To her direct thy looks; there fix thy praise,
And gaze with wonder there. The life I gave her
Oh! she has used it for the noblest ends!
To fill each duty; make her father feel
The purest joy, the heart dissolving bliss,
To have a grateful child.
Murphy.
The manners of Isabel were peculiarly frank and playful; the
consciousness that her life was spent in the discharge of active duty,
gave the same energy to her mind, which bodily exertion did to her
nervous system. She never acted under the influence of motives which
required disguise; the simplicity of her habits, her ignorance of the
world, and innocence of intention, gave such an undesigning engaging
character to her conversation, that whoever spoke to her, might think
themselves addressing one of those pure intelligences, who are incapable
of falsehood or disguise. To a mind so modelled, a secret was a dreadful
burden, especially when compelled to hide it from one, whom love induced
her to treat with peculiar confidence, and who often complained of her
reserve, and asked the meaning of those embarrassed looks, that
impatience to break from him, and those thousand mysterious contrivances
upon petty occasions, which were so new to her character, and might have
awakened jealousy in the most unsuspicious heart.
On his being first domesticated in the Beaumont family, Lord Sedley was
charmed with that elegance of arrangement, which contrived to make a
bare sufficiency of the simplest fare, look like plenty. He had wondered
how the little means he knew they possessed, could be so multiplied,
even by the most provident frugality, as, like the widow's oil and meal,
to supply their own wants, and yet afford a portion to the hungry
traveller. Formerly, when he reconsidered at night the behaviour of the
family, he used to be able to account for all their actions, and could
testify that their time was virtuously and wisely employed, without the
least alloy from caprice, indolence, or inconsiderateness. Dr. Beaumont
and Constantia went at their appointed hour to visit the villagers; Mrs.
Mellicent sorted her simples, compounded her medicines, and examined her
patients; Isabel superintended the domestic management.--Williams was
caterer, gardener and serving-man; the relics of yesterday's meal were
neatly reserved, garnished with "roots, cut in characters," and the
sauce spiced, as if it were for Jove. After dinner, literature, wit, or
piety, gave a zest to their conversation, and made the lone ruins of
Waverly Hall the scene of a regale, often unknown in palaces. But now
every proceeding was deranged and perplexed, no one seemed to enquire
into the engagements of the others. Isabel was often absent, and often
neglected the duties to which she once used to affix importance.--Williams
was employed in some business, which all but himself seemed tacitly to
admit was of infinite concern. The provisions clandestinely disappeared,
and the family seemed to think it necessary to repair the waste, by
eating more sparingly. Instead of wishing to sit up to sing, when every
body else was sleepy, Isabel was the first to hint the benefit of early
hours, yet in the morning her faded cheeks and sunk eyes indicated that
the night had been spent in watching. Nay, what more excited his
apprehensions, he discovered that besides the evening devotions, to
which he had been long admitted, there was a secret service, which left
on all their faces the mark of tears.
Love, terror, pity, anxiety, and doubt, alike prompted Lord Sedley to
discover the cause of this marked alteration. He determined to watch
Isabel, and the next night saw her leave the house, soon after midnight,
and enter an avenue of sycamores at some distance. He immediately
followed her; a loud barking of dogs changed every other emotion to
lively apprehensions for her safety, but he soon saw her run back, and,
on observing him coming to meet her, assume an untroubled countenance.
"Has this serene night," said she, "made you too a truant with your
pillow? I have, of late, been little disposed to sleep, and enjoy a
moon-light walk amazingly."--"Do not those dogs annoy you," inquired
Sedley, with more of moody displeasure than tenderness; "I should think
they would form but a harsh response to your soliloquies." She answered,
they did not always discover her, and she ran back when they were
troublesome. Sedley asked her if it would not be better to secure
herself from danger by the protection of a companion. "If you mean to
offer yourself," replied she, "I must say, no. My uncle is constantly
dissuading the villagers from attending night-meetings, which, he says,
though they may be innocent, yet give occasion for reproach; and we must
be careful not to countenance impropriety, by setting an ill example."
"Yet, surely," replied Sedley, "the prudence of these midnight
wanderings is not so unquestionable. Were I of a jealous temper, I might
imagine some presumptuous rival haunted your avenue, and that I even now
detain you from an assignation."
"You will think otherwise," answered she, "when I tell you that I say a
prayer when I quit my uncle's house, and a thanksgiving when I return;
and you know, if my excursion were indecorous, I durst not so tempt
Providence. I ascribe my meeting you to-night to accident, but I will
tell you, dearly as I love you, Arthur, if I thought you watched me from
suspicion of my conduct, I would never speak to you more."
Sedley was awed by the ingenuous resentment which appeared in her
manner. Was it the effrontery of practised perfidy? Impossible! With an
air of pious enthusiasm, she raised her eyes to the clear expanse,
splendidly illuminated by the full-orbed moon and attendant stars, and
clasping her hands in fervour of devotion, besought that Divine
Omniscience, who neither slumbered nor slept, that aweful witness of all
her actions, so to prosper the most ardent desires of her soul, as she
endeavoured to frame them in conformity to his will. "I shall now," said
she, "pursue my walk down the avenue. If you suspect me, follow me,
witness the innocence of my conduct, and forfeit my love. If you confide
in my integrity, return to the house, and never again subject my
reputation to the reproach of being seen with you at night in so lonely
a scene; but, if you wake at this hour put up a prayer for my
preservation."
"The forfeiture of your love, dearest Isabel," said Sedley, "is a
penalty I dare not incur; yet remember I have trusted you with all my
own secrets."
"I have made an equally frank return," answered she, "I have told you
all mine, even that I love you most tenderly, and wish every obstacle
could be removed, which threatens to prevent our journeying hand in hand
through life; but these walks I must take alone. Here every night I must
remain two hours. Ask not if I am a sorceress, consulting an evil
spirit, or a papist doing penance for a crime. You distress me, Arthur,
by thus lingering and turning back to watch me; I thought your mind
superior to jealousy."
"Does not concern for your safety," said he, in an impassioned tone,
"justify my unwillingness to leave you; your family are known to be
zealous Loyalists. A troop of horse are now stationed at Preston, and
always sending out foraging parties."
Isabel paused for a moment, extremely agitated; then turning round,
answered, "The holy angels hover round me; I will trust to their
protection, and defy Morgan and the republican myrmidons."
If Sedley for a moment suspected any thing improper in Isabel's
mysterious behaviour, his doubts now gave place to that perfect
confidence which candour and virtuous simplicity ever impart to
congenial minds. But in proportion as he revered the holy fortitude,
which evidently supported her in these nocturnal adventures, so were his
fears roused by a sense of the danger, with which, as she admitted, they
were attended. She had pointed out Morgan as an enemy whom she dreaded.
Sedley recollected the civilities he had received from him, and blamed
himself for having been remiss in endeavouring to conciliate a man, who
had power over the fortunes of his best beloved. He considered
therefore, that it was a duty he owed to Isabel to call on Morgan, and
try to discover if he had laid any hostile schemes against the
Beaumonts.
Though Morgan affected to be made of the most stern republican
materials, a visit from a nobleman, and an ostensible favourite of
Cromwell's, was a high gratification. He received his guest with
boisterous hospitality, and without any regard to his diminished
strength, dragged him over his demesne, and shewed him all its beauties.
It was, he said, a mere dog-hole, when he bought it for a song; his
ponds, now well stocked with carp, were originally tan-pits; his garden
was a slate-quarry; the phillireas now clipped into well-proportioned
dragons, grew just as nature shaped them; and the hall he had neatly
plaistered and white-washed was then disfigured with painted saints, and
carved tracery. He hinted with a smile, that he had turned the times to
a pretty good account, and was grown warm. Royalists were soon alarmed,
and bled freely. Besides the per centage, when compounding for their
estates, there was generally a little private oiling the hands of
committee men. He talked of his stock of wines, liberal table, rich
hangings, and the universal plenty of good things which he enjoyed; and
strongly urged Lord Sedley, now he was able, to remove from the
penurious dwelling which could just serve his turn, while his wounds
were healing, and reestablish his health, by residing with his humble
servant, Zedekiah Morgan, at Saint's-Rest, till he thought fit to return
to his own princely mansion, Castle-Bellingham.
Sedley made a civil reply, intimating that his duty required him to
remain where he was, and that as a soldier, he must despise luxuries.
"True," answered Morgan; "trained in the school of our noble general,
you choose to see with your own eyes, what plots the malignants are
hatching. There is not a more suspected family than Beaumont's in this
neighbourhood." Sedley encouraged this communicativeness, and Morgan
proceeded to say, "that since the last defeat, the chief crime the
disaffected could commit, was concealing those who had distinguished
themselves in the insurrections."
Six bloody-minded cavaliers had been lately turned loose upon the
peaceable inhabitants. Major General Lambert refused them quarters, when
he granted terms to Pontefract garrison[1]; but the horrid creatures had
fought their way out and escaped, though he gloried in saying, the
county was so well disposed, that three of the knaves, (and among them
their scoundrel leader, Morrice) had been retaken--"And terrible dogs, I
promise you," said Morgan, "they were, as ever you looked upon; hacked
and gashed, and so reduced by famine, from hiding in holes and caves,
that they could hardly stand. So we hanged them, without judge or jury,
and made them safe. But three are still at large, and I can hardly sleep
in my bed for fear of them. I will read you a description of their
persons, and the names they pretend to go by. Humphrey Higgins, aged
seventy, lean, and would be a tall man, only bent double, has but one
eye, and lost the use of his right arm: Memorandum, thought to be the
man who shot Colonel Rainsborough at Doncaster.--William Dickson, aged
twenty-four, has been seen begging on crutches, with one leg contracted;
and Timothy Jones, who pretends to be mad and paralytic, a most
ferocious terrible malignant; curses the godly covenant, and wishes the
Round-heads had but one neck, and he stood over them with a hatchet.
Now, my Lord, if these Beaumonts should, out of hatred and malice to our
upright rulers, hide any of these murderous miscreants in the vaults,
recesses, or secret-chambers of the old ruins, which they may pretend to
live in for the very purpose, I trust your Lordship's penetration will
unearth the foxes, so that they may be brought to condign punishment,
and I heartily wish our noble General had as faithful a spy in every
delinquent's family in the three nations."
Sedley suppressed his indignation, and assured Morgan he would not fail
to report to government whatever he thought culpable in the conduct of
the Beaumonts, who were apparently benevolent and humane; but on
Morgan's suggesting that was a mask often assumed by the blackest
malignity, he allowed the truth as a general remark, and took his leave,
aware that the best means of preventing the persecution of his friends
was to conceal his own sentiments.
In the way back he called on Dame Humphreys, whose attention to him,
during his illness, corresponded with her usual artless kindness and
true benevolence. He found her in the most dreadful distress; her
husband's malady was increased to violent frenzy; she assigned as the
cause, his incessantly listening to what she called "long preachments
about the Devil;" but he gave a different account. He was sure he had
seen Sir William Waverly sitting at the outside of a mausoleum he had
built in the park, without his head, and an angel standing by him. He
knew it was an angel, for it looked white and shining; and the other
must be Sir William, because he had in part pulled down the old church,
which his fore-fathers had built, to make a grand burying-place for
himself and his family, and though his body was thrown into a hole where
he was killed, that was no reason why his spirit might not walk in his
own park. The Dame was prevented from making further comments on this
narrative by concern for her husband's situation. He lay, she said,
roaring and foaming at the mouth, thinking what he had seen was a
warning of his own death. The chamber was full of godly ministers, who
would not let her send for a doctor, saying the case was in their way,
and that they would dispossess him. But in spite of all they did, he
grew worse, and was in such terrible convulsions, that she feared if he
did not make away with himself, still he must die.
Sedley sincerely pitied her distress, and, in compliance with her
wishes, promised to send the good old Doctor to her to try if he could
do any good. A lover sees his mistress in every object. Combining the
suspicions of Morgan, the appearance at the mausoleum, and the
night-wanderings of Isabel, a sudden apprehension came across Sedley's
mind, and determined him to see to what part of the park the sycamore
avenue pointed, and he soon found it ended in a coppice, which shaded a
ruined church, and a stately sepulchre, inclosed with iron pallisades,
that had escaped the general pillage, which, in those times of rapacious
sacrilege, spared not the altar of religion nor the silent repositories
of the dead.
Sedley examined the modern structure. The gate was closed, and the bolts
rusted in the wards. The long withered grass bore no marks of having
been recently trodden; every thing appeared in the state in which it
might be supposed to have been left, when the vain-glorious unfortunate
projector of this monumental trophy of his own greatness augmented the
heaps of dead who were interred without religious rite or distinction of
rank, after the fatal battle of Marston-Moor ended the efforts of the
Royalists in the north of England. The unoccupied tomb stood as a solemn
warning against the fond precautions of low cunning and versatile
policy. Sedley now proceeded to the church, which was a complete ruin.
The roof was broken, and the entrances were blocked up with large stones
that had fallen from the walls; yet not so totally, but that a slender
person might find admittance into the building from the south-porch. As
he looked in, he thought fancy might select this as the scene where the
Anglican church, prostrate on her own ruins, mourned her departed glory
and her present desolation in undisturbed silence, far from the sympathy
of her friends, and the insults of her enemies. He called aloud, but the
echo of his own voice reverberating through the aisles was his only
answer. Though the wintry sun shone with meridian splendor, and cast his
slanting rays through the apertures in the roof, so as to allow him to
see the falling monuments and mutilated statues which were intended to
commemorate the mighty of past ages, there was such an aweful solitude
and petrifying horror in the whole scene, that he thought it impossible
for Isabel to make nocturnal visits to such a place, believing his own
courage would be scarcely equal to the undertaking, when darkness or the
pale splendor of the moon added to its profound melancholy. There was,
indeed, a slight appearance of a path to the most practicable entrance,
but he could not help thinking it was made by some wild animal, which
had chosen one of the vaults for its hiding-place.
Still ruminating on Isabel's concealed adventures as he returned, Sedley
perceived a handful of sweet bay lying in the grass, which he
recollected seeing her gather the preceding evening, with peculiar
attention to the reviving fragrance of the evergreen. Every doubt was
now removed. This was the spot which a young and beautiful female
visited alone at midnight. No base inclination, no unworthy passion
which shunned the light, could stimulate such an enterprize. Piety must
bestow the inspiration; and that fortitude which results from conscious
rectitude must confirm the trembling knees, and guide the cautious steps
of the heroical adventurer.
A more honourable and praise-worthy principle than doubt or curiosity
now led Sedley to discover what the treasure was which Isabel thus
clandestinely visited. On his return, he mentioned to the family the
dreadful situation of Humphreys, and described the spectral appearance
to which it was imputed, "Absurd and impossible!" exclaimed Isabel,
while a deep crimson flushed her face. Mrs. Mellicent turned very pale,
and remarked that she did not entirely disbelieve all accounts of
visionary notices of the future world. They might act as warnings to
sinners, or as a call to an unbeliever. "True," replied Isabel, "but the
contradiction of this is evident. Why should a good angel be connected
with the apparition of Sir William Waverly? And, far from tending to
reform Humphreys, the impression on his mind has produced distraction."
Dr. Beaumont, who had remained silent and meditative during this
conversation, now required Isabel to attend him before he went to offer
his services to the afflicted farmer.
Sedley embraced the opportunity of their absence to examine more
minutely the ruins of Waverly Hall. The thickness of one of the
remaining walls struck him as singular; it was an abutment behind the
chimney of what had been the banqueting-room, the wainscot of which was
left in this place entire. Sedley inspected every pannel, and at last
found one which slided, and afforded him an entrance into a small but
perfect apartment, lighted from the ceiling, and which had probably
served as a secret chamber to conceal the plate and valuables of the
family, being so completely concealed by the contrivance of the
architecture as not to be discernible on the outside. Was it not
strange, that, with so secure and convenient a lodging close at hand,
Isabel should chuse to deposit her treasure at such a distance? Had she
overlooked this asylum, or avoided the use of it as a lure to deceive
the vigilance of Morgan? Sedley proceeded in his search, explored every
subterraneous vault and recess; but no signs of recent inhabitation
could be found. He returned again to Morgan, commended his zeal for the
good cause, but assured him, that though he had discovered many places
proper for concealment, not a ghost of a royalist could any where be
found.
"You say well, excellently well, my young Lord," replied Morgan,
chuckling at the idea of his own superior sagacity; "yet for all that
there is a ghost, aye, and he chuses a proper scene for his pranks, but
we will lay him to-morrow morning." He then informed Sedley that
Priggins had just been with him to say their neighbour Humphreys was
troubled in the spirit, and, in a late wrestling with Satan, had been
favoured with a vision, in which he had seen the ghost of Sir William
Waverly in torment, complaining that there was a royalist in his grave
who would not let him rest. "I believe not a word of the business," said
he, "and defy the whole tribe of apparitions; but, as Your Lordship must
see, it is my duty to search the burying-place, and the old church
immediately."
Sedley suppressed his apprehensions, and coolly answered, he had
reconnoitred the outside, and believed he had never seen a more desolate
and unfrequented spot. "All the better for such a purpose," answered
Morgan; "these bloody fugitives would not chuse highways and
market-places for their cabals. But I don't like to venture among these
terrible fellows without being protected; so I have sent for the Preston
horse, and ordered them to bring the blood-hounds; and as Your Lordship
has been there, I will thank you to be our guide. But, hark! not a word
to the Beaumonts, or the birds will be flown."
Sedley preserved the serenity of his features, promised punctual
attendance, and remarked that, to prevent any alarm from suspicion of an
intercourse with Morgan, it would be expedient for him to hurry back.
His anxiety to rescue the threatened victim was nearly as lively as the
assiduity of Isabel; yet not daring again to request the confidence she
had so peremptorily refused, he thought his best plan would be to watch
the cemetery; and, pretending to retire indisposed to his chamber, as
soon as it was evening he hurried, unobserved, down the avenue, entered
the church, and concealed himself behind a pillar, from whence he had a
full view of a door partially obstructed with rubbish which, he
supposed, opened into the mausoleum.
A little before midnight, he heard the sound of feet; the shade was
withdrawn from a dark lanthorn; and he discovered Isabel by its feeble
light, as she held it up, and with cautious anxiety seemed to explore
the ruins, to be assured that all was safe before she ventured on her
nocturnal employment. She then approached the door, and whispered to the
invisible inhabitant of the sepulchre. Sedley heard a bar fall, and saw
her remove a portion of the rubbish, enter the dreary abode, and
re-close the door. Listening, he heard voices conversing in low murmurs.
Could a lover resist making a further discovery? He determined to open
the door sufficiently to steal a view of the object concealed, and
afterwards to join Isabel on her return, and apprize her of the
necessity of selecting another asylum.
The stolen view was aweful and impressive. The inside of the cemetery
was lighted by a lamp that shewed it was furnished with those articles
of comfort which rendered it an habitable abode. On a neat pallet lay an
aged gentleman, corresponding, in his appearance and infirmities, with
one of the fugitives from Pontefract described by Morgan. Isabel had
already spread a table, on which were placed the refreshments she had
just brought, and a prayer-book. She was at that moment employed in
chafing his benumbed limbs, and at the same time looking up at her
patient with the tenderest affection, smiling through the tears of
anxiety and compassion; while, as he bent over her, shrinking with acute
pain from her light and tender touch, a glow of sublime affection
illuminated his pale and furrowed features.
It was at this moment that the wind, rushing down the aisles of the
church, forced the door out of Sedley's hand, and revealed him to the
father and daughter as a witness of their affecting interview. The
reader must have anticipated that no motive less potent than filial
piety could have stimulated the heroism of Isabel. Surprise extorted
from her a loud shriek; and the disabled Evellin snatched a carbine,
which stood charged within his reach, and pointed it at the invader of
their retreat. Isabel hung upon his arm. "'Tis my preserver! 'Tis my
father!" exclaimed she, addressing them alternately. "Oh! Sedley, how
durst you disobey me!"
"Young man," said the stern veteran, in a voice which denoted that an
unconquered soul still tenanted his decaying body, "instantly tell your
motive for this intrusion. My daughter addresses you as a friend, but
your name announces a double traitor."
"Then it belies my heart," answered Sedley, "for I come devoted to your
service, impatient to assist in the preservation of persecuted worth.
The generous bravery of the renowned Colonel Evellin must endear him to
every soldier, even if he were not the father of that matchless
excellence who kneels beside you, and stays your arm from taking the
life of one whose purpose is to preserve yours."
"I have seen too much of the world," answered Evellin, "to trust smooth
talkers. Sentiments are easily uttered; they are all the fashion; and
the butcher now uses them to the lamb he slaughters. I am a disabled
soldier of that King whom regicides are now subjecting to the mockery of
a public trial; and I am as ready to follow my Prince to the scaffold as
I have been to fly to his banner when thousands were false. Hear me yet
further. I am one of the proscribed victims who escaped from Pontefract.
The hardships I have endured have deprived me of the use of my limbs;
yet I am still dangerous to usurpers. A price is set upon my head; I am
hunted from the abodes of man, denied the light of heaven, and, at this
rigorous season, compelled to seek the shelter of a tomb, even while
alive to anguish and sorrow. Approach, young man; you see my child has
disarmed me. I have no other weapon; infirmity chains me to this pallet.
I was born to the possession of a princely inheritance, but it was
wrested from me by traitors foul as those who have overthrown the glory
of England. I have nothing left but an honest heart, and enmity to
traitors. Yes!" continued he, folding Isabel in his arms; "I have this
weeping girl, who ought to have been a bright gem sparkling in a royal
court, instead of a sickly lamp beaming in a monument."
Sedley wept. "You know," said he, "what side I have espoused; yet a mind
so magnanimous must be candid; nor will you confound the errors and
prejudices of early education with the turpitude of guilt. I was tutored
by one who passionately worshipped civil and religious liberty; a man
whose heart was generous and sincere as your own, and only mistook the
means by which the desired objects were attainable. He now deeply mourns
the enormous oppression which has originated from what he deemed perfect
theories. Filial duty, joined to the instructions of my preceptor, made
me join the Parliamentary army. You are a father. Think what agonies you
would feel had your son refused to obey you, and falsified the hopes you
had formed of his acting as your associate in what you deemed the career
of glory."
"Cease, dearest Sedley," cried Isabel, "his weak frame cannot bear these
strong emotions." "I have a son," said the agonized Evellin, "and he
refused to obey me. He has falsified the hopes I entertained, that he
would be the restorer of my house. Sedley, I would exchange sons with
thy father. Come nearer, and I will tell thee what will make thee
renounce the traitor who gave thee birth. Hast thou ever heard of thy
uncle Allan Neville, the man from whom thy father stole his coronet and
lands?"
"I have heard," said Sedley, "that he was unfortunate, very criminal,
and long since dead."
"Unfortunate indeed," returned the Colonel, "but neither dead nor
criminal. I am Allan Neville, a living witness of thy father's crimes,
the least of which is usurpation. I accuse him as the foul slanderer of
my fame, as the inhuman villain who betrayed my confidence. He knew my
woes, my wants, my dependence on his friendship; nay, that I trusted to
him only. He smiled, promised, cajoled, and destroyed me. My daughter
has told me that thou art warm, ingenuous, sincere, and affectionate.
Such, at thy age, was he that now lies before thee, the victim of thy
mother's ambition and thy father's hypocrisy."
Sedley tried to conceal the burning blushes of shame with his hands,
while his recollection of past circumstances confirmed his uncle's
accusation. Ambition was the crime of both his parents; hypocrisy the
means used by the cautious Lord Bellingham in seeking to compass those
ends which his bolder consort pursued with the effrontery of determined
versatility. Sedley remembered his mother a court-beauty, the favourite
of the Queen, and the glass which reflected the smiles and frowns of
royalty. He afterwards saw her the idol of the party which opposed
government, sung by Waller, flattered by Holland, presiding with all the
frivolity and pride of a pretty trifler at the dark divan, while Pym and
St. John disclosed their hopes of extending their aggressions to seizing
the remaining prerogatives of the alarmed and conceding King. Weak,
vain, passionate, and unprincipled, with no determined object but her
own aggrandizement--no claim to attention but an attractive person and
soft courtliness of manner (which polished insincerity often assumes to
disguise a stubborn, wayward, ungoverned temper),--Lady Bellingham
supplied by a shew of benevolence her total want of the reality. He had
seen her, without even the affectation of compassion, listen to a detail
of the measures which were intended to drag Lord Strafford to the block;
and though she boasted of that nobleman as her earliest lover, she made
no attempt to procure him the respite for which his afflicted master
ineffectually solicited. No storm of public calamity, no sympathizing
pity for murdered friends, no sentiment of gratitude for her royal
benefactors, ever disturbed the suavity of Lady Bellingham's deportment.
Nothing could interrupt the dead calm of her unfeeling heart but
opposition to her will, or the apprehension of danger to her effects or
person. In the former case the gentle beauty was loud and pertinacious;
in the latter, terrified to the extreme, and clamorous in her
complaints; in both, perfectly regardless of the means she employed to
promote her purposes, or insure her safety.
Sedley had long discovered a guarded circumspection in his father's
conduct, which, as it exceeded prudence, must be called timidity. His
perplexed look and restless manner spoke a soul ill at ease with itself,
and more suspicious of persons, and the motives of their actions, than
was consistent with fortitude and integrity. From the period of his
assuming the title of Bellingham, Sedley could date a gradual increase
of domestic misery. Even in his childhood he had been obliged to
interfere in the disputes of his parents, each complaining to him of the
faults of the other, and of their own injuries. The Earl ever spake of
the sacrifices he had made to oblige his wife; the Countess, of the
title, fortune, and importance she had bestowed on her husband. Many
circumstances led him to fear that mutual guilt was the only bond which
kept them from separation, as they often hinted in their quarrels that
they were equally in each other's power for some punishable offences;
and once, in an ungovernable transport of rage, Lady Bellingham bade her
trembling Lord "remember her brother." These recollections made it
impossible for Sedley to doubt the criminality of his parents,
especially as their accuser was Colonel Evellin, whose gallantry and
unquestioned honour had extorted alike the terror and admiration of his
enemies. And was the admirable Isabel the victim of their crimes, who
now, in all the unaffected loveliness of tender duty, wiped the cold dew
from the face of her agonized father, beseeching him to consider his
weakness, and forbear convulsing his tortured limbs by these mental
throes, still assuring him, that if she could preserve his life, her own
would be worth valuing?
Impelled by that homage which virtuous emulation ever pays to
acknowledged worth, Sedley knelt by the side of Isabel. "Here," said he,
"I devote myself to your service, and abjure your enemies, though my
heart recoils when I consider who they are. In this sacred, this aweful
abode, I drop all titles but that of your kinsman: now for your dear
daughter's sake, listen to the intelligence I come to disclose; you are
in the most imminent danger, and prompt measures for your security must
be devised. I will never more participate in the guilt of those who
wronged you, or partake of those luxuries which proved irresistible
temptations to those who caused your ruin. Suffer me to supply the place
of your lost Eustace, and to relieve the pious duties of your daughter.
You shall then know that my immediate progenitors have not corrupted
that pure blood which I, with you, derive from one common stock of
eminent ancestors, distinguished alike by fidelity to their friends,
their country, and their King."
Isabel scarcely waited for the reconciling embrace, which proved that
her generous father knew not his own heart when he thought it capable of
eternal enmity to the blood of De Vallance. Her transport at seeing the
two dearest objects in the world known and esteemed by each other, was
allayed by her eager anxiety to know what Sedley meant by imminent
danger. He now disclosed what had passed between him and Morgan, and the
discovery himself had made of another and nearer asylum for the brave
fugitive. No time was lost in expediting his removal. Incapable of
rising from his pallet, the whole family were employed in conveying him
to the secret chamber, and in removing from the mausoleum every vestige
of its having been inhabited. Rubbish was piled against the door; and,
to prevent the path from being traced, the small stock of cattle the
Beaumonts possessed were driven into the burying-ground. The rising sun
saw their labours completed an hour before Morgan and his soldiers
arrived to execute their inhuman inquisition. The care of Williams had
frustrated the sagacity of the blood-hounds by a chemical preparation;
and a night of inexpressible alarm and emotion was succeeded by a happy
day, in which Isabel had the transport of having her dear father lodged
close to her own dwelling, in a more comfortable place of concealment,
where she could pay a more minute attention to his wants, and have an
assistant in the task of ministering to his infirmities; that assistant
too the lord of her affections, to whom she was ha longer compelled to
wear the air of cold reserve so uncongenial to her ingenuous temper.
The Beaumont family would now have felt happy, and Arthur might have
talked of love, assured of a favourable audience, had not every future
plan and private feeling been engrossed by the situation of the King,
whose mournful tragedy now drew near its final close. Like many others,
Arthur de Vallance had been drawn, by the grossest misrepresentations,
to oppose a Prince whose real character, bursting through the mists of
adversity, now dazzled the eyes of those who had affected to speak of
him as a meteorous exhalation, owing its lustre to chance, and destitute
of the inherent qualities which constitute true greatness. To a general
revolt and disaffection, arising from some actual and many imaginary
grievances, succeeded an universal conviction of delusion,
disappointment, disgust, and contrition. All parties but that which had
the King in their keeping were ready to unite in efforts to save him
from those who meant to make his corse a step to his hereditary dignity;
and this, no less from a sense of his deserts and injuries, than from
feeling experimentally, that destroying the balance of the Constitution
annihilated their own liberty, and that the whips used by lawful rulers
are, by usurpers, exchanged for scorpions. The rule of a limited monarch
was now supplied by the tyranny of many despots--I say many; for though
Cromwell had seized the whole administration into his own hands,
managing what was called the House of Commons and the army by his
creatures, annihilating the aristocratic branch of the legislature, and
cajoling his brother-general, while he prepared the scaffold and
sharpened the axe for the Monarch whom it was the settled purpose of
Fairfax to preserve; yet his government had the feature which constantly
characterizes newly-assumed power. He durst not disoblige the supporters
of his greatness; and the services of his myrmidons were purchased by a
sort of tacit agreement, that they might enrich themselves with the
plunder of an oppressed people. Rapacity, therefore, walked triumphant
through the land. Loyalty and Episcopacy had already been stripped. The
bare carcase of truth and honour afforded no food for the carrion birds
who floated round the unfledged antitype of the royal eagle. The
adherents to the Rump parliament (as the House of Commons was then
called, before Cromwell excluded from it the members who were offensive
to his views), the Presbyterians and Republicans, had lately fattened on
the miseries of their countrymen. Some of these, repenting their former
errors, made efforts to save the King's life; and, for the crime of
petitioning to that effect, were exposed to the rigorous punishments of
imprisonment and sequestration. The royalists, conscious of their
weakness, had suspended all military efforts, and fearing lest, by
irritating their enemies, they should precipitate their Master's fate,
they confined themselves to supplicatory addresses to him who alone had
power to chain the fury of these human tigers. But, in the present
instance, it was the will of the Almighty to give a fearful lesson to
those who engage in fomenting rebellion and confusion, with an
expectation of being able to muzzle the many-headed monster they let
loose, and to govern that ignorance and depravity whose irregular
appetites and malignant passions they have inflamed. The blow was struck
which disgraced the nation, released the royal martyr from his crown of
thorns, but had no power to prevent his receiving one of glory. "A
dismal, universal groan burst from the thousands who witnessed the
horrid scene[2], such as was never before heard! May England never utter
such another! The troopers rode among the populace, driving them in all
directions, and shewing the multitude, that though nine-tenths of the
kingdom abhorred the action, committed in the name of all," the right of
the majority was so little respected by these false assertors of liberty
of opinion, "that it was now a state offence to express the natural
feelings of compunction and pity." Driven to their own houses by the
satellites of usurpation, tyranny, and murder, the people then gave vent
to their tears and execrations. The contrite prayers of a sinful nation
arose from every dwelling; and, like the blood of the Paschal Lamb on
the doors of the Israelites, implored Divine Mercy to avert the sword of
the destroying angel from them and their families, when he should be
sent in wrathful visitation to take vengeance for that detestable
regicide.
[1] For a very interesting account of what passed at Pontefract
Castle, and of the adventures of Colonel Morrice; see Clarendon,
vol. iii.
[2] Henry, a pious and eminent Nonconformist divine, gives this
account of the awful sensation generally produced by the King's
murder.