informed her he had nothing to fear from not meeting an equal
return of regard. Absence had been as painful to her as it had proved
to the prisoner, whom love had taught a lesson equally charming and
delightful.
- - - - - - -