Clermont/Chapter 17
CHAP. VII.
When the sun sets, shadows that show'd at noon
But small, appear most long and terrible;—
So when we think Fate hovers o'er our heads,
Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds;
Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death;
Nature's worst vermin scare her God-like sons;
Echoes, the very leavings of a voice,
Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves;
Each mole-hill thought swells to a huge Olympus,
While we, fantastic dreamers! heave and puff,
And sweat with an imagination's weight. Lee.
Madeline went upon a high and graveled terrace to avoid the wetness of the low and grassy paths beneath it. But though the rain was over, the evening was extremely unpleasant, a cold and piercing wind howled through the trees, of whose increasing violence the hoarse screams of water-fowl gave sure and melancholy intimation, the clouds seemed staggering with giddy poise, and the moon vainly endeavouring to emerge from them, if for a moment she was discovered,
Riding to her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray,
Through the Heavens' wide pathless way.
Her watery lustre rather increased than diminished the solemn gloom. Madeline, however, pursued her way, and as she cast her eyes upon the long perspective of black and distant mountains, she thought of the friends that had so recently travelled over them, and her regret for their absence was heightened by believing their company would have been a source of pleasure and comfort to the Countess. From them her thoughts reverted to another object, one she dared not think her friend, yet could not call her enemy; the idea of his being now exposed upon the cheerless heights she viewed, to the inclement blast, wrung her heart with agony; she tried, however, to repel it, by reflecting that it would, by enervating, render her unable to pay the attentions she wished to her benefactress; and also, that to think voluntarily of him, was acting contrary to the solemn resolution she had formed, to try and forget him. She continued out till the wind grew so violent that it quite chilled and fatigued her; as she returned to the chateau she saw on every side a blackening train of clamorous rooks seeking their accustomed shelter among the tall trees surrounding it, while, assiduous in his bower, the owl plied his sad song, and the water-fowl, wheeling from their nests upon the lake, screamed along the land.
Madeline slowly ascended the stairs, and repairing to the dressing-room, found Agatha and Floretta there; she eagerly enquired about the Countess, and they informed her, that she still slept, and had done so almost from the time she had quitted her. They also said, that her Ladyship had desired them to sit up in the dressing-room, as a light in her chamber was disagreeable to her. Madeline instantly declared she would keep them company, and felt rejoiced to hear of the repose of her friend, flattering herself it was a sign of her being better.
Every thing, which could give comfort to the night, was already provided. A cheerful fire blazed in the grate, the brightness and warmth of which were truly reviving to the depressed spirits and chilled frame of Madeline; and before it lay a table, covered with bread, meat, and rich wines. Madeline took a bit of bread and some wine, and seated herself beside the fire. It was now the hour at which the servants generally went to rest, and with light steps they were soon heard retiring to their respective chambers; a profound stillness then reigned throughout the Castle—a stillness, however, which was soon interrupted by the wind, that had now increased to a tremendous degree. Sometimes it howled dismally through the long galleries; sometimes came in such sudden squalls against the doors, that it almost burst them open, whilst the forest was heard groaning beneath its fury; and ever and anon loose stones came tumbling from the battlements of the Castle.
The dejection of Madeline's heart returned—a dejection, which the account she received of her friend had a little dissipated, and with it a terror she could not suppress; she laid down the cup of wine, and casting her eyes upon her companions, perceived, by their countenances, they were equally affected.
"How mournfully the wind howls (said Agatha, in a low voice); the Lord have mercy (devoutly crossing herself) upon all who are at sea! many a stout heart will go to the bottom, I fear, to-night. 'Tis very odd, yet very true, that the night before my Lord the Count de Merville (Heaven rest his soul! again crossing herself) died, there was just such a storm as there is now; the noise it made throughout the house was just as if people had been fighting and shrieking about it. I thought at the time, the sounds were presageful ones; particularly as the birds kept such a screaming and fluttering about the windows, for their screams are always sure foretellers of death. Indeed they have not been very quiet to-night."
"No (cried Madeline, wishing to check the involuntary horror with which the words of Agatha had inspired her), because they are now, as they were then, disturbed by the storm; 'tis well known, that their screams not only foretell, but last during one. I have heard my father say, that people who live near the sea always take warning by them, and never (if possible to avoid doing so) venture upon it, while they continue."
"I shall never be made, however, to believe that they do not forebode something more than a storm (cried Agatha); no, Mam'selle, be assured they are certain prognostics of death; but such warnings as these are not confined to one family, like others that I know of: For instance, in the Castle of the Marquis de Vermandois, about two leagues from this, a great bell always tolls before the death of any one belonging to it; and there never was any change about taking place in this chateau that there was not a dreadful storm before-hand, accompanied by the fall of an old suit of armour, which hangs on the left side of the hall, nearly opposite the dining parlour, and which belonged to the founder of the mansion."
"I know the suit you mean (said Madeline); I have often examined it as a curious piece of antiquity; but the reason it falls, when there is a storm, is, because the wind then gets through the crevices of the walls, and blows it down."
"You are very incredulous, Mam'selle (cried Agatha); but you'll never be able to make me believe otherwise than I do now. Lord! I still tremble at the recollection of what I suffered, when I heard the armour fall with such a crash a few minutes before my Lord's death. I was alone with him, and that, to be sure, augmented my terror; for my lady, overcome by grief, had fainted, and was carried from the room by the other attendants."
"I have heard say, indeed (cried Floretta, who had hitherto listened to the words of Agatha with the most profound attention) that those warnings of death are very common."
"God, of his infinite mercy (said Madeline) may perhaps give such warnings to the wicked, in order to awaken them to repentance; but to the good, to those whose lives prepare them at any hour for his summons, I never can believe he does."
"I shall enter into no argument about the matter (cried Agatha); for nothing could persuade me out of my own opinion."
"Yet what Mam'selle says seems just enough (said Floretta); for why should the good, who need no preparation for death, be warned of it as well as those whose bad actions render it necessary they should, in order to have them brought to repentance."
"Well (replied Agatha), I have not a doubt but what they come to both?"
"What a dreadful thing it must be, to have a troubled conscience, when one is near dying," resumed Floretta.
"Ay, or at any other time either (exclaimed Agatha); many a foul deed has it forced people to reveal."
"There is a memorable story told about that (said Floretta), in the part of Burgundy I come from."
"Well, tell it (cried Agatha); it will help to pass away the time."
"There stood, about fifty years ago (began Floretta, drawing her chair closer to her companion's), near the village where I was born, an old mansion, which had for many years been uninhabited, for its owner, being given to travel in foreign parts, never gave himself any trouble at all about repairing it; so that, owing to his neglect, it went by degrees so much to rack and ruin, that two servants, who had been left in it, thought it unsafe to continue in it, and accordingly quitted it.
"Well, in process of time, the unthrifty master of this old chateau died; and never having been married, it fell to a distant relation, who was delighted (as you may well think) to have the fine estate surrounding it become his: he was neither given to squandering nor gadding; and knowing what the comforts of a good home were, he directly ordered the ruin to be pulled down, that he might have another house built in its place. This you may be sure was a joyful order for the tenants; for 'tis the life of the poor souls to have a rich landlord live amongst them, particularly one that is generous and good, as was the gentleman I am speaking of. They set merrily to work, and soon demolished most of the building; for 'tis a true saying, that willing minds, like many hands, make light work.
"As they were destroying the wall of a vault, which had once been used for family stores, they found, within a niche of it, against which a parcel of loose stones were piled, the skeleton of a full-grown person.—You may well conceive their consternation at such a sight; for it immediately struck them that this was the skeleton of a murdered person, else what should bring it there.
"The discovery was soon spread throughout the village, and all the folks came flocking to the place. They were all of one opinion, that some one had been murdered in the house, and that the crime had been committed after it became deserted. They strove to recollect whether any person, within their memories, had been suddenly missed from their neighbourhood, but could not remember a circumstance of the kind.
"While they were busy talking over the matter, there came riding by an elderly gentleman, well dressed, and of a grave and comely appearance; so seeing the crowd, he stopped his horse, as was natural enough, and alighting from it, entered the court-yard, and enquired what was the matter.
'A sad affair, master (replied one of the oldest of the villagers); we have just discovered that a murder was committed within the walls we have been destroying.'
'A murder! (repeated the gentleman, changing colour); a murder!—Pray, my good friend, how did you discover it?'
'Why, by finding a skeleton hid within a vault: you may be sure, if the person to whom it belonged had died fairly, it would never have been stuffed into such a place. They, to be sure, who committed the cruel act, thought they were secure enough of its never being found out by hiding it there, but you see they were mistaken. The watchful eye of God is over all; he seldom suffers murder to escape the punishment it merits: and indeed I can scarcely doubt that the discovery of the skeleton is but the forerunner of the discovery of the murderer.'
"The old man and the stranger were standing by a wall, against which the skeleton was placed; but the latter had hitherto been kept from seeing it, by some women who stood between it and him; they now drew back, supposing that, like themselves, he would be curious enough to wish to examine it.—Scarcely had they done so, when, just as the old man had finished his last sentence, a violent gust of wind arose, which blew down the skeleton, and it fell plump at the stranger's feet. He started back, as any one indeed might have done at such an accident, and attempted directly to leave the place; but some how or other, his foot was entangled by the skeleton, so that he could not move. Well, when he perceived this, he gave a deep groan, and sunk upon the ground. The people hastened to his assistance; he was lifted up—but it was many minutes ere he showed any signs of life; and when he did, it was at first only by dismal sighs. At last opening his eyes, he took the old man's hand, who helped to support him— 'Oh! my good friend (cried he) your words were but too true; the discovery of that frightful spectacle but foreruns the discovery of the murderer; in me you behold that guilty wretch.'—At this there was a general cry, and all praised the wonderful Providence of Heaven.
'You shall have (he continued) a full confession of my guilt; I no longer wish (even if it was possible to do so) to evade the punishment due to it.'
"As he spoke, he fell into such agonies, that they thought he would have died, and were forced to get him some wine to take.
"Being a little revived by it, he was seated on the grass, and thus began:—
'To the old, as well as the young, my story may be instructive; it will prove to the former, that their authority over youth should never be too much relaxed; and to the latter, that those who are disobedient to their parents or guardians, and waste the morning of their life in idleness or vice, may assuredly expect to end its evening in misery. I was born of reputable parents, in a small town in this province. The comforts they enjoyed, which were sufficient to satisfy humble dispositions, were procured by their own industry, and, with the inheritance of the little property they had acquired, they trusted I would possess a spirit temperately to enjoy, and honestly to increase it; but their over-indulgence marred their wishes. I soon discovered their easiness of temper, and, in consequence of that easiness, grew importunate in my demands—demands which they soon lost the power of refusing; and I became, from their compliance, giddy and dissipated in the extreme. Too late my parents perceived their error, in allowing me such latitude as they had done, and in not checking, at the beginning, the propensities I early showed to idleness and dissipation. Their remorse, together with the disappointment of their hopes relative to me, terminated their lives (while I was yet in the prime of my youth) and they died within a short period of each other. I felt some little compunction and regret; but the first call of pleasure drove them from my heart, and I resumed my former courses. A continuance in them soon dissipated the little property I possessed. I then resolved to abandon my native country, and seek subsistence in another part of the world. This resolution I imparted to a particular friend, a youth about my own age, and, like me, an orphan. Our attachment had commenced at the first dawning of reason, and a kind of infatuation seemed to bind him to me; he was ever ready to join me in my schemes, and often, latterly, assisted my declining purse. Through my means, his fortune had been considerably injured; but though his fortune was not wrecked like mine, he now declared he would accompany me to any part of the world I should like to go to; a declaration I rejoiced to hear, as he had the means of keeping me from hardships I otherwise, from the low state of my finances, expected to undergo. He accordingly gathered the remains of his wealth together, and we set out on foot (the better to conceal the distressed situation in which we left the place of our nativity) for Rochelle, from whence we purposed embarking for the West Indies, thinking that the best place for adventurers.
'About sun-set, the first day, we came within sight of this ruined mansion, and feeling extremely tired, we turned into it, and refreshed ourselves with the provisions we carried about us. We thought we could not find a better situation for spending the night in, and we had scarcely determined on doing so, when my companion, more fatigued than I was, fell asleep.
'Evil suggestions, which I had not grace to subdue, then rose in my mind. If the remnant of his wealth was mine (I cried), how much sooner could I realize the schemes I have formed for making my fortune. The idea was too tempting to be resisted, and, with the knife, with which but a few moments before he had helped me to bread, I pierced him to the heart; he never opened his eyes; one deep, one deadly groan, was all that escaped him; it still sounds in my ears, and ascended to Heaven to call down vengeance on my head.
'After I had committed the execrable deed, I searched for a place to hide the body in; and having discovered a vault, I dragged it thither, and covered the traces of the blood with rubbish. Oh that the mouldering walls had crushed me to atoms, while thus impiously employed! Yet wretch as I am! Oh, why do I say so? Rather let me bless the Power, which mercifully granted me leisure to repent—which perhaps spared me then in order to warn others, by my narration and punishment, from crimes similar to mine.
"To be brief, my dear auditors, I pursued my original intention, and embarked for the West Indies, where every thing succeeded even beyond my expectations. It seemed as if Heaven allowed me to prosper but to prove how mistaken I was, in supposing wealth alone could give me happiness. Alas! dreadful mistake, to think any could be enjoyed from a fortune, whose foundation was laid in blood:—with riches, wretchedness, if possible, increased, 'tis now fifteen years since I murdered my friend; and from that period to this, peace has been a stranger to my breast. Remorse pervaded my soul; horror pursued my steps, and the blood I had shed continually swam before me.
'Having at length secured an ample independence, and being disgusted with the place where I lived, or rather, as is often the case with the wretched, imagining change of scene might alleviate my misery, I resolved on returning to my native country; but the abode of my youth I was destined never more to behold; my conscience would not suffer me to remain unconcerned on beholding the skeleton, and thus did Providence, I may say, make me call for justice on myself.'
"In consequence of his confession (continued Floretta), he was committed to prison, and soon after tried, condemned, and executed on the spot where he had committed the murder. A little time before his death, he deposited a sum of money in the hands of a priest, for the purpose of having mass said for the soul of his murdered friend, and a monument erected to his memory in our village church, where his bones were buried.
"Often and often have I seen that monument, upon which, according to his desire, the priest had inscribed the particulars of his strange story, exactly opposite the churchyard; and at the side of the high-way he was interred himself:—his grave could plainly be distinguished when I was last in that part of the country, though all overgrown with grass and weeds, as was the stone placed at its head, to signify the reason he was denied Christian burial. Many and many a time, particularly after it grew dark, I have taken a long circuit to avoid passing it; for 'tis confidently said, and believed by our villagers, that his spirit, and that of the unhappy gentleman he murdered, take their nightly rounds about the place moaning, lamenting, and uttering the most piteous cries. My poor old grandmother, from whom I have repeatedly heard the story, told me she was once almost frightened to death, from fancying she had a glimpse of them near the church-yard; and the servants in the house that was rebuilt, have often been almost scared out of their senses, by the noises they have heard within it.
"Thus (continued Floretta) my story proves the truth of what we were saying, namely, that an evil conscience has often occasioned the discovery of foul crimes. It was owing to it that the stranger imagined the falling of the skeleton not an accidental circumstance, but one immediately ordered by Heaven, and from that idea did he betray himself."
"True (cried Agatha, who had listened with deep attention, and great delight), 'tis an old saying, and a just one, that a guilty conscience needs no accuser.
"Lord! if people were to allow themselves a little time to consider, half the bad actions that are committed would be left undone; for they would then reflect, that neither riches nor titles can make amends for that peace of mind which a wicked deed destroys. No person's lot can be truly miserable, who, on retiring to their beds, can lay their hands upon their hearts, and say within themselves, I may go to rest in peace, assured of the protection of Heaven, from never having wilfully injured man, woman, or child. Such a thought as this will support one through many distresses. May it support us at the hour of death!"—"and in the day of judgment!" (cried Madeline, with involuntary fervour, and raising her hands and eyes to Heaven)—"Amen," rejoined Agatha.
"As one story begets another (continued she), if you have no objection, Mam'selle, I can tell one something to the same purpose of that we have been listening to."
"Objection (repeated Floretta)! Lord! no, to be sure she can't (answering for Madeline); there is nothing, I think, can delight people more than hearing stories; many and many a winter's night I have passed in hearkening to my grandmother's, who had such a budget of them, there was not a great house for many leagues around us, that she could not tell something wonderful about, and she has frequently sent me to bed shaking with fear."
"Well, Mam'selle (asked Agatha, turning to Madeline), are you of Floretta's mind?"
"Yes," replied Madeline, who saw that Agatha would be dreadfully disappointed, if not permitted to tell one of the wonderful tales in which she abounded.
Breathing astonishment, of witching rhymes,
And evil spirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The Orphan's portion; of unquiet souls
Ris'n from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed.
"In the reign of Lewis the Ninth, commonly known by the title of St. Lewis, from the holy war in which he engaged, there there stood (said Agatha), about a league from the boundaries of this chateau, a noble castle, the ruins of which are still visible upon a fine eminence, scattered over with wood; and I dare say, Mam'selle, in your way to Madame Chatteneufs, you have taken notice of them."—"I have," replied Madeline.
"This Castle, at the period I have mentioned (resumed Agatha) belonged to a nobleman of an ancient family, and very large fortune; but notwithstanding his rank, which should have made him generous, his fortune, which enabled him to do so, and his having only one child to provide for, he was of a mean and miserly disposition, grudging to himself, and all about him, the necessaries of life; and treated his son, a fine noble youth, brave, generous, and accomplished—in short, his reverse in every respect, in such a severe manner, that he determined to leave him, if an opportunity offered for permitting him to do so, without having his real motives known; for though he could not esteem his father himself, he yet wished, if possible, to keep him from the censures of the world.
"The opportunity he desired occurred upon the King's determining upon a crusade; for it was natural, you know, that a youth of his prowess should wish to embark in so glorious a cause. He accordingly repaired, without delay, to the royal standard, and bade an adieu to his native country.
"His only regret, at doing so, was occasioned by his separation from a young lady, whom he had privately made his wife, and by whom he had a son, then some months old. She was an orphan, and the descendant of a good, but reduced family. He saw her at the house of the relation's, to whose care she had been consigned, and who, not caring to be burdened with her, determined to settle her in a cloister. They did not know each other long, ere a mutual attachment grew between them; and well knowing it would be vain to solicit his father's consent, or her relations, for fear of disobliging him, he stole her away, and, after their nuptials, placed her in a small house near his own residence, which he had taken for that purpose.
"The only person entrusted with the affair was his father's butler, an old man, who had lived long in the family; had often dandled him in his infancy, and was, he knew, faithfully attached to him. To the care of this good creature, who respected the lady, and doted on the child, he left his treasures.
"He had but just reached the Holy Land, when his father died. Poor Peter, who, without authority, could not do any thing, apprised him, as soon as possible, of this event, and requested either his immediate presence, or orders how to act.
"So great was the anxiety of the noble youth, to see his wife and child, and have them publicly acknowledged as such, that without loss of time, he knelt before the King, and entreated his permission to return to his native country, in order to settle his affairs. This the King most graciously granted: but alack! he only returned to find a grave within it.
"Within a league of his castle, he was way-laid and murdered by two ruffians, masked; and the sad intelligence was conveyed to his expecting family by his faithful squire, then his only attendant, who, in attempting to save his life, received such desperate wounds, that he died in two days after.
"Peter was greatly grieved; but, alas! what was his grief to that of the poor lady's; she lost all relish for this life, and in less than a week after her husband's death, was laid beside him in the grave. In her last moments, as well as in those preceding them, she besought Peter to be a steady friend to her child, and see him, if possible, put into possession of his rights. Peter promised to do all he could, but that all, he feared, would be but little. The certificate of her marriage had been destroyed in a box, with many other valuables, by an accidental fire some months prior to her death; and Peter knew too much of the world to think the gentleman, who was heir to the estate, in case his master left no lawful issue, would take his single testimony for the legitimacy of her child, and thus give up a fortune he much wanted; being an extravagant spendthrift, addicted to every vice and folly, and who would for many years have been in the greatest distress, but for the bounty of his poor murdered relation. Well things turned out as Peter thought; the gentleman came from a distant part of France, where he lived, to take possession, and declared he did not give the smallest credit to there being any other heir than himself; he did not doubt, he said, the child being his cousin's, but his legitimate one, he was convinced it was not; and all poor Peter could prevail on him to do, was to allow a small stipend for its support. Peter, with the rest of the servants, was retained, and none of them had reason to complain of their master. For some time, he rendered the castle a scene of constant gaiety; but suddenly his spirits drooped; he shut out company, and appeared to have taken a dislike to all the pleasures he before delighted in; but though he avoided company, solitude seemed equally irksome to him, and he almost continually had one or other of the domestics in the apartment with him. The sudden alteration in his manner, the involuntary horrors he sometimes betrayed, appeared strange circumstances in the eyes of Peter, and from them he drew an inference that shocked him. Determined to know whether it was, or was not a just one, he devised a scheme, which, when you hear it, you will say was a bold one.
"He was the domestic his master generally selected to be near him, and, at the close of day, they frequently walked together up and down a great Gothic hall.—One evening, as they were thus engaged, Peter, whom his master allowed to converse familiarly with him, from his long residence in the family, and well-known attachment to it, said to him, with a solemn voice and countenance, 'Sir, there is something of consequence which I wish to impart to you: last night I had a dream; indeed I do not know whether I can properly call it one, in which methought my poor young master, disfigured by wounds, and stained with blood, came to me, and told me I should, when I least expected it, have the pleasure of discovering his murderer, and bringing him to condign punishment.'—Peter paused, and looked steadily at his master, who betrayed the greatest agitation.
"Was any thing else said to you?' demanded he, in a faltering voice.
'Yes (replied Peter), I asked him by what means I should discover his murderer, and he told me he would betray himself.
'You will (said he) mention my murder before him, and his guilty conscience will make him, if not by words, at least by agitation, declare his crime. Besides, my troubled spirit will be near you at the time, and accelerate the discovery.'
"Peter's master now declared he was taken very ill, and must go directly to his chamber. Scarcely had he spoken, when the dreadful creaking of an iron door was heard, and a faint light flashed upon him, from the spiral stair-case of an old tower, that had for centuries been uninhabited, from an idea of its being haunted.
'Lord, defend me! (cried Peter); I have the key of the iron door at the top of the tower in my possession, and no human hand could have opened it; the light, too, from the stair-case is quite a blue flame.'
"Hark (cried Floretta at this moment, with an affrighted countenance), what noise is that?"
"Noise!" (repeated Agatha, with an emotion of fear.)
"Oh! 'tis only the wind (continued she, listening a minute); it often comes in this way against the doors, as if it would burst them open; but bless me, Mam'selle (looking at Madeline), how deadly pale you are; I fear sitting up does not agree with you."
The spirits of Madeline, weakened by grief, were indeed affected, in spite of her reason, with a kind of superstitious awe, by the stories of her companions.
"Let us mull some wine (cried Agatha); it will do us all good."
"Ay, do (said Floretta), and I will make some toast."
Madeline now said she would step into the Countess's chamber, and try whether she still slept. She accordingly stole into it, and bending over her pillow, had the satisfaction of finding she continued in a tranquil sleep. This somewhat cheered her; and after taking a glass of the mulled wine, she felt the gloom of her spirits pretty well depressed. Agatha then resumed her story.
"Scarcely (said she) had Peter uttered the last word, when his master dropped senseless at his feet. Peter raised, and with difficulty recovered him. The moment he opened his eyes, he dropped upon his knees, implored the mercy of Heaven, and confessed he was the murderer of his cousin.
"Plunged into difficulties, he said, by his extravagance, which he was ashamed to avow, as soon as ever he heard of his cousin's expected return from the Holy Land, he laid the plan for destroying him, which succeeded but too well, and in which he was assisted by a servant, whom he afterwards murdered, for fear of his betraying him.
"Peter told him, if he would immediately resign the estate to the lawful heir, he would not give him up to the punishment he merited. This he readily consented to do; and every thing necessary being done, he retired to a monastery, where he soon after died of a broken heart. After his death, this story was divulged by the servant, whose assistance Peter had obtained for carrying into execution the scheme he had contrived for knowing whether or not his master had murdered his cousin."
The tale concluded, on which Floretta made many comments, a general silence ensued; it was now about the middle of the night, or rather the beginning of the morning, and the storm still raged with unabated violence. Madeline went to a window, and opened a shutter, to see whether the scene without was as dreary as fancy within had represented it to be, and found it, if possible, more so. The faint dawn o'er the western hills was overcast by heavy clouds, and the trees of the wood tumultuously agitated by the blast, which seemed threatening to tear them from the earth.
"How dreadful, how appalling is this hurricane (cried Madeline, as she leaned against the window). If it strikes such terror into a heart conscious of no crime, what fears, what horrors must it excite in one burdened with guilt. To such an one the war of the elements must indeed be dreadful, as seeming to declare the anger of an offended God."—Like the Poet, Madeline thought that such a heart would think
———The tempest blew his wrath,
The thunder was his voice, and the red flash
His speedy sword of justice.
Chilled by the melancholy prospect, she closed the shutter, and returned to the fire, before which her companions were now slumbering. In deep and pensive meditation, she sat a considerable time with her eyes fixed upon the crackling blaze, when the heavy crash of something falling in the lower part of the Castle, startled not only her, but her companions.
"Holy virgin! (exclaimed Agatha, turning pale), defend us—'tis the armour that has fallen."
"You had better try," (said Madeline, in a faint voice).
"Try (repeated Agatha); Lord, not for the world."
"Nor I, I am sure (said Floretta) if you could, or would give me a principality for doing so."
"I will then (cried Madeline, ashamed to propose what she would shrink from herself), I will go and endeavour to discover the occasion of the noise."
She went softly into the Countess's chamber, to try if she was disturbed by it, and finding her still asleep, she took up a light, and descended (though with trembling limbs, and a palpitating heart) to the great hall, from whence the noise had sounded. The light she held but partially dispersed its awful gloom, and her tremor and palpitation increased, as she proceeded to the extreme end, at which hung the ominous armour. She found this in its usual situation, and she was hastily moving from it, too much depressed and agitated to think of searching elsewhere for the cause of the noise, when a door opposite to her (which led to a suit of rooms that had been appropriated solely to the use of the Count, and since his death, shut up), slowly opened, and a tall figure, clad in black, came forth.
Madeline started behind a pillar; the conversation of her companions had raised the very spirit of superstition in her breast, and, with eyes almost bursting from their sockets, she now stood immovable, gazing upon the terrifying object that presented itself to her view; but when she saw it approaching her, which it did, with a slow, but steady step, her faculties returned, and dropping the light, she fled to the stair-case; but ere she had ascended many steps, she fell, through her extreme haste; and the surrounding darkness, and the exquisite pain she suffered, in consequence of bending her foot under her at the instant, prevented her from making an immediate effort for rising. She lay for about two minutes in this situation, when a faint light gleaming behind her, made her turn her head with quickness, and she beheld the object of her terror within a step of her. A cold dew instantly burst from her pores, her heart almost died within her, and she covered her face with her hands.