Page:Peterson's Magazine 1844 Vol. V.pdf/13

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LADIES' NATIONAL MAGAZINE.


Vol. V.
PHILADELPHIA: JANUARY, 1844.
No. 1.



THE WIDOW’S REVENGE;

OR, THE YOUNG MAN’S STORY.

BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

CHAPTER I.

In a remote but beautiful valley, situated in the province of Brie, are the ruins of an old mansion, desolate and long since abandoned to the elements, The vast yard which encircles it, almost like a park, is neglected and overgrown with rank shrubberics and wild fruit. The enclusure is still defined by the remnants of a heavy stone wall, dilapidated and in some places entirely leveled to the earth, but a ledge of wild roses, matted with many a creeping vine, has found root amid the disjointed stones: rich mosses have crept over them, and the old wall is now a picturesque rampart of blooming and fragrant herbage.. The ruins of a stately dwelling stand in the midst of this wild conrt—a mass of naked walls shattered to their foundation. The massive embrasurcs and dark chimnies, rising tall and black against the skies, give but a rude idea of the primitive plan of the building. Dark moss and low creeping vines almost conceal what was once the principal en- trance, and all around, amid the tangled thickets, a mass of broken matErials, piles of mortar and massive stone lie heaped together, until it would seem as if the ruins of a whole village had been flung upon that single domain.

I was in college when this strange ruin first attracted my attention. A class-mate of mine lived in the neighborhood, and during the vacations I sometimes spent weeks together on his father’s estate. I was naturally of a romantic turn, and these gloomy ruins in the heart of a prosperous country, and occupying an exceedingly fertile tract of land which was abandoned to its own wild luxuriance, became a matter of thought and vague speculation in my mind long before the history of that deserted spot was revealed tu me: and this knowledge was attained in a manner as strange and romantic almost as the place.

The country all around this desolated property was heavily wooded, and game was found in abundance in every direction. I loved to take my gun and enter these dim foresta alone, or only with my dog, and my rambles always terminated at this desolate place: yet I never approached it, never saw the bleak outline of its chimnies rising before me os I left the forest, that a sensation difficult to describe but very painful, did not come upon me. I would sit down upen the dilapidated wall for hours together, and muse on the scene, while my imagination was constantly, and sometimes almost painfully at work for some explanation of the ruin and asjlence that hed fallen on a place that had evidently becn the seat of uncom- mon opulence, and my heart told me of events soul-thrilling and terrible. I never left that spot but with a shadow upon my spirit—a sad, melancholy sensation, as if I had been treading a burial place of the departed alone, and with the spirit of the past whispering in the air.

One afternoon I had gone forth determined to avoid the old place. So taking my dog Plague, I sought the fields, resolved on a pleasant ramble, I had a book in my pocket, and when the sunshine became oppressively warm I strolled into the forest and sauntered slowly onward in the cool shadow, sometimes reading as I went, and again lost in those soft fancies that are so pleasant to a lad of seventeen just freed from the incarceration of a college life.

Piague ran before me frightening the birds from their crouching places in the dingles, and occasionally starting off in pursuit of more noble game; while I imperceptibly allowed him to choose the direction of my ramble, and all at once found myself standing in a gap of that dilapidated old wail, which, in one direction, was crowded almost into the forest. There seemed to be a fatality about it—go where I would—resolva against it as I might—every day found me in that gloomy place, and with those sombre feelings creeping through my heart.

It was just sunset, and my position commanded a fine view of the ruin rising in black and ragged masses against the kindling sky; every sharp angle so clearly defined against that back-ground of crimson and golden purple, and the dusky