Not so soon, nor so easily, did the artless, the devoted Roseline lose
the remembrance of her heart-felt sorrows. Every hour, every moment, as
it fled, brought with it an increase of anguish to her agitated mind.
The most distant idea of an union with the Baron was scarcely to be
borne, as the certainty of it no longer admitted of a doubt, she shrunk
from her own reflections as she would have done from the stroke of
death. To be for ever torn from Walter--to see him no more,--no more to
converse with and soothe the sorrows of that oppressed and solitary
sufferer,--was by far a more insupportable trial than that she was
doomed to endure in her own mind and person.
From the world and its unsatisfactory pleasures she could expect no
resource:--friends she had non whose power could remove her distresses:
her only hope therefore rested on death to release her from persecution,
and the reflection most tormenting to the giddy and happy children of
prosperity, who consider life as their greatest treasure, and over whose
minds a thought of its termination will throw a gloom in the midst of
their gayest moments, proved to our heroine her only consolation. She
now considered the shortness and uncertainty of life as its greatest
blessing, and feared that time, of whom she had often complained for
being so rapid and unmarked in its flight, would now torture her by
moving in a slow and sluggard pace to the close of her days. She
continued, as usual, to make her stolen visits to the prisoner as
opportunities presented themselves; but these visits were not longer
attended with the pleasure of satisfaction. In her own mind she formed a
resolution, even if the consequence should prove fatal to herself, to
attempt obtaining the freedom of the prisoner as soon as she had lost
her own. This she considered merely as an act of humanity and justice,
and would have thought no sacrifice too great, could she have restored
that peace of which she knew her loss would deprive him.
Walter, notwithstanding much pains were taken to prevent his making any
discovery of what passed in the castle, observed so alarming an
alteration in the manners, countenance, and spirits, of Roseline, as led
him to puzzle himself with various conjectures respecting the cause;
but, as he had been often told by Albert many things occurred in the
world to harass and give uneasiness to those who were engaged in its
busy scenes, of which he could form no idea, being a stranger to their
nature, it was impossible for him to judge of their effect. He therefore
determined not to enter on a topic which might wound the feelings of
Roseline, and could not fail proportionably to distress himself; and as
he would, had it been in his power, have prevented her knowing the
slightest pang of sorrow, to her he resolutely remained silent on a
subject in which his heart was so much interested, as seldom to allow
his thinking on any other. To Albert, indeed, he ventured to make known
his tormenting apprehensions; but, as Albert was now guided by the
direction of Edwin, he only returned such evasive answers to his
questions and complaints, as just served to keep hope from sinking into
absolute despondency.
Edwin had reposed an unbounded confidence in De Clavering, De Willows,
and Hugh Camelford, in regard to his sister, and without reserve
informed them of his own engagements with Madeline, who had received the
positive commands of her father to enter on the year of her noviciate.
His situation was now become desperate; the crisis had arrived which
admitted of no alternative. He must either give up the connexion, or
make some effort to secure the prize he had taken such unwearied pains
to obtain. His friends promised secresy and assistance in whatever way
he should find it convenient to put their sincerity to the test. He had
likewise separately introduced them into the apartment of the prisoner,
and if, before they saw him, they found themselves disposed to pity and
respect him, they were now actuated by the personal regard they could
not help feeling in his behalf, which his manners and understanding
failed not to inspire in such liberal minds. Hugh Camelford declared
himself ready to tie in his defence, and to encounter a host of tevils
to procure his freedom.
Preparations were now began, and the day fixed for the wedding. The
marriage ceremony was to be performed in the chapel of the nunnery by
father Anselm, and, as Roseline made no effort to stop or postpone the
proceedings, none but the parties most intimately concerned had an idea
that she felt any reluctance to become a bride.
Edeliza and Bertha were half wild with joy: they were to be met at the
altar by the abbess, Madeline, and Agnes Clifford; the two latter
intended to officiate as bride-maids with the Miss de Morneys.--To
describe the various feelings of the parties would fill a volume.
Suffice it then to say, that Lady de Morney, far from engaging in the
necessary arrangements with pleasure and alacrity, never looked at the
dejected countenance of her daughter without feeling a severe reproof
from the silent monitor which she, like every other mortal, carried in
her bosom. Sir Philip exulted in having managed matter so cleverly as to
carry his point (a point to which the necessity of his circumstances
reduced him) with less difficulty than he expected, and the Baron,
resting satisfied that no woman in her senses could dislike him, or be
insensible to the advantages that an union with a man of his rank and
character would procure her, determined no longer to encourage either
doubts or fears as to her shyness and reluctant compliance. It might, as
her father had asserted, proceed from her inexperience, her love for her
parents, and her ignorance of the world. In this delusion we must for
the present leave him, in order to return to those for whose happiness
we confess ourselves more interested.
Roseline, who was obliged to confine her conflicts chiefly to her own
bosom, saw the preparations going forward with that settled and silent
despair, which, at the moment it evinced her fortitude, would have shewn
to those acquainted with the nature of her feelings that every hope was
precluded.
Edeliza and Bertha were astonished that their sister could see the rich
clothes, and all the paraphernalia of her bridal dress, with such
indifference. The former secretly thought she should not be able to shew
so much composure if she were as soon to give her hand to her favourite
De Willows.
The passion, which this young beauty had cherished in her innocent
bosom, had "grown with her growth, and strengthened with her strength,"
and, lately encouraged to hop meeting an equal return from the
increasing attention of the beloved object, it remained no longer in her
power to conceal her partiality, and De Willows, attached and grateful
for being so flatteringly distinguished, only waited till the marriage
of her sister had taken place to make known his inclinations to Sir
Philip, not less anxious than his lovely enslaver to have his
pretensions authorised by the approbation and consent of her father; but
he was not without his fears that the ambition, which had of late taken
such full possession of the governor's mind, might disapprove his
aspiring to unite himself with a descendant of the De Morneys.
The day before the marriage was to take place, Roseline made several
attempts to enter the prisoner's apartment without being able to
accomplish her purpose. At length she sent to speak with her brother
Edwin in her chamber, and begged of him never to forsake the dear, the
unhappy Walter, when she should be far distant. She then gave him a
letter to deliver to her unfortunate lover as soon as she had left the
castle. Of Madeline she proposed taking leave in person. On her
brother's affairs she dared not trust herself to converse, confessing
that her own distresses rendered her unable to talk, or even think, of
his being as wretched as herself.
Edwin in reply said but little; his mind seemed agitated and employed on
something he did not appear inclined to communicate. He readily agreed
to comply with her request to accompany her for the last time to the
apartment of Walter.
They found the solitary sufferer more composed and more cheerful than
they had seen him for some time; Albert too appeared lively and active.
Roseline was welcomed by her lover in a language far more expressive
than words, and as perfectly understood: his eyes rested on her pallid
and death-like countenance, with a fond, yet chastened delight, which
she thought she had never observed in them before; he took her hand,
pressed it to his lips, and looked up to her with that kind of adoration
which he would have felt in the presence of an angel. He did not seem to
notice the dejection which Roseline every moment expected would have
occasioned some tender inquiries. Edwin began to converse on indifferent
subjects; but the silent anguish he saw his sister vainly endeavouring
to conceal rendered him very unfit for the office he had undertaken. The
lovers were never less inclined to talk. The prisoner had taken the hand
of Roseline on her first entrance, and retained the willing captive
without its making one struggle to regain its freedom, till she was
startled by a tear that fell upon it.
Nature, how powerful, how all-subduing, is thy simple but prevailing
influence! The tenderest speech could not have said half so much as this
precious and expressive tear.--Till this moment out heroine had
preserved the appearance of fortitude; but now the mask fell to the
ground, and she could no longer keep up the character of heroism she had
assumed. By a kind of convulsive pressure of his hand, he perceived she
noticed his silent agitations, and it acted with the rapidity of
electricity on feelings which he found could no longer be restrained.
"My dear Walter, (said Roseline, giving him a look that penetrated to
his heart,) why will you thus distress yourself and me? You know not,
you can never know, how dear you are to the ill-fated Roseline de
Morney, whom ere long you will perhaps execrate, and wish you had never
seen; but forbear, in pity forbear to load me with a curse, that would
indeed destroy me." Suddenly recollecting herself, she added,--"Walter
will not be so unjust!--He will pity, pardon, and respect, her, who will
not be able to forgive herself if she make him wretched."
"Wretched! (exclaimed the agitated lover,)--Can I ever be wretched while
you thus kindly condescend to sooth my sorrows,--thus generously confess
that I am dear to you, and possessed of your heart?--Can it be in the
power of fate to make be otherwise than blest?"
It was too much. Roseline sunk on the bosom of her lover, and at that
moment secretly wished to breathe her last sigh, and yield up her
spotless life, in those arms which now perhaps for the last time
encircled her.
The situation of Roseline caused a general alarm. Walter, frantic with
terror, clasped her tenderly to his heart, and called upon her to speak.
It was some time before she recovered, and Edwin, who saw the necessity
of putting an end to an interview so dangerous and painful, in a voice
between jest and earnest, exclaimed, "Indeed, my good friends, I have no
relish for seeing such scenes as these performed, particularly when they
do so little credit to the performers. These high-wrought feelings may
be very fine, but excuse me for saying they are very silly. Recollect,
my dear Walter, that our Roseline advances but slowly in her progress
towards convalesence; therefore, in her present state of weakness, an
interview like this must prove very prejudicial to her recovery."
"Take her away, (cried Walter,) that I may not become a murderer; only
before we part, let me hear my pardon pronounced."
He threw himself at the feet of his weeping mistress, who, giving him
her hand, said, with a convulsive sob, "There could be no doubt of
pardon where no offence had been committed."
Edwin availed himself of this moment as the most favourable to withdraw.
He took the reluctant hand of his sister, and with a gentle compulsion
drew her away, saying, he would not tax his feelings by staying any
longer.
Roseline, again, and almost unknowing what she did, grasped the hand of
her lover, and, in a voice too low to be perfectly understood, murmured
some tender admonitions, which we doubt not were intelligible to the ear
of love, but, to an indifferent person, they might as well have been
expressed in Arabic.
Till the door shut Walter from her sight, her eyes were fixed immoveably
upon his face, with such a look of anguish, as may be earlier imagined
than described; and, when she could see him no longer, she thought the
deprivation of life would have been the greatest blessing heaven could
bestow on one so hopeless, and, had it not been for her father's
dreadful threat of destroying himself, she would have thrown herself at
the Baron's feet, and informed him how little she deserved to be his
wife who had bestowed her love upon another.
Edwin accompanied his sister to her apartment, but had too much
consideration, too much respect for her sorrows, to break in upon
moments sad but precious. Happily however for this amiable unfortunate,
she was not long permitted to indulge her heart-breaking reflections in
solitude.--Her mother and sisters requested her presence to consult her
taste, and hear her opinion on some of the preparations going forwards.
Sir Philip, from the time he had extorted her unwilling consent, had
carefully avoided another private interview, but had taken every
opportunity of caressing her in the presence of her friends, frequently
making use of various pretences to get the intended bridegroom out, in
order to draw off his attention from Roseline, constantly trembling lest
she should appeal to his generosity, or disgust him with her coldness.
Prohibited by her father's cruel vow from applying to any one, she had
no alternative but to yield to her destiny, and combat her sorrows,
unconsoled and unsupported, except by her distracted brother, who was
unfortunately nearly as hopeless as herself. Thus environed with misery,
thus entangled in the subtle toils of cruelty and oppression, she was at
times led to think she should be less wretched if her fate were
determined, concluding, from the torturing sensation of her present
feelings, she could not long support them.
The bustle, hurry, and confusion, which pervaded every department of the
castle, afforded non of its inhabitants much time for reflection or
conversation. Lady de Morney wished to question her daughter, but was
afraid of making the attempt.--She found it difficult however to obey
the mandate of her husband, which, though unnatural and unreasonable,
was absolute; therefore, after some few conflicts with herself, she
thought it better not to contend a point of so much consequence.
She saw the internal wretchedness of her daughter with the tenderest
regret, and shuddered whenever she remarked her cold and freezing manner
as soon as the Baron approached to pay her those attentions due from a
lover. She took every opportunity of giving her approbation of her
conduct, and by a thousand nameless proofs of tenderness shewed a
commiserating sympathy, which did not pass unobserved by Roseline, who,
thought she received these marks of affections in silence, determined to
avail herself of her mother's tenderness by endeavouring to interest her
in favour of the man to whom she had given her heart.
The dreaded morning came, but it came enveloped in a gloom which exactly
corresponded with the feelings, spirits, and prospects, of the mourning
bride. The sun arose invisible to mortal sight, as if unwilling to
witness a deed his brightest rays could not enliven. Dark lowering
clouds threatened to touch the turrets of the castle. The rain descended
in torrents. It appeared to the disconsolate Roseline that the very
heavens wept in pity to her sorrows; the thought was romantic, but it
was consoling.
Melancholy, and even madness itself, are said to have their pleasures,
and the most wretched sometimes steal comfort from the delusions of
imagination. Happy is it that such resources are found to sweeten the
bitter draught so many are compelled to drink!--
Roseline submitted to be dressed as the taste of her attendants chose to
direct. She was silent and passive, and made no remarks on the elegance
of her attire, or the brilliancy of the ornaments with which she was
decorated. When summoned to breakfast she attempted no delay, and on her
entrance was met by the Baron, who addressed her in a very tender and
respectful speech, as he gallantly led her to her seat. She would have
assumed a smile had she been able to command her features. She would
have said something, but speech was denied. Indeed, non of the company
appeared in a humour to converse. Lady de Morney was sad and sick at
heart, and Sir Philip himself, in the very moment he saw the
gratification of his wishes in so fair a train to be realized, felt
neither satisfied nor happy.