MISS PENDRAY'S SINGULAR ACCIDENT.
Alrina thought her cup of misery had been full long ago: but here was
another drop added to it. She was now fully convinced that Frederick had
taken her at her word and given her up, and, to be revenged of her
treatment of him, had induced her to come out into the garden, merely to
shew her that he could be as indifferent to her feelings as she had been
to his; and now Blanche knew her secret love, and would of course tell
it to all the family; and Julia would return, no doubt, and endeavour to
renew their former friendship until she discovered who she was, and what
her miserable father had been, and then she would spurn her.
Blanche returned to her after the visitors had departed, and began the
usual good-humoured badinage which passes between young ladies when a
secret love is discovered: she spoke in a playful manner at first: for
she did not know how serious it was, and she intended, if Alrina had
placed confidence in her, and told her, as a friend, of her secret love,
to have imparted to Alrina, in return, her own sorrows; and she was
surprised and grieved to find that, although she could see clearly there
was something very much amiss which preyed on Alrina's mind, yet her
friend did not seem to have sufficient confidence in her to tell her
what it was; so, to gain Alrina's confidence, in some degree, she told
her own secret first. It took a long time in the telling, although there
was not really much to tell; but it was the theme on which she had been
dwelling for weeks, and weeks, and as it was uppermost in her own
thoughts, she fancied it must be interesting in its minutest details to
everyone else. She had never spoken of it before to a single human
being, and now that she had commenced, and found, as she thought, a
willing and attentive listener, she dwelt on every trifling incident.
Alrina's thoughts were otherwise engaged, but she sympathised with the
gentle confiding creature who was pouring her thoughts and feelings into
her ear, and, when she had told her tale, Alrina said:--
"My dearest Blanche, there is some misunderstanding in all this--someone
has poisoned your father's mind: let some mutual friend but come between
and explain, and all will be well. But _my_ love, alas! is past all
healing! It cannot be! it cannot be!" and she burst into a flood of
tears, which Blanche tried in vain to assuage.
Early in the evening, Squire Pendray returned, bringing Mr. Morley with
him, for the latter believed that his brother had remained behind at
Pendrea-house for some private reason of his own, instead of following
them to Portagnes; and, moreover, Mr. Morley was very anxious to see
Miss Pendray once more, after having been absent from her so long. He
had not, it is true, pointedly asked her the question, but he had seen
sufficient of her to believe that his attentions were appreciated by
her, and that he had a fair chance of being accepted, should he venture
on that important step: and this step would have been taken long ago,
but for his anxiety to secure the vile wretches who had so stained the
character of his father, and brought him to an untimely end. He had
spoken to the squire on the subject, during their ride home, and
although he was rather inclined to get on his stilts again at first,
believing that Mr. Morley had been trifling with his daughter's
feelings, yet, when all was explained, he promised that if Mr. Morley
and his daughter could make matters up, as he termed it, he would not
object. And, while the squire went to acquaint his wife with the result
of the day's search, Mr. Morley went in search of the fair creature
whose charms had so entirely enthralled him: and so sure did he feel
that his brother Frederick had returned to Pendrea, and was there
comfortably ensconced, that he did not even enquire for him when he
returned. Oh! Cupid! Cupid! thou little perverter of men's thoughts and
tormentor of women's minds!
Alrina had scarcely recovered herself when Mrs. Pendray entered the
room and told the two young girls the whole story of the mysterious
disappearance of Alrina's father, and the fruitless search which had
been made for him by the gentlemen that day: the squire thought it best
that Alrina should be told the whole now, as there seemed no chance of
their being able to discover the body, or the parties who were concerned
in taking it away. This news came upon her so suddenly, that she could
scarcely realize it. That her father possessed more shrewdness and
knowledge than most other people she fully believed; but she did not
believe in his being possessed of any supernatural power, as many in the
neighbourhood did; and she therefore thought that the body had been
removed by some of his wicked assistants, to gratify some private end of
their own. Instead of giving way to tears again, she merely asked the
favor of being left alone for the remainder of the night, that she might
think on what course would be best for her to pursue under the
circumstances; and, so earnestly did she urge this, that her friends
were prevailed on to yield to her wishes, and she was left to her own
meditations. The gentle Blanche was very loth to leave her thus, after
the mutual understanding that had so lately sprung up between them; but,
as Alrina assured her that she required repose and meditation after the
excitement she had undergone, and that she should be better in the
morning, her kind friends retired, begging her at the same time, to
summon the domestics if she found she required anything more before they
retired for the night.
Mr. Morley sought Miss Pendray every where, in doors and out, but she
was no where to be found. One of the servants had seen her go out soon
after Captain Courland and his party left; but no one had seen her
since.--She had not returned.
This, however, was not at all unusual; she often wandered out alone, and
stayed away for hours. No one took much notice of her eccentricities.
Mr. Morley enquired where she was likely to have gone. No one could
tell: she might be gone to the Logan-Rock; or she might be, even then,
sitting on one of the lofty rocks above Lamorna Cove, where she
sometimes sat for hours watching the waves; or she might even be gone on
so far as Tol-pedn-Penwith.--It was very uncertain which route she might
have taken. One thing, however, the household were pretty certain
about,--she was on the high cliffs somewhere, for she seldom went
underneath.
Mr. Morley was determined to find her, and bring his suit to an issue at
once; and he thought that, if he could have the good fortune to meet her
alone on one of those distant headlands, he would have ample time to say
all he had to say during the walk back; so he started in pursuit.
Miss Pendray's proud spirit could not brook the repeated slights to
which she had been subjected by Mr. Morley, as she thought, and the
indifference with which he had treated her: he had been at Pendrea-house
again, and had not thought proper to see her or even to inquire for her.
So, as soon as Captain Courland and his party were gone, she went out in
no very amiable mood, and walked along the edge of the highest cliffs at
a brisk pace; and so absorbed was she in thought, that she did not seem
to notice the wild scenery, which generally had such attractions for
her, nor did she think of the distance she was walking, until she found
herself standing on one of the highest and most dangerous of the
headlands to be found on that part of the coast, many miles from
Pendrea-house, and no great distance from Tol-pedn-Penwith. She had, by
this time, worked herself up to such a pitch of anger and
disappointment, that she did not see her dangerous position. As she
thought of the treatment she had received, she stamped her foot
indignantly, and, in doing so, the crumbling rock on which she was
standing gave way, and, with a shriek, she fell with it; but,
fortunately, there happened to be a ledge of rocks a few yards down,
standing out from the cliffs, which broke her fall and saved her from
being engulphed in a watery grave, if she was not dashed in pieces by
the fall from that great height. She was stunned by the shock, and lay
insensible for some minutes on the narrow slip of rock which had so far
saved her life. When she recovered her senses again she was afraid to
move, lest this rock should give way too; and she shuddered as she
looked down on the foaming water, which dashed against the rocks some
hundred feet beneath her. And there she lay, in unspeakable terror,
fearing that the next moment she might be precipitated into the abyss
below.
Dreadful suspense! she had scarcely ever known what fear was until now.
The shades of evening were fast gathering round her, and the fear of
having to remain all night on that dread spot roused her, and something
of her wonted courage returned. Looking about, she saw that the ledge of
rock on which she was lying appeared to be the entrance into a cavern;
but how large it was, or whether it was merely a chasm in the rock
extending down to the sea, she did not know. She crept cautiously in,
feeling her way, as she went. For several feet she found the rocks hard
and firm; here she could rest securely. She sat and looked out on the
broad ocean before her; and the more she reflected on her awful
situation, the more disheartened did she feel. She saw nothing before
her but a lingering death. No boat could approach the rocks underneath;
indeed she could not be seen, unless she ventured out on that narrow
ledge of rock again. When she had rested herself a little, she explored
a little further, creeping cautiously along in the dark cavern. At last
she thought she saw a light. She stopped, and looked around. The cavern
was dark, except just at the entrance; but these lights seemed to be
coming from the further end. She crept on a little further, and was at
last convinced that this light came from some opening in the interior;
but whether it came from above or below she could not tell;--perhaps it
came from below. There was probably, she thought, a deep chasm running
down to the sea from the interior of the cavern, and if she ventured too
near she might be in danger of falling through. She crept a little
nearer, and then sat on a rock to meditate on her position, keeping her
eyes steadily fixed on this faint stream of light at the extremity. She
was now begining to feel cold and uncomfortable; her delicate hands and
arms were lacerated by the rocks, and her fingers were sore from holding
on to them so firmly: in her fear and anxiety for her safety, she did
not feel these injuries before, but now her scratches and bruises were
beginning to make themselves felt, and there she sat in the greatest
agony, both of body and mind.