No sooner had the duke, accompanied by Macpherson, who waited for
him, left the castle, than Mrs. Seymour sought Lady Margaret in her
apartment. The door was fastened from within:—it was in vain she
endeavoured by repeated calls to obtain an answer.—a strange fear
occurred to her mind.—There were rumours abroad, of which she was not
wholly ignorant. Was it credible that a sudden paroxysm of despair
had led her to the last desperate measure of frantic woe? The God
of mercy forbid! Still she felt greatly alarmed. The duke returned
not, as he had promised: the silence of the castle was mournful; and
terror seemed to have spread itself amongst all the inhabitants. Mac
Allain entered repeatedly, asking Mrs. Seymour if the duke were not
to have returned at the hour of dinner; and whether it was true that
he was gone out alone. Eight, nine, and ten sounded; but he came not.
Mac Allain was yet speaking, when shrieks, long and repeated, were
heard. The doors burst open; servants affrighted entered; confusion
and terror were apparent in all. “They are come, they are come!”
exclaimed one. “We are going to be murdered. The rebels have broken
into the park and gardens: we hear their cry. Oh, save us—save us from
their fury! See, see, through the casement you may behold them: with
their pikes and their bayonets, they are destroying every thing they
approach.” Mac Allain threw up the sash of the window: the servants
crowded towards it. The men had seized whatever arms they could find:
the women wept aloud. By the light of the moon, crowds were seen
advancing through the wood and park, giving the alarm by one loud and
terrific yell. They repeated one word more frequently than any other.
As they approached, it was plainly distinguished:—murder! murder!
was the cry; and the inhabitants of the castle heard it as a summons
to instant death. The Count Viviani’s name and Lady Margaret’s were
then wildly repeated. The doors were in vain barricadoed and defended
from within. The outer courts were so tumultuously crowded, that it
became dangerous to pass. Loud cries for the duke to appear were heard.
A rumour that the heir of Delaval was alive had been circulated—that
blood had been spilt. “Let us see our young lord, long life to him!”
was shouted in transports of ecstasy by the crowd; whilst yells of
execration mingled against his persecutor and oppressor. “Return: shew
yourself to your own people: no ruffian hand shall dare to harm you.
Long life to our prince, and our king!”—Suddenly a bugle horn from
a distance sounded. Three times it sounded; and the silence became
as general as the tumult previously had been. In the space of a few
moments, the whole of the crowd dispersed; and the castle was again
left to loneliness and terror.
The inhabitants scarcely ventured to draw their breath. The melancholy
howling of the watch-dogs alone was heard. Mrs. Seymour, who had
shewn a calm fortitude in the hour of danger, now sickened with
despondency. “Some direful calamity has fallen upon this house. The
hand of God is heavy upon us.” She prayed to that Being who alone can
give support: and calm and resigned, she awaited the event. It was
past three, and no news of the Duke. She then summoned Mac Allain,
and proposing to him that he should arm himself and some others, she
sent them forth in quest of their master. They went; and till their
return, she remained in dreadful suspense. Lady Margaret’s door being
still locked, she had it forced; but no one was there. It appeared
she had gone out alone, possibly in quest of her brother.