THE LOST BRIDE.
VOL. II.
THE LOST BRIDE.
BY
GEORGIANA LADY CHATTERTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1872.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL,
BLENHEIM HOUSE.
THE LOST BRIDE.
CHAPTER I.
CASTLE HALL, AND ITS BEAUTIFUL GHOST.
As we drove home Aunt Jane said that she felt sure that Mrs. Lacy had
something on her mind, for she had never known her to be so reserved
before.
“But we may go there again before Cunigunda arrives, may we not?” asked
I, for I longed to ramble over the old ruins, and penetrate, if
possible, into those uninhabited and haunted rooms.
“Yes, we will come here for that purpose; but I see plainly that Mrs.
Lacy does not wish to have any visitors.”
So we drove over the next day, but instead of approaching the house by
the usual route, we took another road through the park, which led by the
river-side, and crossing a bridge, drove up the steep hill by the old
road which led to the former entrance to the ancient Castle, and there
we wandered about for hours, to our heart’s content.
There is nothing I ever loved more than wandering among ruins and old
dwellings. As a child in Italy I used to enjoy it, but the bright south
does not seem to harmonize so well with bygone ages as the more mellowed
tints of English skies. There was something, too, in the cloudy day
that seemed to accord so well with the sight. The very gloom seemed,
like moonlight, to harmonize with the mystic spirit of bygone ages which
pervaded the old Castle Hall.
I found myself thinking of the people who inhabited it many centuries
ago. They seemed to live and breathe around me. How is it that the past
tells one more of the future than the present ever does? I suppose that
the spirit-world into which the past sends us--the world of shadow,
which seems more present with us than the actual things or people we
see--has more of permanence about it, and consequently leads us to hope
for an eternal hereafter, making one happy with a kind of hallowed,
solemn, yet trembling hope. I felt as if all the spirits of the former
inhabitants were hovering protectingly around me, and, except in the
darkness, I do not dread to see them. But I suffer from nervous panic
fears at night, in most old houses, and cannot get over it. Yet I always
find them particularly pleasant by day.
We first walked round the inner court of the ancient Castle, and peeped
down into the dungeons and cellars, and tried, from the top of some
mounds of earth and stones, to make out the plan of the original
building. Then I climbed as far as the broken staircase would allow,
inside Cæsar’s Tower, which reached scarcely half-way up that lofty
building, and then I penetrated through a dark, narrow passage, into
some of the windowless rooms of the wing which wound down the hill
towards the present Hall. The floors were partly gone, but I managed to
climb along the sides, where stone projections gave me tolerably firm
footing.
Part of the carved ceilings still remained in some of them, and I
fancied that the rooms overhead must be in a better condition, for I
felt sure by the outside appearance, and from the rows of upper windows,
that there was a story above. But in vain I searched for a staircase, or
some means of getting on to the higher level. After a most diligent
search, I was obliged to give up the attempt.
In the part nearest Cæsar’s Tower, I saw there were two stories above
the ruinous suite through which I rambled, and that the fourth story
must be on a level with the beautiful oriel window of the great tower
which overlooked the precipice. Ah! what would I not give to reach that
window! I thought I would resolve to try on the outside whether any
tower staircase still remained; so I went down to the room underneath,
climbed through a ruined window, and found myself on a narrow strip of
grass on the precipice side of the walls. The footing was not very safe,
but I persevered till I passed round a projecting buttress, which point
commanded a splendid view down upon the Hall to the right, and towards
Cæsar’s Tower on the left. I had a little sketch-book in my pocket, and
as I stood (for there was not room to sit down), I made a sketch of
Cæsar’s Tower and the beautiful oriel window. I fancied I could discern
some painted glass in one of the upper mullions, and there was
certainly glass in all except one compartment. I made a correct sketch
of the window, and endeavoured to copy the coats of arms and red cross
of the Rolands, when, just as I was putting the last stroke, I saw
something pass inside, and then, for an instant, a beautiful pale face
appeared at the open compartment. It was gone in a moment. Could it have
been fancy? I thought, so instantaneously was it gone. I waited some
time in hopes it would appear again--or had the wind blown something
across the open space, in the folds of which I had conjured up a lovely
face? I could see that some creepers were growing on the battlements
above the window, and there might be some inside on which the light
fell, and my vivid imagination may have turned it into a lovely face.
Aunt Jane’s voice, proceeding from one of the ruined chambers over my
head, calling to me in great alarm, entreated me to return.
“How could you stand in such a perilous position, child?” she said, when
I had re-climbed through the ruined gable, and joined her up in the
windowless and floorless rooms.
“And how could you get up into this perilous spot?” I retorted, as I saw
her perched up on the stone parapet.
“Well, I am a good climber, too,” she laughingly said, “but I could not
have stood to make a sketch on that narrow ledge where I saw you; and
what a good view you have taken, too!”
“And I have seen the ghost also,” I said triumphantly. “I am sure it was
Lady Alice; nothing but a ghost could appear and disappear so quickly as
the beautiful face did in the oriel window, and I don’t wonder now at
what we hear!”
“A face!--impossible! Why, there is no entrance. I have been searching
everywhere to try and get up to these upper rooms, and there certainly
is none.”
We then went into the open courtyard, and looked in all directions.
“Perhaps there may be a way up to them from the old chapel,” said Aunt
Jane. “Look! its high roof is just on a level with that second story,
and the third story in yonder buildings is on a level with the oriel.”
We both felt the greatest curiosity to penetrate the mystery, but it was
now getting too dark to proceed with the search, and Aunt Jane did not
like to delay our drive down the steep hill and through the thick woods
any longer, so we woke up our little driver, who had fallen fast asleep
on the box, and went home.
We determined, however, to return the next day; but unfortunately the
news reached us in the morning that the family were expected to arrive
that very day at Castle Hall. So there was an end of our researches and
pleasant rambles, for we both determined not to go near it while
Cunigunda was there.