Clermont/Chapter 30

by Regina Maria Roche

 

CHAP. V.

Prepare, to hear
A story that shall turn thee into stone.
Could there be hewn a monstrous gap in Nature,
A flaw made through the centre by some god,
Thro' which the groans of ghosts might strike thine ear,
They would not wound thee as this story will.

"Do not be too much shocked, my love (cried St. Julian) on finding that I deviated from truth, which in the course of this narrative you must discover; that deviation was occasioned by tenderness for you; for I was well convinced of the misery you would feel if I confessed the involuntary suspicions you entertained of me on our first coming to the castle were well founded;—alas! they were too just!"

He stopped for a minute as if overcome by agony; then again addressing her—"you recollect, I suppose (said he) all the particulars I informed you of in our journey hither?"

"I do," said Madeline.

"I told you (resumed he) of the letter I received from my brother, requesting me to leave my elizium on the Alps, and of my meeting him in the pursuance of it in the forest of Montmorenci. He was so much altered, that had I met him elsewhere by chance, I should scarcely have known him. He told me he had been long indisposed, and that it was in consequence of his indisposition and the languid state of his spirits, that he had requested to see me, certain that my presence would operate like a rich cordial upon him.

"In the cottage where he had lodged me on the commencement of our acquaintance, he again procured a chamber for me; it stood at the extremity of the forest, and belonged to a brother of Lafroy's, who was then valet to Lord Philippe; and by him I was introduced at it as an unfortunate young man taken under the patronage of his Lord.

"Every morning I met my brother, but met him without having the pleasure of seeing his health in the least amended. My regret at the continuance of his illness, joined to my uneasiness at being absent from home, rendered me extremely unhappy. I had been about a fortnight at the cottage, when one morning as I was preparing to walk out as usual to meet Lord Philippe, a letter arrived by a strange servant from the castle, informing me that he was so extremely ill he could not leave his room; and therefore requested, as the length of his confinement was uncertain, I would no longer delay returning home on his account.

"Notwithstanding this request, notwithstanding my strong anxiety, my ardent wishes to be again in that dear home, which contained a being more precious to me than existence, I could not bear the idea of departing, till assured he was at least out of danger."

"I wrote to this purpose, and entreated to hear from him as soon as possible. The day wore away, however, without any other tidings from the castle. As I sat, at its close, in a melancholy manner in my little chamber, ruminating over past scenes, and sometimes trying to cheer my heart by anticipating the happiness I should experience in again folding my Geraldine to it, I was suddenly startled by a loud knock at the cottage-door. Full of the idea of receiving a letter from the castle, I was rushing all impatience from the room, when the sound of a strange voice arrested my steps, and I was soon convinced that the man whom my host admitted had no business with me.

"I therefore returned to my seat, and was again sinking into a reverie, when a few words from the next room, which was only divided from mine by a thin partition, completely roused me, and made me, I may say, become all ear.

'Well, Claude (asked my host in a familiar voice), what journey have you been taking this time?'

'The old one (replied Claude); I have been to see my godfather who lives upon the Alps; he always makes me a handsome present when I visit him.'

'So he should, I am sure (said his companion); visiting him must be plaguey troublesome, considering the long and dangerous way you have to go.'

'Who do you think I met travelling that way this morning?' cried Claude.

'I am sure 'tis impossible for me to guess,' replied Josephe, the name of my host.

'No other than our young Lord the Marquis of Montmorenci's son,' said Claude, 'posting away as if the devil was at his heels.'

'Our young Lord! (repeated Josephe in a tone of astonishment), no, I'll be sworn you did not meet him; why, man, he is at this very moment confined to his room by a violent illness.'

'Well or ill, I say I met him (vociferated Claude, as if angry at being doubted), and your brother Lafroy along with him.'

'Your eyes certainly deceived you (said Josephe); what in the name of wonder should induce him to report he was ill except he really was so, or bring him the way you said you met him.'

'I certainly cannot assign a reason for his pretending illness (replied Claude); but I can give a very sufficient one for his journey to the Alps; has Lafroy never informed you?'

'No, never.'

'Ah, he is a close dog, he could have told you a great deal if he had had a mind, for he is quite in the confidence of his master. But to my story; you must know near the cottage of my godfather there stands a fine old castle, now inhabited by an Irishman of distinction, who was driven from his own country by some troubles in the state. On the two daughters of this nobleman the daughter of my godfather attends. About five months ago I was at his cottage. One evening, as the sun was setting, I attended him to collect his flocks which fed upon the heights surrounding the castle, and pen them for the night. While thus employed, from the court of the castle the most enchanting music stole upon mine ear: delighted with the sounds, I instantly paused, and turned to the place from whence they proceeded.'

'Tis the two young ladies you hear (said my companion); they both sing, and play upon the lute divinely; it often does my old heart good to hear them.'

'Lord (cried I), I wish I could have a peep at them.'

'You may easily gratify that wish (replied he), the wall about the court is broke in many places.'

'I instantly flew to it, and beheld two of the most lovely creatures imagination can conceive. After feasting my eyes some minutes, I carelessly cast them upon two gentlemen who sat beside them; guess the astonishment of that moment when I discovered one of those gentlemen who sat beside them; guess the astonishment of that moment when I discovered one of those gentlemen to be the Count St. Julian.

'I directly hastened to my godfather; informed him of the discovery I had made; and enquired from him whether he knew what had brought the Count to the castle.

'He smiled, and shook his head significantly. 'Chance (said he), first brought him to it, and inclination made him afterwards repeat the visit; he is a great friend to the family; he has lately provided a husband for the younger daughter.'

'He was secure of the eldest himself then I suppose (said I); for faith I think no man of any feeling could give up one handsome girl till sure of another to supply her place.'

'My godfather smiled; and some expressions dropped from him which excited my curiosity: but I questioned him in vain; like your brother Lafroy, he was a close codger, and refused to gratify me. I then determined to apply to his daughter: she came generally every morning to pay her duty to him. If a real woman (said I to myself), she will be glad of an opportunity to communicate a secret. I accordingly watched for her the next day: she came as I expected; but, instead of letting her enter the cottage, I prevailed on her to take a walk with me. I soon introduced the subject I wished to converse about.

'Your father, my dear (said I), informs me that my Lord is a great friend to the family you live with.'

'Ah, Mr. Claude (cried she), those who imagine he is a friend to the family are sadly mistaken; it would have been a happy thing he had never entered it.'

'Why, my soul (asked I), has he stole away the heart of one of the young ladies?'

She shook her head;—"'It does not become me to tell family secrets.'

'No, to be sure (said I), not to strangers; but to a person you know so well as you do me, there is not the least harm in the world in telling them.'

'Ah, if you could but make me believe that, I could tell you something would astonish you.'

'When a woman once begins to waver, we are sure of our point: I soon prevailed on my little companion to open her whole budget.

'Tis now some months (said she), since the Count St. Julian first entered Lord Dunlere's castle. Returning from Italy, he met with an accident near it which induced my Lord to offer him a lodging till able to continue his journey. The moment he and my lady Geraldine beheld each other, they were mutually smitten; and, in consequence of this attachment, they both devised a thousand excuses for his staying in the castle long after he was expected to leave it. At length he departed. Never shall I forget the wailing and weeping his going occasioned; my Lady Geraldine became but the shadow of herself, and wandered about like a ghost.

'One morning she called me into her chamber; and, after locking her door, 'My dear Blanche (said she with a flood of tears), I am now going to place the greatest confidence in you; a confidence which must convince you I think you a prudent, sensible, clever girl, one quite above the lower class.'

'I was quite confused by her praises, and could only courtesy, and say I hoped she never would have reason to repent any confidence she reposed in me.

'She then proceeded to say that the Count St. Julian had not only engaged her affections, but injured her honour; and that she was now in a situation that must soon expose her to open disgrace.

'I dare not tell my father or my sister (cried she); counsel me therefore, my dearest girl, how to act; though, alas! I have little hope that any advice will benefit me, as the silence of the Count since his departure inclines me to believe he will never fulfil his promises of marriage.'

'You must try him, Ma'am (said I as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment, and collected my wits together); write him one of the most cutting letters you can think of; and tell him you expect, as a man and a gentleman, he will make you immediate reparation for his injuries, by giving you his hand in marriage.'

'She accordingly wrote a letter to this purpose; and, at the expected time, an answer arrived, in which he informed her he still loved her to distraction; but that as to marriage, it was quite out of the question on account of his father, who would, he knew, if he so united himself, deprive him of all provision. He bid her, however, keep up her spirits, adding he would soon be at the castle; and had devised a scheme for preserving her from the indignation of her father, should her situation be discovered to him.

'Well, you may be convinced, we waited most impatiently for his arrival. He came soon after the receipt of his letter, accompanied by a very fine young man, the same you saw with him in the court last night; and my young lady was all anxiety till the scheme he had hinted at was disclosed to her. A villainous scheme, you will say,—no other than to have a marriage made up between my young lady and Monsieur Lausane, his companion.

'He is a natural son of my father's (said he to my lady; for I was in a closet adjoining the chamber in which they sat, and consequently heard all their conversation); and I mean, as soon as I come into possession of my paternal fortune, to make a handsome provision for him; this I shall mention to the Earl as a means of inducing him to consent to your union with him—an union, by which you will be guarded against your father's indignation should he ever discover our connexion, as he must then know the dreadful consequences that would attend its exposure;—an union also, which will give me a pretext, from our relationship, of visiting you much oftener than I could otherwise do.

'It was long, however, ere he could prevail on my poor lady to agree to his proposal; and nothing at last could have extorted her consent to it, but the hope of being shielded by her marriage from the rage of her father. Her consent once obtained, every thing was soon settled according to the Count's wishes. It was with difficulty (continued Blanche) I could prevail on myself to keep what I knew a secret from Monsieur Lausane; it grieved my very heart and soul to think so fine a young man should be so imposed upon.

'But, Blanche (said I), did you not say that Lady Geraldine was in a certain situation, and will not a premature birth open the eyes of her husband to the deceit that has been practised on him?'

'Oh, we have guarded against all that (replied she); about the time she expects to be confined, the Count St. Julian is to feign illness at the castle of Montmorenci, and write to his brother to pay him a visit. He is then to keep him there till my lady is recovered, and the child sent out of the way, whom he has promised to provide for.'

"How shall I describe the feelings that rose in my soul (proceeded St. Julian), as I listened to this horrible narrative? Not a doubt could I entertain of its authenticity; every recollected circumstance—the sudden friendship of my brother, notwithstanding the prejudices instilled into his mind against me by his father—the ready compliance of Lady Geraldine with my wishes, notwithstanding the short time we had been acquainted, and her knowing that I was an outcast from the house which should have sheltered me,—altogether proved that I was a dupe to the most perfidious art.

"Yes (I exclaimed within myself), my credulous nature has been imposed upon; and those whom I most loved, most trusted, have undone me. In the language of a poet of a sister country I might have said—

Two, two such,
(Oh! there's no further name), two such to me,
To me, who lock'd my soul within your breast,
Had no desire, no joy, no life, but you.
————————————I had no use,
No fruit of all, but you;—a friend and mistress
Was all the world could give. Oh!—
————how could you betray
This tender heart, which, with an instant fondness,
Lay lull'd between your bosom, and there slept
Secure of injur'd faith. I can forgive
A foe, but not a mistress and a friend;
Treason is there in its most horrid shape
Where trust is greatest, and the soul resign'd
Is stabb'd by her own guards.

"I could only restrain myself till the narrative was concluded. The tempest in my bosom then broke forth, and, rushing into the next room, with the gripe, the fury of a lion, I seized the narrator, and bid him, as he valued his existence, instantly prove or disprove the truth of his assertions."

'By what right (cried he), do you desire this?'

"By the right of Lausane,' vociferated I, in a voice of thunder.

'Lausane! (repeated he, looking steadily upon me); ah! 'tis but too true; I now recollect your features. Well, it can't be help'd; the mischief is out, and there's an end of it. If it will give you any satisfaction, master, I will solemnly swear, that what I have told my friend Josephe here, I heard from Blanche, and she, I am sure, would not utter a falsehood; people seldom commit a sin without intending to derive some benefit from it; and what could accrue to her by defaming her mistress? I will also swear, that I met your brother this morning ascending the Alps; and that, while I was at the cottage of my godfather, Blanche told me that you had left home, and that her lady had lain in two days after your departure of a fine boy, who had been removed by her to a neighbouring cottage.'

"Ere I go in quest of vengeance (I cried, relinquishing my hold), I will ascertain whether the Count has left the castle.'

"I muffled myself up in a large cloak, and directly hastened to it. I thought my heart would have burst my bosom while waiting to have my enquiry answered.

'My young Lord, (said the porter) departed this morning, attended but by one servant; where he is gone, or when he will return is not known.'

"Never will he return to these walls,' exclaimed I inwardly as I turned from them.

"I re-entered the cottage merely to procure a horse from Josephe, in order to expedite my journey to the foot of the Alps; he tried to make me delay it, and endeavoured to allay my fury; I cursed him for the effort.

'You only aggravate the poor gentleman's feelings (said Claude to him); Lord! who can wonder at his being enraged at the vile imposition practised upon him? for my part, I think him so injured, that I am determined he shall have my services, if he will accept them, to the last drop of my blood; I would assist him in punishing his perfidious brother.'

"I extended my hand. I accept your proffered services (cried I); not to punish my deceiver, but to trace out for me every minute particular of his guilt, ere my vengeance falls upon him.

"He accordingly accompanied me to the Alps. We travelled with almost incredible expedition, and the second evening I found myself near that spot which but the day before I had thought of as a paradise. Unable to support the sight of it, I stopped, and, seating myself in the cavity of a rock, desired Claude to proceed, and gather what particulars he could from Blanche concerning the visit of the Count; charging him, at the same time, carefully to conceal my return from her, also my knowledge of the base deceit which had been practised on me, lest her regard for her mistress should make her inform her of the whole, and thus, in all probability, by putting her and my betrayer upon their guard, baffle the revenge I meant to take—a revenge which to hear of will make you tremble! I resolved on murdering my brother! after which it was my determination to hasten to the castle, acquaint the Earl with the baseness of his daughter, and terminate my existence in her sight.

"To his own ingenuity I left Claude to account for his unexpected return to the Alps; the minutes seemed hours till he came back to me.

"At length he appeared, and with a face full of importance—'Well, master (said he), I have seen Blanche. I shall not tire you by mentioning the excuses I made to her for my sudden appearance; suffice it to say, they were received in the manner I wished.'

"The Count," cried I impatiently.

'Arrived a few hours ago (said he), and is now in the chamber of Lady Geraldine, to which he was privately conducted by Blanche, who, in consequence of her lady's letter, was on the watch for him.

'She assigned a reason for what appeared so strange to us, namely, his having requested you to return home. He told Lady Geraldine he did so, fearful that, if you longer continued in the vicinity of Montmorenci Castle, you would discover his absence from it, and well knowing that here he could be concealed from you. He is now about leaving her for the night.'

"And whither does he go?' cried I, starting from my seat.

'He is to lodge in the cottage where his child is, (replied Claude); it stands upon yonder acclivity, and this is the way to it.'

"Enough (said I), retire.'

"He began to entreat permission to remain with me, but I hastily interrupted him. "I must not be opposed (cried I); my conversation with my brother will not admit of witnesses. farewell! retire to repose, and accept of my thanks and purse for your services."

'Neither, master (replied he); what I did was not from interested motives, but a pure wish of having perfidy punished.'

"I flung away the purse he had rejected, and motioned him to depart.

"The moment he was out of sight, I drew forth a dagger with which I always travelled, the one which the father of Elvira had given me, and the same with which I had attempted my life in the forest of Montmorenci; and, stationing myself behind a projecting fragment of rock, impatiently watched for my destined victim. The place in which I stood, seemed particularly adapted for a scene of horror: it was a little gloomy vale, sunk between stupendous mountains, bleak and bare of vegetation, crowned with snow, and full of frightful cavities, through which the wind grumbled with a dreadful violence. At last Lord Philippe appeared. Notwithstanding the detestation with which I then regarded him, never had he appeared so interesting to me; his pace was mournful and slow; and ever and anon he paused, and looked back, as if, inspired by some prophetic spirit, he was bidding what he knew would be a last adieu to the mansion he had quitted. As he drew near, I saw his cheek was pale, and the traces of tears upon it:—tears, said I, which he has shed over his Geraldine, at the relation of the dangers she has passed.

"When he was within a yard of my concealment, I sprung out. He started back astonished, and surveyed me for a minute with that kind of expression which seemed to say he could scarcely credit the evidence of his eyes; then approaching me with extended arms, he exclaimed, 'Ah, my brother! what—'

"I interrupted him; 'I disclaim the title (cried I, stepping up to him, and rudely seizing his arm); villain! I am well acquainted with thy perfidy; and this to thy heart to reward thee for it!'"

Madeline at those words instinctively caught hold of her father. She panted for breath, and her changing colour showed her strong emotions.

"My fears were but too just (said St. Julian); I was almost convinced my tale of horror would overcome your gentle nature."

'No, no (cried Madeline, after the pause of a few minutes), my fortitude will not again droop, for I have now surely heard the worst; go on therefore, my dearest father.'

"The unhappy Philippe instantly fell, (resumed St. Julian); he writhed for a moment in agony, and then expired with a deep groan.

"There is something dreadful in the sight of human blood to a heart not entirely callous. As his flowed at my feet, a faintness stole over me, and I leaned for support against the projecting fragment which had before concealed me. The scene in the forest of Montmorenci rushed upon my recollection. 'He could not bear to behold my blood (said I), and yet I spilled his without mercy!—Mercy! (repeated I starting), what mercy should I have extended to him who preserved my life but to entail dishonour upon it? I have taken but a just revenge (continued I)'; and my spirits were reanimated by the idea.

"Casting a look of savage triumph upon the body, I darted across it, and fled almost with the velocity of lightning towards the castle. As I was entering the court, I met a holy man, who lived in a neighbouring monastery, the confessor of the Earl and his family, coming out; I would have pushed by him, but he caught my arm.

'Alas, my son! (said he, in an accent of pity) your disordered looks too plainly prove your knowledge of the sad event which has happened in the castle during your absence. How unfortunate that you could not be found yesterday when your brother wrote to inform you of it, and request your company hither; your presence might have mitigated his transports.'

"A convulsive laugh broke from me at the idea of deception having also been practised upon the old man; yet, at the next instant, it struck me as something strange that he should know of my brother's visit to the castle.

"You speak enigmatically, holy father (said I); I know nothing of any letter my brother wrote, nor of any sad event that———.'

"I suddenly paused;—the dying groan of Philippe again, me—thought, sounded in my ear, and stopped my utterance.

'If the meaning of my words is incomprehensible (said the monk, regarding me with mingled horror and surprise), so is also the meaning of your looks: explain what has disordered you.'

"First say (cried I), what you know about my brother's visit to the castle; explain the reason of it."

'Concealment is no longer necessary (said he); the Count came to the castle to receive the last sigh of his wife.'

"His wife!" repeated I, starting and staring wildly.

'Yes, the lovely Elenora.'

"Elenora the wife of Philippe! no, 'tis not to be believed (exclaimed I); I see (endeavouring to shake him from me) you are but a sanctified villain, and in league with the rest to deceive me!"

'I know not what you mean (said he); I know nothing of any deceit that has been practised on you. Elenora was, by the holy cross I swear, (and he touched that which hung beside him the wife of your brother.)'

"I could no longer doubt his truth; a confused idea of treachery, of a snare having been spread to involve my unhappy brother and self in destruction, darted into my mind; all hell seemed opening to my view; I grew giddy, and would have fallen, but for the supporting arm of the monk.

'You are ill (said he); let me call for assistance.'

"No (replied I, exerting myself), I am now better. Tell me, ere I enter the castle, what has happened since my departure from it; and why the marriage of the Count with Elenora was concealed from me."

'It never was the wish of your brother to have it concealed from you,' said the monk, sitting down on the pavement, where I had seated myself unable to stand.

''Tis now near a twelvemonth (continued he), since it took place; the ceremony was performed by me. The accident which introduced your brother to the castle you already know: almost from the first moment he and Lady Elenora beheld each other, they became mutually enamoured; the watchful eyes of a parent easily discovered their attachment; and the Earl soon demanded an explanation of your brother's intentions.

'It was his most ardent wish, the Count said, to be united to Lady Elenora; but it was a wish, he candidly confessed, which he durst not reveal to his father, whose avarice and ambition he knew, notwithstanding his extravagant partiality for him, would forbid his union with any one who could not increase the consequence, and add to the opulence of his house.

'Upon hearing this, the Earl, though gently, blamed him for having encouraged a tenderness for his daughter, and explicitly desired him to leave the castle. The Count, instead of promising to do so, fell at his feet, and besought him not to banish him from the woman he adored. 'Suffer me to marry her (cried he), and whilst my father lives to conceal my marriage.'

'The pride and rectitude of the Earl for a long time resisted this entreaty; but the repeated solicitations of the half-distracted St. Julian, and the tears of his daughter, at length extorted a consent to their union.

'On St. Julian's return to the habitation of his father, he met with you. Soon after that meeting, he planned a scheme for again visiting his lovely bride; you were the companion of his journey. Ere your appearance at the castle, the family were apprised of your intended visit and connexion with him.

'In his letter to the Earl, acquainting him with those particulars, he also said—'Against the loveliness of your Elenora I have guarded my Lausane, by informing him she was already engaged; but to the beauties of Geraldine I hope he will be as susceptible, as I wish her to be to his merits.'

'You came; and his wishes were accomplished by the attachment that grew between you.

'The Count mentioned to Lord Dunlere his intention of revealing his marriage to you; but the Earl opposed it. A long intercourse with the world had rendered him suspicious; and he feared your knowing of the affair, lest you should betray it to the Marquis, from a hope of benefiting by the resentment you would excite against your brother: 'and little pleasure (added he), should I derive from having one daughter enriched at the expense of the other.'

'Though the Count would not act in opposition to him, he resented the suspicion he harboured of you. 'In doubting the honour of Lausane (said he), you are guilty of the greatest injustice; no nature can be more noble, more pure than his; and I am confident he would sooner lose his life than harm me.'

"Oh, Philippe!" I groaned aloud.

"The monk looked earnestly at me. 'You are ill my son,' said he.

"Dear father (cried I), do not mind me; I am all impatience for you to go on."

'About the time you were married to Lady Geraldine, the Count beheld a prospect of an increase to his felicity; Elenora was with child. In pursuance of the Earl's advice, it was settled that when the period for her confinement arrived, your brother, pretending illness, should invite you to see him, and keep you away till she was recovered. It was also settled, that the child should be nursed at a neighbouring cottage, and when weaned, be brought back to the castle as the deserted orphan of some poor peasant.

'About ten days ago, almost immediately after your departure, Elenora lay in of a lovely boy. She continued as well as could be expected for a few days; a violent fever then seized her, and in a short time her life was despaired of. She retained her senses, and, sensible of her danger, begged her husband might be sent for, that she might have the pleasure of presenting her child to him, and breathing her last sigh in his arms.

'An express was accordingly dispatched; Geraldine and I met him upon his arrival: on not seeing you, as she expected, with him, she wildly demanded where you were. He replied, that the moment he had finished perusing the Earl's letter, he had sent it to you with a few lines, imploring your pardon for having had any concealment from you, and requesting your immediate attendance; but, to his great mortification, you were absent from the cottage; nor did the owner of it expect you back for a considerable time, as you had told him, he said, that you were going out upon a long ramble; to wait for your return was therefore, in his situation, impossible.

'He was conducted to the chamber of his Elenora; the agonies of death had already seized her; and he arrived but in time to receive the last sigh of her fleeting spirit. She has been dead some hours, but it is only a few minutes ago since he could be torn from her remains; nor could he have then been forced from them, but by the mention of his child; he is gone to weep over the poor babe, and I am now about following him.'

"You will wonder, no doubt, my dearest Madeline, how I could listen with calmness to this recital; you will wonder that I did not start into instant madness, and with a desperate hand, terminate my wretched existence; but horror had frozen up my blood, and suspended every faculty; my silence astonished the monk, and he looked steadily at me. At length I spoke—'Father (said I, in a hollow voice), do you not believe that evil spirits are sometimes let loose upon this world, to plague the sons of men, and tempt them to destruction?'

'Heaven forbid I should think so (he replied); the Almighty has declared his creatures never shall be tempted beyond their strength; 'tis not the ministers of darkness, but their own impetuous passions which hurry them to destruction.'

"I started up; 'farewell! (I cried); remember me in your prayers, and bid Geraldine not forget me in her orisons.'

'Whither are you going?' said he.

"To join my brother," replied I.

"No doubt I looked wild. He seized my arm—

'Your brother!' repeated he.

"Yes, to accompany his soul in its flight from this world.—His soul! (I repeated, starting and shrieking aloud with agony) Oh, no! heaven opens to receive his spirit, but the deepest abyss in hell now yawns for mine!"

'Some dreadful mystery lurks beneath those words (cried he); tell me, my son, what has distressed you?'

"To tell you my distress is useless, since you cannot relieve it.'

'Though not able to remove, I might at least be able to mitigate it,' said he.

"No; except you could re-animate the dead;—except you could raise Philippe from the bloody turf, and bid him live again!"

"I tried to disengage myself, but he held me fast: in the conflict my strength and senses failed, and I fell fainting to the earth.

"When I recovered, I found myself in the hall of the castle, supported by my wife and the monk, and surrounded by the domestics, amidst whom the Earl stood. The minute I regained my senses, the monk dismissed the servants, and none remained with me but Geraldine, her father, and himself.

"He then besought me to reveal the cause of my distress. Geraldine and the Earl joined in his supplication. I raised my head from his shoulder, and withdrew myself from the arms of my wife. I knelt down; the fury of my soul had subsided.—

"Oh! my friends (I cried, while tears gushed from me), I am unworthy of your tenderness—I am unworthy of the light of heaven—I am the destroyer of your peace—the murderer of my brother!"

'Impossible!' cried Geraldine, whilst the deadly paleness of her cheek proved that her heart felt not the doubt her tongue implied.

'He raves,' said the Earl.

'Alas! (exclaimed the monk) I fear he utters a fatal truth. Be explicit (continued he, laying his hand upon my head), and sport not with the feelings of your friends.'

"He raised me to a seat. He again urged me to speak; and in faltering accents I began my tale of horror. As I ended it, Geraldine dropped, to all appearance lifeless, at my feet. I threw myself beside her. Oh, Philippe! (I cried) is the life of my wife required as an expiation of my crime?'

"Her wretched father hung over her.—'She dies! (said he); childless and forlorn I am doomed to descend to the grave!'

"The monk was alone collected; he raised her from the ground, and chafed her hands and temples; in a few minutes she showed signs of returning life. At length she opened her eyes: I was the first object they fell upon. 'Unhappy man! (she sighed) how could you doubt me?'

"Thus humbly kneeling, let me implore forgiveness for doing so (said I). Oh! amply, amply shall you be avenged; I fly this instant to throw myself into the arms of offended justice; and, by an ignominious death, atone for my wrongs to you and Philippe."

'And destroy your wife and her unborn infant,' cried she.

"This was the first time I had heard there was a prospect of my becoming a father; an idea of the felicity which but a few days before I should have received from such an intimation rushed upon my mind; and I sunk groaning to the earth at the contrast I now drew between it and my present feelings.

'Do not, by yielding to this wretchedness (said the monk), aggravate the misery of your wife and her father; 'tis the guilty heart, not the guilty hand, my son (proceeded he, trying to compose my mind), which merits the vengeance of heaven; your hand, not your heart, is guilty: the vilest arts could alone have turned it against your brother; and upon the contriver of such diabolical schemes, his blood must certainly rest; compose yourself, therefore, and you may again experience some degree of happiness.'

"I started up; 'repeat that word no more (cried I with fierceness); happiness and I must henceforth be as distant from each other as heaven and hell.'

'Promise (said Geraldine kneeling before me, and laying her cold and trembling hands upon me), promise that you will be guided by the holy father, and try to save a life upon which mine depends.'

"I snatched her to my breast. And can you wish to have the being saved (I asked), who doubted your purity?—Ah! surely the severest punishment is not more than he merits for having done so: yet, as you desire, he will act; here my friends (I continued, relinquishing her), I stand, the veriest wretch upon earth; death would be a release from torture; but do with me as you please; as you wish, I will either try to live, or prepare to die.'

'My son (said the monk), you must retire immediately to your chamber: night draws on apace; as soon as it is dark, I will repair to you, and inform you of the plan I have conceived for your avoiding the treachery by which I fear you are surrounded.'

'May I not accompany him?' said Geraldine, catching my hand as he was leading me from the room.

'No; I wish for your presence in order to consult with you as to the best mode of securing his safety.' This reason for preventing her attendance conquered all opposition.

"I shall not dwell upon the minutes I passed alone. The monk came according to his promise as soon as it was dark; he opened the door softly, and held a glimmering lamp in his hand. 'Follow me, my son,' said he.

"I implicitly obeyed, and pursued his cautious steps through winding passages, and down innumerable descents of steps. At length we stopped, and I found myself in a spacious and gloomy vault.

"Have you changed your mind (demanded I, after looking round me for a minute); have you at last thought me deserving of punishment, and brought me hither as to a prison."

'You wrong me by the supposition (said he); I have brought you to this vault but to secure you from danger; your destruction I have no doubt was intended as well as your brother's; the motive for such an intention I cannot conceive, nor perhaps may never be able to discover. Blanche has disappeared: I have every reason to believe she has joined that villain Claude. The moment I returned from your chamber, I sent for her, determined on trying to extort from her a confession of her guilt, but she was just gone out. On hearing this, I directly repaired to her father, a simple shepherd, long known to me, and one whom I have ever found conscientiously just in all his dealings. I enquired for his daughter; he had not seen her the whole day he said. I then in a careless manner asked him if he knew a person of the name of Claude?—No, he instantly replied.

'From his cottage I hastened to the valley where you said your brother had fallen; but the body was gone. Struck by a circumstance so strange, I stood as it were transfixed to the spot for a few minutes; at last I was turning away, when deep groans pierced my ear, and made me again pause.'

"As the monk uttered those words, I shrieked aloud—'Oh, God! (I cried), is it possible?—could I be mistaken?—does Philippe live?'

"The monk shook his head; 'would to heaven he did! (said he). But to proceed; the shades of night fell thick around me, and prevented my seeing to any distance; the groans still continued;—in the name of God (cried I), I conjure you, whoever you are, from whom those groans proceed, to speak, and direct me to your assistance.'

'Ah! father (said a voice, which I instantly recollected to be that of Lafroy, your brother's valet) heaven surely sent you hither.'

'Directed by his voice, I went up to him and found him sitting behind a low mound at a little distance from the spot on which I had first heard him. I enquired into the cause of his present situation; he burst into tears—'Ah! father (said he), do you not know what has happened? do you not know of the horrid murder that has been committed?—Ah! who could have thought that the hand of a brother could have perpetrated so cruel a deed!'

'I was wounded to the heart (said the monk) at hearing he was acquainted with the dreadful affair. I asked him what he knew concerning it.'

'I left the castle (answered he), a considerable time before my Lord, in order to apprise the nurse of his intended visit to the child. Tired at last of waiting for him, or rather apprehensive, from his long stay, that he was taken ill, and could not come, I was returning to the castle to terminate my suspense, when, in this very spot, I was suddenly stopped by surprise at seeing Monsieur Lausane a few yards before me, with a dagger in his hand, and an expression of the most violent rage in his face. I will not deny that I was panic-struck and unable to move even when I saw my Lord approaching. Oh! never shall I cease to regret my want of courage; though, alas! nothing but the greatest, the quickest exertion of it could have saved his life; for scarcely had his brother cast his eyes upon him, ere he stabbed him to the heart! Horror overcame me at that instant, and I fainted away, nor recovered my senses till a few minutes ago: when I recovered, I had not however power, or rather resolution to move; I feared beholding or stumbling over the body of my dear and murdered Lord.'

'I dreaded Lafroy's testimony against you (continued the monk); I therefore endeavoured to extenuate your conduct, and excite his pity by relating the artifices which had been practised on you. What I said had the desired effect; he no longer, he declared, considered you guilty, and, of his own accord, took a solemn oath never to give information against you.

'I asked him whether he had any knowledge of Claude, and also whether he did not think his brother in league with him? He had no personal knowledge of the villain, he replied; all he knew concerning him was that he was a vine-dresser, who lived a little way from his brother's cottage. As to his brother, in the most impassioned manner he protested a heart more noble, more humane than his never lodged within a breast; consequently it could not be supposed he had entered into so horrible a plot.

'I enquired whether he could form any conjecture about the first contrivers of it? None, he replied in a solemn manner. I then told him of my not being able to find the body: this renewed his grief, and by the first dawn of day, he said he would endeavour to discover it. As to Claude, he agreed with me there was little probability of any search after him being successful.

'I bid him return to the cottage, nor come to the castle unless sent for. I think his fidelity may be depended on; but I shall not put it to the test by entrusting him with your situation.

'The domestics are at present ignorant of the cause of your disorder, as well as of the death of your brother; there is no doubt but what they will soon be acquainted with the latter—they may then perhaps suspect the former; there is no knowing how they would act. I shall therefore, as soon as I leave you, inform them that you have been compelled to quit the castle, in order to attend a most particular friend to Italy; this will change the search, should one be made after you.'

"But think you not (cried I), that death would be preferable to a confinement here, which will deprive me of the society of all I love?'

'Your confinement here will not subject you to such a loss (he replied); a constant intercourse can easily be kept up between you and your Geraldine; and every thing that can possibly be brought hither for the purpose of adding to your comfort, shall be conveyed by me; the castle-vaults communicate with those belonging to the monastery—I shall therefore have free access at all times to you.'

"I shall no longer dwell upon the conversation that passed between us, neither upon the agonies I fell into on being left alone; pity for Geraldine only prevented me from dashing my desperate brains out.

"The next day the monk came to me sooner than I expected. 'Alas! (exclaimed he as he advanced), the unhappy father of your wife has not yet drained the cup of misery!' I thought of no sorrow but that which the death of Geraldine could occasion. Starting, therefore, I wrung my hands, and cried—'She is dead! my wife is dead, and I have murdered her!'

'No (replied he), 'tis not his Geraldine, but the babe of his departed Elenora he has lost.

'On coming to the castle this morning, I was surprised to see Lafroy just entering the hall before me. I accosted him in rather an angry tone, and asked what had brought him to it without my permission? He soon assigned a sufficient reason for his unexpected appearance. On returning to the cottage, he said he had thrown himself across a bed, where, overcome by grief and fatigue, towards morning he had fallen asleep. 'From my repose (he continued), I was soon roused by piercing shrieks; I instantly jumped up, and darted into the outside room, from whence they proceeded. Here I found the woman of the house alone, and almost in a state of distraction. It was some time ere she could speak and explain the cause of her disorder: at length she said the infant she had received from the castle was stolen whilst she was out milking her goats. That Claude was the author of this new misfortune I could not doubt; and I deemed it my duty to lose no time in informing the Earl of what had happened.'

'Alas! (resumed the monk) it was a heavy stroke to him; through the child he hoped to have received some little consolation for the death of the mother. This very day it was his intention to have written to the Marquis of Montmorenci to acquaint him with the marriage of his son, and implore his protection for the offspring of it; an intention he has now laid aside as unnecessary, except the child is found, to search for whom I have dispatched some agents I can depend upon. The death of your brother is now known throughout the castle; I invented a plausible story for Lafroy to repeat, which he did with little hesitation; and it is believed that your brother fell by the hand of a ruffian belonging to one of the numerous gangs of banditti which infest these mountains. Lafroy sets out this day for the castle of Montmorenci; and has solemnly promised to adhere to my instructions in announcing the death of his lamented master.'

"I asked the monk whether the body of the unfortunate Philippe had been discovered?—he replied in the negative.

"What he told me, if possible, increased my anguish. I then enquired when I should behold my Geraldine?—'At night,' he replied. I counted the tedious moments till she appeared. Ah! how pale, how languid, how different from the Geraldine I had left! She wept bitterly in my arms. 'Oh! my love, (I exclaimed), your tears distract me: yet I cannot wonder at your shedding them; you have reason indeed to weep the hard fate which united you to a murderer!'

'Ah! never, Lausane (said she), shall I lament the fate which bound me to you. Exclusive of your misfortunes, have I not reason to weep for the loss of my Elenora—the sister of my love—the sweet play-fellow of my infancy—the dear, the inestimable friend of my youth? Oh! Lausane, the most exalted prosperity with you could not have silenced my grief on her account.'

"A month passed away without any incident occurring to alarm my friends, and without any determination being formed relative to my future destiny. At the expiration of that time, the monk came to me one night at a very late hour; his countenance was disordered, and for a few minutes he could not speak.

'My son (said he at length), 'tis well that we took the precautions we did.'

"What has happened?" demanded I eagerly.

'To-night (resumed he), as I was returning to the monastery, I heard, from behind a low rock which lies at a little distance from the castle, a low murmur of voices. I paused and listened, for I thought I distinguished your name: I was not mistaken; in about a minute after I stopped, it was repeated. I then crept to the spot determined to run every risk rather than not try to discover any plot that might be forming against you. As I approached, I beheld two men, from whom a projection of the rock concealed me.

'To Italy (said one of them), you say he is gone.—'Tis so reported,' replied the other. 'Well, it shall be my business (again spoke the first), to discover what foundation there is for that report;—earth shall be searched for Lausane; for, whilst he lives, my wishes can never be accomplished.'

'They then walked away (continued the monk), and I hastened back to the castle to consult with your wife and her father about you. We soon agreed that a report of your death could alone, in all probability, save your life. I shall therefore send a young man, whom I can depend upon, to-morrow to the castle, for the purpose of declaring that you are no more. He shall say that in a small town in Italy, from whence he is just returned, he met you; that shortly after that meeting, you were taken ill; and, knowing whither he was bound, in your last moments had requested him to call upon your family, and inform them of your fate.

'This report will put a stop to all enquiries; and, as soon as your Geraldine has lain in, I will assist you in escaping with her to a part of the world where there can be no fear of your ever being discovered. To prevent any suspicion, Geraldine is to declare a resolution of renouncing the world as soon as her child is born; and, under the pretext of entering a cloister, she is to quit the castle: when settled in the manner you wish, the Earl and the infant are to follow.'

"I attempted not to oppose the scheme of the monk; any scheme, indeed, which flattered me with a hope of again enjoying the company of my Geraldine without interruption, was to me acceptable. 'Tis unnecessary to say the anxiety with which she longed for my release from confinement—a confinement which she endeavoured to soften by the most unremitting attentions. Oh! with what agony have I gazed upon this matchless woman in my dreary dungeon! pale, weeping, emaciated, sinking with horror, yet trying to conceal it! Oh! surely the wretch extended upon the rack could not have felt greater tortures than I at those moments experienced.

"The period now arrived for making me a father: my Geraldine did not come near me one entire day, and my heart throbbed with tumultuous fears on her account. The monk came at night; with an eagerness which shook my frame, I enquired for her. 'She is well (said he), but the Earl is indisposed; and, without exciting suspicion in the servants, she could not leave him:'—this excuse pacified me. Another day arrived without bringing her; two more followed, and still I saw her not. I then again began to be alarmed: 'I have been deceived I fear (said I); if Geraldine was well, she would surely have contrived some method for seeing me: to-night, though I rush into the arms of destruction by doing so, I will terminate my suspense.'

"Accordingly as soon as the monk came, I told him my determination of seeing her; he looked shocked, and endeavoured to oppose it; I hastily interrupted him—'No (cried I), I am resolved this night to know whether or not I have been deceived.' As I spoke, I rushed by him; and, with a velocity which mocked pursuit, fled through the intricate passages of the castle, nor stopped till I reached the chamber of Geraldine, which I gained without meeting with a being. I flung open the door—Ah, heavens what a sight presented itself! on the bed lay the lifeless body of Geraldine, already prepared for the grave, and bending over it the almost equally lifeless form of her father! For a minute I stood motionless; then shivering, shrieking with despair, I sprung to the bed, and fell fainting upon the clay-cold bosom of my love!—Short was the privation of my misery. When I revived, I found myself supported by the monk. I shall not attempt to describe the extravagancy of my grief, nor repeat the frantic reproaches I uttered at the deception practised on me. 'Oh! cruel, cruel (I cried), to deny me a last embrace! had the last beam of her eye fallen upon me—had her last sigh been breathed in my arms, I should not have been so wretched!'

'Mistaken idea! (said the monk); your wretchedness must have been augmented by witnessing the agonies of a creature so beloved. It was by her command alone any deception was practised on you. She knew her danger from the moment she lay in; and she knew, if acquainted with it, you would have insisted on seeing her. She charged me, therefore, not to acquaint you with her fate till her interment had taken place. And she charged me also to tell you, that if the love you professed for her was sincere, you would endeavour to combat your affliction, in order to support her father, and supply to her infant the loss she would sustain by her death.'

"Does my child then live?" said I.

'Yes (replied the monk); Providence is kind, and still reserves some blessings for you; forfeit them not by murmuring at its decrees. Look at that miserable old man (continued he, pointing to the Earl), and learn from him a lesson of submission to the will of the Almighty. Think you the anguish which wrings the heart of a husband can exceed that which rends the bosom of a parent? no—believe me it cannot: and yet, notwithstanding his deprivation, no loud complaint, no impious murmur, breaks from him; he bends before the stroke without repining, confident that it proceeds from a hand which cannot err.'

"The language of the venerable man allayed the tempest of my soul: I suffered him to lead me to the Earl, at whose feet I sunk. He turned from the bed, and attempted to speak, but his voice was inarticulate, and tears burst from him. I almost envied him the tears he shed; they relieved his oppression; but mine I could not lighten in that manner; mine was that deep, that silent grief which whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.

'They are gone! (said he at length, and extending his trembling hand, he laid it on my shoulder); the pillars of my age are gone! No more shall the soft accents of my children attune my soul to peace! no more shall their bright eyes be opened to inspire me with gladness! the shroud already covers both, and on the cold bed of Elenora my Geraldine will soon be laid!'

"I groaned—grasped his hands convulsively in mine, and, in frantic exclamations, expressed my grief. The monk endeavoured to moderate my transports, and the Earl made a feeble effort to aid him.

'Oh! my son (said he), in pity to me, in pity to your child, exert yourself; let me not descend forlorn to my grave, neither let her be cast without a friend upon the world!'

"I started from the ground, and demanded to see my babe. You were laid in a distant chamber, and the monk instantly proceeded thither to dismiss the attendants, after which he cautiously conducted me to it. Oh, my child! how utterly impossible to describe the feelings which pervaded my breast as I gently raised the mantle that covered your sleeping face, and first cast my eyes upon you! I longed to strain you to my breast; yet I feared to breathe upon you lest I should injure you. I kneeled down, and gazed upon you till my sight grew dim! With difficulty the monk could tear me away. When he did, he would have reconducted me to my dungeon, but I pushed him aside, and again rushed to the chamber of death. For a long time I resisted his entreaties to leave it; nor should I at last, I believe, have been prevailed on to do so, had not the Earl at length bent his knee to me: I could not refuse the kneeling father of my Geraldine; and half-dragged, half-supported by the monk, I descended to my prison. Oh! what a night was that which followed the knowledge of my Geraldine's death: on the damp ground I lay stretched, and the gloomy echoes of the vaults were awakened by my moans!

"But I will not, by any longer dwelling on my feelings, lengthen out my story. It was determined that I should remain in my present situation during the life of the Earl, and, after his decease, seek another asylum with my child. Contrary to all expectation, the Earl survived the loss of his Geraldine two years; during which period no occurrence happened to disturb the melancholy quiet of the castle. As the infirmities of Lord Dunlere prevented his coming to me, I was frequently conducted to him by the monk, who, whilst I continued with him, always remained near the chamber to prevent our being surprised.

"Never shall I forget the last hours I passed with the father of my love at the decline of a lovely summer's day; I was brought to him to pay my then almost daily visit; I found him seated near an open window inhaling the sweet breeze which played around, whilst the setting sun beaming through it, cast a kind of luminous glory on the portraits of his daughters, before which, exhausted by play, you had fallen asleep.

'Ah! (said he, motioning for me to sit near him) how much should I have enjoyed the calmness of this delightful evening, had the blessings I once possessed been still mine! but let me not murmur at the decrees of the Almighty; something whispers to my soul I shall soon be re-united to those I regret. Oh! my son (he continued, observing a tear starting from me), do not too bitterly mourn my death; rather rejoice at what to me will be a release from misery as incurable as unspeakable: sink not beneath affliction at the very period your exertions will be most requisite. Oh! rouse your fortitude for the sake of Geraldine's child, and live to preserve one relic of the noble house of Dunlere! Yes, I repeat, noble was the house of Dunlere: and should any chance ever lead you to the isle in which it stands, you will find I have not been a vain boaster in calling it so. True, its honours are departed, its possessions are divided; but though its glory has set, it has set like yon bright orb, leaving a long tract of radiance behind it: 'tis on the flowery banks of the Shannon you would hear of the fame of my ancestors; 'tis there you would hear that they were ever foremost in the ranks of virtue and of valour; that their arms were never stretched against the feeble, nor their swords stained with the blood of innocence.' His eyes sparkled as he spoke, and the vigour of his soul seemed revived; but, alas! his was but the emanation of a departing spirit.

"Early the ensuing morning, contrary to his usual custom, the monk came to me. His unexpected visit, and agitated countenance, instantly alarmed me; and, in faltering accents, I pronounced your name.

'Your child is well (said he); the Earl too is well—he sleeps in peace; his soul has this day been called to heaven."

"I could not refrain my tears on hearing of this event; in losing the Earl, I lost the friend who soothed my sorrows by talking to me of my Geraldine. 'All then that now remains to me (cried I), of the friends I adored, (the wife I must eternally regret) is a poor helpless infant!'

'For her sake (said the monk), you must now exert yourself. Oh! rouse yourself (he continued, seeing me despondently shake my head), to guard her tender years from the cruelties and snares of the world! Ah, let not the sweet blossom, which gives so early a promise of perfection, fade untimely for want of a paternal shelter!'

"By degrees his language re-animated me to exertion, and we began to arrange plans for the future. He enquired to what part of the globe I was inclined to bend my steps? My broken spirits, I told him, rendered me, not only unwilling, but unable, to acquire new habits. I had, therefore, an unconquerable aversion to any strange country; and thought, from being so little known in my own, that I might, particularly as the story of my death was credited, remain in it with safety. The monk expressed his regret at my disinclination to quit France, but did not attempt to oppose it. After some consideration he mentioned the place he had come from, as a situation well calculated for retirement. I was enamoured of it from his description; and he assured me he would dispatch a confidential person that very day to procure a residence in it for me. He had already, he said, prepared the servants for dismission; and, before others came to supply their place, from the real owner of the castle, who had only lent it to the Earl as a temporary asylum, "my messenger (said he), will be returned, and every thing prepared for your departure. I have (continued he), prevented all enquiries as to the destination of your child, by declaring her solely committed to my charge: and when the hour for your quitting the castle approaches, I shall send the woman who now takes care of her after the other domestics.'

"Every thing succeeded according to our wishes. At the expected time the messenger arrived, after having taken the cottage for me in which you were brought up, and I set out for it a few days after the interment of the Earl. At the moment I was bidding a last adieu to the castle, the monk put you into my arms in order to revive my resolution, which he saw drooping. 'Tis said that our first parents lingered as they were quitting paradise; so I lingered as I was leaving what to me had been a paradise—so I paused and cast my tearful eyes upon it. With difficulty the monk could prevail on me to proceed; he insisted on accompanying me to the place, about half a league from the castle, where a guide and mules were stationed for me. As we proceeded thither, he exhorted me to patience and submission to the Divine will. Our farewell was solemn and affecting; I strained him to my breast, and attempted to express my gratitude for all his kindness. 'Oh! my son (cried the holy man, while tears bedewed his venerable face), I do not merit such thanks; I but performed my duty in the services I rendered you and the family of the Earl; for am I not the servant of a God, who pities the frailties of his creatures, and pours balm upon the wounds which his justice sees proper to inflict?' He promised to keep up a constant correspondence with me. 'When I cease to write (said he), you may be convinced that either my faculties have failed me, or—I am no more.'

"Our journey commenced at night; the ensuing day we lay by in an obscure cottage, and the following night reached our habitation. My domestic arrangements were soon made. I changed my name; and, from the retirement of my house, and its being entirely out of the beaten track, had not a fear of being discovered. Here had my bosom been free from the pangs of conscience, I might again have experienced some small degree of peace; but horror and remorse had taken possession of me, and the spirit of the murdered Philippe continually haunted my steps; life was so great a burden, that often should I have been tempted to raise a desperate hand against it but for your sake.

"To hide from you an anguish which I could not at times suppress, have I frequently wandered away to the wildest and most forlorn spots in our neighbourhood. No weather, no circumstance, could at these periods prevent those rambles; the dews of summer, the rains of winter, the closing hour of day, the midnight one of darkness were alike disregarded by me. Oh! how often have I stretched myself upon the damp earth, whilst the bleak winds of winter have whistled round me, to deprecate the wrath of Philippe's angry spirit: 'I plead not on my own account (I have cried), Oh! my brother, 'tis for the sake of my child I plead; in pity to her let not the thunders of vengeance burst upon my head! in pity to her, let me sink without infamy to my grave, that, as she bends over it, she may sooth the sorrows of her heart by saying, My father was virtuous, and his memory shall live for ever.'

"When I told you I would at some period or other elucidate the mysteries of my life, I said so but for the purpose of allaying your suspicions, hoping that, in consequence of such a promise, you would no longer imagine I had any dreadful secrets to disclose.

"Exclusive of the misery I felt from conscious guilt, I felt a considerable portion also from reflecting on the distresses to which, in all probability, you would be exposed after my death, as I could not hope that the farm would then, under the superintendence of a less interested person, yield such profits as it had before done; and I knew the small remainder of your grandfather's wealth, which the monk had deposited in my hands, and which I had most carefully husbanded, would be quite inadequate to your support.

"From this uneasiness I was relieved by our blessed friend the Countess de Merville. I should previously have told you of her seeing your mother; the visit I paid her on my way to Montmorenci Castle, was discovered by her guardian, and awakened his apprehensions. He wished to unite her to his son; and, ignorant of my situation, he imagined I had come back to the neighbourhood for the purpose of disappointing that wish, and profiting by the ascendancy he knew I had over her: he therefore, in order to baffle what he supposed were my designs, immediately determined on taking her to Italy. As he did not assign his real motive for this sudden journey, of course he received no explanation from her relative to me. They stopped for refreshment near the castle, and she contrived to escape to it to pay a visit to my wife; a visit, however, little attended to by Geraldine, who was then nearly distracted by the danger of her sister.

"In Italy the Countess first saw the Count de Merville, a French nobleman of amiable manners and illustrious descent; reason had conquered her hopeless passion, and in his arms she gladly sought a shelter from the tyranny of her guardian. They remained abroad some years after their marriage; and when, on their return to France, they stopped at the castle for the purpose of enquiring after me and mine, they could only receive a confused account of the sorrows and death of the family from an old woman who then took care of the mansion.

"To the Countess, on our unexpected meeting, I imparted all the particulars which I have related to you. She heard them with horror, grief, and astonishment; and, her emotions a little abating, bitterly regretted my not having applied to her friendship for protection; the reproaches she uttered for my not having done so, I at length stopped by reminding her of the danger which would have attended an application.

"She told me of the marriage of her daughter, and her connexion in consequence of it, with the House of Montmorenci. 'But though allied now in some degree to the Marquis (cried she), I never could prevail on myself to see him, so abhorrent to my soul has his cruelty to you and your mother made him: yet did I imagine that I could, by personally imploring his protection for you and your child, obtain it, I would instantly conquer my repugnance to an interview; but I am well convinced, that all supplications for justice would be unavailing, as I am confidently assured by those I cannot doubt, that he execrates the memory of those whom he has injured.'

'How much was she deceived when she believed that assurance! (exclaimed Madeline); my grandfather's acknowledging you as his rightful heir almost the moment he discovered your residence, proves he spoke truth when he assured us that his penitence for the injuries he had committed was extreme, and that his soul rejoiced at an opportunity of doing justice. The unworthy husband and father-in-law of her daughter were, I fear, the wretches who imposed upon her. But I interrupt your narrative.'

"The Countess (resumed St. Julian), assured me that, since her child was to be enriched by my birthright, she would take care to guard my daughter against the ills of poverty. How this generous intention was frustrated you best know.

"You may imagine I was not a little confounded when, on arriving at the castle, the first object almost I beheld was Lafroy: the alarm of my soul, which my countenance I believe too faithfully depicted, he however tried to dissipate by a secret look, and a slight pressure of his hand upon his heart, as if to assure me of his fidelity.

"At night, when I was undressing, he entered my apartment—'Pardon my intrusion, my Lord (said he), but I could not refrain from coming to express my joy at seeing you, as I may say, risen from the grave; for the monk assured me you were dead. He might have confided in me; I pledged a solemn oath never to betray you; and, though but a servant, I have ever been taught to consider a promise as sacred.'

"Excuse the caution of old age, Lafroy, (replied I); 'twas not by my desire the monk deceived you.'

'Certainly, my Lord (said he); I allow too much caution could not be practised then, nor is there less occasion for it now; as I am convinced, if the Marquis knew you were but accessary to the death of Lord Philippe, he would punish you with the most implacable vengeance. For my part, I think you more to be pitied than condemned; and that those who instigated you to the destruction of your brother, alone merit punishment.'

"Did you ever (asked I), discover any clue to unravel the horrid mysteries which involved me in guilt?"

'I once (cried Lafroy), had an opportunity of doing so, but, alas! I lost it.'

"Lost it! (repeated I); explain yourself."

'About seven years ago (resumed he), as I was attending the Marquis to a seat of his near Paris, at a post-house, to which I rode before the carriage for the purpose of securing horses, my eyes encountered that villain Claude: I instantly seized him by the arm, and, dragging him into a room, bolted the door—'Accursed wretch! (cried I), the long delayed punishment of heaven has at length overtaken you; the Marquis of Montmorenci approaches, and into his hands I shall consign you, as the immediate cause of his son's death.'

'Oh! have mercy (he exclaimed, and dropped upon his knees); I am not quite so guilty as you imagine: my poverty exposed me to temptation, and a base enemy of Lord Philippe's, by lavish promises, seduced me to evil. I have already made a full confession of every circumstance to a relation of the Marquis's; and I am ready to repeat the same to you, if you but promise not to give me into his power.'

'Well (said I, after some minutes of consideration), on this condition I give the promise you desire.' I accordingly raised him from the ground, and with an impatience which made me tremble, seated myself near him to hear his narrative. He had just opened his lips for the purpose of beginning it, when a violent knock came to the door, and the post-master bid me come out directly, for the Marquis of Montmorenci was dying. All horror and consternation, I obeyed him, and found a fellow-servant in the hall, who told me his Lord was in violent fits.'

'Secure the man in the parlour (cried I to the post-master as I sprung upon my horse to ride off to the carriage, which the servants had stopped for fear of rendering their Lord worse by the motion. It was long ere he regained his senses). We then slowly proceeded to the post-house; but think of my rage, my regret, when, upon enquiring for him, I learned that, during the bustle in the passage, Claude had slipped from the parlour, and escaped from the house by a back way, fearing, no doubt, that I would not keep my promise to him. 'Tis a true saying, my Lord, that a man generally judges of the disposition of others by his own, so Claude, being himself a deceiver, feared deception from me.'

"Lafroy then proceeded to inform me, that he had, ever since the death of my brother, been immediately about the person of the Marquis, and ended his conversation with assurances of being ever faithful to me and mine."

"It must have been to D'Alembert that Claude confessed his guilt," said Madeline.

"So I think (cried her father); I know of no other way by which he could have attained a knowledge of my life."

"Ah! what a base advantage does he take of the secret reposed in him!" said Madeline.

"A base one indeed (repeated St. Julian). Oh! my child, never can I consent to bribe him to silence by sacrificing you. What, to save a life upon which misery is entailed—a life already in its decline—shall I devote my heart's best treasure to wretchedness?—no, Madeline, no; sooner will I brave the threats, will I meet the vengeance of D'Alembert, than consent to such a measure."

"And do you think (cried Madeline), in an union with D'Alembert's son I could feel half the wretchedness I must experience if, by persevering in your present intentions, you provoke his resentment, and become its victim? no—believe me I could not. But I have sworn (continued she, wildly starting from her seat), I have sworn to become the wife of D'Alembert, if by no other means I can prevail upon his father to keep secret the fatal events of your life; the oath is recorded in heaven—what mortal then shall be daring enough to bid me break it?"

"My Madeline! my love! (cried her father, terrified by her strong emotions, and catching her hand), a thought has just struck me, which may perhaps extricate us from our present trouble; 'tis evident that neither D'Alembert nor his son would desire an union with you, but for the sake of the fortune you are to possess."

"Evident indeed," repeated Madeline.

"I think then (resumed St. Julian), that if we were to promise to resign that fortune to them, they would cease all further solicitations for your hand."

"A merciful God has surely inspired you with the idea (said Madeline, while tears of joy fell from her). Oh, I have no doubt but our persecution would immediately cease, if their avarice was once satisfied."

"Send then for D'Alembert (cried St. Julian), and tell him, if he vows inviolable secrecy with regard to me, and promises to relinquish all ideas of an union between you and his son, both you and your father will, without delay, sign any paper he may please to draw up, resigning to him and his heirs for ever all right and title to the fortunes of Montmorenci."

"I will send for him directly," exclaimed Madeline.

"Ah! my child (said St. Julian, still detaining and looking mournfully at her), must I then bid you sign away your birth-right? Must my crimes doom you to obscurity?—for me must you forfeit that wealth, that rank, you are entitled to?—"

"Talk not to me of wealth or rank (said Madeline); what happiness have I experienced from the possession of either?—Oh! my father, never did I know real peace since I left the dear cottage where I was brought up; to be again its humble inmate is the summit of my wishes."

"Gladly indeed shall I resign all pretensions to rank and splendour (cried St. Julian); gladly shall I quit this mansion, where the spirit of a murdered brother takes its nightly rounds to fill my soul with horror. Yes, Madeline, in the dead of the night, when all but misery and despair are sunk in repose, my ears are often pierced by dreadful groans and melancholy cries, such as disturbed the tranquillity of the family the first night we entered within these walls."

"Oh! would to heaven (exclaimed Madeline, shuddering and appalled), that our departure from the castle immediately followed our renunciation of the fortune appertaining to it."

"Would to heaven it did! (said St. Julian) but to quit it during the life-time of the Marquis is impossible."

"Let me no longer delay sending for D'Alembert," cried she. As she spoke, she disengaged her hand, and, flying to the bell rung it with violence. A servant almost instantly obeyed the summons, by whom she dispatched a message to D'Alembert, requesting to see him directly. Unwilling to meet him in the present agitated state of his mind, her father tenderly embraced her, and then left the room.