The Mummy (Loudon)/Volume 3/Chapter 6

by Jane Loudon

CHAPTER VI.

 

Notwithstanding the able manner in which the revolution had been effected, England was still in a state of tumult. Though the army had been seduced by the example of Edmund, and the people had been obliged to submit, they were by no means perfectly satisfied with their new government; and Rosabella found, too late, that though the throne might be compared to a bed of roses, it was not without its thorns. The discontented nobles who had aided her cause were also extremely displeased by what they called the trifling value of the rewards bestowed upon them; though, in fact, they rated their services so high, that Rosabella found her whole kingdom did not possess the power of repaying them to their satisfaction. It was also a considerable grievance of these haughty nobles, to see Prince Ferdinand return to the English Court immediately after the dethronement of Elvira, and be received with open arms by Rosabella, who, with the anxiety to conciliate the friendship of foreign powers, usually displayed by those whose thrones feel far from secure at home, loaded him with favours, and even gave him a post of honour in the command of her own body-guard.

Whilst the unreasonableness of her people thus embittered Rosabella's political life, her domestic happiness seemed to rest upon a yet more unstable foundation. She knew that though she possessed Edmund's hand, his heart was still devoted to Elvira; and jealousy made her view all his actions in a distorted light. If he were sad, she was sure he was thinking of her rival; and if gay, she fancied it a masque put on only to deceive her. She was thus completely miserable, and Edmund was as wretched as herself. He felt that he had sacrificed himself to revenge, and sold his peace for a bauble, which, when obtained, did not seem worth the trouble of possessing. His father too—Sir Ambrose, his doating father, was now entirely estranged from him, as he repeatedly declared he would never forgive a traitor, who could forget his oath of allegiance for his own aggrandizement.

"No!" exclaimed the old man, "I loved, I doted upon Edmund; but the Edmund I loved is vanished. My darling son was brave and noble, not a deceptive scoundrel. No, no, my old heart may break—nay, I hope it will—but never whilst I live shall a deceitful traitor be pressed against this breast."

Edmund was inconsolable; he passionately loved his father, and could not bear his anger; besides, he felt that the reproaches of the old man were seconded by those of his own heart. It is painful at any time to bear the censures of the world, but they fall with double weight when we know that they are deserved. Edmund was dissatisfied with himself, and, consequently, disposed to quarrel with the world. He fancied it looked coldly upon him, and, in return, he affected to despise it. A hundred times a day he repeated that he was perfectly indifferent to every thing that was said of him; whilst his nervous anxiety to peruse the newspapers, and make himself perfectly acquainted with every popular rumour, proved that he was only too sensible to every word that was uttered. Edmund had made the mob his idol, he could not live without its applauses, and wretched indeed are those who thus depend on others for their hopes of happiness.

Edmund's disgust at his new rank and situation was soon still farther increased by a visit from Lord Gustavus, who, with several other lords, was deputed to present to his Majesty the complaints of the Commons. They wanted to be enfranchised, they desired innumerable rights and privileges, and in fact they wanted to be all kings; for if half that they demanded had been granted, Edmund must have made them more powerful than himself. He pointed this out to Lord Gustavus, and condescended to reason with him upon the folly of their desires.

"Impossible!" cried Lord Gustavus. "Your Majesty must excuse me but I cannot listen to such arguments; I came here to defend the liberties of the people. Reform is necessary— without reform, nothing can go on well. Evils must be torn up root and branch."

"Are not my subjects healthy, wealthy, and prosperous?" asked Edmund. "Have they not been successful at home and abroad? Do not the English peasants live as well as most foreign princes, and what more can they require?"

"Liberty, Sire," returned Lord Gustavus. "What are all these pretended advantages without liberty? mere toys; gaudy apples, but rotten at the core. Of what use, indeed, are all the blessings of life, without liberty to give them zest, and radical reform to purge them of all impurities?"

"But listen to reason."

"Reason! Thinking as I think, and as I am sure every rational being must think, your Majesty must forgive me if I assert, that even Reason herself does not deserve to be attended to, when she is basely enlisted upon the side of Tyranny."

"Nay, then," said Edmund, "it is useless to attempt to argue with you. I thought you had made Reason your goddess; but if you worship her only as long as it suits your own purposes, I have done. You may retire. I shall take the petition into consideration, and give it an answer when I may think fit."

Edmund, who, from being degraded and debased in his own opinion, no longer possessed that confidence in himself that carried conviction with all he said, had yet sufficient dignity in his manner to awe those to silence who dared to dispute his commands; and Lord Gustavus and his colleagues, not presuming to make farther remonstrance, retired in dudgeon. This incident contributed to sicken Edmund of reigning: he became disgusted with his Queen, his court, his kingdom, and his country, and, secluding himself as much as possible from public life, left the care of managing the affairs of state to Rosabella and Father Morris, who now throwing off the disguise he so long had worn, appeared openly as the dispenser of her favours, and the arbiter of her actions.

The spirit of poor Sir Ambrose was quite broken by these misfortunes. The defection of his son, and the ingratitude of his confessor, stung him to the core. He retired again to the country, where with his friend the duke, Clara, and Father Murphy, he contrived to exist, though but the shadow of his former self. The duke was also grievously changed, and it was melancholy to see these two poor old men wandering about their splendid gardens and magnificent palaces like roaming ghosts, permitted to revisit for a time the scenes of their departed happiness. Clara now became the sole stay that bound these old men to life. Her character had developed itself wonderfully in the midst of the striking events she had witnessed. Firm, courageous, and enterprizing, though still gentle—the lively girl seemed changed into the intelligent woman, whose active mind and comprehensive spirit foresaw every thing and provided against every emergency. Clara was still young; but her spirit was mature beyond her years, and her attention to the duke and Sir Ambrose was unremitting.

"Well!" would they often say, "though we have lost much, we ought still to be thankful that Clara is spared to us:" and then with tears trickling down their aged cheeks, they would join in imploring Heaven to shower down blessings upon her head. In the mean time, however, Clara herself was far from happy. She would, it is true, exert herself to appear cheerful, but it was evident it was an exertion; and often, when the duke and Sir Ambrose had seated themselves at a party at chess, she would steal out unobserved and retire to a little pavilion in the garden, near what were formerly the apartments of Father Morris, as being the most secluded spot she could find; this part of the mansion having been carefully shut up and avoided by every human being, since the departure of the priest, as infectious; the indignation the worthy and attached servants of Sir Ambrose felt towards Father Morris for his desertion of their master, being extended even to the rooms he had occupied.

In this secluded spot Clara often sate for hours, lost in meditation, her head resting upon her hand, and her eyes fixed in vacancy. Winter had now given place to spring, and all nature seemed to revive with that gay and joyous season. The heart of Clara, however, was still lonely; she fancied it could enjoy no second summer; and she felt almost disposed to quarrel with all around her for displaying a gaiety in which she could not participate. Nothing makes a broken heart feel more gloomy than to see all other objects look gay. It turns from them in disgust, and feels its own misery doubled by the sight of their happiness.

One evening as Clara was sitting absorbed in melancholy reflections, she was startled by hearing a deep-drawn sigh heaved heavily behind her. She turned, and fancied she could distinguish a figure in the midst of the twilight;—but, magnified by the obscurity, the figure seemed of gigantic proportions. Uttering a faint scream, she attempted to fly—when a hand of iron grasped her arm, and arrested her progress. An icy chill shot to her heart, whilst the well-remembered voice of Cheops sounded in her ears.

"Clara," said he, in his deep sepulchral tone, "would you save your Queen?"

"With the sacrifice of my life, if necessary," replied Clara firmly.

"Clara," continued the Mummy, "I have marked you attentively,—and as I do not know any individual possessing more strength of mind and personal courage than yourself, I have fixed upon you to be my assistant in this enterprize. The life of Elvira is in danger; and even my influence cannot much longer save her, if she remain in the power of Father Morris. Besides, the lesson she has already had, has been sufficiently severe. I will aid her to escape, and you must assist me. You shall go to Ireland; and there, if the warlike Roderick be not deaf to the cry of beauty in distress, through his aid Elvira may hope redress,—at least, she must implore his help.—Rosabella is now at a palace near this, and she has brought her rival in her train; for, with the usual jealousy and suspicion of tyrants and usurpers, she scarcely dares to trust her from her sight. Besides this, her diabolical revenge is gratified in making Elvira wait humbly near her throne, and serve in those palaces where she once commanded. Moved by this ungenerous conduct, and the patience with which the unhappy Elvira bears her sufferings, the nobles and people of the realm begin to pity her: and when they are disgusted with the haughtiness and intolerance of Rosabella, they sigh for the return of the gentle Elvira. Father Morris perceives this, and determining to rid Rosabella of her rival, the fair Elvira fades beneath his arts, like a flower withering on its stem."

"She must be saved!" said Clara, with enthusiasm; "she shall he saved!—Point but out the means, and I am devoted to her service."

"You must assume these weeds, and follow me," said Cheops, pointing to a bundle in a corner of the pavilion, which Clara had not before noticed. "In half an hour I will return for you."

"And my sudden disappearance," rejoined Clara, "will it not excite suspicion?"

"'The river is deep and rapid," returned Cheops; "some of your clothes left upon its banks—"

"I comprehend," cried Clara eagerly; "but the poor old duke, and Sir Ambrose?"—

"Their anxiety and distress may be great, but cannot be lasting: the feelings of age are blunt, and—"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Clara, "you are deceived;—nay, I think that age feels grief more acutely than youth. The mind has lost its elasticity—hope is dead within it, and the old brood over their secret sorrow till they destroy their—"

"By Osiris! thou art a most extraordinary girl," said Cheops; "the old do brood over grief, but why say this to me? Do I not know it well—too well?" continued he, looking at her earnestly. Clara turned pale, and trembled—he saw her agitation; and, hastily averting his eyes, continued in a calmer tone,—"Whatever the sufferings of the old men may be for the moment, I suppose even you will allow the life of Elvira more than counterbalances them,—and, by inflicting this temporary pain, you will save them from the more lasting agony they would endure from her death: for Father Morris is so subtle, that it would be dangerous to give them the slightest hint of our intention, lest he should worm it from them. Be ready then, Clara; resign thyself to my instructions, and, above all, fear not."

Clara bent her head in token of assent, and Cheops disappeared. Upon examining the clothes, Clara found them to be the dress of a Greek peasant boy, numbers of whom at this period were rambling over England singing wild romances to their harps or lutes, and telling fortunes in a kind of doggrel rhyme. Exposure to the air tanned most of these wandering minstrels brown, and Clara found a bottle of liquid in the parcel to stain her face and hands. She bound up her flaxen ringlets, and, covering her head with curls of a jetty blackness, she found the metamorphosis so complete that she scarcely knew herself as she saw her figure reflected in a large mirror behind her. It was now nearly dark, but Cheops had left the necessary implements for striking a light, and Clara made her toilette without the least difficulty.

Anxious were the moments, however, that passed after her task was completed, till the arrival of Cheops; and when he did come, she saw he was attired as herself. He grasped her arm, and without speaking led her to the banks of the river. Clara shuddered as she found herself alone in the power of this mysterious being, and saw the river roll deep and dark beneath her feet. Cheops felt her shudder, and cried with one of his horrid laughs, which sounded fearfully amidst the stillness of the night, "What! do even you fear me? Is there no courage in this degenerate race? None? What do you fear? If you dread to trust yourself in my power, or think yourself unequal to the task you have undertaken, retire: there is yet time, and I wish no unwilling agents. Poor child!" continued he, looking at her with feeling; "thou dost not know me, but for worlds I would not harm thee!"

"I will go with you," said Clara resolutely; "I do not shrink. Let what will await me, I will not recede: though unheard-of torments may attend me, I will endure them."

"By the Holy Gods of my forefathers," cried Cheops, "she is a brave girl! Yes, Clara, I will trust thee; and though we should encounter horrors fearful as those which menace the initiati in the dread Isian mysteries, I will not doubt thy courage. A determined spirit, Clara, may subdue even Fate."

As he spoke, he threw the clothes she had brought for the purpose carelessly upon the banks of the river; and then again seizing her arm, he dragged her forward with such rapidity, that in an incredibly short time they approached the palace of Rosabella. The mansion looked the region of enchantment. Brilliantly illuminated, light streamed from every window; and through the colonnade of the great hall, groups of elegantly dressed people were seen gaily moving to and fro, some dancing, and others listening to harmonious music.

Clara, though terrified and exhausted, felt still irresistibly impelled to proceed, and, still guided by her strange companion, entered, unobserved, the outer court of the palace.

"Prince Ferdinand of Germany commands the guard to-night," whispered Cheops, in a low, unnatural voice, "it is well, he shall go with us."

"But will he?" asked Clara tremblingly.

"Will he?" returned Cheops, with his peculiar sneer: "dost thou doubt my power, girl?"

Clara and Cheops had now reached a place from whence, unobserved, they could survey the whole of the splendid apartment before them. They had, in fact, entered the hall, and placed themselves in a kind of recess shaded by projecting pillars, from whence they could see every part of the saloon. Clara was astonished to find herself so easily in the presence of the Queen, for she knew not how they had attained their present situation; and she would have spoken to ask Cheops, but he laid his finger upon his lips: and whispering—"Hippocrates was the only son of Isis and Osiris!"—she comprehended he meant that Wisdom and Knowledge produced Silence, and she did not dare to breathe a syllable.

Rosabella sate upon a splendid dais, gorgeously attired; her black eyes flashing with added brilliancy from the deep rouge upon her cheeks; whilst her raven hair was adorned with diamonds, and a splendid tiara of the same precious stones sparkled on her forehead; a robe of crimson velvet, bordered with ermine, fell in graceful folds over her fine figure; whilst her swanlike neck and snowy arms, exposed perhaps more than delicacy might strictly warrant, were also loaded with costly jewels. Around her, stood the ladies of her court, and amongst the rest, Elvira, plainly attired in a robe of dark grey silk. No ornaments shone amongst her golden tresses, and her naturally fair complexion seemed faded to a sickly and unnatural whiteness.

The indignation of Clara could scarcely be restrained at this sight; but Cheops laying his hand upon her arm, they stood suddenly before the Queen.

"Ah! who are these?" cried Rosabella, starting. Cheops took no notice of her surprise; but, tuning his lute, began to sing.

"Loveliest Queen! oh deign to hear
The humblest of thy suppliants' prayer;
Blandly on a stranger smile,
Who has sought thy happy Isle,
To feast his eyes upon that face,
Where majesty combines with grace."

"What means this mummery?" asked Rosabella; "how came these minstrels here?"

"It is doubtless a device of the King," returned some of her ladies, "to amuse your majesty."

Rosabella smiled; attentions were now so rare upon the part of Edmund towards her, that she felt gratified that it should even be supposed he wished to please her, and, addressing the minstrel more graciously, asked what brought him to England. He sung his reply:

"Full often in my native land
I've struck my lute with bolder hand;
But with the liberties of Greece,
Her minstrel's harmony must cease.
Since Iwan with a soldier's frown
Hath seized and worn th' imperial crown,
Those hearts which spurn despotic power
Must wander from their native bower,
And in far distant lands must try
The meaner arts of palmistry.
Give then your hand, fair lady! give,
And let the wandering minstrel live:
So shall he tell the varied fate
That may that lovely form await.
To other strains his voice is mute;
Broken his heart, unstrung his lute!"

"What say you, ladies," said Rosabella, again smiling, "shall we hear our destiny?"

The ladies, delighted at any thing that promised an interruption to the general gloom which hung over Rosabella's court, gladly assented; and, to Clara's infinite surprise, the Mummy addressed a few doggrel verses to each. When Elvira's turn came, Clara perceived her colour was heightened, and that she trembled excessively, yet the Mummy's verses to her were as unmeaning as to the rest. Whilst this scene was passing, the King and Father Morris approached. The former stood silent and abstracted, apparently quite unconscious of the group before him; whilst Father Morris gazed at them intently, with a satirical sneer upon his countenance, as though in thorough contempt for such folly.

"How can you endure such mummery?" said he to Rosabella, after a short pause.

"Any thing for a change," said she, sighing. The father's dark eye glanced upon the King, and then upon Rosabella, as with a gloomy frown he stalked on. The Queen coloured, and hastily waving her hand to the minstrel, as a sign that he might depart, she turned away, and the disappointed ladies were reluctantly obliged to follow in her train. In a few minutes, however, a page returned with a chain and a purse of gold, which he gave the minstrels, and retired. Clara was upon the point of refusing her share of this bounty, but a look from the Mummy made her sensible of her error, and she took it without uttering a syllable. Her hesitation, however, did not pass unnoticed, and she found, to her infinite horror, when they quitted the palace, that two of the Queen's servants had followed them. Clara trembled excessively, and clung tightly to the Mummy's arm for protection; but that mysterious being still stalked on with the same indifference as before. Clara longed to give him some intimation of the danger that awaited him, but she could not speak; the words seemed to swell in her throat and almost choke her, whilst she found herself dragged along by an irresistible influence, too powerful to admit of her even struggling against it. Inexpressible agony, however, seized her as she found herself hurried on towards the river; and when, as they reached the brink, she beheld Cheops stamp, with almost supernatural force, upon the fragile bridge which stretched across the water, and saw the slender plank sink beneath his weight, she could bear no more, and, screaming with horror, rushed forwards to save him. A strong arm, however, pulled her back; she felt herself whirled round, and for the moment her senses seemed to desert her. The next instant she found she had been dragged under some bushes, and saw their pursuers rush down to the place where the broken bridge had been.

"They are gone, by Jupiter!" said one; "I heard them fall into the water. It was a tremendous crash."

"I heard them," returned the other; "they fell as heavy as lead; and how they screamed!"

"The young one screamed," said the first; "but the old one groaned."

"What does it matter," resumed the second, "whether they screamed or groaned? They are gone to the devil a little before their time, and so we have only to go back as we came. Between ourselves, it was nonsense to take the trouble to watch them. They were evidently only what they seemed to be; and even Father Morris, suspicious as he is, gave us no orders about them."

"Thy dull head cannot see," said the first. "The father's negligence was the very motive of my vigilance. Things are not with him as they have been—he wants to rule the Queen with a rod of iron, and Rosabella will not endure control. Now, it struck me when I saw the youth's hesitation, that all was not right, and, I thought, if I could discover what had escaped him—"

"I see," said the other; "his lifeless trunk might have had the honour of serving as a stepping-stone to enable you to rise."

"It was possible," returned the other, laughing; and they retired, their voices gradually dying away till they became inaudible in the distance. Clara now perceived that the Mummy stood beside her. He did not speak, but pressed his finger upon his lips in token of silence, and for some minutes they stood fixed to the spot:—till, as the last faint echo of the servants' footsteps died away, he again seized the arm of Clara, and hurried her away towards a gloomy cave.

They stopped at the entrance; and though the poor girl was still too much terrified to speak, yet she felt somewhat relieved by the discovery that the Mummy had evidently saved her from danger, instead of, as she feared, precipitating her into it. She still gazed with awe, however, at his strange unearthly figure, as he stood with his eyes fixed earnestly upon a star, and apparently occupied in muttering prayers addressed to it.

"Clara!" at length said he, his deep, full voice echoing solemnly through the vaulted cave; "Clara!" again he repeated, whilst the blood of his terrified companion seemed to curdle in her veins at the awful sound. She, however, slowly and tremblingly advanced—he grasped her arm—she attempted to shrink back, but seemed fixed as though by magic;—"Hear me," continued the Mummy, in a low, hollow tone, which appeared to rise from the tomb, "Elvira understood my signal, and she will soon be here; but you must do the rest. Prince Ferdinand keeps guard to-night. Pass through this cave; the outlet will bring you to his station. Throw yourself at his feet, and appeal to his compassion in whatever language the feelings of the moment may inspire. He will readily listen to you, for he has not forgotten your visit to him in prison, and will swear to devote himself to your service. Tell him you accept his offers, and entreat him to convey yourself and the Queen to Ireland—where Roderick will receive and protect you. He will immediately comply; and his being the companion of your flight, will induce the belief that you are gone to Germany, and will consequently prevent the least danger of pursuit."

At this moment a slight figure, wrapped in a large mantle, appeared at the entrance of the cavern. "Elvira!" cried Cheops, and the stranger sprang forward. "Then I am right," exclaimed she, whilst her whole frame trembled with agitation.

"This is your guide," said Cheops, in his deep sepulchral tone; "follow her and you will do well. Farewell! but we shall meet again." Then bending over her, he pressed his lips to her forehead, and to that of Clara.

Both shuddered at the touch of those cold marble lips, and an icy chill ran through their veins, as the fearful conviction that their companion was no earthly being thrilled in their bosoms. Even the strongest minds dread supernatural horrors, and our fair fugitives turned involuntarily away. When they looked again, the Mummy was gone, and the darkness appeared so profound that they were obliged to grope their way cautiously along. Fearing alike to remain or to advance, they proceeded with trembling steps slowly along a narrow passage; their minds filled with that vague sense of danger that generally attends the want of light, when Imagination pictures terrors which do not really exist, and Fancy lends her aid to magnify those which do.

By degrees, however, the Queen and her companion became accustomed to the darkness; and as the pupils of their eyes dilated, they were enabled to discern the objects around them. Innumerable fantastic shapes, however, now appeared to flit before them, and grim giants to frown awfully from every corner of the gloomy vault they were traversing. The dim and indistinct light threw a misty veil round the projecting corners of the rocks that gave them a fearful and unnatural grandeur; whilst the fair friends, overpowered with terror, gazed timidly around, and stood a few moments not daring to advance into the darker abysses of the caverns, and yet dreading alike to remain where they were, or to return.

"We must go on," said Elvira at length, her voice echoing through the cave, till she started at the sound.

"Oh God!" cried Clara; "hark! a thousand mocking demons seem to repeat from every rock 'Go on!'"

"Go on!" again rang in a thousand varied tones through the cavern.

"Let us proceed," whispered Elvira, shuddering; "this is a fearful place!"

And they hurried on as fast as their trembling limbs could carry them, along a dark and gloomy passage, leading in the direction pointed out by the Mummy. In a few minutes, however, a bright though glimmering light appeared afar off, like a star, which, gleaming through the darkness, seemed a beacon of hope to guide them on to happiness. A slight current of air, too, now blew freshly in their faces, and their spirits rose, as with quickened steps they hastened onward in the direction from whence it appeared to proceed.

The light now seemed rapidly to enlarge, and the wind blew more freshly, whilst the Queen and her companion distinctly heard the heavy stamping of horses, which vibrated fearfully on the hollow ground, and grew louder and louder every moment as they advanced.

"Ah! what is that?" cried Elvira trembling, clinging closer to her companion.

"It is the bivouack of Prince Ferdinand," replied Clara; "the Mummy told me we should find him here, and that he would aid us."

"Ah, that fearful Mummy," murmured Elvira softly; "if he should deceive us, and this should be only a plan to betray us to our enemies?"

"Fear not," said Clara; "come what may, we must dare the worst."

They had now reached the outlet of the cavern, and found an opening large enough to admit of a single person. Cautiously advancing towards it, they paused for a few moments ere they descended, to gaze upon the scene below. A troop of soldiers were scattered round, in various attitudes of repose, under a small grove of trees, whilst their horses grazed at a little distance. The prince alone seemed awake, and he lay apart from his companions, stretched upon a grassy bank, a thick tree spreading above him, his head resting upon his hand, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. The moon shone brightly, and played upon the prince's polished armour, like summer lightning dancing on a lake. His helmet was thrown aside, and his countenance looked pale and sad, whilst his frequent sighs betrayed the uneasiness of his mind.

"Let us advance," said Clara, "and try to move him to compassion."

Elvira complied; and with light and timid steps, fearing almost to breathe, lest they should break the slumbers of their enemies, they approached the prince. All was still, save the hard breathing of the sleeping soldiers, and the measured champing of the horses; their stately figures strongly relieved by the dark grey sky beyond, and their long manes and tails sweeping the ground. The prince was now listlessly tracing figures in the grass with the scabbard of his sword: he started as they approached, and hastily demanded the cause of their intrusion.

"Mercy!" cried Elvira, sinking upon her knees before him; "mercy!" She could say no more, but gasping for breath, she stretched out her arms imploringly, whilst every thing around seemed to swim before her eyes, and the figures of the prince, the trees, the horses, and the sleeping soldiers, appeared all dilated to gigantic magnitude. She entirely forgot the pathetic appeal she had intended making to the prince's feelings, and every faculty seemed suspended in the intenseness of her anxiety.

"For Heaven's sake, good youth," exclaimed the prince, addressing Clara, "explain the meaning of this scene! Why does this lovely female kneel to me, and why does she implore my mercy?"

"Because she has no other hope, save in that and Heaven," said Clara solemnly; "it is the Queen."

"Elvira!" cried the prince: then raising her eagerly, he continued—"Your Majesty may command my services; only tell me how I can assist you."

A few words from Clara explained the urgency of their situation; and the prince, promising to meet them with horses in an hour, persuaded them to return to the cavern till he should join them. Heavily rolled the minutes of this tedious hour, which seemed destined never to have an end, till the nerves of Elvira and Clara were wrought up to such a pitch of agony, that death would have appeared a blessing. At length, the prince came, bringing with him only his faithful Hans.

The sight of him was sufficient to rouse the almost fainting spirits of the Queen; and, without speaking a single word, she and Clara hurried after their conductors, to the wood where the horses were waiting for them.

They mounted, still in perfect silence, and hurried through the most intricate paths they could find; for, as morning dawned, they feared inevitable destruction. Before it became quite light, however, they had reached a thick wood, near the centre of which, they found a half ruined hut; and here did the ci-devant Queen of England and her suite try to obtain a few hours' repose. But, alas! sleep fled from Elvira's eyes; she could not forget she was a fugitive in her own kingdom, flying with terror from those very people who, but a few months before, had almost worshipped her as a goddess; and not even the exhaustion of her body could overcome the hurry of her spirits, whilst every time she closed her eyes, and felt a soft dose creeping over her troubled senses, she started up again in horror, fancying her pursuers had overtaken her.

Consternation reigned in the palace when the flight of Elvira, and the defection of Prince Ferdinand were made known there. "She is gone to Germany!" was the universal cry, and troops were directly dispatched to all the sea-ports, whilst a whole fleet of balloons were ordered to scour the air in all directions, and arrest every aërial vehicle they should meet with, whose passengers could not give a perfectly satisfactory account of themselves. These commissions were executed to the letter, as the guards now sought by extra diligence to excuse the negligence with which they had suffered the Queen to escape; and numerous were the wandering lovers, absconding clerks, and unfaithful wives, who were brought before the Council instead of Elvira and the German Prince, of whom, however, nothing could be heard, their measures having been taken too well to expose them to detection.

In the mean time, the hat and mantle of Clara having been found upon the banks of the river, the duke and Sir Ambrose were inconsolable; and dispatched emissaries every where in search of her. Amongst the rest, Father Murphy and Abelard were sent to the summer palace of the Queen, to inquire if she had there been heard of. Rosabella and her Court, however, had removed to London immediately upon the flight of Elvira being discovered, and the disconsolate searchers having inquired of every one they met in vain, wandered through the gardens, restless and forlorn, till at last they found the mysterious cavern. The aspect of the place was dreary in the extreme: a few stunted shrubs grew upon the banks of a dark, dull rivulet, and Father Murphy shivered. and crossed himself as he looked around.

"Och, murther! and this is an awful place, Mr. Abelard," said he; "and I'm after thinking the sooner we get out of it the better."

"Ah, what is that?" cried the butler, springing forward eagerly, and snatching at some thing in the bushes that looked white.

"It is Clara's pocket-handkerchief, poor darling!" said the friar; "see, here is her name worked upon it by her own pretty fingers:" and as he turned to examine it, his foot slipped, and he rolled into the water, floundering about like a huge porpoise.

"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Abelard, "he will certainly be drowned. Submersion in an aqueous fluid is almost always destructive of animal life, and I see little chance that he has of escape."

"Och! and will ye let me drown while ye're talking?" asked the indignant priest. "Before it's the good-natured thing ye'd be doing in pulling me out, will ye let me be suffocated?"

"No, no, certainly not!" returned Abelard; "my agony is unspeakable at your distress. I only doubt how I shall be able to raise you without a lever or pully. The application of the mechanical powers—"

"May go to the devil," cried Father Murphy, as he crawled out without assistance: "and so you would have let me drown, whilst you were talking of the mechanical powers?"

"Excuse me, father," returned Abelard; "friendship is a powerful affection of the human mind; it invigorates, it warms."

"Does it," said the priest, shaking himself like a water-spaniel; "then I should be very glad to have a little of it at present, for I am shivering with cold; to say nothing of being so hungry that I could eat my fingers."

"I am surprised to hear you talk of being hungry, father," said Abelard; "you are surely too fat to feel any craving for food. Fat, you know, is a kind of intermedium through which the nutritive matter extracted from the food, must pass before it is assimilated to repair the loss of the individual. It thus forms a kind of magazine to supply his wants; and a fat man may abstain from food much longer than another, because, during this abstinence, the collected fat is rapidly re-absorbed."

Father Murphy did not speak, but his look was sufficient, and his teeth clattering in his head afforded an ample commentary upon the text.

"You seem cold also," said the pedantic butler; "but that must be a mistake, for animal oil is universally allowed to be a bad conductor of caloric."

"The devil take your caloric," cried Father Murphy, again forgetting his holy office in his anger; "I suppose you'll want to persuade me that I have no feeling next."

"That is far from impossible," replied Abelard, with the most provoking gravity; "for fat, by surrounding the extremities of the nerves, always obviates inordinate sensibility. At the same time, pray do not let me be misunderstood:—I do not say that fat people can do entirely without eating, for the indivisibility and individuality of the living body can only be maintained by an incessant change of the particles which enter into its composition; though merely part—"

"Hold, hold, for Heaven's sake!" groaned Father Murphy.

"—Part of the animal food is reduced into chyle," resumed Abelard; "and, as you doubtless know, another part becomes bones; in fact, the bones are merely secretory organs incrusted with phosphate of lime. The lymphatic vessels remove this salt—"

"Oh!" groaned Father Murphy, "all this is very fine, but it does not make me one whit less hungry. O that I had a broiled rump-steak at this moment, smoking hot and swimming in gravy, with a lump of fresh butter!"

"Hark!" cried Abelard, "the vibration of the air that strikes upon the tympanum of my ears, gives intimation of the approach of some tangible object."

"Alas! alas!" cried the priest, "it is certainly the spirits returned, that carried away poor Clara. Poor dear girl! that was certainly her pocket-handkerchief."

"I despair of finding her," said the butler.

"Despair is sinful, my son," replied the friar; "misfortunes are sent to try us, and we ought to bear them with resignation, and without uttering a single murmur."

"But I thought you were even now complaining of being hungry, father?" said Abelard with the utmost simplicity.

"True, true!" replied the priest, a little disconcerted by this remark; "but—but—"

"It is one thing to preach, and another to practise," resumed the butler, smiling; "is it not, father? However, I certainly heard a noise; and if any one finds us here, we shall be ruined."

"Och! never mind that," said Father Murphy; "for that we are already, ye know."

"Who have we here?" cried some soldiers, who now descended into the cave; and who as before-mentioned, were particularly alert in performing their duty in examining all strangers.

"And is it me ye are asking that?" demanded Father Murphy? "for if it is, it's of no manner of use; for if I were to set about telling you, it's a hundred to one if ever ye got to the bottom of it."

"Is it possible?" cried one of the soldiers; "surely my ears deceive me, or that is the voice of Father Murphy!"

"Sure and it is!" said the reverend father; "and whose should it be but my own? D'ye think I'd use that of another person?"

"No, no!" returned the soldier, laughing; "but my astonishment was, to find the owner of the voice so near me. Though, now I think of it, it is not at all surprising, as the Duke of Cornwall is at the palace hard by, and you of course are with him."

"And how can I be with him," asked the literal Father Murphy, "when I am here? Now if an Irishman had said such a thing, they 'd have called it a bull."

"Well, well, my good friend," said the soldier, "we will not quarrel for words. I suppose you came down with the duke?"

"And if you do, you never were more mistaken in your whole life!"

"I cannot in the least comprehend you."

"I don't know how ye should, for I hav'n't begun to explain myself yet: nor should I finish if I were to work at it all day; and so, as the duke is here, we'll just go to him, if ye plase."

The duke, already miserable at the loss of Clara, had no sooner heard of the escape of his daughter, than he had determined to visit the place where she had been, principally from that restless desire of change which generally haunts the unhappy; and he was now as much surprised as the soldier to see Father Murphy there. He felt grateful, however, to the priest for his assiduous search for Clara; but as the adventure of the handkerchief rested entirely upon the father's conviction of its identity— the handkerchief itself having been lost in the holy father's unfortunate tumble into the water—the duke considered the whole adventure as rather apocryphal. He felt, however, consoled by it, though he scarcely knew why; and returned to his friend Sir Ambrose in much better spirits than he had left him.

In the mean time, the party of Elvira did not dare to leave the hut in which they had remained pent up the whole day; their horses being crowded within its walls, as well as themselves, to prevent the possibility of discovery. At length, the shades of evening began to fall, and they again set forward at a rapid pace. The agony they had suffered all day from fear of detection—the narrow space in which they had been cooped up, together with want of food, had exhausted the Queen so much, that the morning found her unable to proceed without refreshment, and about daybreak they were obliged to approach a cottage to implore assistance.

The cottager and his son were out at work; but the woman of the house agreed to give the fugitives the shelter they requested. The prince, delighted at receiving this permission, flew back to the Queen to lift her from her horse; but, alas! Elvira was not in a state to enjoy even the most welcome tidings. Pale and livid as a corpse, her head hung upon the prince's shoulder as he bore her into the house, and her terrified friends thought she had expired. A little warm milk, however, revived her, and she opened her eyes.

"I am ready—quite ready—to go on," said she, gasping for utterance, and again sinking back in a fainting fit.

"It is impossible she can proceed in this state," said the prince to Clara, in a whisper; "what will become of us?"

"We must remain here quietly, till she is better," said Clara.

"But if we should be pursued and taken?"

"We cannot die better than in such a cause," said the heroic girl.

"It is strange," said the prince, looking at her earnestly, "that the Queen has been able to inspire such enthusiastic devotion in such a mere boy."

Clara blushed, and cast her eyes upon the ground, whilst the prince gazed upon her blushing cheeks still more earnestly, till she turned away from him abashed. He took her hand; "I cannot be mistaken," said he, "it is, it is Miss Montagu!"

Clara's agitation betrayed her. "I must attend the Queen," said she, breaking from him; and the prince, respecting the awkwardness of her situation, forbore to urge her farther: he felt, however, completely happy. Clara was too artless to conceal the interest he had excited in her breast, and it was not in the nature of man to be indifferent to the devotion of so young and lovely a creature. His eyes, however, alone expressed his happiness; and Clara, who felt his delicacy in refraining from making any farther observations on her disguise, found her love for him increased tenfold by his forbearance.

A few hours' repose restored Elvira so much, that she wished to pursue her journey immediately, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the prince persuaded her to wait till nightfall. "You must recruit your strength," said he, "or you will never be able to plead your cause with Roderick. He is too stern a hero to be won as I was."

"Oh, it is impossible to describe how I dread to meet him," cried Elvira; "I tremble at his name. A being so fierce and stern as he is, will perhaps not even condescend to listen to a woman's prayer, and he will spurn me from him."

"Impossible!" cried the prince; "though, I own, I wish we could do without him."

Whilst the principals were thus employed, the cottager's wife was endeavouring to learn from Hans who and what they were. "That poor lady seemed dreadfully tired," said she. 'When she came, she looked just like a drooping daffadowndilly; when the gentleman lifted her from her horse—oh! it was quite moving to see her!"

"Ja!" said Hans.

"However, though her illness should occasion a little delay," continued the cottager; "I opine that you must be unreasonable to grumble, when you consider the delightful occasion it affords you of refreshing your olfactory nerves by partaking of a little of this odoriferous atmosphere."

"My what nerves?" asked Hans.

"Your olfactory nerves," replied the learned cottager, with a look of the greatest possible contempt: "that is, the nerves that line the membrane of the nasal organ. Every child knows that the nasal fossæ are formed to receive sensations, as by their depth and extent a larger surface is given to the pituitary membrane, and these soft sinuses, or cavities, are enabled to retain a greater mass of air loaded with odoriferous matter."

Poor Hans stood aghast at this explanation, which he found something like that said to be given by Dr. Johnson, when he called net-work a complicated concatenation of rectangular angles; and afraid to speak, lest he should draw upon himself a new volley of words as astounding as the last, he remained silent, staring at his companions with much the same kind of feeling as that with which a wild man of the woods just caught, might be supposed to gaze upon enlightened Europeans.

"Can you give me some more warm milk?" asked Clara, who now descended in search of refreshments for the Queen.

"Do you think so much of the tepid lacteous fluid good for the lady?" asked the cottager, as she put some milk into a saucepan.

"She can take nothing else," returned Clara. "How delightfully that girl sings!" continued she, listening with rapture to a milkmaid, who was chanting an Italian bravura as she was milking her cow.

"Yes," replied the cottager; "Angelica sings well. The parieties of her larynx are in a very tense condition, and her trachea is quite cartilaginous. But here comes my good man," continued she; "he has been hard at work all day in the roads, and I am sure he must want some refreshment."

"I do indeed feel excessive lassitude, missis," said the cottager, as he came in; "and I want something to eat. What have ye got? Do see, will you, for it's dreadful hard work breaking stones; most we had to-day were primitive limestone, but I found a few fine specimens of quartz. The crystals were quite rhomboidal, and I stopped at least half an hour admiring them."

"Rock crystals are often found amongst quartz," said his wife; "so I don't think you had any occasion to lose your time in admiring them, when, you know, you break stones by measure, and your wife and children are starving for want of bread."

"Do not distress yourself upon that head, my good woman," said Clara; "we have money, and our gratitude will not permit you to want any thing that we can give you."

"Thank you, thank you," cried the woman; "it 's a pleasure to serve a generous gentleman like your honour."

"What a charming voice you have!" said Clara, turning away to avoid the woman's praises, and addressing herself to the milk-maid; who, having finished her task, now stepped over the stile that divided the field from the garden of the cottage, with a pail of milk upon her head, and advanced gracefully in measured steps towards them.

"I am very happy to have pleased you, Sir," replied the girl, dropping her foot into the fourth position, as she made an elegant curtsy, and then glided gracefully on.

"Stay, stay!" cried Clara; "won't you give us another song before you go?"

"You must excuse me, Sir," said the girl, again gracefully curtsying; "I am exceedingly sorry to be obliged to refuse a gentleman of your appearance; but singing requires an alternate enlargement and contraction of the glottis, an elevation and depression of the larynx, and an elongation and shortening of the neck, very difficult to be performed with a pail of milk upon one's head."

"Set down the pail, then," said Clara.

"Indeed I can't, Sir; for I have not a moment to spare. I just met some gentlemen of my acquaintance on the hill, and as I expect them here every moment, I must snatch an instant or two to arrange my toilette."

"Gentlemen of your acquaintance!" cried the mother; "what gentlemen can you have met with here, child, that know you?"

"My cousin John that went for a soldier some time since, and a party of his companions."

"And what brings them in these parts? No good, I fear; for John was always a wild good-for-nothing lad."

"It is no evil, I assure you, mother," said Angelica pertly; "but you are always fancying the worst. John is become a man of consequence now, and he is at the head of a party of soldiers, searching for some state prisoners. He'll be made a captain if he finds them: and I hope he will, with all my heart."

"Where are they now?" asked the mother.

"In the wood," replied the girl; "and my brother is gone to help them to search, as he'll get a share of the reward if they find the fugitives whilst he is with them."

"And you'd go too, if you'd any wit," said the wife to her husband, who had now seated himself comfortably before the fire, and seemed very unwilling to be disturbed. Inspired, however, by his wife's remonstrances, he roused himself, and, stretching his heavy limbs, rolled rather than walked away. Angelica had also retired, and Clara was left alone with the woman. It has already been mentioned, that presence of mind was one of Clara's distinguishing characteristics; and, perceiving the danger of the Queen, she was aware not a moment was to be lost. The observations of the woman to her husband, and, in fact, her whole manner, showed that avarice was her master passion, and upon this hint Clara spoke. She offered her abundance of gold; she enlarged upon the greediness of the soldiers, who, if she waited for their approach, would perhaps cheat her of her share in the promised reward, or, at least, give her such a trifle as would not to be worth having; and at last drew forth the glittering metal and spread it before her eyes. Gold softens the hardest heart, and the cottager's wife could resist no longer, but promised to connive at their escape.

Clara instantly ordered Hans to prepare the horses; and, informing the prince and Elvira of what had passed, the whole party again set forward on their eventful journey.