The morning's light saw the Marquis Santa Cruz step into the
post-chariot that was to convey him to London. He had advised Louis
not to distress the apprehensive mind of the Marchioness, by imparting
to her, or to any of the travelling group, the afflicting scene at
Morewick; besides, under the dangerous circumstances which enveloped
Wharton's asylum there, the fewer who were privy to the secret, the
better for all parties.
Immediately after a breakfast by sun-rise; when the Marquis had driven
away, Louis led the Marchioness to her carriage. Ferdinand had already
placed his sister within it, and Don Garcia de Lima, the family
physician, with the female attendants of the ladies, took his station
in de Montemar's travelling chaise. A cold Northumbrian morning,
which, though at deep Midsummer, is sometimes saturated with fog,
chilled the delicate frame of Marcella, and wrapping herself within her
pelisse, she drew close into the corner of the coach.
The first start of the horses from the inn-gate, re-lit hope in the
breast of Louis. And as they flew along the northern road, the pinions
of his soul seemed to extend themselves; while with the animating glow
of renewed confidence in Wharton, and the sanguine expectation of soon
avowing it at his side, dilated his heart, he appeared to the eyes
of his companions a new being. Marcella sighed as she contemplated
that radiant, unobserving countenance; she saw it was happiness that
shone there. Happiness in returning whence he came! for his eyes were
directed forward with an eagerness which plainly declared that at that
moment he thought not of any one in the carriage. She was unconscious
that she sighed; and feeling the fresh air particularly bleak at that
instant, even shuddered.
"You are cold, Lady Marcella!" said Louis, hearing the gentle shiver,
and drawing up the window that was next her; "I fear our Northumbrian
breezes are rough in their welcome!"
Marcella did not speak, but bowed her head.
This little incident recalled Louis's attention to those around
him. They remained ignorant of what was in his thoughts; and the
mournful comfort which the Marquis's communications had infused there,
influenced him throughout the journey, to complete it with greater
cheerfulness than he could have affected, had his mind been still
weighed down with the conviction that he lamented an unworthy friend.
Over and over again he felt that a perfect reliance on the virtue of
a beloved object, and his acceptance with the source of all-purity,
is what takes the mortal sting from death; and though sorrow and
anxiety were full in his heart, the shafts of despair and horror were
extracted, and he thought himself equal to seeing his friend pass that
bourne--where, he trusted, one day to follow him into the land of peace.
All this genial impetus of spirit succeeded very well, until the
morning of the third day, when the travellers assembled in the
breakfast-room of the inn where they had slept, and prepared to renew
their journey. Marcella became so powerless of exertion, from the
exhaustion consequent to the two preceding days rapid travelling, that
she fainted in her way to the carriage, and was brought back in the
arms of Ferdinand into the house. Her mother, (the physician's chaise
having been some time driven on,) applied the usual restoratives;
and when she was sufficiently recovered to comprehend what was said,
the Marchioness tenderly assured her, she should not be hurried by
proceeding that day; for the Marquis de Montemar was already gone out
to order the carriage to be put up.
"At your request, Mamma?" slowly articulated Marcella.
"Yes, my child; and he complied immediately."
But how complied, the apprehensive eye of Marcella saw at once, when
he re-entered the room. His countenance was pale and troubled. He
approached her couch, but his eye roved over it.
"His wishes, his anxiety," said she to herself, "are in another
place!--It is this incomparable Cornelia, this beloved cousin he is so
eager to rejoin!--And my illness shall not detain him."
"I thank you, my dear mother!" cried she, "and you too, Marquis; but
after this fit of weakness, I am well enough to go on." "Impossible!"
cried the Marchioness, "the fatigue would destroy you."
"No;" replied Marcella, with a wan smile, "I can only be destroyed by
finding myself an incumbrance, and I know Ferdinand thinks every moment
an age till he arrive at Lindisfarne."
"Not while you are so ill, my kindest sister," replied he, "to-morrow
will find you stronger, and six fleet horses will soon make up for the
delay."
Louis turned towards the window. It might in the meeting of lovers,
who had yet many happy years before them! but an hour, or a moment,
might be sufficient to divide him for ever in this life, from the
friend of his heart!--Marcella was ill; but she was not dying; and
the determination to delay a whole day and a night, struck him with
an agony he turned away to conceal. But Marcella caught the look;
its whole expression entered her heart, and she took an instant
resolution. Perhaps an emotion of resentment; the first she had ever
known in herself, at least, the first she had ever acted upon, roused
her to extraordinary powers; for she felt that no consideration of her
possible peril, could awaken in this devoted, impatient lover, this
ungrateful kindless de Montemar, one wish to linger a moment for her
sake.
She pressed the arm of Ferdinand and whispered him.
He kissed that soft hand, and immediately withdrew. The Marchioness,
suspecting that embassy was to recall the carriage, hastened up to
Louis, and whispering him in her turn, begged him to prevail on
Marcella, not out of indulgence to her brother's haste to reach
Lindisfarne, to run herself into any risk. Before she could receive an
answer, she glided out of the room in pursuit of her son, to stop his
counter-orders, and to reprove his persisted selfishness.
Louis turned round to utter persuasions so foreign to his heart; but
a severe look from Marcella checked him: yet he drew near. She again
turned her eyes upon him; but there was an expression of distress
in his face which disarmed her resentment; and being sensible to an
undefinable sympathy, for whatever might be his motives for this, to
her, unfeeling haste, she paused a moment to consider what she should
say. A certain spirit of female dignity, that resisted, while it felt
too powerfully his influence over her, and something of her usual habit
of self-denial, impelled her to rally all her strength at once. And,
alike contemning her body's feebleness, and that weakness of heart
which had been its origin, she rose into a sitting position on the
sofa; and, with every nerve braced, and a lofty, though compassionate
air, she interrupted him as he began to speak.
"You are very kind, Marquis, to intend to obey my mother. But I am
well, and shall proceed." Louis made an attempt to answer, but again
she intercepted his first words; and, rising, rung the bell.
"Tell my mother," said she to the person who entered, "that I am ready
to attend her to the carriage."
Louis looked on her with agitation. She observed him, and turned away
her head, though with an air of unaffected serenity. Marcella was
always serene after any struggle in her soul, when the conquest was
gained.
The Marchioness, on receiving the message hurried into the room, and
found her arguments for delay, answered in every point by the steady
step and cheerful voice of her daughter. Ferdinand rejoiced in the
change, without investigating the cause; but his mother looked towards
Louis. She saw that it was some observation Marcella had made upon
his conduct, which had produced this dangerous resolution. Experience
convinced her, that so quick an alteration could not arise naturally;
but she feared to oppose the effect, and durst not conjecture the cause.
In half an hour, they were re-seated in the carriage; and, by the
orders of Ferdinand, who had received a whispered command from his
sister, the drivers kept their horses to their fullest speed.
Little conversation passed in this day's journey. The spell of the two
former ones was broken by the check in the morning. Louis wondered
how he could have felt the _ignis fatuus_ hope which that check had
extinguished; and, with proportioned despondency, he silently counted
the hours which, he believed, had too surely cut him off from the last
moments of his friend.
Marcella spoke little; for she durst not spare any waste of strength,
from the exertion necessary to bear the casualties of the journey and
to satisfy the frequent anxious inquiries of her mother. The eyes of
Louis turned often on her, with an expression of solicitude that
penetrated her heart. But the effect it produced, favoured the first
deceit she had ever practised in her life. It drove the blood from
that heart to her cheek; and she looked well when her soul was almost
fainting within her.
It was ten o'clock, on the third night after their leaving Harwich,
that the harassed party entered on Morpeth-moor, within a stage of
Alnwick. The darkness, during this latter dozen miles, concealed from
his companions the increasing discomposure of Louis. Every step drew
him now so near to Morewick, he was ready to break from the carriage,
and escape at once to the side of his dying friend. These twelve miles
seemed a hundred to his impatience; and, when the drivers drew up
before the door of the inn at Alnwick, he sprung out, as if it had been
into his Uncle's house.
Marcella would fain have made a proposal to go on, even during the
night; but nature was at last subdued; and she did not chuse to speak,
when she knew, that the now hardly articulate powers of her voice,
would too truly proclaim that she had already done too much.
The Marchioness having alighted, Louis drew near to assist Ferdinand in
bearing out his sister; but Marcella merely bowed to him, and gently
waved him away with her hand. Ferdinand threw his arms round her waist,
and supported her failing steps into the house.
She was seated, pale and silent, in a chair by the fire-side, (for
the night was cold and wet,) when Louis re-entered from giving orders
respecting their apartments. Don Garcia's hand was upon her pulse.
"Donna Marcella had best retire immediately," said the physician. "You
want rest, my child!" rejoined the Marchioness, putting her daughter's
arm within her's.
"But I shall be ready to re-commence our journey to-morrow at
day-break!" answered she, gently turning her head towards Louis. He
bowed, with a full heart; and she left the room, leaning on her mother
and the physician.
"Ferdinand," said Louis, "it is not necessary to disturb your sister
so early as she intimates. I have business at Morewick,--it is only a
few miles off,--I shall take a horse immediately; and return--" His lip
became convulsed, and he could not proceed.
"Why, what is the matter at Morewick?" hastily inquired the young
Spaniard; "Your family are at Lindisfarne!"
"All excepting Cornelia. But spare me further questions. When we meet
again--" Again he interrupted himself, and then resumed in a more
collected voice. "Rest is necessary, both for your mother and your
sister, after the hard travelling of three such days; therefore, do not
allow them to be disturbed till noon. I shall be with you long, very
long, before that!"
"This is very strange, de Montemar!" said Ferdinand, with rather a tone
of offended pride.
"For no other cause than the one that impels me," returned Louis,
"would I leave their side. But when you know it, they and you will
pardon and pity me."
"I ask no farther," said Ferdinand.