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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d291d30 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64701 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64701) diff --git a/old/64701-0.txt b/old/64701-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ce8c7e6..0000000 --- a/old/64701-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14192 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Romance of the Forest, by Ann Ward -Radcliffe - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Romance of the Forest - interspersed with some pieces of poetry. - -Author: Ann Ward Radcliffe - -Release Date: March 05, 2021 [eBook #64701] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images - generously made available by The British Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF THE FOREST *** - -THE - -ROMANCE OF THE FOREST: - - - -INTERSPERSED - -WITH SOME PIECES OF POETRY. - - - -BY THE - -AUTHORESS OF "THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO." - -_&c. &c._ - - - -EMBELLISHED - -WITH ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD. - - - -London: - -PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. LIMBIRD, 143, STRAND, - -(_Near Somerset House._) - -1824. - - -CONTENTS -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -CHAPTER V -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X -CHAPTER XI -CHAPTER XII -CHAPTER XIII -CHAPTER XIV -CHAPTER XV -CHAPTER XVI -CHAPTER XVII -CHAPTER XVIII -CHAPTER XIX -CHAPTER XX -CHAPTER XXI -CHAPTER XXII -CHAPTER XXIII -CHAPTER XXIV -CHAPTER XXV -CHAPTER XXVI - - - - -THE -ROMANCE OF THE FOREST - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -I am a man, -So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, -That I would set my life on any chance, -To mend it, or be rid ou't. - - -When once sordid interest seizes on the heart, it freezes up the source -of every warm and liberal feeling; it is an enemy alike to virtue and to -taste--_this_ it perverts, and _that_ it annihilates. The time may come, -my friend, when death shall dissolve the sinews of avarice, and justice -be permitted to resume her rights. - -Such were the words of the Advocate Nemours to Pierre de la Motte, as -the latter stept at midnight into the carriage which was to bear him far -from Paris, from his creditors and the persecution of the laws. De la -Motte thanked him for this last instance of his kindness; the assistance -he had given him in escape; and, when the carriage drove away, uttered a -sad adieu! The gloom of the hour, and the peculiar emergency of his -circumstances, sunk him in silent reverie. - -Whoever has read Gayot de Pitaval, the most faithful of those writers -who record the proceedings in the Parliamentary Courts of Paris during -the seventeenth century, must surely remember the striking story of -Pierre de la Motte and the Marquess Philippe de Montalt: let all such, -therefore, be informed, that the person here introduced to their notice -was that individual Pierre de la Motte. - -As Madame de la Motte leaned from the coach window, and gave a last look -to the walls of Paris--Paris, the scene of her former happiness, and the -residence of many dear friends--the fortitude, which had till now -supported her, yielding to the force of grief--Farewell all! sighed she, -this last look and we are separated for ever! Tears followed her words, -and, sinking back, she resigned herself to the stillness of sorrow. The -recollection of former times pressed heavily upon her heart; a few -months before and she was surrounded by friends, fortune, and -consequence; now she was deprived of all, a miserable exile from her -native place, without home, without comfort--almost without hope. It was -not the least of her afflictions that she had been obliged to quit Paris -without bidding adieu to her only son, who was now on duty with his -regiment in Germany; and such had been the precipitancy of this removal, -that had she even known where he was stationed, she had no time to -inform him of it, or of the alteration in his father's circumstances. - -Pierre de la Motte was a gentleman, descended from an ancient house of -France. He was a man whose passions often overcame his reason, and, for -a time, silenced his conscience; but though the image of virtue, which -nature had impressed upon his heart, was sometimes obscured by the -passing influence of vice, it was never wholly obliterated. With -strength of mind sufficient to have withstood temptation, he would have -been a good man; as it was, he was always a weak, and sometimes a -vicious member of society; yet his mind was active, and his imagination -vivid, which co-operating with the force of passion, often dazzled his -judgment and subdued principle. Thus he was a man, infirm in purpose and -visionary in virtue:--in a word, his conduct was suggested by feeling, -rather than principle; and his virtue, such as it was, could not stand -the pressure of occasion. - -Early in life he had married Constance Valentia, a beautiful and elegant -woman, attached to her family and beloved by them. Her birth was equal, -her fortune superior to his; and their nuptials had been celebrated -under the auspices of an approving and flattering world. Her heart was -devoted to La Motte, and, for some time, she found in him an -affectionate husband; but, allured by the gaieties of Paris, he was soon -devoted to its luxuries, and in a few years his fortune and affection -were equally lost in dissipation. A false pride had still operated -against his interest, and withheld him from honourable retreat while it -was yet in his power: the habits which he had acquired, enchained him to -the scene of his former pleasure; and thus he had continued an expensive -style of life till the means of prolonging it were exhausted. He at -length awoke from this lethargy of security; but it was only to plunge -into new error, and to attempt schemes for the reparation of his -fortune, which served to sink him deeper in destruction. The consequence -of a transaction, in which he thus engaged, now drove him, with the -small wreck of his property, into dangerous and ignominious exile. - -It was his design to pass into one of the southern provinces, and there -seek, near the borders of the kingdom, an asylum in some obscure -village. His family consisted of a wife and two faithful domestics, a -man and woman, who had followed the fortune of their master. - -The night was dark and tempestuous, and at about the distance of three -leagues from Paris, Peter, who now acted as postillion, having driven -for some time over a wild heath where many ways crossed, stopped, and -acquainted De la Motte with his perplexity. The sudden stopping of the -carriage roused the latter from his reverie, and filled the whole party -with the terror of pursuit; he was unable to supply the necessary -direction, and the extreme darkness made it dangerous to proceed without -one. During this period of distress, a light was perceived at some -distance, and after much doubt and hesitation, La Motte, in the hope of -obtaining assistance, alighted and advanced towards it; he proceeded -slowly, from the fear of unknown pits. The light issued from the window -of a small and ancient house, which stood alone on the heath, at the -distance of half a mile. - -Having reached the door, he stopped for some moments, listening in -apprehensive anxiety--no sound was heard but that of the wind, which -swept in hollow gusts over the waste. At length he ventured to knock, -and having waited for some time, during which he indistinctly heard -several voices in conversation, some one within inquired what he wanted? -La Motte answered, that he was a traveller who had lost his way, and -desired to be directed to the nearest town. That, said the person, is -seven miles off, and the road bad enough, even if you could see it; if -you only want a bed, you may have it here, and had better stay. - -The "pitiless pelting" of the storm, which at this time beat with -increasing fury upon La Motte, inclined him to give up the attempt of -proceeding further till daylight; but, desirous of seeing the person -with whom he conversed, before he ventured to expose his family by -calling up the carriage, he asked to be admitted. The door was now -opened by a tall figure with a light, who invited La Motte to enter. He -followed the man through a passage into a room almost unfurnished, in -one corner of which a bed was spread upon the floor. The forlorn and -desolate aspect of this apartment made La Motte shrink involuntarily, -and he was turning to go out when the man suddenly pushed him back, and -he heard the door locked upon him; his heart failed, yet he made a -desperate, though vain, effort to force the door, and called loudly for -release. No answer was returned; but he distinguished the voices of men -in the room above, and, not doubting but their intention was to rob and -murder him, his agitation, at first, overcame his reason. By the light -of some almost-expiring embers, he perceived a window, but the hope -which this discovery revived was quickly lost, when he found the -aperture guarded by strong iron bars. Such preparation for security -surprised him, and confirmed his worst apprehensions. Alone, -unarmed--beyond the chance of assistance, he saw himself in the power of -people whose trade was apparently rapine!--murder their means!--After -revolving every possibility of escape, he endeavoured to await the event -with fortitude; but La Motte could boast of no such virtue. - -The voices had ceased, and all remained still for a quarter of an hour, -when, between the pauses of the wind, he thought he distinguished the -sobs and moaning of a female; he listened attentively, and became -confirmed in his conjecture; it was too evidently the accent of -distress. At this conviction the remains of his courage forsook him, and -a terrible surmise darted, with the rapidity of lightning, across his -brain. It was probable that his carriage had been discovered by the -people of the house, who, with a design of plunder, had secured his -servant, and brought hither Madame de la Motte. He was the more inclined -to believe this, by the stillness which had for some time reigned in the -house, previous to the sounds he now heard. Or it was possible that the -inhabitants were not robbers, but persons to whom he had been betrayed -by his friend or servant, and who were appointed to deliver him into the -hands of justice. Yet he hardly dared to doubt the integrity of his -friend, who had been intrusted with the secret of his flight and the -plan of his route, and had procured him the carriage in which he had -escaped. Such depravity, exclaimed La Motte, cannot surely exist in -human nature; much less in the heart of Nemours! - -This ejaculation was interrupted by a noise in the passage leading to -the room: it approached--the door was unlocked--and the man who had -admitted La Motte into the house entered, leading, or rather forcibly -dragging along, a beautiful girl, who appeared to be about eighteen. Her -features were bathed in tears, and she seemed to suffer the utmost -distress. The man fastened the lock and put the key in his pocket. He -then advanced to La Motte, who had before observed other persons in the -passage, and pointing a pistol to his breast, You are wholly in our -power, said he, no assistance can reach you: if you wish to save your -life, swear that you will convey this girl where I may never see her -more; or rather consent to take her with you, for your oath I would not -believe, and I can take care you shall not find me again.--Answer -quickly, you have no time to lose. - -He now seized the trembling hand of the girl, who shrunk aghast with -terror, and hurried her towards La Motte, whom surprise still kept -silent. She sunk at his feet, and with supplicating eyes, that streamed -with tears, implored him to have pity on her. Notwithstanding his -present agitation, he found it impossible to contemplate the beauty and -distress of the object before him with indifference. Her youth, her -apparent innocence--the artless energy of her manner forcibly assailed -his heart, and he was going to speak, when the ruffian, who mistook the -silence of astonishment for that of hesitation, prevented him, I have a -horse ready to take you from hence, said he, and I will direct you over -the heath. If you return within an hour, you die: after then, you are at -liberty to come here when you please. - -La Motte, without answering, raised the lovely girl from the floor, and -was so much relieved from his own apprehensions, that he had leisure to -attempt dissipating hers. Let us be gone, said the ruffian, and have no -more of this nonsense; you may think yourself well off it's no worse. -I'll go and get the horse ready. - -The last words roused La Motte, and perplexed him with new fears; he -dreaded to discover his carriage, lest its appearance might tempt the -banditti to plunder; and to depart on horseback with this man might -reduce a consequence yet more to be dreaded, Madame la Motte, wearied -with apprehension, would, probably, send for her husband to the house, -when all the former danger would be incurred, with the additional evil -of being separated from his family, and the chance of being detected by -the emissaries of justice in endeavouring to recover them. As these -reflections passed over his mind in tumultuous rapidity, a noise was -again heard in the passage, an uproar and scuffle ensued, and in the -same moment he could distinguish the voice of his servant, who had been -sent by Madame La Motte in search of him. Being now determined to -disclose what could not long be concealed, he exclaimed aloud, that a -horse was unnecessary, that he had a carriage at some distance, which -would convey them from the heath, the man who was seized being his -servant. - -The ruffian, speaking through the door, bade him be patient a while and -he should hear more from him. La Motte now turned his eyes upon his -unfortunate companion, who, pale and exhausted, leaned for support -against the wall. Her features, which were delicately beautiful, had -gained from distress an expression of captivating sweetness: she had - - -An eye -As when the blue sky trembles through a cloud -Of purest white. - - -A habit of gray camlet, with short slashed sleeves, showed, but did not -adorn, her figure: it was thrown open at the bosom, upon which part of -her hair had fallen in disorder, while the light veil hastily thrown on, -had, in her confusion, been suffered to fall back. Every moment of -further observation heightened the surprise of La Motte, and interested -him more warmly in her favour. Such elegance and apparent refinement, -contrasted with the desolation of the house, and the savage manners of -its inhabitants, seemed to him like a romance of imagination, rather -than an occurrence of real life. He endeavoured to comfort her, and his -sense of compassion was too sincere to be misunderstood. Her terror -gradually subsided into gratitude and grief. Ah, Sir, said she, Heaven -has sent you to my relief, and will surely reward you for your -protection: I have no friend in the world, if do not find one in you. - -La Motte assured her of his kindness, when he was interrupted by the -entrance of the ruffian. He desired to be conducted to his family. All -in good time, replied the latter; I have taken care of one of them, and -will of you, please St. Peter; so be comforted. These _comfortable_ -words renewed the terror of La Motte, who now earnestly begged to know -if his family were safe. O! as for that matter they are safe enough, and -you will be with them presently; but don't stand _parlying_ here all -night. Do you choose to go or stay? you know the conditions. They now -bound the eyes of La Motte and of the young lady, whom terror had -hitherto kept silent, and then placing them on two horses, a man mounted -behind each, and they immediately galloped off. They had proceeded in -this way near half an hour, when La Motte entreated to know whither he -was going? You will know that by and by, said the ruffian, so be at -peace. Finding interrogatories useless, La Motte resumed silence till -the horses stopped. His conductor then hallooed, and being answered by -voices at some distance, in a few moments the sound of carriage wheels -was heard, and, presently after, the words of a man directing Peter -which way to drive. As the carriage approached, La Motte called, and, to -his inexpressible joy, was answered by his wife. - -You are now beyond the borders of the heath, and may go which way you -will, said the ruffian; if you return within an hour, you will be -welcomed by a brace of bullets. This was a very unnecessary caution to -La Motte, whom they now released. The young stranger sighed deeply, as -she entered the carriage; and the ruffian, having bestowed upon Peter -some directions and more threats, waited to see him drive off. They did -not wait long. - -[Illustration 01] - -La Motte immediately gave a short relation of what passed at the house, -including an account of the manner in which the young stranger had been -introduced to him. During this narrative, her deep convulsive sighs -frequently drew the attention of Madame La Motte, whose compassion -became gradually interested in her behalf, and who now endeavoured to -tranquillize her spirits. The unhappy girl answered her kindness in -artless and simple expressions, and then relapsed into tears and -silence. Madame forbore for the present to ask any questions that might -lead to a discovery of her connexions, or seem to require an explanation -of the late adventure, which now furnishing her with a new subject of -reflection, the sense of her own misfortunes pressed less heavily upon -her mind. The distress of La Motte was even for a while suspended; he -ruminated on the late scene, and it appeared like a vision, or one of -those improbable fictions that sometimes are exhibited in a romance: he -could reduce it to no principles of probability, nor render it -comprehensible by any endeavour to analyze it. The present charge, and -the chance of future trouble brought upon him by this adventure, -occasioned some dissatisfaction; but the beauty and seeming innocence of -Adeline united with the pleadings of humanity in her favor, and he -determined to protect her. - -The tumult of emotions which had passed in the bosom of Adeline began -now to subside; terror was softened into anxiety, and despair into -grief. The sympathy so evident in the manners of her companions, -particularly in those of Madame La Motte, soothed her heart, and -encouraged her to hope for better days. - -Dismally and silently the night passed on, for the minds of the -travellers were too much occupied by their several sufferings to admit -of conversation. - -The dawn, so anxiously watched for, at length appeared, and introduced -the strangers more fully to each other. Adeline derived comfort from the -looks of Madame La Motte, who gazed frequently and attentively at her, -and thought she had seldom seen a countenance so interesting, or a form -so striking. The languor of sorrow threw a melancholy grace upon her -features, that appealed immediately to the heart; and there was a -penetrating sweetness in her blue eyes, which indicated an intelligent -and amiable mind. - -La Motte now looked anxiously from the coach window, that he might judge -of their situation, and observe whether he was followed. The obscurity -of the dawn confined his views, but no person appeared. The sun at -length tinted the eastern clouds and the tops of the highest hills, and -soon after burst in full splendour on the scene. The terrors of La Motte -began to subside, and the griefs of Adeline to soften. They entered upon -a lane confined by high banks and overarched by trees, on whose branches -appeared the first green buds of spring glittering with dews. The fresh -breeze of the morning animated the spirits of Adeline, whose mind was -delicately sensible to the beauties of nature. As she viewed the flowery -luxuriance of the turf, and the tender green of the trees, or caught, -between the opening banks, a glimpse of the varied landscape, rich with -wood, and fading into blue and distant mountains, her heart expanded in -momentary joy. With Adeline the charms of external nature were -heightened by those of novelty: she had seldom seen the grandeur of an -extensive prospect, or the magnificence of a wide horizon--and not often -the picturesque beauties of more confined scenery. Her mind had not lost -by long oppression that elastic energy, which resists calamity; else, -however, susceptible might have been her original taste, the beauties of -nature would no longer have charmed her thus easily even to temporary -repose. - -The road, at length, wound down the side of a hill, and La Motte, again -looking anxiously from the window, saw before him an open champaign -country, through which the road, wholly unsheltered from observation, -extended almost in a direct line. The danger of these circumstances -alarmed him, for his flight might, without difficulty, be traced for -many leagues from the hills he was now descending. Of the first peasant -that passed, he inquired for a road among the hills, but heard of none. -La Motte now sunk into his former terrors. Madame, notwithstanding her -own apprehensions, endeavoured to reassure him; but finding her efforts -ineffectual, she also retired to the contemplation of her misfortunes. -Often, as they went on, did La Motte look back upon the country they had -passed, and often did imagination suggest to him the sounds of distant -pursuit. - -The travellers stopped to breakfast in a village, where the road was at -length obscured by woods, and La Motte's spirits again revived. Adeline -appeared more tranquil than she had yet been, and La Motte now asked for -an explanation of the scene he had witnessed on the preceding night. The -inquiry renewed all her distress, and with tears she entreated for the -present to be spared on the subject. La Motte pressed it no farther, but -he observed that for the greater part of the day she seemed to remember -it in melancholy and dejection. They now travelled among the hills, and -were, therefore, in less danger of observation; but La Motte avoided the -great towns, and stopped in obscure ones no longer than to refresh the -horses. About two hours after noon, the road wound into a deep valley, -watered by a rivulet and overhung with wood. La Motte called to Peter, -and ordered him to drive to a thickly embowered spot, that appeared on -the left. Here he alighted with his family; and Peter having spread the -provisions on the turf, they seated themselves and partook of a repast, -which, in other circumstances, would have been thought delicious. -Adeline endeavoured to smile, but the languor of grief was now -heightened by indisposition. The violent agitation of mind and fatigue -of body which she had suffered for the last twenty-four hours, had -overpowed her strength, and when La Motte led her back to the carriage, -her whole frame trembled with illness. But she uttered no complaint, -and, having long observed the dejection of her companions, she made a -feeble effort to enliven them. - -They continued to travel throughout the day without any accident or -interruption, and about three hours after sunset arrived at Monville, a -small town where La Motte determined to pass the night. Repose was, -indeed, necessary to the whole party, whose pale and haggard looks, as -they alighted from the carriage, were but too obvious to pass unobserved -by the people of the inn. As soon as beds could be prepared, Adeline -withdrew to her chamber, accompanied by Madame La Motte, whose concern -for the fair stranger made her exert every effort to soothe and console -her. Adeline wept in silence, and taking the hand of Madame, pressed it -to her bosom. These were not merely tears of grief--they were mingled -with those which flow from the grateful heart, when, unexpectedly, it -meets with sympathy. Madame La Motte understood them. After some -momentary silence, she renewed her assurances of kindness, and entreated -Adeline to confide in her friendship; but she carefully avoided any -mention of the subject which had before so much affected her. Adeline at -length found words to express her sense of this goodness, which she did -in a manner so natural and sincere, that Madame, finding herself much -affected, took leave of her for the night. - -In the morning, La Motte rose at an early hour, impatient to be gone. -Every thing was prepared for his departure, and the breakfast had been -waiting some time, but Adeline did not appear. Madame La Motte went to -her chamber, and found her sunk in a disturbed slumber. Her breathing -was short and irregular--she frequently started, or sighed, and -sometimes she muttered an incoherent sentence. While Madame gazed with -concern upon her languid countenance, she awoke, and, looking up, gave -her hand to Madame La Motte, who found it burning with fever. She had -passed a restless night, and, as she now attempted to rise, her head, -which beat with intense pain, grew giddy, her strength failed, and she -sunk back. - -Madame was much alarmed, being at once convinced that it was impossible -she could travel, and that a delay might prove fatal to her husband. She -went to inform him of the truth, and his distress may be more easily -imagined than described. He saw all the inconvenience and danger of -delay, yet he could not so far divest himself of humanity as to abandon -Adeline to the care, or rather to the neglect, of strangers. He sent -immediately for a physician, who pronounced her to be in a high fever, -and said a removal in her present state must be fatal. La Motte now -determined to wait the event, and endeavour to calm the transports of -terror which at times assailed him. In the mean while he took such -precautions as his situation admitted of, passing the greater part of -the day out of the village, in a spot from whence he had a view of the -road for some distance; yet to be exposed to destruction by the illness -of a girl whom he did not know, and who had actually been forced upon -him, was a misfortune to which La Motte had not philosophy enough to -submit with composure. - -Adeline's fever continued to increase during the whole day, and at -night, when the physician took his leave, he told La Motte the event -would very soon be decided. La Motte received this intelligence with -real concern. The beauty and innocence of Adeline had overcome the -disadvantageous circumstances under which she had been introduced to -him, and he now gave less consideration to the inconvenience she might -hereafter occasion him, than to the hope of her recovery. - -Madame La Motte watched over her with tender anxiety, and observed with -admiration her patient sweetness and mild resignation. Adeline amply -repaid her, though she thought she could not.--Young as I am, she would -say, and deserted by those upon whom I have a claim for protection, I -can remember no connexion to make me regret life so much, as that I -hoped to form with you. If I live, my conduct will best express my sense -of your goodness;--words are but feeble testimonies. - -The sweetness of her manners so much attracted Madame La Motte, that she -watched the crisis of her disorder with a solicitude which precluded -every other interest. Adeline passed a very disturbed night, and, when -the physician appeared in the morning, he gave orders that she should be -indulged with whatever she liked, and answered the inquiries of La Motte -with a frankness that left him nothing to hope. - -In the mean time, his patient, after drinking profusely of some mild -liquids, fell asleep, in which she continued for several hours, and so -profound was her repose, that her breath alone gave sign of existence. -She awoke free from fever, and with no other disorder than weakness, -which in a few days she overcame so well as to be able to set out with -La Motte for B----, a village out of the great road, which he thought it -prudent to quit. There they passed the following night, and early the -next morning commenced their journey upon a wild and woody tract of -country. They stopped about noon at a solitary village, where they took -refreshments, and obtained directions for passing the vast forest of -Fontanville, upon the borders of which they now were. La Motte wished at -first to take a guide, but he apprehended more evil from the discovery -he might make of his route, than he hoped for benefit from assistance in -the wilds of this uncultivated tract. - -La Motte now designed to pass on to Lyons, where he could either seek -concealment in its neighbourhood, or embark on the Rhone for Geneva, -should the emergency of his circumstances hereafter require him to leave -France. It was about twelve o'clock at noon, and he was desirous to -hasten forward, that he might pass the forest of Fontanville, and reach -the town on its opposite borders, before night-fall. Having deposited a -fresh stock of provisions in the carriage, and received such directions -as were necessary concerning the roads, they again set forward, and in a -short time entered upon the forest. It was now the latter end of April, -and the weather was remarkably temperate and fine. The balmy freshness -of the air, which breathed the first pure essence of vegetation; and the -gentle warmth of the sun, whose beams vivified every hue of nature, and -opened every floweret of spring, revived Adeline and inspired her with -life and health. As she inhaled the breeze, her strength seemed to -return, and as her eyes wandered through the romantic glades that opened -into the forest, her heart was gladdened with complacent delight: but -when from these objects she turned her regard upon Monsieur and Madame -La Motte, to whose tender attentions she owed her life, and in whose -looks she now read esteem and kindness, her bosom glowed with sweet -affections, and she experienced a force of gratitude which might be -called sublime. - -For the remainder of the day they continued to travel, without seeing a -hut or meeting a human being. It was now near sunset, and the prospect -being closed on all sides by the forest, La Motte began to have -apprehensions that his servant had mistaken the way. The road, if a road -it could be called, which afforded only a slight track upon the grass, -was sometimes over-run by luxuriant vegetation, and sometimes obscured -by the deep shades, and Peter at length stopped uncertain of the way. La -Motte, who dreaded being benighted in a scene so wild and solitary as -this forest, and whose apprehensions of banditti were very sanguine, -ordered him to proceed at any rate, and, if he found no track, to -endeavour to gain a more open part of the forest. With these orders -Peter again set forwards; but having proceeded some way, and his views -being still confined by woody glades and forest walks, he began to -despair of extricating himself, and stopped for further orders. The sun -was now set; but as La Motte looked anxiously from the window, he -observed upon the vivid glow of the western horizon some dark towers -rising from among the trees at a little distance, and ordered Peter to -drive towards them.--If they belong to a monastery, said he, we may -probably gain admittance for the night. - -The carriage drove along under the shade of "melancholy boughs," through -which the evening twilight, which yet coloured the air, diffused a -solemnity that vibrated in thrilling sensations upon the hearts of the -travellers. Expectation kept them silent. The present scene recalled to -Adeline a remembrance of the late terrific circumstances, and her mind -responded but too easily to the apprehension of new misfortunes. La -Motte alighted at the foot of a green knoll, where the trees again -opening to light, permitted a nearer though imperfect view of the -edifice. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -..........how these antique towers -And vacant courts chill the suspended soul! -Till expectation wears the face of fear: -And fear, half ready to become devotion, -Mutters a kind of mental orison -It knows not wherefore! What a kind of being -Is circumstance! - -HORACE WALPOLE. - - -He approached, and perceived the Gothic remains of an abbey: it stood on -a kind of rude lawn, overshadowed by high and spreading trees which -seemed coeval with the building, and diffused a romantic gloom around. -The greater part of the pile appeared to be sinking into ruins, and that -which had withstood the ravages of time, showed the remaining features -of the fabric more awful in decay. The lofty battlements, thickly -enwreathed with ivy, were half demolished, and become the residence of -birds of prey. Huge fragments of the eastern tower, which was almost -demolished, lay scattered amid the high grass, that waved slowly to the -breeze. "The thistle shook its lonely head; the moss whistled to the -wind." A Gothic gate, richly ornamented with fret-work, which opened -into the main body of the edifice, but which was now obstructed with -brush-wood, remained entire. Above the vast and magnificent portal of -this gate arose a window of the same order, whose pointed arches still -exhibited fragments of stained glass, once the pride of monkish -devotion. La Motte, thinking it possible it might yet shelter some human -being, advanced to the gate and lifted a massy knocker. The hollow -sounds rung through the emptiness of the place. After waiting a few -minutes, he forced back the gate, which was heavy with iron work and -creaked harshly on its hinges. - -He entered what appeared to have been the chapel of the abbey, where the -hymn of devotion had once been raised, and the tear of penitence had -once been shed; sounds, which could now only be recalled by -imagination--tears of penitence, which had been long since fixed in -fate. La Motte paused a moment, for he felt a sensation of sublimity -rising into terror--a suspension of mingled astonishment and awe! He -surveyed the vastness of the place, and as he contemplated its ruins, -fancy bore him back to past ages.--And these walls, said he, where once -superstition lurked, and austerity anticipated an earthly purgatory, now -tremble over the mortal remains of the beings who reared them! - -The deepening gloom now reminded La Motte that he had no time to lose; -but curiosity prompted him to explore further, and he obeyed the -impulse. As he walked over the broken pavement, the sound of his steps -ran in echoes through the place, and seemed like the mysterious accents -of the dead reproving the sacrilegious mortal who thus dared to disturb -their precincts. - -From this chapel he passed into the nave of the great church, of which -one window, more perfect than the rest, opened upon a long vista of the -forest, through which was seen the rich colouring of evening, melting by -imperceptible gradations into the solemn gray of upper air. Dark hills, -whose outline appeared distinct upon the vivid glow of the horizon, -closed the perspective. Several of the pillars, which had once supported -the roof, remained the proud effigies of sinking greatness, and seemed -to nod at every murmur of the blast over the fragments of those that had -fallen a little before them. La Motte sighed. The comparison between -himself and the gradation of decay which these columns exhibited, was -but too obvious and affecting. A few years, said he, and I shall become -like the mortals on whose relicks I now gaze, and, like them too, I may -be the subject of meditation to a succeeding generation, which shall -totter but a little while over the object they contemplate ere they also -sink into the dust. - -Retiring from the scene, he walked through the cloisters, till a door, -which communicated with the lofty part of the building, attracted his -curiosity. He opened this, and perceived across the foot of the -staircase another door;--but now, partly checked by fear, and partly by -the recollection of the surprise his family might feel in his absence, -he returned with hasty steps to his carriage, having wasted some of the -precious moments of twilight and gained no information. - -Some slight answer to Madame La Motte's inquiries, and a general -direction to Peter to drive carefully on and look for a road, -was all that his anxiety would permit him to utter. The night shade -fell thick around, which, deepened by the gloom of the forest, -soon rendered it dangerous to proceed. Peter stopped; but La Motte, -persisting in his first determination, ordered him to go on. Peter -ventured to remonstrate, Madame La Motte entreated, but La Motte -reproved--commanded, and at length repented; for the hind wheel rising -upon the stump of an old tree, which the darkness had prevented Peter -from observing, the carriage was in an instant overturned. - -The party, as may be supposed, were much terrified, but no one was -materially hurt; and having disengaged themselves from their perilous -situation, La Motte and Peter endeavoured to raise the carriage. The -extent of this misfortune was now discovered, for they perceived that -the wheel was broke. Their distress was reasonably great, for not only -was the coach disabled from proceeding, but it could not even afford a -shelter from the cold dews of the night, it being impossible to preserve -it in an upright situation. After a few moments' silence, La Motte -proposed that they should return to the ruins which they had just -quitted, which lay at a very short distance, and pass the night in the -most habitable part of them: that, when morning dawned, Peter should -take one of the coach horses, and endeavour to find a road and a town, -from whence assistance could be procured for repairing the carriage. -This proposal was opposed by Madame La Motte, who shuddered at the idea -of passing so many hours of darkness in a place so forlorn as the -monastery. Terrors, which she neither endeavoured to examine or combat, -overcame her, and she told La Motte she had rather remain exposed to the -unwholesome dews of night, than encounter the desolation of the ruins. -La Motte had at first felt an equal reluctance to return to this spot; -but having subdued his own feelings, he resolved not to yield to those -of his wife. - -The horses being now disengaged from the carriage, the party moved -towards the edifice. As they proceeded, Peter, who followed them, struck -a light, and they entered the ruins by the flame of sticks which he had -collected. The partial gleams thrown across the fabric seemed to make -its desolation more solemn, while the obscurity of the greater part of -the pile heightened its sublimity, and led fancy on to scenes of horror. -Adeline, who had hitherto remained in silence, now uttered an -exclamation of mingled admiration and fear. A kind of pleasing dread -thrilled her bosom, and filled all her soul. Tears started into her -eyes:--she wished yet feared to go on;--she hung upon the arm of La -Motte, and looked at him with a sort of hesitating interrogation. - -He opened the door of the great hall, and they entered: its extent was -lost in gloom.--Let us stay here, said Madame de La Motte, I will go no -further. La Motte pointed to the broken roof, and was proceeding, when -he was interrupted by an uncommon noise, which passed along the hall. -They were all silent--it was the silence of terror. Madame La Motte -spoke first. Let us quit this spot, said she, any evil is preferable to -the feeling which now oppresses me. Let us retire instantly. The -stillness had for some time remained undisturbed, and La Motte, ashamed -of the fear he had involuntarily betrayed, now thought it necessary to -affect a boldness which he did not feel. He therefore opposed ridicule -to the terror of Madame, and insisted upon proceeding. Thus compelled to -acquiesce, she traversed the hall with trembling steps. They came to a -narrow passage, and Peter's sticks being nearly exhausted, they awaited -here, while he went in search of more. - -The almost expiring light flashed faintly upon the walls of the passage, -showing the recess more horrible. Across the hall, the greater part of -which was concealed in shadow, the feeble ray spread a tremulous gleam, -exhibiting the chasm in the roof, while many nameless objects were seen -imperfectly through the dusk. Adeline with a smile inquired of La Motte -if he believed in spirits. The question was ill-timed; for the present -scene impressed its terrors upon La Motte, and, in spite of endeavour, -he felt a superstitious dread stealing upon him. He was now, perhaps, -standing over the ashes of the dead. If spirits were ever permitted to -revisit the earth, this seemed the hour and the place most suitable for -their appearance. La Motte remaining silent, Adeline said, Were I -inclined to superstition--she was interrupted by a return of the noise -which had been lately heard. It sounded down the passage, at whose -entrance they stood, and sunk gradually away. Every heart palpitated, -and they remained listening in silence. A new subject of apprehension -seized La Motte:--the noise might proceed from banditti, and he -hesitated whether it would be safe to proceed. Peter now came with the -light: Madame refused to enter the passage--La Motte was not much -inclined to it; but Peter, in whom curiosity was more prevalent than -fear, readily offered his services. La Motte, after some hesitation, -suffered him to go, while he awaited at the entrance the result of the -inquiry. The extent of the passage soon concealed Peter from view, and -the echoes of his footsteps were lost in a sound which rushed along the -avenue, and became fainter and fainter till it sunk into silence. La -Motte now called aloud to Peter, but no answer was returned; at length, -they heard the sound of a distant footstep, and Peter soon after -appeared, breathless, and pale with fear. - -When he came within hearing of La Motte, he called out, An please your -honour, I've done for them, I believe, but I've had a hard bout. I -thought I was fighting with the devil.--What are you speaking of? said -La Motte. - -They were nothing but owls and rooks after all, continued Peter; but the -light brought them all about my ears, and they made such a confounded -clapping with their wings, that I thought at first I had been beset with -a legion of devils. But I have driven them all out, master, and you have -nothing to fear now. - -The latter part of the sentence, intimating a suspicion of his courage, -La Motte, could have dispensed with, and to retrieve in some degree his -reputation, he made a point of proceeding through the passage. They now -moved on with alacrity, for, as Peter said, they had nothing to fear. - -The passage led into a large area, on one side of which, over a range of -cloisters, appeared the west tower, and a lofty part of the edifice; the -other side was open to the woods. La Motte led the way to a door of the -tower, which he now perceived was the same he had formerly entered; but -he found some difficulty in advancing, for the area was overgrown with -brambles and nettles, and the light which Peter carried afforded only an -uncertain gleam. When he unclosed the door, the dismal aspect of the -place revived the apprehensions of Madame La Motte, and extorted from -Adeline an inquiry whither they were going. Peter held up the light to -show the narrow staircase that wound round the tower; but La Motte, -observing the second door, drew back the rusty bolts, and entered a -spacious apartment, which, from its style and condition, was evidently -of a much later date than the other part of the structure: though -desolate and forlorn, it was very little impaired by time; the walls -were damp, but not decayed; and the glass was yet firm in the windows. - -They passed on to a suit of apartments resembling the first they had -seen, and expressed their surprise at the incongruous appearance of this -part of the edifice with the mouldering walls they had left behind. -These apartments conducted them to a winding passage, that received -light and air through narrow cavities placed high in the wall; and was -at length closed by a door barred with iron, which being with some -difficulty opened, they entered a vaulted room. La Motte surveyed it -with a scrutinizing eye, and endeavoured to conjecture for what purpose -it had been guarded by a door of such strength; but he saw little within -to assist his curiosity. The room appeared to have been built in modern -times upon a Gothic plan. Adeline approached a large window that formed -a kind of recess raised by one step over the level of the floor; she -observed to La Motte that the whole floor was inlaid with Mosaic work; -which drew from him a remark, that the style of this apartment was not -strictly Gothic. He passed on to a door which appeared on the opposite -side of the apartment, and, unlocking it, found himself in the great -ball by which he had entered the fabric. - -He now perceived, what the gloom had before concealed, a spiral -staircase which led to a gallery above, and which, from its present -condition, seemed to have been built with the more modern part of the -fabric, though this also affected the Gothic mode of architecture: La -Motte had little doubt that these stairs led to apartments corresponding -with those he had passed below, and hesitated whether to explore them; -but the entreaties of Madame, who was much fatigued, prevailed with him -to defer all further examination. After some deliberation in which of -the rooms they should pass the night, they determined to return to that -which opened from the tower. - -A fire was kindled on a hearth, which it is probable had not for many -years before afforded the warmth of hospitality; and Peter having spread -the provision he had brought from the coach, La Motte and his family, -encircled round the fire, partook of a repast which hunger and fatigue -made delicious. Apprehension gradually gave way to confidence, for they -now found themselves in something like a human habitation, and they had -leisure to laugh at their late terrors; but, as the blasts shook the -doors, Adeline often started, and threw a fearful glance around. They -continued to laugh and talk cheerfully for a time; yet their merriment -was transient, if not affected; for a sense of their peculiar and -distressed circumstances pressed upon their recollection, and sunk each -individual into languor and pensive silence. Adeline felt the -forlornness of her condition with energy; she reflected upon the past -with astonishment, and anticipated the future with fear. She found -herself wholly dependent upon strangers, with no other claim than what -distress demands from the common sympathy of kindred beings; sighs -swelled her heart, and the frequent tear started to her eye; but she -checked it, ere it betrayed on her check the sorrow which she thought it -would be ungrateful to reveal. - -La Motte at length broke this meditative silence, by directing the fire -to be renewed for the night, and the door to be secured: this seemed a -necessary precaution, even in this solitude, and was effected by means -of large stones piled against it, for other fastening there was none. It -had frequently occurred to La Motte, that this apparently forsaken -edifice might be a place of refuge to banditti. Here was solitude to -conceal them; and a wild and extensive forest to assist their schemes of -rapine, and to perplex with its labyrinths those who might be bold -enough to attempt pursuit. These apprehensions, however, he hid within -his own bosom, saving his companions from a share of the uneasiness they -occasioned. Peter was ordered to watch at the door; and having given the -fire a rousing stir, our desolate party drew round it, and sought in -sleep a short oblivion of care. - -The night passed on without disturbance. Adeline slept, but uneasy -dreams fleeted before her fancy, and she awoke at an early hour: the -recollection of her sorrows arose upon her mind, and yielding to their -pressure, her tears flowed silently and fast. That she might indulge -them without restraint, she went to a window that looked upon an open -part of the forest: all was gloom and silence; she stood for some time -viewing the shadowy scene. - -The first tender tints of morning now appeared on the verge of the -horizon, stealing upon the darkness;--so pure, so fine, so ethereal! it -seemed as if heaven was opening to the view. The dark mists were seen to -roll off to the west, as the tints of light grew stronger, deepening the -obscurity of that part of the hemisphere, and involving the features of -the country below; meanwhile, in the east, the hues became more vivid, -darting a trembling lustre far around, till a ruddy glow, which fired -all that part of the heavens, announced the rising sun. At first, a -small line of inconceivable splendour emerged on the horizon, which -quickly expanding, the sun appeared in all his glory, unveiling the -whole face of nature, vivifying every colour of the landscape, and -sprinkling the dewy earth with glittering light. The low and gentle -responses of birds, awakened by the morning ray, now broke the silence -of the hour; their soft warblings rising by degrees till they swelled -the chorus of universal gladness. Adeline's heart swelled too with -gratitude and adoration. - -The scene before her soothed her mind, and exalted her thoughts to the -great Author of Nature; she uttered an involuntary prayer: Father of -good, who made this glorious scene! I resign myself to thy hands: thou -wilt support me under my present sorrows, and to protect me from future -evil. - -Thus confiding in the benevolence of God, she wiped the tears from her -eyes, while the sweet union of conscience and reflection rewarded her -trust; and her mind, losing the feelings which had lately oppressed it, -became tranquil and composed. - -La Motte awoke soon after, and Peter prepared to set out on his -expedition. As he mounted his horse. An' please you, master, said he, I -think we had as good look no further for a habitation till better times -turn up; for nobody will think of looking for us here; and when one sees -the place by daylight, it's none so bad, but what a little patching up -would make it comfortable enough. La Motte made no reply, but he thought -of Peter's words. During the intervals of the night, when anxiety had -kept him waking, the same idea had occurred to him; concealment was his -only security, and this place afforded it. The desolation of the spot -was repulsive to his wishes; but he had only a choice of evils--a forest -with liberty was not a bad home for one who had too much reason to -expect a prison. As he walked through the apartments, and examined their -condition more attentively, he perceived they might easily be made -habitable; and now surveying them under the cheerfulness of morning, his -design strengthened; and he mused upon the means of accomplishing it, -which nothing seemed so much to obstruct as the apparent difficulty of -procuring food. - -He communicated his thoughts to Madame La Motte, who felt repugnance to -the scheme. La Motte, however, seldom consulted his wife till he had -determined how to act; and he had already resolved to be guided in this -affair by the report of Peter. If he could discover a town in the -neighbourhood of the forest, where provisions and other necessaries -could be procured, he would seek no further for a place of rest. - -In the mean time he spent the anxious interval of Peter's absence in -examining the ruin, and walking over the environs; they were sweetly -romantic, and the luxuriant woods with which they abounded, seemed to -sequester this spot from the rest of the world. Frequently a natural -vista would yield a view of the country, terminated by hills, which -retiring in distance faded into the blue horizon. A stream, various and -musical in its course, wound at the foot of the lawn on which stood the -abbey; here it silently glided beneath the shades, feeding the flowers -that bloomed on its banks, and diffusing dewy freshness around; there it -spread in broad expanse to day, reflecting the sylvan scene, and the -wild deer that tasted its waves. La Motte observed every where a -profusion of game; the pheasants scarcely flew from his approach, and -the deer gazed mildly at him as he passed. They were strangers to man! - -On his return to the abbey, La Motte ascended the stairs that led to the -tower. About half way up, a door appeared in the wall; it yielded, -without resistance, to his hand; but a sudden noise within, accompanied -by a cloud of dust, made him step back and close the door. After waiting -a few minutes, he again opened it, and perceived a large room of the -more modern building. The remains of tapestry hung in tatters upon the -walls, which were become the residence of birds of prey, whose sudden -flight on the opening of the door had brought down a quantity of dust, -and occasioned the noise. The windows were shattered, and almost without -glass; but he was surprised to observe some remains of furniture; -chairs, whose fashion and condition bore the date of their antiquity; a -broken table, and an iron grate almost consumed by rust. - -On the opposite side of the room was a door which led to another -apartment, proportioned like the first, but hung with arras somewhat -less tattered. In one corner stood a small bedstead, and a few shattered -chairs were placed round the walls. La Motte gazed with a mixture of -wonder and curiosity. 'Tis strange, said he, that these rooms, and these -alone, should bear the marks of inhabitation; perhaps, some wretched -wanderer like myself, may have here sought refuge from a persecuting -world; and here, perhaps, laid down the load of existence; perhaps, too, -I have followed his footsteps, but to mingle my dust with his! He turned -suddenly, and was about to quit the room, when he perceived a small door -near the bed; it opened into a closet, which was lighted by one small -window, and was in the same condition as the apartments he had passed, -except that it was destitute even of the remains of furniture. As he -walked over the floor, he thought he felt one part of it shake beneath -his steps, and, examining, found a trap-door. Curiosity prompted him to -explore further, and with some difficulty he opened it. It disclosed a -staircase which terminated in darkness. La Motte descended a few steps, -but was unwilling to trust the abyss; and, after wondering for what -purpose it was so secretly constructed, he closed the trap, and quitted -this suit of apartments. - -The stairs in the tower above were so much decayed, that he did not -attempt to ascend them: he returned to the hall, and by the spiral -staircase which he had observed the evening before, reached the gallery, -and found another suit of apartments entirely furnished, very much like -those below. - -He renewed with Madame La Motte his former conversation respecting the -abbey, and she exerted all her endeavours to dissuade him from his -purpose, acknowledging the solitary security of the spot, but pleading -that other places might be found equally well adapted for concealment -and more for comfort. This La Motte doubted: besides, the forest -abounded with game, which would, at once, afford him amusement and food, -a circumstance, considering his small stock of money, by no means to be -overlooked; and he had suffered his mind to dwell so much upon the -scheme, that it was become a favourite one. Adeline listened in anxiety -to the discourse, and waited the issue of Peter's report. - -The morning passed but Peter did not return. Our solitary party took -their dinner of the provision they had fortunately brought with them, -and afterwards walked forth into the woods. Adeline, who never suffered -any good to pass unnoticed because it came attended with evil, forgot -for a while the desolation of the abbey in the beauty of the adjacent -scenery. The pleasantness of the shades soothed her heart, and the -varied features of the landscape amused her fancy; she almost thought -she could be contented to live here. Already she began to feel an -interest in the concerns of her companions, and for Madame La Motte she -felt more; it was the warm emotion of gratitude and affection. - -The afternoon wore away, and they returned to the abbey. Peter was still -absent, and his absence now began to excite surprise and apprehension. -The approach of darkness also threw a gloom upon the hopes of the -wanderers: another night must be passed under the same forlorn -circumstances as the preceding one! and, what was still worse, with a -very scanty stock of provisions. The fortitude of Madame La Motte now -entirely forsook her, and she wept bitterly. Adeline's heart was as -mournful as Madame's, but she rallied her drooping spirits, and gave the -first instance of her kindness by endeavouring to revive those of her -friend. - -La Motte was restless and uneasy, and, leaving the abbey, he walked -alone the way which Peter had taken. He had not gone far, when he -perceived him between the trees, leading his horse.--What news, Peter? -hallooed La Motte. Peter came on, panting for breath, and said not a -word, till La Motte repeated the question in a tone of somewhat more -authority. Ah, bless you, master! said he, when he had taken breath to -answer, I am glad to see you; I thought I should never have got back -again: I've met with a world of misfortunes. - -Well, you may relate them hereafter; let me hear whether you have -discovered-- - -Discovered? interrupted Peter, yes, I am discovered with a vengeance! if -your honour will look at my arms, you'll see how I am discovered. - -Discoloured! I suppose you mean, said La Motte. But how came you in this -condition! - -Why I tell you how it was, Sir; your honour knows I learnt a smack of -boxing of that Englishman that used to come with his master to our -house. - -Well, well--tell me where you have been. - -I scarcely know myself, master; I've been where I got a sound drubbing, -but then it was in your business, and so I don't mind. But if ever I -meet with that rascal again!-- - -You seem to like your first drubbing so well, that you want another, and -unless you speak more to the purpose, you shall soon have one. - -Peter was now frightened into method, and endeavoured to proceed: When I -left the old abbey, said he, I followed the way you directed, and -turning to the right of that grove of trees yonder, I looked this way -and that to see if I could see a house or a cottage, or even a man, but -not a _soul_ of them was to be seen, and so I jogged on near the value -of a league, I warrant, and then I came to a track; Oh! oh! says I, we -have you now; this will do--paths can't be made without feet. However, I -was out in my reckoning, for the devil a bit of a _soul_ could I see, -and after following the track this way and that way, for the third -of a league, I lost it, and had to find out another. - -Is it impossible for you to speak to the point? said La Motte; omit -these foolish particulars, and tell whether you have succeeded. - -Well, then, master, to be short, for that's the nearest way after all, I -wandered a long while at random, I did not know where, all through a -forest like this, and I took special care to note how the trees stood, -that I might find my way back. At last I came to another path, and was -sure I should find something now, though I had found nothing before, for -I could not be mistaken twice; so, peeping between the trees, I spied a -cottage, and I gave my horse a lash that sounded through the forest, and -I was at the door in a minute. They told me there was a town about half -a league off, and bade me follow the track and it would bring me -there,--so it did; and my horse, I believe, smelt the corn in the manger -by the rate he went at. I inquired for a wheel-wright, and was told -there was but one in the place, and he could not be found. I waited and -waited, for I knew it was in vain to think of returning without doing my -business. The man at last came home from the country, and I told him how -long I had waited; for, says I, I knew it was in vain to return without -my business. - -Do be less tedious, said La Motte, if it is in thy nature. - -It is in my nature, answered Peter, and if it was more in my nature your -honour should have it all. Would you think it, Sir, the fellow had the -impudence to ask a louis-d'or for mending the coach-wheel! I believe in -my conscience he saw I was in a hurry and could not do without him. A -louis-d'or! says I, my master shall give no such price, he sha'n't be -imposed upon by no such rascal as you. Whereupon, the fellow looked -glum, and gave me a douse o'the chops: with this, I up with my fist and -gave him another, and should have beat him presently, if another man had -not come in, and then I was obliged to give up. - -And so you are returned as wise as you went? - -Why, master, I hope I have too much spirit to submit to a rascal, or let -you submit, to one either: besides, I have bought some nails to try if I -can't mend the wheel myself--I had always a hand at carpentry. - -Well, I commend your zeal in my cause, but on this occasion it was -rather ill-timed. And what have you got in that basket? - -Why, master, I bethought me that we could not get away from this place -till the carriage was ready to draw us, and in the mean time, says I, -nobody can live without victuals, so I'll e'en lay out the little money -I have and take a basket with me. - -That's the only wise thing you have done yet, and this, indeed, redeems -your blunders. - -Why now, master, it does my heart good to hear you speak; I knew I was -doing for the best all the while: but I've had a hard job to find my way -back; and here's another piece of ill luck, for the horse has got a -thorn in his foot. - -La Motte made inquiries concerning the town, and found it was capable of -supplying him with provision, and what little furniture was necessary to -render the abbey habitable. This intelligence almost settled his plans, -and he ordered Peter to return on the following morning and make -inquiries concerning the abbey. If the answers were favourable to his -wishes, he commissioned him to buy a cart and load it with some -furniture, and some materials necessary for repairing the modern -apartments. Peter stared: What, does your honour mean to live here? - -Why, suppose I do? - -Why, then your honour has made a wise determination, according to my -hint; for your honour knows I said-- - -Well, Peter, it is not necessary to repeat what you said; perhaps I had -determined on the subject before. - -Egad, master, you're in the right, and I'm glad of it, for I believe we -shall not quickly be disturbed here, except by the rooks and owls. Yes, -yes--I warrant I'll make it a place fit for a king; and as for the town, -one may get any thing, I'm sure of that; though they think no more about -this place than they do about India or England, or any of those places. - -They now reached the abbey; where Peter was received with great joy: but -the hopes of his mistress and Adeline were repressed, when they learned -that he returned without having executed his commission, and heard his -account of the town. La Motte's orders to Peter were heard with almost -equal concern by Madame and Adeline; but the latter concealed her -uneasiness, and used all her efforts to overcome that of her friend. The -sweetness of her behaviour, and the air of satisfaction she assumed, -sensibly affected Madame, and discovered to her a source of comfort -which she had hitherto overlooked. The affectionate attentions of her -young friend promised to console her for the want of other society, and -her conversation to enliven the hours which might otherwise be passed in -painful regret. - -The observations and general behaviour of Adeline already bespoke a good -understanding and an amiable heart; but she had yet more--she had -genius. She was now in her nineteenth year; her figure of the middling -size, and turned to the most exquisite proportion; her hair was dark -auburn, her eyes blue, and whether they sparkled with intelligence, or -melted with tenderness, they were equally attractive: her form had the -airy lightness of a nymph, and when she smiled, her countenance might -have been drawn for the younger sister of Hebe: the captivations of her -beauty were heightened by the grace and simplicity of her manners, and -confirmed by the intrinsic value of a heart. - - -That might be shrined in chrystal, -And have all its movements scann'd. - - -Annette now kindled the fire for the night: Peter's basket was opened, -and supper prepared. Madame La Motte was still pensive and -silent.--There is scarcely any condition so bad, said Adeline, but we -may one time or the other wish we had not quitted it. Honest Peter, when -he was bewildered in the forest, or had two enemies to encounter instead -of one, confesses he wished himself at the abbey. And I am certain, -there is no situation so destitute, but comfort may be extracted from -it. The blaze of this fire shines yet more cheerfully from the -contrasted dreariness of the place; and this plentiful repast is made -yet more delicious from the temporary want we have suffered. Let us -enjoy the good and forget the evil. - -You speak, my dear, replied Madame La Motte, like one whose spirits have -not been often depressed by misfortune (Adeline sighed), and whose hopes -are therefore vigorous. Long suffering, said La Motte, has subdued in -our minds that elastic energy which repels the pressure of evil and -dances to the bound of joy. But I speak in raphsody, though only from -the remembrance of such a time. I once, like you, Adeline, could extract -comfort from most situations. - -And may now, my dear Sir, said Adeline. Still believe it possible, and -you will find it is so. - -The illusion is gone--I can no longer deceive myself. - -Pardon me, Sir, if I say, it is now only you deceive yourself, by -suffering the cloud of sorrow to tinge every object you look upon. - -It may be so, said La Motte, but let us leave the subject. - -After supper, the doors were secured, as before, for the night, and the -wanderers resigned themselves to repose. - -On the following morning, Peter again set out for the little town of -Auboine, and the hours of his absence were again spent by Madame La -Motte and Adeline in much anxiety and some hope, for the intelligence he -might bring concerning the abbey might yet release them from the plans -of La Motte. Towards the close of the day he was descried coming slowly -on; and the cart, which accompanied him, too certainly confirmed their -fears. He brought materials for repairing the place, and some furniture. - -Of the abbey he gave an account, of which the following is the -substance:--It belonged, together with a large part of the adjacent -forest, to a nobleman, who now resided with his family on a remote -estate. He inherited it, in right of his wife, from his father-in-law, -who had caused the more modern apartments to be erected, and had resided -in them some part of every year, for the purpose of shooting and -hunting. It was reported, that some person was, soon after it came to -the present possessor, brought secretly to the abbey and confined in -these apartments; who, or what he was, had never been conjectured, and -what became of him nobody knew. The report died gradually away, and many -persons entirely disbelieved the whole of it. But however this affair -might be, certain it was, the present owner had visited the abbey only -two summers since his succeeding to it; and the furniture after some -time, was removed. - -This circumstance had at first excited surprise, and various reports -rose in consequence, but it was difficult to know what ought to be -believed. Among the rest, it was said that strange appearances had been -observed at the abbey, and uncommon noises heard; and though this report -had been ridiculed by sensible persons as the idle superstition of -ignorance, it had fastened so strongly upon the minds of the common -people, that for the last seventeen years none of the peasantry had -ventured to approach the spot. The abbey was now, therefore, abandoned -to decay. - -La Motte ruminated upon this account. At first it called up unpleasant -ideas, but they were soon dismissed, and considerations more interesting -to his welfare took place: he congratulated himself that he had now -found a spot where he was not likely to be either discovered or -disturbed; yet it could not escape him that there was a strange -coincidence between one part of Peter's narrative, and the condition of -the chambers that opened from the tower above stairs. The remains of -furniture, of which the other apartments were void--the solitary -bed--the number and connexion of the rooms, were circumstances that -united to confirm his opinion. This, however, he concealed in his own -breast, for he already perceived that Peter's account had not assisted -in reconciling his family to the necessity of dwelling at the abbey. - -But they had only to submit in silence, and whatever disagreeable -apprehension might intrude upon them, they now appeared willing to -suppress the expression of it. Peter, indeed, was exempt from any evil -of this kind; he knew no fear, and his mind was now wholly occupied with -his approaching business. Madame La Motte, with a placid kind of -despair, endeavoured to reconcile herself to that which no effort of -understanding could teach her to avoid, and which an indulgence in -lamentation could only make more intolerable. Indeed, though a sense of -the immediate inconveniences to be endured at the abbey had made her -oppose the scheme of living there, she did not really know how their -situation could be improved by removal: yet her thoughts often wandered -towards Paris, and reflected the retrospect of past times, with the -images of weeping friends left, perhaps, for ever. The affectionate -endearments of her only son, whom, from the danger of his situation, and -the obscurity of hers, she might reasonably fear never to see again, -arose upon her memory and overcame her fortitude. Why--why was I -reserved for this hour? would she say, and what will be my years to -come? - -Adeline had no retrospect of past delight to give emphasis to present -calamity--no weeping friends--no dear regretted objects to point the -edge of sorrow, and throw a sickly hue upon her future prospects: she -knew not yet the pangs of disappointed hope, or the acuter sting of -self-accusation; she had no misery but what patience could assuage, or -fortitude overcome. - -At the dawn of the following day Peter arose to his labour: he proceeded -with alacrity, and in a few days two of the lower apartments were so -much altered for the better that La Motte began to exult, and his family -to perceive that their situation would not be so miserable as they had -imagined. The furniture Peter had already brought was disposed in these -rooms, one of which was the vaulted apartment. Madame La Motte furnished -this as a sitting-room, preferring it for its large Gothic window, that -descended almost to the floor, admitting a prospect of the lawn, and the -picturesque scenery of the surrounding woods. - -Peter having returned to Auboine for a further supply, all the lower -apartments were in a few weeks not only habitable, but comfortable. -These, however, being insufficient for the accommodation of the family, -a room above stairs was prepared for Adeline: it was the chamber that -opened immediately from the tower, and she preferred it to those beyond, -because it was less distant from the family, and the windows fronting an -avenue of the forest afforded a more extensive prospect. The tapestry, -that was decayed, and hung loosely from the walls, was now nailed up, -and made to look less desolate; and though the room had still a solemn -aspect, from its spaciousness and the narrowness of the windows, it was -not uncomfortable. - -The first night that Adeline retired hither, she slept little: the -solitary air of the place affected her spirits; the more so, perhaps, -because she had, with friendly consideration, endeavoured to support -them in the presence of Madame La Motte. She remembered the narrative of -Peter, several circumstances of which had impressed her imagination in -spite of her reason, and she found it difficult wholly to subdue -apprehension. At one time, terror so strongly seized her mind, that she -had even opened the door with an intention of calling Madame La Motte; -but, listening for a moment on the stairs of the tower, every thing -seemed still: at length, she heard the voice of La Motte speaking -cheerfully, and the absurdity of her fears struck her forcibly; she -blushed that she had for a moment submitted to them, and returned to her -chamber wondering at herself. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -Are not these woods -More free from peril than the envious court? -Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, -The season's difference, as the icy fang -And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. - -SHAKSPEARE. - - -La Motte arranged his little plan of living. His mornings were usually -spent in shooting or fishing, and the dinner, thus provided by his -industry, he relished with a keener appetite than had ever attended him -at the luxurious tables of Paris. The afternoons he passed with his -family: sometimes he would select a book from the few he had brought -with him, and endeavoured to fix his attention to the words his lips -repeated:--but his mind suffered little abstraction from its own cares, -and the sentiment he pronounced left no trace behind it. Sometimes he -conversed, but oftener sat in gloomy silence, musing upon the past, or -anticipating the future. - -At these moments, Adeline, with a sweetness almost irresistible, -endeavoured to enliven his spirits, and to withdraw him from himself. -Seldom she succeeded; but when she did, the grateful looks of Madame La -Motte, and the benevolent feelings of her own bosom, realized the -cheerfulness she had at first only assumed. Adeline's mind had the happy -art, or, perhaps, it were more just to say, the happy nature, of -accommodating itself to her situation. Her present condition, though -forlorn, was not devoid of comfort, and this comfort was confirmed by -her virtues. So much she won upon the affections of her protectors, that -Madame La Motte loved her as her child, and La Motte himself, though a -man little susceptible of tenderness, could not be insensible to her -solicitudes. Whenever he relaxed from the sullenness of misery, it was -at the influence of Adeline. - -Peter regularly brought a weekly supply of provisions from Auboine, and, -on those occasions, always quitted the town by a route contrary to that -leading to the abbey. Several weeks having passed without molestation, -La Motte dismissed all apprehension of pursuit, and at length became -tolerably reconciled to the complexion of his circumstances. - -As habit and effort strengthened the fortitude of Madame La Motte, the -features of misfortune appeared to soften. The forest, which at first -seemed to her a frightful solitude, had lost its terrific aspect; and -that edifice, whose half demolished walls and gloomy desolation had -struck her mind with the force of melancholy and dismay, was now beheld -as a domestic asylum, and a safe refuge from the storms of power. - -She was a sensible and highly accomplished woman, and it became her -chief delight to form the rising graces of Adeline, who had, as has been -already shown, a sweetness of disposition, which made her quick to repay -instruction with improvement, and indulgence with love. Never was -Adeline so pleased as when she anticipated her wishes, and never so -diligent as when she was employed in her business. The little affairs of -the household she overlooked and managed with such admirable exactness, -that Madame La Motte had neither anxiety nor care concerning them. And -Adeline formed for herself in this barren situation, many amusements -that occasionally banished the remembrance of her misfortunes. La -Motte's books were her chief consolation. With one of these she would -frequently ramble into the forest, where the river, winding through a -glade, diffused coolness, and with its murmuring accents invited repose: -there she would seat herself, and, resigned to the illusions of the -page, pass many hours in oblivion of sorrow. - -Here too, when her mind was tranquillized by the surrounding scenery, -she wooed the gentle muse, and indulged in ideal happiness. The delight -of these moments she commemorated in the following address: - - -TO THE VISIONS OF FANCY. - -Dear, wild illusions of creative mind! - Whose varying hues arise to Fancy's art, -And by her magic force are swift combined - In forms that please, and scenes that touch the - heart: -Oh! whether at her voice ye soft assume - The pensive grace of sorrow drooping low; -Or rise sublime on terror's lofty plume, - And shake the soul with wildly thrilling woe; -Or, sweetly bright, your gayer tints ye spread, - Bid scenes of pleasures steal upon my view, -Love wave his purple pinions o'er my head, - And wake the tender thought to passion true. -O! still----ye shadowy forms! attend my lonely hours, -Still chase my real cares with your illusive powers! - - -Madame La Motte had frequently expressed curiosity concerning the events -of Adeline's life, and by what circumstances she had been thrown into a -situation so perilous and mysterious as that in which La Motte had found -her. Adeline had given a brief account of the manner in which she had -been brought thither, but had always with tears entreated to be spared -for that time from a particular relation of her history. Her spirits -were not then equal to retrospection; but now that they were soothed by -quiet, and strengthened by confidence, she one day gave Madame La Motte -the following narration. - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -I am the only child, said Adeline, Of Louis de St. Pierre, a chevalier -of reputable family, but of small fortune, who for many years resided at -Paris. Of my mother I have a faint remembrance: I lost her when I was -only seven years old, and this was my first misfortune. At her death, my -father gave up housekeeping, boarded me in a convent, and quitted Paris. -Thus was I, at this early period of my life, abandoned to strangers. My -father came sometimes to Paris; he then visited me, and I well remember -the grief I used to feel when he bade me farewell. On these occasions, -which wrung my heart with grief, he appeared unmoved; so that I often -thought he had little tenderness for me. But he was my father, and the -only person to whom I could look up for protection and love. - -In this convent I continued till I was twelve years old. A thousand -times I had entreated my father to take me home; but at first, motives -of prudence, and afterwards of avarice, prevented him. I was now removed -from this convent, and placed in another, where I learned my father -intended I should take the veil. I will not attempt to express my -surprise and grief on this occasion. Too long I had been immured in the -walls of a cloister, and too much had I seen of the sullen misery of its -votaries, not to feel horror and disgust at the prospect of being added -to their number. - -The Lady Abbess was a woman of rigid decorum and severe devotion: exact -in the observance of every detail of form, and never forgave an offence -against ceremony. It was her method, when she wanted to make converts to -her order, to denounce and terrify, rather than to persuade and allure. -Hers were the arts of cunning practised upon fear, not those of -sophistication upon reason. She employed numberless stratagems to gain -me to her purpose, and they all wore the complexion of her character. -But in the life to which she would have devoted me, I saw too many forms -of real terror, to be overcome by the influence of her ideal host, and -was resolute in rejecting the veil. Here I passed several years of -miserable resistance against cruelty and superstition. My father I -seldom saw; when I did, I entreated him to alter my destination; but he -objected that his fortune was insufficient to support me in the world, -and at length denounced vengeance on my head if I persisted in -disobedience. - -You, my dear Madam, can form little idea of the wretchedness of my -situation, condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and imprisonment of the -most dreadful kind, or to the vengeance of a father, from whom I had no -appeal. My resolution relaxed--for some time I paused upon the choice of -evils--but at length the horrors of the monastic life rose so fully to -my view, that fortitude gave way before them. Excluded from the cheerful -intercourse of society--from the pleasant view of nature--almost from -the light of day--condemned to silence--rigid formality--abstinence and -penance--condemned to forgo the delights of a world which imagination -painted in the gayest and most alluring colours, and whose hues were, -perhaps, not the less captivating because they were only ideal--such was -the sate to which I was destined. Again my resolution was invigorated: -my father's cruelty subdued tenderness, and roused indignation. Since he -can forget, said I, the affection of a parent, and condemn his child -without remorse to wretchedness and despair--the bond of filial and -parental duty no longer subsists between us--he has himself dissolved -it, and I will yet struggle for liberty and life. - -Finding me unmoved by menace, the Lady Abbess had now recourse to more -subtle measures: she condescended to smile, and even to flatter; but -hers was the distorted smile of cunning, not the gracious emblem of -kindness; it provoked disgust, instead of inspiring affection. She -painted the character of a vestal in the most beautiful tints of -art--its holy innocence--its mild dignity--its sublime devotion. I -sighed as she spoke. This she regarded as a favourable symptom, and -proceeded on her picture with more animation. She described the serenity -of a monastic life--its security from the seductive charms, restless -passions, and sorrowful vicissitudes of the world--the rapturous -delights of religion, and the sweet reciprocal affection of the -sisterhood. - -So highly she finished the piece, that the lurking lines of cunning -would, to an inexperienced eye, have escaped detection. Mine was too -sorrowfully informed. Too often had I witnessed the secret tear and -bursting sigh of vain regret, the sullen pinings of discontent, and the -mute anguish of despair. My silence and my manner assured her of my -incredulity, and it was with difficulty that she preserved a decent -composure. - -My father, as may be imagined, was highly incensed at my perseverance, -which he called obstinacy; but, what will not be so easily believed, he -soon after relented, and appointed a day to take me from the convent. O! -judge of my feelings when I received this intelligence. The joy it -occasioned awakened all my gratitude; I forgot the former cruelty of my -father, and that the present indulgence was less the effect of his -kindness than of my resolution. I wept that I could not indulge his -every wish. - -What days of blissful expectation were those that preceded my departure! -The world, from which I had been hitherto secluded--the world, in which -my fancy had been so often delighted to roam--whose paths were strewn -with fadeless roses--whose every scene smiled in beauty and invited to -delight--where all the people were good, and all the good happy--Ah! -_then_ that world was bursting upon my view. Let me catch the rapturous -remembrance before it vanish! It is like the passing lights of autumn, -that gleam for a moment on a hill, and then leave it to darkness. I -counted the days and hours that withheld me from this fairy land. It was -in the convent only that people were deceitful and cruel; it was there -only that misery dwelt. I was quitting it all! How I pitied the poor -nuns that were to be left behind! I would have given half that world I -prized so much, had it been mine, to have taken them out with me. - -The long wished for day at last arrived. My father came, and for a -moment my joy was lost in the sorrow of bidding farewell to my poor -companions, for whom I had never felt such warmth of kindness as at this -instant. I was soon beyond the gates of the convent. I looked around me, -and viewed the vast vault of heaven no longer bounded by monastic walls, -and the green earth extended in hill and dale to the round verge of the -horizon! My heart danced with delight, tears swelled in my eyes, and for -some moments I was unable to speak. My thoughts rose to heaven in -sentiments of gratitude to the Giver of all good! - -At length I returned to my father: Dear Sir, said I, how I thank you for -my deliverance, and how I wish I could do every thing to oblige you! - -Return, then, to your convent, said he in a harsh accent. I shuddered: -his look and manner jarred the tone of my feelings; they struck discord -upon my heart! which had before responded only to harmony. The ardour of -joy was in a moment repressed, and every object around me was saddened -with the gloom of disappointment. It was not that I suspected my father -would take me back to the convent; but that his feelings seemed so very -dissonant to the joy and gratitude which I had but a moment before felt -and expressed to him.--Pardon, Madam, a relation of these trivial -circumstances; the strong vicissitudes of feeling which they impressed -upon my heart, make me think them important, when they are, perhaps, -only disgusting. - -No, my dear, said Madame La Motte, they are interesting to me; they -illustrate little traits of character, which I love to observe. You are -worthy of all my regards, and from this moment I give my tenderest pity -to your misfortunes, and my affection to your goodness. - -These words melted the heart of Adeline; she kissed the hand which -Madame held out, and remained a few minutes silent. At length she said, -May I deserve this goodness! and may I ever be thankful to God, who, in -giving me such a friend, has raised me to comfort and hope! - -My father's house was situated a few leagues on the other side of Paris, -and in our way to it we passed through that city. What a novel scene! -Where were now the solemn faces, the demure manners I had been -accustomed to see in the convent? Every countenance was here animated, -either by business or pleasure; every step was airy, and every smile was -gay. All the people appeared like friends; they looked and smiled at me; -I smiled again, and wished to have told them how pleased I was. How -delightful, said I, to live surrounded by friends! - -What crowded streets! what magnificent hotels! what splendid equipages! -I scarcely observed that the streets were narrow, or the way dangerous. -What bustle, what tumult, what delight! I could never be sufficiently -thankful that I was removed from the convent. Again I was going to -express my gratitude to my father, but his looks forbad me, and I was -silent. I am too diffuse; even the faint forms which memory reflects of -passed delight are grateful to the heart. The shadow of pleasure is -still gazed upon with a melancholy enjoyment, though the substance is -fled beyond our reach. - -Having quitted Paris, which I left with many sighs, and gazed upon till -the towers of every church dissolved in distance from my view, we -entered upon a gloomy and unfrequented road. It was evening when we -reached a wild heath; I looked round in search of a human dwelling, but -could find none; and not a human being was to be seen. I experienced -something of what I used to feel in the convent; my heart had not been -so sad since I left it. Of my father, who still sat in silence, I -inquired if we were near home; he answered in the affirmative. Night -came on, however, before we reached the place of our destination; it was -a lone house on the waste; but I need not describe it to you, Madam. -When the carriage stopped, two men appeared at the door, and assisted us -to alight: so gloomy were their countenances, and so few their words, I -almost fancied myself again in the convent; certain it is, I had not -seen such melancholy faces since I quitted it. Is this a part of the -world I have so fondly contemplated? said I. - -The interior appearance of the house was desolate and mean; I was -surprised that my father had chosen such a place for his habitation, and -also that no woman was to be seen; but I knew that inquiry would only -produce a reproof, and was therefore silent. At supper, the two men I -had before seen sat down with us; they said little, but seemed to -observe me much. I was confused and displeased; which my father -noticing, frowned at them with a look which convinced me he meant more -than I comprehended. When the cloth was drawn, my father took my hand -and conducted me to the door of my chamber; having set down the candle, -and wished me good night, he left me to my own solitary thoughts. - -How different were they from those I had indulged a few hours before! -then expectation, hope, delight, danced before me; now melancholy and -disappointment chilled the ardour of my mind, and discoloured my future -prospect. The appearance of every thing around conduced to depress me. -On the floor lay a small bed without curtains or hangings; two old -chairs and a table were all the remaining furniture in the room. I went -to the window, with an intention of looking out upon the surrounding -scene, and found it was grated. I was shocked at this circumstance, and -comparing it with the lonely situation and the strange appearance of the -house, together with the countenances and behaviour of the men who had -supped with us, I was lost in a labyrinth of conjecture. - -At length I lay down to sleep; but the anxiety of my mind prevented -repose; gloomy unpleasing images flitted before my fancy, and I fell -into a sort of waking dream: I thought that I was in a lonely forest -with my father; his looks were severe, and his gestures menacing: he -upbraided me for leaving the convent, and while he spoke, drew from his -pocket a mirror, which he held before my face; I looked in it and saw, -(my blood now thrills as I repeat it) I saw myself wounded, and bleeding -profusely. Then I thought myself in the house again; and suddenly heard -these words, in accents so distinct, that for some time after I awoke I -could scarcely believe them ideal, Depart this house, destruction hovers -here. - -I was awakened by a footstep on the stairs; it was my father retiring to -his chamber; the lateness of the hour surprised me, for it was past -midnight. - -On the following morning, the party of the preceding evening assembled -at breakfast, and were as gloomy and silent as before. The table was -spread by a boy of my father's; but the cook and the housemaid, whatever -they might be, were invisible. - -The next morning I was surprised, on attempting to leave my chamber, to -find the door locked; I waited a considerable time before I ventured to -call; when I did, no answer was returned; I then went to the window, and -called more loudly, but my own voice was still the only sound I heard. -Near an hour I passed in a state of surprise and terror not to be -described: at length I heard a person coming up stairs, and I renewed -the call; I was answered, that my father had that morning set off for -Paris, whence he would return in a few days; in the meanwhile he had -ordered me to be confined in my chamber. On my expressing surprise and -apprehension at this circumstance, I was assured I had nothing to fear, -and that I should live as well as if I was at liberty. - -The latter part of this speech seemed to contain an odd kind of comfort; -I made little reply, but submitted to necessity. Once more I was -abandoned to sorrowful reflection: what a day was the one I now passed! -alone, and agitated with grief and apprehension. I endeavoured to -conjecture the cause of this harsh treatment; and at length concluded it -was designed by my father, as a punishment for my former disobedience. -But why abandon me to the power of strangers, to men, whose countenances -bore the stamp of villainy so strongly as to impress even my -inexperienced mind with terror! Surmise involved me only deeper in -perplexity, yet I found it impossible to forbear pursuing the subject; -and the day was divided between lamentation and conjecture. Night at -length came, and such a night! Darkness brought new terrors: I looked -round the chamber for some means of fastening my door on the inside, but -could perceive none; at last I contrived to place the back of a chair in -an oblique direction, so as to render it secure. - -I had scarcely done this, and lain down upon my bed in my clothes, not -to sleep, but to watch, when I heard a rap at the door of the house, -which was opened and shut so quickly, that the person who had knocked, -seemed only to deliver a letter or message. Soon after, I heard voices -at intervals in a room below stairs, sometimes speaking very low, and -sometimes rising all together, as if in dispute. Something more -excusable than curiosity made me endeavour to distinguish what was said, -but in vain; now and then a word or two reached me, and once I heard my -name repeated, but no more. - -Thus passed the hours till midnight, when all became still. I had lain -for some time in a state between fear and hope, when I heard the lock of -my door gently moved backward and forward; I started up and listened; -for a moment it was still, then the noise returned, and I heard a -whispering without; my spirits died away, but I was yet sensible. -Presently an effort was made at the door, as if to force it; I shrieked -aloud, and immediately heard the voices of the men I had seen at my -father's table: they called loudly for the door to be opened, and on my -returning no answer, uttered dreadful execrations. I had just strength -sufficient to move to the window, in the desperate hope of escaping -thence; but my feeble efforts could not even shake the bars. O! how can -I recollect these moments of horror, and be sufficiently thankful that I -am now in safety and comfort! - -They remained some time at the door, then they quitted it, and went down -stairs. How my heart revived at every step of their departure! I fell -upon my knees, thanked God that he had preserved me this time, and -implored his further protection. I was rising from this short prayer, -when suddenly I heard a noise in a different part of the room, and on -looking round, I perceived the door of a small closet open, and two men -enter the chamber. - -They seized me, and I sunk senseless in their arms; how long I remained -in this condition I know not; but on reviving, I perceived myself again -alone, and heard several voices from below stairs. I had presence of -mind to run to the door of the closet, my only chance of escape; but it -was locked! I then recollected it was possible that the ruffians might -have forgot to turn the key of the chamber door, which was held by the -chair; but here, also, I was disappointed. I clasped my hands in an -agony of despair, and stood for some time immoveable. - -A violent noise from below roused me, and soon after I heard people -ascending the stairs: I now gave myself up for lost. The steps -approached, the door of the closet was again unlocked. I stood calmly, -and again saw the men enter the chamber; I neither spoke, nor resisted: -the faculties of my soul were wrought up beyond the power of feeling; as -a violent blow on the body stuns for awhile the sense of pain. They led -me down stairs; the door of a room below was thrown open, and I beheld a -stranger; it was then that my senses returned; I shrieked and resisted, -but was forced along. It is unnecessary to say that this stranger was -Monsieur La Motte, or to add, that I shall for ever bless him as my -deliverer. - -Adeline ceased to speak; Madame La Motte remained silent. There were -some circumstances in Adeline's narrative, which raised all her -curiosity. She asked if Adeline believed her father to be a party in -this mysterious affair. Adeline, though it was impossible to doubt that -he had been principally and materially concerned in some part of it, -thought, or said she thought, he was innocent of any intention against -her life. Yet, what motive, said Madame La Motte, could there be for a -degree of cruelty so apparently unprofitable?--Here the inquiry ended; -and Adeline confessed she had pursued it till her mind shrunk from all -further research. - -The sympathy which such uncommon misfortune excited, Madame La Motte now -expressed without reserve, and this expression of it strengthened the -tie of mutual friendship. Adeline felt her spirits relieved by the -disclosure she had made to Madame La Motte; and the latter acknowledged -the value of the confidence, by an increase of affectionate attentions. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -...... My May of life -Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf. - -MACBETH. - - -Full oft, unknowing and unknown, -He wore his endless noons alone, -Amid th' autumnal wood: -Oft was he wont in hasty fit, -Abrupt the social board to quit. - -WHARTON. - - -La Motte had now passed above a month in this seclusion; and his wife -had the pleasure to see him recover tranquillity and even cheerfulness. -In this pleasure Adeline warmly participated; and she might justly have -congratulated herself as one cause of his restoration; her cheerfulness -and delicate attention had effected what Madame La Motte's greater -anxiety had failed to accomplish. La Motte did not seem regardless of -her amiable disposition, and sometimes thanked her in a manner more -earnest than was usual with him. She, in her turn, considered him as her -only protector and now felt towards him the affection of a daughter. - -The time she had spent in this peaceful retirement had softened the -remembrance of past events, and restored her mind to its natural tone: -and when memory brought back to her view the former short and romantic -expectations of happiness, though she gave a sigh to the rapturous -illusion, she less lamented the disappointment, than rejoiced in her -present security and comfort. - -But the satisfaction which La Motte's cheerfulness diffused around him -was of short continuance; he became suddenly gloomy and reserved; the -society of his family was no longer grateful to him; and he would spend -whole hours in the most secluded parts of the forest, devoted to -melancholy and secret grief. He did not, as formerly, indulge the humour -of his sadness, without restraint, in the presence of others; he now -evidently endeavoured to conceal it, and affected a cheerfulness that -was too artificial to escape detection. - -His servant Peter, either impelled by curiosity or kindness, sometimes -followed him unseen, into the forest. He observed him frequently retire -to one particular spot, in a remote part, which having gained, he always -disappeared, before Peter, who was obliged to follow at a distance, -could exactly notice where. All his endeavours, now prompted by wonder -and invigorated by disappointment, were unsuccessful, and he was at -length compelled to endure the tortures of unsatisfied curiosity. - -This change in the manners and habits of her husband was too conspicuous -to pass unobserved by Madame La Motte, who endeavoured, by all the -stratagems which affection could suggest, or female invention supply, to -win him to her confidence. He seemed insensible to the influence of the -first, and withstood the wiles of the latter. Finding all her efforts -insufficient to dissipate the glooms which overhung his mind, or to -penetrate their secret cause, she desisted from further attempt, and -endeavoured to submit to this mysterious distress. - -Week after week elapsed, and the same unknown cause sealed the lips and -corroded the heart of La Motte. The place of his visitation in the -forest had not been traced. Peter had frequently examined round the spot -where his master disappeared, but had never discovered any recess which -could be supposed to conceal him. The astonishment of the servant was at -length raised to an insupportable degree, and he communicated to his -mistress the subject of it. - -The emotion which this information excited, she disguised from Peter, -and reproved him for the means he had taken to gratify his curiosity. -But she revolved this circumstance in her thoughts, and comparing it -with the late alteration in his temper, her uneasiness was renewed, and -her perplexity considerably increased. After much consideration, being -unable to assign any other motive for his conduct, she began to -attribute it to the influence of illicit passion; and her heart, which -now out-ran her judgment, confirmed the supposition, and roused all the -torturing pangs of jealousy. - -Comparatively speaking, she had never known affliction till now: she had -abandoned her dearest friends and connexions--had relinquished the -gaieties, the luxuries, and almost the necessaries of life;--fled with -her family into exile, an exile the most dreary and comfortless; -experiencing the evils of reality, and those of apprehension, united: -all these she had patiently endured, supported by the affection of him -for whose sake she suffered. Though that affection, indeed, had for some -time appeared to be abated, she had borne its decrease with fortitude; -but the last stroke of calamity, hitherto withheld, now came with -irresistible force--the love, of which she lamented the loss, she now -believed was transferred to another. - -The operation of strong passion confuses the powers of reason, and warps -them to its own particular direction. Her usual degree of judgment, -unopposed by the influence of her heart, would probably have pointed out -to Madame La Motte some circumstances upon the subject of her distress, -equivocal, if not contradictory to her suspicions. No such circumstances -appeared to her, and she did not long hesitate to decide, that Adeline -was the object of her husband's attachment. Her beauty out of the -question, who else, indeed, could it be in a spot thus secluded from the -world? - -The same cause destroyed, almost at the same moment, her only remaining -comfort; and when she wept that she could no longer look for happiness -in the affection of La Motte, she wept also, that she could no longer -seek solace in the friendship of Adeline. She had too great an esteem -for her, to doubt, at first, the integrity of her conduct; but, in spite -of reason, her heart no longer expanded to her with its usual warmth of -kindness. She shrunk from her confidence; and as the secret broodings of -jealousy cherished her suspicions, she became less kind to her, even in -manner. - -Adeline, observing the change, at first attributed it to accident, and -afterwards to a temporary displeasure arising from some little -inadvertency in her conduct. She, therefore, increased her assiduities; -but perceiving, contrary to all expectation, that her efforts to please -failed of their usual consequence, and that the reserve of Madame's -manner rather increased than abated, she became seriously uneasy, and -resolved to seek an explanation. This Madame La Motte as sedulously -avoided, and was for some time able to prevent. Adeline, however, too -much interested in the event to yield to delicate scruples, pressed the -subject so closely, that Madame, at first agitated and confused, at -length invented some idle excuse, and laughed off the affair. - -She now saw the necessity of subduing all appearance of reserve towards -Adeline; and though her art could not conquer the prejudices of passion, -it taught her to assume, with tolerable success, the aspect of kindness. -Adeline was deceived, and was again at peace. Indeed, confidence in the -sincerity and goodness of others was her weakness. But the pangs of -stifled jealousy struck deeper to the heart of Madame La Motte, and she -resolved, at all events, to obtain some certainty upon the subject of -her suspicions. - -She now condescended to a meanness which she had before despised, and -ordered Peter to watch the steps of his master, in order to discover, if -possible, the place of his visitation! So much did passion win upon her -judgment, by time and indulgence, that she sometimes ventured even to -doubt the integrity of Adeline, and afterwards proceeded to believe it -possible that the object of La Motte's rambles might be an assignation -with her. What suggested this conjecture was, that Adeline frequently -took long walks alone in the forest, and sometimes was absent from the -abbey for many hours. This circumstance, which Madame La Motte had at -first attributed to Adeline's fondness for the picturesque beauties of -nature, now operated forcibly upon her imagination, and she could view -it in no other light, than as affording an opportunity for secret -conversation with her husband. - -Peter obeyed the orders of his mistress with alacrity, for they were -warmly seconded by his own curiosity. All his endeavours were, however, -fruitless; he never dared to follow La Motte near enough to observe the -place of his last retreat. Her impatience thus heightened by delay, and -her passion stimulated by difficulty, Madame La Motte now resolved to -apply to her husband for an explanation of his conduct. - -After some consideration concerning the manner most likely to succeed -with him, she went to La Motte; but when she entered the room where he -sat, forgetting all her concerted address, she fell at his feet, and was -for some moments lost in tears. Surprised at her attitude and distress, -he inquired the occasion of it, and was answered, that it was caused by -his own conduct. My conduct! What part of it, pray? inquired he. - -Your reserve, your secret sorrow, and frequent absence from the abbey. - -Is it then so wonderful, that a man who has lost almost every thing -should sometimes lament his misfortunes? or so criminal to attempt -concealing his grief, that he must be blamed for it by those whom he -would save from the pain of sharing it? - -Having uttered these words, he quitted the room, leaving Madame La Motte -lost in surprise, but somewhat relieved from the pressure of her former -suspicions. Still however, she pursued Adeline with an eye of scrutiny; -and the mask of kindness would sometimes fall off, and discover the -features of distrust. Adeline, without exactly knowing why, felt less at -ease and less happy in her presence than formerly; her spirits drooped, -and she would often, when alone, weep at the forlornness of her -condition. Formerly, her remembrance of past sufferings was lost in the -friendship of Madame La Motte; now, though her behaviour was too guarded -to betray any striking instances of unkindness, there was something in -her manner which chilled the hopes of Adeline, unable as she was to -analyze it. But a circumstance which soon occurred, suspended for a -while the jealousy of Madame La Motte, and roused her husband from his -state of gloomy stupefaction. - -Peter, having been one day to Auboine for the weekly supply of -provisions, returned with intelligence that awakened in La Motte new -apprehension and anxiety. - -Oh, Sir! I have heard something that has astonished me, as well it may, -cried Peter, and so it will you when you come to know it. As I was -standing in the blacksmith's shop, while the smith was driving a nail -into the horse's shoe (by the by, the horse lost it in an odd way, I'll -tell you, Sir, how it was)-- - -Nay, prithee leave it till another time, and go on with your story. - -Why then, Sir, as I was standing in the blacksmith's shop, comes in a -man with a pipe in his mouth, and a large pouch of tobacco in his hand-- - -Well--what has the pipe to do with the story? - -Nay, Sir, you put me out; I can't go on, unless you let me tell it my -own way. As I was saying--with a pipe in his mouth--I think I was there -your honour! - -Yes, yes. - -He sets himself down on the bench, and, taking the pipe from his mouth, -says to the blacksmith--Neighbour, do you know any body of the Name of -La Motte hereabouts!--Bless your honour, I turned all of a cold sweat in -a minute!--Is not your honour well! shall I fetch you any thing? - -No--but be short in your narrative. - -La Motte! La Motte! said the blacksmith, I think I've heard the -name.--Have you? said I, you're cunning then, for there's no such person -hereabouts, to my knowledge. - -Fool!--why did you say that? - -Because I did not want them to know your honour was here; and if I had -not managed very cleverly, they would have found me out. There is no -such person hereabouts, to my knowledge, says I.--Indeed! says the -blacksmith, you know more of the neighbourhood than I do then.--Aye, -says the man with the pipe, that's very true. How came you to know so -much of the neighbourhood? I came here twenty-six years ago, come next -St. Michael, and you know more than I do. How came you to know so much? - -With that he put his pipe in his mouth, and gave a whiff full in my -face. Lord! your honour, I trembled from head to foot. Nay, as for that -matter says I, I don't know more than other people, but I'm sure I never -heard of such a man as that.--Pray, says the blacksmith, staring me full -in the face, an't you the man that was inquiring some time since about -St. Clair's abbey?--Well, what of that? says I, what does that -prove?--Why they say somebody lives in the abbey now, said the man, -turning to the other; and, for aught I know, it may be this same La -Motte.--Aye, or for aught I know either, says the man with the pipe, -getting up from the bench, and you know more of this than you'll own. -I'll lay my life on't, this Monsieur La Motte lives at the abbey.--Aye, -says I, you are out there, for he does not live at the abbey now. - -Confound your folly! cried La Motte; but be quick--how did the matter -end? - -My master does not live there now, said I.--Oh! oh! said the man with -the pipe; he is your master then? And pray how long has he left the -abbey--and where does he live now?--Hold, said I, not so fast--I know -when to speak and when to hold my tongue--but who has been inquiring for -him? - -What! he expected somebody to inquire for him? says the man.--No, says -I, he did not, but if he did, what does that prove?--that argues -nothing. With that he looked at the blacksmith, and they went out of the -shop together, leaving my horse's shoe undone. But I never minded that, -for the moment they were gone, I mounted and rode away as fast as I -could. But in my fright, your honour, I forgot to take the round about -way, and so came straight home. - -La Motte, extremely shocked at Peter's intelligence, made no other reply -than by cursing his folly, and immediately went in search of Madame, who -was walking with Adeline on the banks of the river. La Motte was too -much agitated to soften his information by preface. We are discovered! -said he, the king's officers have been inquiring for me at Auboine, and -Peter has blundered upon my ruin. He then informed her of what Peter had -related, and bade her prepare to quit the abbey. - -But whither can we fly? said Madame La Motte, scarcely able to support -herself. Any where! said he: to stay here is certain destruction. We -must take refuge in Switzerland, I think. If any part of France would -have concealed me, surely it had been this! - -Alas, how are we persecuted! rejoined Madame. This spot is scarcely made -comfortable, before we are obliged to leave it, and go we know not -whither. - -I wish we may not yet know whither, replied La Motte, that is the least -evil that threatens us. Let us escape a prison, and I care not whither -we go. But return to the abbey immediately, and pack up what moveables -you can.--A flood of tears came to the relief of Madame La Motte, and -she hung upon Adeline's arm, silent and trembling. Adeline, though she -had no comfort to bestow, endeavoured to command her feelings and appear -composed. Come, said La Motte, we waste time; let us lament hereafter, -but at present prepare for flight; exert a little of that fortitude -which is so necessary for our preservation. Adeline does not weep, yet -her state is as wretched as your own, for I know not how long I shall be -able to protect her. - -Notwithstanding her terror, this reproof touched the pride of Madame La -Motte, who dried her tears, but disdained to reply, and looked at -Adeline with a strong expression of displeasure. As they moved silently -toward the abbey, Adeline asked La Motte if he was sure they were the -king's officers who inquired for him. I cannot doubt it, he replied, who -else could possibly inquire for me? Besides, the behaviour of the man, -who mentioned my name, puts the matter beyond a question. - -Perhaps not, said Madame La Motte: let us wait till morning ere we set -off. We may then find it will be unnecessary to go. - -We may, indeed; the king's officers would probably by that time have -told us as much. La Motte went to give orders to Peter. Set off in an -hour! said Peter, Lord bless you, master! only consider the coach wheel; -it would take me a day at least to mend it, for your honour knows I -never mended one in my life. - -This was a circumstance which La Motte had entirely overlooked. When -they settled at the abbey, Peter had at first been too busy in repairing -the apartments, to remember the carriage; and afterwards, believing it -would not quickly be wanted, he had neglected to do it. La Motte's -temper now entirely forsook him, and with many execrations he ordered -Peter to go to work immediately: but on searching for the materials -formerly bought, they were no where to be found; and Peter at length -remembered, though he was prudent enough to conceal this circumstance, -that he had used the nails in repairing the abbey. - -It was now, therefore, impossible to quit the forest that night, and La -Motte had only to consider the most probable plan of concealment, should -the officers of justice visit the ruin before the morning; a -circumstance which the thoughtlessness of Peter, in returning from -Auboine by the straight way, made not unlikely. - -At first, indeed, it occurred to him, that, though his family could not -be removed, he might himself take one of the horses, and escape from the -forest before night. But he thought there would still be some danger of -detection in the towns through which he must pass, and he could not well -bear the idea of leaving his family unprotected, without knowing when he -could return to them, or whither he could direct them to follow him. La -Motte was not a man of very vigorous resolution, and he was, perhaps, -rather more willing to suffer in company than alone. - -After much consideration, he recollected the trap-door of the closet -belonging to the chambers above. It was invisible to the eye and -whatever might be its direction, it would securely shelter _him_, at -least, from discovery. Having deliberated further upon the subject he -determined to explore the recess to which the stairs led, and thought it -possible that for a short time his whole family might be concealed -within it. There was little time between the suggestion of the plan and -the execution of his purpose, for darkness was spreading around, and in -every murmur of the wind he thought he heard the voices of his enemies. - -He called for a light, and ascended alone to the chamber. When he came -to the closet, it was some time before he could find the trap-door, so -exactly did it correspond with the boards of the floor. At length, he -found and raised it. The chill damps of long confined air rushed from -the aperture, and he stood for a moment to let them pass, ere he -descended. As he stood looking down the abyss, he recollected the report -which Peter had brought concerning the abbey, and it gave him an uneasy -sensation. But this soon yielded to more pressing interests. - -The stairs were steep, and in many places trembled beneath his weight. -Having continued to descend for some time, his feet touched the ground, -and he found himself in a narrow passage; but as he turned to pursue it, -the damp vapours curled round him and extinguished the light. He called -aloud for Peter, but could make nobody hear, and after some time he -endeavoured to find his way up the stairs. In this, with difficulty, he -succeeded, and passing the chambers with cautious steps descended the -tower. - -The security which the place he had just quitted seemed to promise, was -of too much importance to be slightly rejected, and he determined -immediately to make another experiment with the light:--having now fixed -it in a lantern, he descended a second time to the passage. The current -of vapours occasioned by the opening of the trap-door was abated, and -the fresh air thence admitted had begun to circulate: La Motte passed on -unmolested. - -The passage was of considerable length, and led him to a door which was -fastened. He placed the lantern at some distance, to avoid the current -of air, and applied his strength to the door. It shook under his hands, -but did not yield. Upon examining it more closely, he perceived the wood -round the lock was decayed, probably by the damps, and this encouraged -him to proceed. After some time it gave way to his effort, and he found -himself in a square stone room. - -He stood for some time to survey it. The walls, which were dripping with -unwholesome dews, were entirely bare, and afforded not even a window. A -small iron grate alone admitted the air. At the further end, near a low -recess, was another door. La Motte went towards it, and, as he passed, -looked into the recess. Upon the ground within it stood a large chest, -which he went forward to examine; and, lifting the lid, he saw the -remains of a human skeleton. Horror struck upon his heart, and he -involuntarily stepped back. During a pause of some moments, his first -emotion subsided. That thrilling curiosity, which objects of terror -often excite in the human mind, impelled him to take a second view of -this dismal spectacle. - -La Motte stood motionless as he gazed; the object before him seemed to -confirm the report that some person had formerly been murdered in the -abbey. At length he closed the chest, and advanced to the second door, -which also was fastened, but the key was in the lock. He turned it with -difficulty, and then found the door was held by two strong bolts. Having -undrawn these, it disclosed a flight of steps, which he descended. They -terminated in a chain of low vaults, or rather cells, that, from the -manner of their construction and present condition, seemed to be coeval -with the most ancient parts of the abbey. La Motte, in his then -depressed state of mind, thought them the burial places of the monks, -who formerly inhabited the pile above; but they were more calculated for -places of penance for the living, than of rest for the dead. - -Having reached the extremity of these cells, the way was again closed by -a door. La Motte now hesitated whether he should attempt to proceed any -further. The present spot seemed to afford the security he sought. Here -he might pass the night unmolested by apprehension of discovery; and it -was most probable, that if the officers arrived in the night, and found -the abbey vacated, they would quit it before morning, or, at least, -before he could have any occasion to emerge from concealment. These -considerations restored his mind to a state of greater composure. His -only immediate care was to bring his family, as soon as possible, to -this place of security, lest the officers should come unawares upon -them; and while he stood thus musing, he blamed himself for delay. - -But an irresistible desire of knowing to what this door led, arrested -his steps, and he turned to open it. The door, however, was fastened; -and as he attempted to force it, he suddenly thought he heard a noice -above. It now occurred to him that the officers might already have -arrived, and he quitted the cells with precipitation, intending to -listen at the trap-door. - -There, said he, I may wait in security, and perhaps hear something of -what passes. My family will not be known, or at least not hurt, and -their uneasiness on my account they must learn to endure. - -These were the arguments of La Motte, in which, it must be owned, -selfish prudence was more conspicuous than tender anxiety for his wife. -He had by this time reached the bottom of the stairs, when, on looking -up, he perceived the trap-door was left open; and ascending in haste to -close it, he heard footsteps advancing through the chambers above. -Before he could descend entirely out of sight, he again looked up, and -perceived through the aperture the face of a man looking down, upon him. -Master, cried Peter.--La Motte was somewhat relieved at the sound of his -voice, though angry that he had occasioned, him so much terror. - -What brings you here, and what is the matter below? - -Nothing, Sir, nothing's the matter, only my mistress sent me to see -after your honour. - -There's nobody there then? said La Motte, setting his foot upon the -step. - -Yes, Sir, there is my mistress and Mademoiselle Adeline, and-- - -Well--well--said La Motte briskly, go your ways, I am coming. - -He informed Madame La Motte where he had been, and of his intention of -secreting himself, and deliberated upon the means of convincing the -officers, should they arrive, that he had quitted the abbey. For this -purpose he ordered all the moveable furniture to be conveyed to the -cells below. La Motte himself assisted in this business, and every hand -was employed for dispatch. In a very short time the habitable part of -the fabric was left almost as desolate as he had found it. He then bade -Peter take the horses to a distance from the abbey and turn them loose. -After further consideration, he thought it might contribute to mislead -them, if he placed in some conspicuous part of the fabric an -inscription, signifying his condition, and mentioning the date of his -departure from the abbey. Over the door of the tower which led to the -habitable part of the structure, he therefore cut the following lines: - - -O ye! whom misfortune may lead to this spot, -Learn that there are others as miserable as yourselves. -P----L--M----a wretched exile, sought within these walls a refuge from -persecution on the 27th of April, 1658, and quitted them on the 12th of -July in the same year, in search of a more convenient asylum. - - -After engraving these words with a knife, the small stock of provisions -remaining from the week's supply (for Peter, in his fright, had returned -unloaded from his last journey) was put into a basket; and La Motte -having assembled his family, they all ascended the stairs of the tower, -and passed through the chambers to the closet. Peter went first with a -light, and with some difficulty found the trap-door. Madame La Motte -shuddered as she surveyed the gloomy abyss; but they were all silent. - -La Motte now took the light and led the way; Madame followed, and then -Adeline. These old monks loved good wine as well as other people, said -Peter, who brought up the rear; I warrant your honour, now, this was -their cellar; I smell the casks already. - -Peace, said La Motte, reserve your jokes for a proper occasion. - -There is no harm in loving good wine, as your honour knows. - -Have done with this buffoonery, said La Motte in a tone more -authoritative, and go first. Peter obeyed. - -They came to the vaulted room. The dismal spectacle he had seen here, -deterred La Motte from passing a night in this chamber; and the -furniture had, by his own order, been conveyed to the cells below. He -was anxious that his family should not perceive the skeleton; an object -which would probably excite a degree of horror not to be overcome during -their stay. La Motte now passed the chest in haste; and Madame La Motte -and Adeline were too much engrossed by their own thoughts, to give -minute attention to external circumstances. - -When they reached the cells, Madame La Motte wept at the necessity which -condemned her to a spot so dismal. Alas, said she, are we indeed thus -reduced! The apartments above formerly appeared to me a deplorable -habitation; but they are a palace compared to these. - -True, my dear, said La Motte, and let the remembrance of what you once -thought them soothe your discontent now; these cells are also a palace -compared to the Bicêtre, or the Bastille, and to the terrors of further -punishment which would accompany them: let the apprehension of the -greater evil teach you to endure the less: I am contented if we find -here the refuge I seek. - -Madame La Motte was silent, and Adeline, forgetting her late unkindness, -endeavoured as much as she could to console her; while her heart was -sinking with the misfortunes which she could not but anticipate, she -appeared composed, and even cheerful. She attended Madame La Motte with -the most watchful solicitude, and felt so thankful that La Motte was now -secreted within this recess, that she almost lost her perception of its -glooms and inconveniences. - -This she artlessly expressed to him, who could not be insensible to the -tenderness it discovered. Madame La Motte was also sensible of it, and -it renewed a painful sensation. The effusions of gratitude she mistook -for those of tenderness. - -La Motte returned frequently to the trap-door to listen if any body was -in the abbey; but no sound disturbed the stillness of night: at length -they sat down to supper; the repast was a melancholy one. If the -officers do not come hither to-night, said Madame La Motte, sighing, -suppose, my dear, Peter returns to Auboine to-morrow? He may there learn -something more of this affair; or, at least, he might procure a carriage -to convey us hence. - -To be sure he might, said La Motte peevishly, and people to attend it -also. Peter would be an excellent person to show the officers the way to -the abbey, and to inform them of what they might else be in doubt about, -my concealment here. - -How cruel is this irony! replied Madame La Motte. I proposed only what I -thought would be for our mutual good; my judgment was, perhaps, wrong, -but my intention was certainly right. Tears swelled into her eyes as she -spoke these words. Adeline wished to relieve her; but delicacy kept her -silent. La Motte observed the effect of his speech, and something like -remorse touched his heart. He approached, and taking her hand, You must -allow for the perturbation of my mind, said he, I did not mean to -afflict you thus. The idea of sending Peter to Auboine, where he has -already done so much harm by his blunders, teased me, and I could not -let it pass unnoticed. No, my dear, our only chance of safety is to -remain where we are while our provisions last. If the officers do not -come here to-night, they probably will to-morrow, or, perhaps, the next -day. When they have searched the abbey, without finding me, they will -depart; we may then emerge from this recess, and take measures for -removing to a distant country. - -Madame La Motte acknowledged the justice of his words; and her mind -being relieved by the little apology he had made, she became tolerably -cheerful. Supper being ended, La Motte stationed the faithful though -simple Peter at the foot of the steps that ascended to the closet, there -to keep watch during the night. Having done this, he returned to the -lower cells, where he had left his little family. The beds were spread; -and having mournfully bidden each other good night, they lay down, and -implored rest. - -Adeline's thoughts were too busy to suffer her to repose, and when she -believed her companions were sunk in slumbers, she indulged the sorrow -which reflection brought. She also looked forward to the future with the -most mournful apprehension. Should La Motte be seized, what was to -become of her. She would then be a wanderer in the wide world; without -friends to protect, or money to support her. The prospect was -gloomy--was terrible! She surveyed it, and shuddered! The distresses too -of Monsieur and Madame La Motte, whom she loved with the most lively -affection, formed no inconsiderable part of hers. - -Sometimes she looked back to her father; but in him she only saw an -enemy from whom she must fly: this remembrance heightened her sorrow; -yet it was not the recollection of the suffering he had occasioned her, -by which she was so much afflicted, as by the sense of his unkindness: -she wept bitterly. At length, with that artless piety which innocence -only knows, she addressed the Supreme Being, and resigned herself to his -care. Her mind then gradually became peaceful and reassured, and soon -after she sunk to repose. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A SURPRISE--AN ADVENTURE--A -MYSTERY. - - -The night passed without any alarm; Peter had remained upon his post, -and heard nothing that prevented his sleeping. La Motte heard him, long -before he saw him, most musically snoring; though it must be owned there -was more of the bass than of any other part of the gamut in his -performance. He was soon roused by the _bravura_ of La Motte, whose -notes sounded discord to his ears, and destroyed the torpor of his -tranquillity. - -God bless you, master! what's the matter? cried Peter, waking, are they -come? - -Yes, for aught you care, they might be come. Did I place you here to -sleep, sirrah? Bless you, master, returned Peter, sleep is the only -comfort to be had here; I'm sure I would not deny it to a dog in such a -place as this. - -La Motte sternly questioned him concerning any noise he might have heard -in the night; and Peter full as solemnly protested he had heard none; an -assertion which was strictly true, for he had enjoyed the comfort of -being asleep the whole time. - -La Motte ascended to the trap-door and listened attentively. No sounds -were heard, and as he ventured to lift it, the full light of the sun -burst upon his sight, the morning being now far advanced: he walked -softly along the chambers, and looked through a window--no person was to -be seen. Encouraged by this apparent security, he ventured down the -stairs of the tower, and entered the first apartment. He was proceeding -towards the second, when suddenly recollecting himself, he first peeped -through the crevice of the door, which stood half open. He looked, and -distinctly saw a person sitting near the window, upon which his arm -rested. - -The discovery so much shocked him, that for a moment he lost all -presence of mind, and was utterly unable to move from the spot. The -person, whose back was towards him, arose, and turned his head: La Motte -now recovered himself, and quitting the apartment as quickly and at the -same time as silently as possible, ascended to the closet. He raised the -trap-door, but, before he closed it, heard the footsteps of a person -entering the outward chamber. Bolts or other fastening to the trap there -was none; and his security depended solely upon the exact correspondence -of the boards. The outer door of the stone room had no means of defence, -and the fastenings of the inner one were on the wrong side to afford -security even till some means of escape could be found. - -When he reached this room he paused, and heard distinctly persons -walking in the closet above. While he was listening, he heard a voice -call him by name, and he instantly fled to the cells below, expecting -every moment to hear the trap lifted and the footsteps of pursuit; but -he was fled beyond the reach of hearing either. Having thrown himself on -the ground at the furthest extremity of the vaults, he lay for some time -breathless with agitation. Madame La Motte and Adeline, in the utmost -terror, inquired what had happened. It was some time before he could -speak; when he did, it was almost unnecessary, for the distant noises -which sounded from above, informed his family of a part of the truth. - -The sounds did not seem to approach; but Madame La Motte, unable to -command her terror, shrieked aloud: this redoubled the distress of La -Motte. You have already destroyed me, cried he; that shriek has informed -them where I am. He traversed the cells with clasped hands and quick -steps. Adeline stood pale and still as death, supporting Madame La -Motte, whom with difficulty she prevented from fainting. O! Dupras! -Dupras! you are already avenged! said he in a voice that seemed to burst -from his heart: there was a pause of silence. But why should I deceive -myself with a hope of escaping? he resumed; why do I wait here for their -coming? Let me rather end those torturing pangs by throwing myself into -their hands at once. - -As he spoke, he moved towards the door; but the distress of Madame La -Motte arrested his steps. Stay, said she, for my sake, stay; do not -leave me thus, nor throw yourself voluntarily into destruction! - -Surely, Sir, said Adeline, you are too precipitate; this despair is -useless, as it is ill-founded. We hear no person approaching; if the -officers had discovered the trap-door, they would certainly have been -here before now. The words of Adeline stilled the tumult of his mind: -the agitation of terror subsided; and reason beamed a feeble ray upon -his hopes. He listened attentively; and perceiving that all was silent, -advanced with caution to the stone room, and thence to the foot of the -stairs that led to the trap-door. It was closed: no sound was heard -above. - -He watched a long time, and the silence continuing, his hopes -strengthened; and at length he began to believe that the officers had -quitted the abbey; the day, however, was spent in anxious watchfulness. -He did not dare to unclose the trap-door; and he frequently thought he -heard distant noises. It was evident, however, that the secret of the -closet had escaped discovery; and on this circumstance he justly founded -his security. The following night was passed, like the day, in trembling -hope and incessant watching. - -But the necessities of hunger now threatened them. The provisions, which -had been distributed with the nicest economy, were nearly exhausted, and -the most deplorable consequences might be expected from their remaining -longer in concealment. Thus circumstanced, La Motte deliberated upon the -most prudent method of proceeding. There appeared no other alternative, -than to send Peter to Auboine, the only town from which he could return -within the time prescribed by their necessities. There was game, indeed, -in the forest; but Peter could neither handle a gun nor use a fishing -rod to any advantage. - -It was therefore agreed he should go to Auboine for a supply of -provisions, and at the same time bring materials for mending the -coach-wheel, that they might have some ready conveyance from the forest. -La Motte forbade Peter to ask any questions concerning the people who -had inquired for him, or take any methods for discovering whether they -had quitted the country, lest his blunders should again betray him. He -ordered him to be entirely silent as to these subjects, and to finish -his business and leave the place with all possible dispatch. - -A difficulty yet remained to be overcome--Who should first venture -abroad into the abbey, to learn whether it was vacated by the officers -of justice? La Motte considered that if he was again seen, he should be -effectually betrayed; which would not be so certain if one of his family -was observed, for they were all unknown to the officers. It was -necessary, however, that the person he sent should have courage enough -to go through with the inquiry, and wit enough to conduct it with -caution. Peter, perhaps, had the first; but was certainly destitute of -the last. Annette had neither. La Motte looked at his wife, and asked -her if, for his sake, she dared to venture. Her heart shrunk from the -proposal, yet she was unwilling to refuse, or appear indifferent upon a -point so essential to the safety of her husband. Adeline observed in her -countenance the agitation of her mind, and, surmounting the fears which -had hitherto kept her silent, she offered herself to go. - -They will be less likely to offend me, said she, than a man--Shame would -not suffer La Motte to accept her offer; and Madame, touched with the -magnanimity of her conduct, felt a momentary renewal of all her former -kindness. Adeline pressed her proposal so warmly, and seemed so much in -earnest, that La Motte began to hesitate. You, Sir, said she, once -preserved me from the most imminent danger, and your kindness has since -protected me: do not refuse me the satisfaction of deserving your -goodness by a grateful return of it. Let me go into the abbey; and if, -by so doing, I should preserve you from evil, I shall be sufficiently -rewarded for what little danger I may incur, for my pleasure will be at -least equal to yours. - -Madame La Motte could scarcely refrain from tears as Adeline spoke; and -La Motte sighing deeply, said, Well, be it so; go, Adeline, and from -this moment consider me as your debtor. Adeline staid not to reply, but -taking a light, quitted the cells. La Motte following to raise the -trap-door, and cautioning her to look, if possible, into every apartment -before she entered it. If you _should_ be seen, said he, you must -account for your appearance so as not to discover me. Your own presence -of mind may assist you, I cannot--God bless you! - -When she was gone, Madame La Motte's admiration of her conduct began to -yield to other emotions. Distrust gradually undermined kindness, and -jealousy raised suspicions. It must be a sentiment more powerful than -gratitude, thought she, that could teach Adeline to subdue her fears. -What, but love, could influence her to a conduct so generous! Madame La -Motte, when she found it impossible to account for Adeline's conduct -without alleging some interested motives for it, however her suspicions -might agree with the practice of the world, had surely forgotten how -much she once admired the purity and disinterestedness of her young -friend. - -Adeline, mean while, ascended to the chambers: the cheerful beams of the -sun played once more upon her sight, and reanimated her spirits; she -walked lightly through the apartments, nor stopped till she came to the -stairs of the tower. Here she stood for some time, but no sounds met her -ear, save the sighing of the wind among the trees, and at length she -descended. She passed the apartments below without seeing any person, -and the little furniture that remained seemed to stand exactly as she -had left it. She now ventured to look out from the tower: the only -animate objects that appeared were the deer quietly grazing under the -shade of the woods. Her favourite little fawn distinguished Adeline, and -came bounding towards her with strong marks of joy. She was somewhat -alarmed lest the animal, being observed, should betray her, and walked -swiftly away through the cloisters. - -[Illustration 02] - -She opened the door that lead to the great hall of the abbey, but the -passage was so gloomy and dark that she feared to enter it, and started -back. It was necessary, however, that she should examine further, -particularly on the opposite side of the ruin, of which she had hitherto -had no view: but her fears returned when she recollected how far it -would lead her from her only place of refuge, and how difficult it would -be to retreat. She hesitated what to do; but when she recollected her -obligations to La Motte, and considered this as perhaps her only -opportunity of doing him a service, she determined to proceed. - -As these thoughts passed rapidly over her mind, she raised her innocent -looks to heaven, and breathed a silent prayer. With trembling steps she -proceeded over fragments of the ruin, looking anxiously around, and -often starting as the breeze rustled among the trees, mistaking it for -the whisperings of men. She came to the lawn which fronted the fabric, -but no person was to be seen, and her spirits revived. The great door of -the hall she now endeavoured to open; but suddenly remembering that it -was fastened by La Motte's orders, she proceeded to the north end of the -abbey, and, having surveyed the prospect around as far as the thick -foliage of the trees would permit, without perceiving any person, she -turned her steps to the tower from which she had issued. - -Adeline was now light of heart, and returned with impatience to inform -La Motte of his security. In the cloisters she was again met by her -little favourite, and stopped for a moment to caress it. The fawn seemed -sensible to the sound of her voice, and discovered new joy; but while -she spoke, it suddenly started from her hand, and looking up, she -perceived the door of the passage, leading to the great hall, open, and -a man in the habit of a soldier issue forth. - -With the swiftness of an arrow she fled along the cloisters, nor once -ventured to look back; but a voice called to her to stop, and she heard -steps advancing quick in pursuit. Before she could reach the tower, her -breath failed her, and she leaned against a pillar of the ruin, pale and -exhausted. The man came up, and gazing at her with a strong expression -of surprise and curiosity, he assumed a gentle manner, assured her she -had nothing to fear, and inquired if she belonged to La Motte. Observing -that she still looked terrified and remained silent, he repeated his -assurances and his question. - -I know that he is concealed within the ruin, said the stranger; the -occasion of his concealment I also know; but it is of the utmost -importance I should see him, and he will then be convinced he has -nothing to fear from me. Adeline trembled so excessively, that it was -with difficulty she could support herself--she hesitated, and knew not -what to reply. Her manner seemed to confirm the suspicions of the -stranger, and her consciousness of this increased her embarrassment: he -took advantage of it to press her further. Adeline at length, replied -that La Motte had some time since resided at the abbey. And does still. -Madam, said the stranger; lead me to where he may be found--I must see -him, and-- - -Never, Sir, replied Adeline; and I solemnly assure you it will be in -vain to search for him. - -That I must try, resumed he, since you, Madam, will not assist me. I -have already followed him to some chambers above, where I suddenly lost -him; thereabouts he must be concealed, and it's plain therefore they -afford some secret passage. - -Without waiting Adeline's reply, he sprung to the door of the tower. She -now thought it would betray a consciousness of the truth of his -conjecture to follow him, and resolved to remain below. But upon further -consideration, it occurred to her that he might steal silently into the -closet, and possibly surprise La Motte at the door of the trap. She -therefore hastened after him, that her voice might prevent the danger -she apprehended. He was already in the second chamber when she overtook -him: she immediately began to speak aloud. - -This room he searched with the most scrupulous care; but finding no -private door, or other outlet, he proceeded to the closet: then it was -that it required all her fortitude to conceal her agitation. He -continued the search. Within these chambers I know he is concealed, said -he, though hitherto I have not been able to discover how. It was hither -I followed a man, whom I believe to be him, and he could not escape -without a passage; I shall not quit the place till I have found it. - -He examined the walls and the boards, but without discovering the -division of the floor, which indeed so exactly corresponded, that La -Motte himself had not perceived it by the eye, but by the trembling of -the floor beneath his feet. Here is some mystery, said the stranger, -which I cannot comprehend, and perhaps never shall. He was turning to -quit the closet, when, who can paint the distress of Adeline, upon -seeing the trap-door gently raised, and La Motte himself appeared! Hah! -cried the stranger, advancing eagerly to him. La Motte sprang forward, -and they were locked in each other's arms. - -The astonishment of Adeline, for a moment, surpassed even her former -distress; but a remembrance darted across her mind, which explained the -present scene, and before La Motte could exclaim My son! she knew the -stranger as such. Peter, who stood at the foot of the stairs, and heard -what passed above, flew to acquaint his mistress with the joyful -discovery, and in a few moments she was folded in the embrace of her -son. This spot, so lately the mansion of despair, seemed metamorphosed -into the palace of pleasure, and the walls echoed only to the accents of -joy and congratulation. - -The joy of Peter on this occasion was beyond expression: he acted a -perfect pantomime--he capered about, clasped his hands--ran to his young -master--shook him by the hand, in spite of the frowns of La Motte; ran -every where, without knowing for what, and gave no rational answer to -any thing that was said to him. - -After their first emotions were subsided, La Motte, as if suddenly -recollecting himself, resumed his wanted solemnity: I am to blame, said -he, thus to give way to joy, when I am still, perhaps surrounded by -danger. Let us secure a retreat while it is yet in our power, continued -he; in a few hours the king's officers may search for me again. - -Louis comprehended his father's words, and immediately relieved his -apprehensions by the following relation:-- - -A letter from Monsieur Nemours, containing an account of your flight -from Paris, reached me at Peronne, where I was then upon duty with my -regiment. He mentioned that you were gone towards the south of France, -but as he had not since heard from you, he was ignorant of the place of -your refuge. It was about this time that I was dispatched into Flanders; -and being unable to obtain further intelligence of you, I passed some -weeks of very painful solicitude. At the conclusion of the campaign I -obtained leave of absence, and immediately set out for Paris, hoping to -learn from Nemours where you had found an asylum. - -Of this, however, he was equally ignorant with myself. He informed me -that you had once before written to him from D----, upon your second -day's journey from Paris, under an assumed name, as had been agreed -upon; and that you then said the fear of discovery would prevent your -hazarding another letter. He therefore remained ignorant of your abode, -but said he had no doubt you had continued your journey to the -southward. Upon this slender information I quitted Paris in search of -you, and proceeded immediately to V----, where my inquiries concerning -your further progress were successful as far as M----. There they told -me you had staid some time, on account of the illness of a young lady; a -circumstance which perplexed me much, as I could not imagine what young -lady would accompany you. I proceeded, however, to L----; but there all -traces of you seemed to be lost. As I sat musing at the window of the -inn, I observed some scribbling on the glass, and the curiosity of -idleness prompted me to read it. I thought I knew the characters, and -the lines I read confirmed my conjectures, for I remembered to have -heard you often repeat them. - -Here I renewed my inquiries concerning your route, and at length I made -the people of the inn recollect you, and traced you as far as Auboine. -There I again lost you, till upon my return from a fruitless inquiry in -the neighbourhood, the landlord of the little inn where I lodged, told -me he believed he had heard news of you, and immediately recounted what -had happened at a blacksmith's shop a few hours before. - -His description of Peter was so exact, that I had not a doubt it was you -who inhabited the abbey; and as I knew your necessity for concealment, -Peter's denial did not shake my confidence. The next morning, with the -assistance of my landlord, I found my way hither, and having searched -every visible part of the fabric, I began to credit Peter's assertion: -your appearance, however, destroyed this fear, by proving that the place -was still inhabited, for you disappeared so instantaneously that I was -not certain it was you whom I had seen. I continued seeking you till -near the close of day, and till then scarcely quitted the chambers -whence you had disappeared. I called on you repeatedly, believing that -my voice might convince you of your mistake. At length I retired to pass -the night at a cottage near the border of the forest. - -I came early this morning to renew my inquiries, and hoped that, -believing yourself safe, you would emerge from concealment. But how was -I disappointed to find the abbey as silent and solitary as I had left it -the preceding evening! I was returning once more from the great hall, -when the voice of this young lady caught my ear, and effected the -discovery I had so anxiously sought. - -This little narrative entirely dissipated the late apprehensions of La -Motte; but he now dreaded that the inquiries of his son, and his own -obvious desire of concealment, might excite a curiosity amongst the -people of Auboine, and lead to a discovery of his true circumstances. -However, for the present he determined to dismiss all painful thoughts, -and endeavour to enjoy the comfort which the presence of his son had -brought him. The furniture was removed to a more habitable part of the -abbey, and the cells were again abandoned to their own glooms. - -The arrival of her son seemed to have animated Madame La Motte with new -life, and all her afflictions were, for the present, absorbed in joy. -She often gazed silently on him with a mother's fondness, and her -partiality heightened every improvement which time had wrought in his -person and manner. He was now in his twenty-third year; his person was -manly and his air military; his manners were unaffected and graceful, -rather than dignified; and though his features were irregular, they -composed a countenance which, having seen it once, you would seek it -again. - -She made eager inquiries after the friends she had left at Paris, and -learned that within the few months of her absence some had died and -others quitted the place. La Motte also learned that a very strenuous -search for him had been prosecuted at Paris; and, though this -intelligence was only what he had before expected, it shocked him so -much, that he now declared it would be expedient to remove to a distant -country. Louis did not scruple to say that he thought he would be as -safe at the abbey as at any other place; and repeated what Nemours had -said, that the king's officers had been unable to trace any part of his -route from Paris. - -Besides, resumed Louis, this abbey is protected by a supernatural power, -and none of the country people dare approach it. - -Please you, my young master, said Peter, who was waiting in the room, we -were frightened enough the first night we came here, and I myself, God -forgive me! thought the place was inhabited by devils, but they were -only owls, and such like, after all. - -Your opinion was not asked, said La Motte, learn to be silent. - -Peter was abashed. When he had quitted the room, La Motte asked his son -with seeming carelessness, what were the reports circulated by the -country people? O! Sir, replies Louis, I cannot recollect half of them: -I remember, however, they said that, many years ago, a person (but -nobody had ever seen him, so we may judge how far the report ought to be -credited)--a person was privately brought to this abbey, and confined in -some part of it, and that there was strong reasons to believe he came -unfairly to his end. - -La Motte sighed. They further said, continued Louis, that the spectre of -the deceased had ever since watched nightly among the ruins: and to make -the story more wonderful, for the marvellous is the delight of the -vulgar, they added, that there was a certain part of the ruin from -whence no person that had dared to explore it, had ever returned. Thus -people, who have few objects of real interest to engage their thoughts, -conjure up for themselves imaginary ones. - -La Motte sat musing. And what were the reasons, said he, at length -awaking from his reverie, they pretended to assign for believing the -person confined here was murdered? - -They did not use a term so positive as that, replied Louis. - -True, said La Motte, recollecting himself, they only said he came -unfairly to his end. - -That is a nice distinction, said Adeline. - -Why I could not well comprehend what these reasons were, resumed Louis; -the people indeed say, that the person who was brought here, was never -known to depart; but I do not find it certain that he ever arrived: that -there was strange privacy and mystery observed, while he was here, and -that the abbey has never since been inhabited by its owner. There seems, -however, to be nothing in all this that deserves to be remembered.--La -Motte raised his head, as if to reply, when the entrance of Madame -turned the discourse upon a new subject, and it was not resumed that -day. - -Peter was now dispatched for provisions, while La Motte and Louis -retired to consider how far it was safe for them to continue at the -abbey. La Motte, notwithstanding the assurances lately given him, could -not but think that Peter's blunders and his son's inquiries might lead -to a discovery of his residence. He revolved this in his mind for some -time; but at length a thought struck him, that the latter of these -circumstances might considerably contribute to his security. If you, -said he to Louis, return to the inn at Auboine, from whence you were -directed here, and without seeming to intend giving intelligence, _do_ -give the landlord an account of your having found the abbey uninhabited, -and then add, that you had discovered the residence of the person you -sought in some distant town, it would suppress any reports that may at -present exist, and prevent the belief of any in future. And if, after -all this, you can trust yourself for presence of mind and command of -countenance, so far as to describe some dreadful apparition, I think -these circumstances, together with the distance of the abbey and the -intricacies of the forest, could entitle me to consider this place as my -castle. - -Louis agreed to all that his father had proposed, and on the following -day executed his commission with such success, that the tranquillity of -the abbey might be then said to have been entirely restored. - -Thus ended this adventure, the only one that had occurred to disturb the -family during their residence in the forest. Adeline, removed from the -apprehension of those evils with which the late situation of La Motte -had threatened her, and from the depression which her interest in his -occasioned her, now experienced a more than usual complacency of mind. -She thought, too, that she observed in Madame La Motte a renewal of her -former kindness; and this circumstance awakened all her gratitude, and -imparted to her a pleasure as lively as it was innocent. The -satisfaction with which the presence of her son inspired Madame La -Motte, Adeline mistook for kindness to herself, and she exerted her -whole attention in an endeavour to become worthy of it. - -But the joy which his unexpected arrival had given to La Motte quickly -began to evaporate, and the gloom of despondency again settled on his -countenance. He returned frequently to his haunt in the forest--the same -mysterious sadness tinctured his manner, and revived the anxiety of -Madame La Motte, who was resolved to acquaint her son with this subject -of distress, and solicit his assistance to penetrate its source. - -Her jealousy of Adeline, however, she could not communicate, though it -again tormented her, and taught her to misconstrue with wonderful -ingenuity every look and word of La Motte, and often to mistake the -artless expressions of Adeline's gratitude and regard for those of -warmer tenderness. Adeline had formerly accustomed herself to long walks -in the forest, and the design Madame had formed of watching her steps, -had been frustrated by the late circumstances, and was now entirely -overcome by her sense of its difficulty and danger. To employ Peter in -the affair, would be to acquaint him with her fears; and to follow her -herself, would most probably betray her scheme, by making Adeline aware -of her jealousy. Being thus restrained by pride and delicacy, she was -obliged to endure the pangs of uncertainty concerning the greatest part -of her suspicions. - -To Louis, however, she related the mysterious change in his father's -temper. He listened to her account with very earnest attention, and the -surprise and concern impressed upon his countenance spoke how much his -heart was interested. He was, however, involved in equal perplexity with -herself upon this subject, and readily undertook to observe the motions -of La Motte, believing his interference likely to be of equal service, -both to his father and his mother. He saw, in some degree, the -suspicions of his mother; but as he thought she wished to disguise her -feelings, he suffered her to believe that she succeeded. - -He now inquired concerning Adeline; and listened to her little history, -of which his mother gave a brief relation, with great apparent interest. -So much pity did he express for her condition, and so much indignation -at the unnatural conduct of her father, that the apprehensions which -Madame La Motte began to form, of his having discovered her jealousy, -yielded to those of a different kind. She perceived that the beauty of -Adeline had already fascinated his imagination, and she feared that her -amiable manners would soon impress his heart. Had her first fondness for -Adeline continued, she would still have looked with displeasure upon -their attachment, as an obstacle to the promotion and the fortune she -hoped to see one day enjoyed by her son. On these she rested all her -future hopes of prosperity, and regarded the matrimonial alliance which -he might form as the only means of extricating his family from their -present difficulties. She therefore touched lightly upon Adeline's -merit, joined coolly with Louis, in compassionating her misfortunes, and -with her censure of the father's conduct mixed an implied suspicion of -that of Adeline's. The means she employed to repress the passions of her -son had a contrary effect. The indifference which she repressed towards -Adeline, increased his pity for her destitute condition; and the -tenderness with which she affected to judge the father, heightened his -honest indignation at his character. - -As he quitted Madame La Motte, he saw his father cross the lawn and -enter the deep shade of the forest on the left. He judged this to be a -good opportunity of commencing his plan, and quitting the abbey, slowly -followed at a distance. La Motte continued to walk straight forward, and -seemed so deeply wrapt in thought, that he looked neither to the right -nor left, and scarcely lifted his head from the ground. Louis had -followed him near half a mile, when he saw him suddenly strike into an -avenue of the forest, which took a different direction from the way he -had hitherto gone. He quickened his steps that he might not lose sight -of him, but, having reached the avenue, found the trees so thickly -interwoven that La Motte was already hid from his view. - -He continued, however, to pursue the way before him: it conducted him -through the most gloomy part of the forest he had yet seen, till at -length it terminated in an obscure recess, over-arched with high trees, -whose interwoven branches secluded the direct rays of the sun, and -admitted only a sort of solemn twilight. Louis looked around in search -of La Motte, but he was no where to be seen. While he stood surveying -the place, and considering what further should be done, he observed, -through the gloom, an object at some distance, but the deep shadow that -fell around prevented his distinguishing what it was. - -In advancing, he perceived the ruins of a small building, which, from -the traces that remained, appeared to have been a tomb. As he gazed upon -it, Here, said he, are probably deposited the ashes of some ancient -monk, once an inhabitant of the abbey; perhaps, of the founder, who, -after having spent a life of abstinence and prayer, sought in heaven the -reward of his forbearance upon earth. Peace be to his soul! but did he -think a life of mere negative virtue deserved an eternal reward? -Mistaken man! reason, had you trusted to its dictates, would have -informed you, that the active virtues, the adherence to the golden rule, -Do as you would be done unto, could alone deserve the favour of a Deity -whose glory is benevolence. - -He remained with his eyes fixed upon the spot, and presently saw a -figure arise under the arch of the sepulchre. It started, as if on -perceiving him, and immediately disappeared. Louis, though unused to -fear, felt at that moment an uneasy sensation, but it almost immediately -struck him that this was La Motte himself. He advanced to the ruin and -called him. No answer was returned; and he repeated the call, but all -was yet still as the grave. He then went up to the archway and -endeavoured to examine the place where he had disappeared, but the -shadowy obscurity rendered the attempt fruitless. He observed, however, -a little to the right, an entrance to the ruin, and advanced some steps -down a kind of dark passage, when, recollecting that this place might be -the haunt of banditti, his danger alarmed him, and he retreated with -precipitation. - -He walked towards the abbey by the way he came; and finding no person -followed him, and believing himself again in safety, his former surmise -returned, and he thought it was La Motte he had seen. He mused upon this -strange possibility, and endeavoured to assign a reason for so -mysterious a conduct, but in vain. Notwithstanding this, his belief of -it strengthened, and he entered the abbey under as full a conviction as -the circumstances would admit of, that it was his father who had -appeared in the sepulchre. On entering what was now used as a parlour, -he was much surprised to find him quietly seated there with Madame La -Motte and Adeline, and conversing as if he had been returned some time. - -He took the first opportunity of acquainting his mother with his late -adventure, and of inquiring how long La Motte had been returned before -him; when, learning that it was near half an hour, his surprise -increased, and he knew not what to conclude. - -Meanwhile, a perception of the growing partiality of Louis co-operated -with the canker of suspicion to destroy in Madame La Motte that -affection which pity and esteem had formerly excited for Adeline. Her -unkindness was now too obvious to escape the notice of her to whom it -was directed, and, being noticed, it occasioned an anguish which Adeline -found it very difficult to endure. With the warmth and candour of youth, -she sought an explanation of this change of behaviour, and an -opportunity of exculpating herself from any intention of provoking it. -But this Madame La Motte artfully evaded; while at the same time she -threw out hints that involved Adeline in deeper perplexity, and served -to make her present affliction more intolerable. - -I have lost that affection, she would say, which was my all. It was my -only comfort--yet I have lost it--and this without even knowing my -offence. But I am thankful that I have not merited unkindness, and, -though she has abandoned _me_, I shall always love _her_. - -Thus distressed, she would frequently leave the parlour, and, retiring -to her chamber, would yield to a despondency which she had never known -till now. - -One morning, being unable to sleep, she arose at a very early hour. The -faint light of day now trembled through the clouds, and gradually -spreading from the horizon, announced the rising sun. Every feature of -the landscape was slowly unveiled, moist with the dews of night and -brightening with the dawn, till at length the sun appeared and shed the -full flood of day. The beauty of the hour invited her to walk, and she -went forth into the forest to taste the sweets of morning. The carols of -new-waked birds saluted her as she passed, and the fresh gale came -scented with the breath of flowers, whose tints glowed more vivid -through the dew drops that hung on their leaves. - -She wandered on without noticing the distance, and, following the -windings of the river, came to a dewy glade, whose woods, sweeping down -to the very edge of the water, formed a scene so sweetly romantic, that -she sealed herself at the foot of a tree, to contemplate its beauty. -These images insensibly soothed her sorrow, and inspired her with that -soft and pleasing melancholy so dear to the feeling mind. For some time -she sat lost in a reverie, while the flowers that grew on the banks -beside her seemed to smile in new life, and drew from her a comparison -with her own condition. She mused and sighed, and then, in a voice whose -charming melody was modulated by the tenderness of her heart, she sung -the following words: - - -SONNET, - -_TO THE LILY._ - -Soft silken flower! that in the dewy vale -Unfold'st thy modest beauties to the morn, -And breath'st thy fragrance on her wandering gale, -O'er earth's green hills and shadowy valley borne. - -When day has closed his dazzling eye, -And dying gales sink soft away; -When eve steals down the western sky, -And mountains, woods, and vales decay. - -Thy tender cups, that graceful swell, -Droop sad beneath her chilly dew; -Thy odours seek their silken cell, -And twilight veils their languid hue. - -But soon fair flower! the morn shall rise, -And rear again thy pensive head; -Again unveil thy snowy dyes, -Again thy velvet foliage spread. - -Sweet child of Spring! like thee, in sorrow's shade, -Full oft I mourn in tears, and droop forlorn: -And O! like thine, may light _my_ glooms pervade, -And Sorrow fly before Joy's living morn! - - -A distant echo lengthened out her tones, and she sat listening to the -soft response, till repeating the last stanza of the sonnet she was -answered by a voice almost as tender, and less distant. She looked round -in surprise, and saw a young man in a hunter's dress leaning against a -tree, and gazing on her with that deep attention which marks an -enraptured mind. - -A thousand apprehensions shot athwart her busy thought; and she now -first remembered her distance from the abbey. She rose in haste to be -gone, when the stranger respectfully advanced; but, observing her timid -looks and retiring steps, he paused. She pursued her way towards the -abbey; and though many reasons made her anxious to know whether she was -followed, delicacy forbade her to look back. When she reached the abbey, -finding the family was not yet assembled to breakfast, she retired to -her chamber, where her whole thoughts were employed in conjectures -concerning the stranger. Believing that she was interested on this point -no further than as it concerned the safety of La Motte, she indulged -without scruple the remembrance of that dignified air and manner which -so much distinguished the youth she had seen. After revolving the -circumstance more deeply, she believed it impossible that a person of -his appearance should be engaged in a stratagem to betray a -fellow-creature; and though she was destitute of a single circumstance -that might assist her surmises of who he was, or what was his business -in an unfrequented forest, she rejected, unconsciously, every suspicion -injurious to his character. Upon further deliberation, therefore, she -resolved not to mention this little circumstance to La Motte; well -knowing, that though his danger might be imaginary, his apprehensions -would be real, and would renew all the sufferings and perplexity from -which he was but just released. She resolved, however, to refrain, for -some time walking in the forest. - -When she came down to breakfast, she observed Madame La Motte to be more -than usually reserved. La Motte entered the room soon after her, and -made some trifling observations on the weather; and, having endeavoured -to support an effort at cheerfulness, sunk into his usual melancholy. -Adeline watched the countenance of Madame with anxiety; and when there -appeared in it a gleam of kindness, it was as sunshine to her soul: but -she very seldom suffered Adeline thus to flatter herself. Her -conversation was restrained, and often pointed at something more than -could be understood. The entrance of Louis was a very seasonable relief -to Adeline, who almost feared to trust her voice with a sentence, lest -its trembling accents should betray her uneasiness. - -This charming morning drew you early from your chamber? said Louis, -addressing Adeline. You had, no doubt, a pleasant companion too? said -Madame La Motte, a solitary walk is seldom agreeable. - -I was alone, Madam, replied Adeline. - -Indeed! your own thoughts must be highly pleasing then. - -Alas! returned Adeline, a tear spite of her efforts starting to her eye, -there are now few subjects of pleasure left for them. - -That is very surprising, pursued Madame La Motte. - -Is it, indeed, surprising, Madam, for those who have lost their last -friend to be unhappy? - -Madame La Motte's conscience acknowledged the rebuke, and she blushed. - -Well, resumed she, after a short pause, that is not your situation, -Adeline, looking earnestly at La Motte. Adeline, whose innocence -protected her from suspicion, did not regard this circumstance; but, -smiling through her tears, said, she rejoiced to hear her say so. During -this conversation, La Motte had remained absorbed in his own thoughts; -and Louis, unable to guess at what it pointed, looked alternately at his -mother and Adeline for an explanation. The latter he regarded with an -expression so full of tender compassion, that it revealed at once to -Madame La Motte the sentiments of his soul; and she immediately replied -to the last words of Adeline with a very serious air: A friend is only -estimable when our conduct deserves one; the friendship that survives -the merit of its object is a disgrace, instead of an honour, to both -parties. - -The manner and emphasis with which she delivered these words, again -alarmed Adeline, who mildly said, she hoped she should never deserve -such censure. Madame was silent; but Adeline was so much shocked by what -had already passed, that tears sprung from her eyes, and she hid her -face with her handkerchief. - -Louis now rose with some emotion; and La Motte, roused from his reverie, -inquired what was the matter: but before he could receive an answer he -seemed to have forgotten that he had asked the question. Adeline may -give you her own account, said Madame La Motte. I have not deserved -this, said Adeline rising; but since my presence is displeasing, I will -retire. - -She moved towards the door; when Louis, who was pacing the room in -apparent agitation, gently took her hand, saying, Here is some unhappy -mistake--and would have led her to the seat: but her spirits were too -much depressed to endure longer restraint; and, withdrawing her hand, -Suffer me to go, said she; if there is any mistake, I am unable to -explain it. Saying this, she quitted the room. Louis followed her with -his eyes to the door; when turning to his mother, Surely, Madam, said -he, you are to blame: my life on it she deserves your warmest -tenderness. - -You are very eloquent in her cause, Sir, said Madame, may I presume to -ask what interested you thus in her favour. - -Her own amiable manners, rejoined Louis, which no one can observe -without esteeming them. - -But you may presume too much on your own observations; it is possible -these amiable manners may deceive you. - -Your pardon Madam; I may, without presumption, affirm they cannot -deceive me. - -You have, no doubt, good reasons for this assertion, and I perceive, by -your admiration of this artless _innocence_, she has succeeded in her -design of entrapping your heart. - -Without designing it, she has won my admiration, which would not have -been the case, had she been capable of the conduct you mention. - -Madame La Motte was going to reply, but was prevented by her husband, -who, again roused from his reverie, inquired into the cause of dispute. -Away with this ridiculous behaviour, said he in a voice of displeasure; -Adeline has omitted some household duty, I suppose; and an offence so -heinous deserves severe punishment, no doubt: but let me be no more -disturbed with your petty quarrels; if you must be tyrannical, Madam, -indulge your humour in private. - -Saying this, he abruptly quitted the room; and Louis immediately -following, Madame was left to her own unpleasant reflections. Her -ill-humour proceeded from the usual cause. She had heard of Adeline's -walk; and La Motte having gone forth into the forest at an early hour, -her imagination, heated by the broodings of jealousy, suggested that -they had appointed a meeting. This was confirmed to her by the entrance -of Adeline, quickly followed by La Motte; and her perceptions thus -jaundiced by passion, neither the presence of her son, nor her usual -attention to good manners, had been able to restrain her emotions. The -behaviour of Adeline in the late scene she considered as a refined piece -of art, and the indifference of La Motte as affected. So true is it -that: - - -...... Trifles, light as air, -Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong -As proofs of Holy Writ; - - -and so ingenious was she 'to twist the true cause the wrong way.' - -Adeline had retired to her chamber to weep. When her first agitations -were subsided, she took an ample view of her conduct; and perceiving -nothing of which she could accuse herself, she became more satisfied, -deriving her best comfort from the integrity of her intentions. In the -moment of accusation, innocence may sometimes be oppressed with the -punishment due only to guilt; but reflection dissolves the illusion of -terror, and brings to the aching bosom the consolations of virtue. - -When La Motte quitted the room, he had gone into the forest; which Louis -observing, he followed and joined him, with an intention of touching -upon the subject of his melancholy. It is a fine morning, Sir, said -Louis; if you will give me leave, I will walk with you. La Motte, though -dissatisfied, did not object; and after they had proceeded some way, he -changed the course of his walk, striking into a path contrary to that -which Louis had observed him take on the foregoing day. - -Louis remarked that the avenue they had quitted was more shady, and -therefore more pleasant. La Motte not seeming to notice this remark, It -leads to a singular spot, continued he, which I discovered yesterday. La -Motte raised his head: Louis proceeded to describe the tomb, and the -adventure he had met with. During this relation, La Motte regarded him -with attention, while his own countenance suffered various changes. When -he had concluded, You were very daring, said La Motte, to examine that -place, particularly when you ventured down the passage: I would advise -you to be more cautious how you penetrate the depths of this forest. I -myself have not ventured beyond a certain boundary and am therefore -uninformed what inhabitants it may harbour. Your account has alarmed me, -continued he; for if banditti are in the neighbourhood, I am not safe -from their depredations:--'tis true, I have but little to lose, except -my life. - -And the lives of your family, rejoined Louis.--Of course, said La Motte. - -It would be well to have more certainty upon that head, rejoined Louis; -I am considering how we may obtain it. - -'Tis useless to consider that, said La Motte; the inquiry itself brings -danger with it; your life would perhaps be paid for the indulgence of -your curiosity; our only chance of safety is by endeavouring to remain -undiscovered. Let us move towards the abbey. - -Louis knew not what to think, but said no more upon the subject. La -Motte soon after relapsed into a fit of musing; and his son now took -occasion to lament that depression of spirits which he had lately -observed in him. Rather lament the cause of it, said La Motte with a -sigh. That I do most sincerely, whatever it may be. May I venture to -inquire, Sir, what is this cause? - -Are then my misfortunes so little known to you, rejoined La Motte, as to -make that question necessary? Am I not driven from my home, from my -friends, and almost from my country? And shall it be asked why I am -afflicted? Louis felt the justice of this reproof, and was a moment -silent. That you are afflicted, Sir, does not excite my surprise, -resumed he; it would indeed be strange, were you not. - -What then does excite your surprise? - -The air of cheerfulness you wore when I first came hither. - -You lately lamented that I was afflicted, said La Motte, and now seem -not very well pleased that I once was cheerful. What is the meaning of -this? - -You much mistake me, said his son; nothing could give me so much -satisfaction as to see that cheerfulness renewed; the same cause of -sorrow existed at that time, yet you was then cheerful. - -That I was then cheerful, said La Motte, you might, without flattery, -have attributed to yourself; your presence revived me, and I was -relieved at the same time from a load of apprehensions. - -Why then, as the same cause exists, are you not still cheerful? - -And why do you not recollect that it is your father you thus speak to? - -I do, Sir, and nothing but anxiety for my father could have urged me -thus far: it is with inexpressible concern I perceive you have some -secret cause of uneasiness; reveal it, Sir, to those who claim a share -in all your affliction, and suffer them, by participation to soften its -severity. Louis looked up, and observed the countenance of his father -pale as death: his lips trembled while he spoke. Your penetration, -however, you may rely upon it, has, in the present instance, deceived -you: I have no subject of distress, but what you are already acquainted -with, and I desire this conversation may never be renewed. - -If it is your desire, of course I obey, said Louis; but, pardon me, Sir, -if-- - -I will _not_ pardon you, Sir, interrupted La Motte; let the discourse -end here. Saying this, he quickened his steps; and Louis, not daring to -pursue, walked quietly on till he reached the abbey. - -Adeline passed the greatest part of the day alone in her chamber, where, -having examined her conduct, she endeavoured to fortify her heart -against the unmerited displeasure of Madame La Motte. This was a task -more difficult than that of self-acquittance. She loved her, and had -relied on her friendship, which, notwithstanding the conduct of Madame, -still appeared valuable to her. It was true, she had not deserved to -lose it; but Madame was so averse to explanation, that there was little -probability of recovering it, however ill-founded might be the cause of -her dislike. At length she reasoned, or rather perhaps persuaded herself -into tolerable composure; for to resign a real good with contentment is -less an effort of reason than of temper. - -For many hours she busied herself upon a piece of work which she had -undertaken for Madame La Motte; and this she did without the least -intention of conciliating her favour, but because she felt there was -something in thus repaying unkindness, which was suitable to her own -temper, her sentiments, and her pride. Self-love _may_ be the centre -round which the human affections move; for whatever motive conduces to -self-gratification may be resolved into self-love; yet some of these -affections are in their nature so refined, that though we cannot deny -their origin, they almost deserve the name of virtue. Of this species -was that of Adeline. - -In this employment, and in reading, Adeline passed as much of the day as -possible. From books, indeed, she had constantly derived her chief -information and amusement: those belonging to La Motte were few, but -well chosen; and Adeline could find pleasure in reading them more than -once. When her mind was discomposed by the behaviour of Madame La Motte, -or by a retrospection of her early misfortunes, a book was the opiate -that lulled it to repose. La Motte had several of the best English -poets, a language which Adeline had learned in the convent; their -beauties, therefore, she was capable of tasting, and they often inspired -her with enthusiastic delight. - -At the decline of day she quitted her chamber to enjoy the sweet evening -hour, but strayed no further than an avenue near the abbey, which -fronted the west. She read a little; but finding it impossible any -longer to abstract her attention from the scene around; she closed the -book, and yielded to the sweet complacent melancholy which the hour -inspired. The air was still; the sun sinking below the distant hill, -spread a purple glow over the landscape, and touched the forest glades -with softer light. A dewy freshness was diffused upon the air. As the -sun descended, the dusk came silently on, and the scene assumed a solemn -grandeur. As she mused, she recollected and repeated the following -stanzas: - - -NIGHT. - -Now Evening fades! her pensive step retires, -And Night leads on the dews and shadowy hours: -Her awful pomp of planetary fires, -And all her train of visionary powers. - -_These_ paint with fleeting shapes the dream of sleep, -_These_ swell the waking soul with pleasing dread; -_These_ through the glooms in forms terrific sweep, -And rouse the thrilling horrors of the dead! - -Queen of the solemn thought--mysterious Night! -Whose step is darkness, and whose voice is fear! -Thy shades I welcome with severe delight, -And hail thy hollow gales, that sigh so drear! - -When wrapt in clouds, and riding in the blast, -Thou roll'st the storm along the sounding shore, -I love to watch the whelming billows cast -On rocks below, and listen to the roar. - -Thy milder terrors, Night, I frequent woo -Thy silent lightnings, and thy meteors' glare, -Thy northern fires, bright with ensanguine hue, -That light in heaven's high vault the fervid air. - -But chief I love thee, when thy hold car -Sheds through the fleecy clouds a trembling gleam, -And shows the misty mountain from afar, -The nearer forest, and the valley's stream: - -And nameless objects in the vale below, -That, floating dimly to the musing eye, -Assume, at Fancy's touch, fantastic show, -And raise her sweet romantic visions high. - -Then let me stand amidst thy glooms profound, -On some wide woody steep, and hear the breeze -That swells in mournful melody around, -And faintly dies upon the distant trees. - -What melancholy charm steals o'er the mind! -What hallow'd tears the rising rapture greet! -While many a viewless spirit in the wind -Sighs to the lonely hour in accents sweet! - -Ah! who the dear illusions pleased would yield, -Which Fancy wakes from silence and from shades, -For all the sober forms of Truth reveal'd, -For all the scenes that Day's bright eye pervades! - - -On her return to the abbey she was joined by Louis, who, after some -conversation, said, I am much grieved by the scene to which I was -witness this morning, and have longed for an opportunity of telling you -so. My mother's behaviour is too mysterious to be accounted for, but it -is not difficult to perceive she labours under some mistake. What I have -to request is, that whenever I can be of service to you, you will -command me. - -Adeline thanked him for this friendly offer, which she felt more -sensibly than she chose to express. I am unconscious, said she, of any -offence that may have deserved Madame La Motte's displeasure, and am -therefore totally unable to account for it. I have repeatedly sought an -explanation, which she has as anxiously avoided; it is better, -therefore, to press the subject no farther. At the same time, Sir, -suffer me to assure you, I have a just sense of your goodness. Louis -sighed, and was silent. At length, I wish you would permit me, resumed -he, to speak with my mother upon this subject; I am sure I could -convince her of her error. - -By no means, replied Adeline: Madame La Motte's displeasure has given me -inexpressible concern; but to compel her to an explanation, would only -increase this displeasure, instead of removing it. Let me beg of you not -to attempt it. - -I submit to your judgment, said Louis, but, for once, it is with -reluctance. I should esteem myself most happy if I could be of service -to you. He spoke this with an accent so tender, that Adeline, for the -first time, perceived the sentiments of his heart. A mind more fraught -with vanity than hers would have taught her long ago to regard the -attentions of Louis as the result of something more than well-bred -gallantry. She did not appear to notice his last words, but remained -silent, and involuntarily quickened her pace. Louis said no more, but -seemed sunk in thought; and this silence remained uninterrupted till -they entered the abbey. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Hence, horrible shadow! -Unreal mockery, hence! - -MACBETH. - - -Near a month elapsed without any remarkable occurrence: the melancholy -of La Motte suffered little abatement; and the behaviour of Madame to -Adeline, though somewhat softened, was still far from kind. Louis by -numberless little attentions testified his growing affection for -Adeline, who continued to treat them as passing civilities. - -It happened, one stormy night, as they were preparing for rest, that -they were alarmed by the trampling of horses near the abbey. The sound -of several voices succeeded, and a loud knocking at the great gate of -the hall soon after confirmed the alarm. La Motte had little doubt that -the officers of justice had at length discovered his retreat, and the -perturbation of fear almost confounded his senses: he, however, ordered -the lights to be extinguished, and a profound silence to be observed, -unwilling to neglect even the slightest possibility of security. There -was a chance, he thought, that the persons might suppose the place -uninhabited, and believe they had mistaken the object of their search. -His orders were scarcely obeyed, when the knocking was renewed, and with -increased violence. La Motte now repaired to a small grated window in -the portal of the gate, that he might observe the number and appearance -of the strangers. - -The darkness of the night baffled his purpose, he could only perceive a -group of men on horseback; but listening attentively, he distinguished -part of their discourse. Several of the men contended that they had -mistaken the place; till a person, who, from his authoritative voice, -appeared to be their leader, affirmed that the lights had issued from -this spot, and he was positive there were persons within. Having said -this, he again knocked loudly at the gate, and was answered only by -hollow echoes. La Motte's heart trembled at the sound, and he was unable -to move. - -After waiting some time, the strangers seemed as if in consultation; but -their discourse was conducted in such a low tone of voice, that La Motte -was unable to distinguish its purport. They withdrew from the gate, as -if to depart; but he presently thought he heard them amongst the trees -on the other side of the fabric, and soon became convinced they had not -left the abbey. A few minutes held La Motte in a state of torturing -suspense; he quitted the grate, where Louis now stationed himself, for -that part of the edifice which overlooked the spot where he supposed -them to be waiting. - -The storm was now loud, and the hollow blasts which rushed among the -trees prevented his distinguishing any other sound. Once, in the pauses -of the wind, he thought he heard distinct voices; but he was not long -left to conjecture, for the renewed knocking at the gate again appalled -him; and regardless of the terrors of Madame La Motte and Adeline, he -ran to try his last chance of concealment by means of the trap-door. - -Soon after, the violence of the assailants seeming to increase with -every gust of the tempest, the gate, which was old and decayed, burst -from its hinges, and admitted them to the hall. At the moment of their -entrance, a scream from Madame La Motte, who stood at the door of an -adjoining apartment, confirmed the suspicions of the principal stranger, -who continued to advance as fast as the darkness would permit him. - -Adeline had fainted, and Madame La Motte was calling loudly for -assistance, when Peter entered with lights, and discovered the hall -filled with men, and his young mistress senseless upon the floor. A -chevalier now advanced, and, soliciting pardon of Madame for the -rudeness of his conduct, was attempting an apology, when, perceiving -Adeline, he hastened to raise her from the ground; but Louis, who now -returned, caught her in his arms, and desired the stranger not to -interfere. - -The person to whom he spoke this, wore the star of one of the first -orders in France, and had an air of dignity which declared him to be of -superior rank. He appeared to be about forty, but perhaps the spirit and -fire of his countenance made the impression of time upon his features -less perceptible. His softened aspect and insinuating manners, while, -regardless of himself, he seemed attentive only to the condition of -Adeline, gradually dissipated the apprehensions of Madame La Motte, and -subdued the sudden resentment of Louis. Upon Adeline, who was yet -insensible, he gazed with an eager admiration, which seemed to absorb -all the faculties of his mind. She was indeed an object not to be -contemplated with indifference. - -Her beauty, touched with the languid delicacy of illness, gained from -sentiment what it lost in bloom. The negligence of her dress, loosened -for the purpose of freer respiration, discovered those glowing charms, -which her auburn tresses, that fell in profusion over her bosom, shaded, -but could not conceal. - -There now entered another stranger, a young chevalier, who having spoke -hastily to the elder, joined the general group that surrounded Adeline. -He was of a person in which elegance was happily blended with strength, -and had a countenance animated, but not haughty; noble, yet expressive -of peculiar sweetness. What rendered it at present more interesting, was -the compassion, he seemed to feel for Adeline, who now revived and saw -him, the first object that met her eyes, bending over her in silent -anxiety. - -On perceiving him, a blush of quick surprise passed over her cheek, for -she knew him to be the stranger she had seen in the forest. Her -countenance instantly changed to the paleness of terror when she -observed the room crowded with people. Louis now supported her into -another apartment, where the two chevaliers, who followed her, again -apologized for the alarm they had occasioned. The elder, turning to -Madame La Motte, said, You are, no doubt, Madam, ignorant that I am the -proprietor of this abbey. She started. Be not alarmed, Madam, you are -safe and welcome. This ruinous spot has been long abandoned by me, and -if it has afforded you a shelter I am happy. Madame La Motte expressed -her gratitude for this condescension, and Louis declared his sense of -the politeness of the Marquis de Montalt, for that was the name of the -noble stranger. - -My chief residence, said the Marquis, is in a distant province, but I -have a chateau near the borders of the forest, and in returning from an -excursion I have been benighted and lost my way. A light which gleamed -through the trees attracted me hither; and such was the darkness -without, that I did not know it proceeded from the abbey till I came to -the door. The noble deportment of the strangers, the splendour of their -apparel, and above all, this speech dissipated every remaining doubt of -Madame's, and she was giving orders for refreshments to be set before -them, when La Motte, who had listened, and was now convinced he had -nothing to fear, entered the apartment. - -He advanced towards the Marquis with a complacent air; but as he would -have spoke, the words of welcome faltered on his lips, his limbs -trembled, and a ghastly paleness overspread his countenance. - -The Marquis was little less agitated, and in the first moment of -surprise put his hand upon his sword; but recollecting himself, he -withdrew it, and endeavoured to obtain a command of features. A pause of -agonizing silence ensued. La Motte made some motion towards the door, -but his agitated frame refused to support him, and he sunk into a chair, -silent and exhausted. The horror of his countenance, together with his -whole behaviour, excited the utmost surprise in Madame, whose eyes -inquired of the Marquis more than he thought proper to answer: his look -increased instead of explaining the mystery, and expressed a mixture of -emotions which she could not analyze. Meanwhile she endeavoured to -soothe and revive her husband; but he repressed her efforts, and, -averting his face, covered it with his hands. - -The Marquis seeming to recover his presence of mind, stepped to the door -of the hall where his people were assembled, when La Motte, starting -from his seat with a frantic air, called on him to return. The Marquis -looked back and stopped: but still hesitating whether to proceed, the -supplications of Adeline, who was now returned, added to those of La -Motte, determined him, and he sat down. I request of you, my Lord, said -La Motte, that we may converse for a few moments by ourselves. - -The request is bold, and the indulgence perhaps dangerous, said the -Marquis: it is more also than I will grant. You can have nothing to say -with which your family are not acquainted--speak your purpose and be -brief. La Motte's complexion varied to every sentence of this speech. -Impossible, my Lord, said he; my lips shall close for ever, ere they -pronounced before another human being the words reserved for you alone. -I entreat--I supplicate of you a few moments' private discourse. As he -pronounced these words, tears swelled into his eyes; and the Marquis, -softened by his distress, consented, though with evident emotion and -reluctance, to his request. - -La Motte took a light and led the Marquis to a small room in a remote -part of the edifice, where they remained near an hour. Madame, alarmed -by the length of their absence, went in quest of them: as she drew near, -a curiosity in such circumstances perhaps not unjustifiable, prompted -her to listen. La Motte just then exclaimed--The phrensy of -despair!--some words followed, delivered in a low tone, which she could -not understand. I have suffered more than I can express, continued he; -the same image has pursued me in my midnight dream and in my daily -wanderings. There is no punishment, short of death, which I would not -have endured to regain the state of mind with which I entered this -forest. I again address myself to your compassion. - -A loud gust of wind that burst along the passage where Madame La Motte -stood, overpowered his voice and that of the Marquis, who spoke in -reply: but she soon after distinguished these words,--To-morrow, my -Lord, if you return to these ruins, I will lead you to the spot. - -That is scarcely necessary, and may be dangerous, said the Marquis. From -you, my Lord, I can excuse these doubts, resumed La Motte; but I will -swear whatever you shall propose. Yes, continued he, whatever may be the -consequence, I will swear to submit to your decree! The rising tempest -again drowned the sound of their voices, and Madame La Motte vainly -endeavoured to hear those words upon which probably hung the explanation -of this mysterious conduct. They now moved towards the door, and she -retreated with precipitation to the apartment where she had left Adeline -with Louis and the young chevalier. - -Hither the Marquis and La Motte soon followed, the first haughty and -cool, the latter somewhat more composed than before, though the -impression of horror was not yet faded from his countenance. The Marquis -passed on to the hall where his retinue awaited; the storm was not yet -subsided, but he seemed impatient to be gone, and ordered his people to -be in readiness. La Motte observed a sullen silence, frequently pacing -the room with hasty steps, and sometimes lost in reverie. Meanwhile the -Marquis, seating himself by Adeline, directed to her his whole -attention, except when sudden fits of absence came over his mind and -suspended him in silence: at these times the young chevalier addressed -Adeline, who with diffidence and some agitation shrunk from the -observance of both. - -The Marquis had been near two hours at the abbey, and the tempest still -continuing, Madame La Motte offered him a bed. A look from her husband -made her tremble for the consequence. Her offer was however politely -declined, the Marquis being evidently as impatient to be gone, as his -tenant appeared distressed by his presence. He often returned to the -hall, and from the gates raised a look of impatience to the clouds. -Nothing was to be seen through the darkness of night--nothing heard but -the howlings of the storm. - -The morning dawned before he departed. As he was preparing to leave the -abbey, La Motte again drew him aside, and held him for a few moments in -close conversation. His impassioned gestures, which Madame La Motte -observed from a remote part of the room, added to her curiosity a degree -of wild apprehension, derived from the obscurity of the subject. Her -endeavour to distinguish the corresponding words was baffled by the low -voice in which they were uttered. - -The Marquis and his retinue at length departed; and La Motte, having -himself fastened the gates, silently and dejectedly withdrew to his -chamber. The moment they were alone, Madame seized the opportunity of -entreating her husband to explain the scene she had witnessed. Ask me no -questions, said La Motte sternly, for I will answer none. I have already -forbidden your speaking to me on this subject. - -What subject? said his wife. La Motte seemed to recollect himself--No -matter--I was mistaken--I thought you had repeated these questions -before. - -Ah! said Madame La Motte, it is then as I suspected; your former -melancholy and the distress of this night have the same cause. - -And why should you either suspect or inquire? Am I always to be -persecuted with conjectures? - -Pardon me, I meant not to persecute you; but my anxiety for your welfare -will not suffer me to rest under this dreadful uncertainty. Let me claim -the privilege of a wife, and share the affliction which oppresses you. -Deny me not.--La Motte interrupted her, Whatever may be the cause of the -emotions which you have witnessed, I swear that I will not now reveal -it. A time may come when I shall no longer judge concealment necessary; -till then be silent, and desist from importunity; above all, forbear to -remark to any one what you may have seen uncommon in me, bury your -surmise in your own bosom, as you would avoid my curse and my -destruction. The determined air with which he spoke this, while his -countenance was overspread with a livid hue, made his wife shudder; and -she forbore all reply. - -Madame La Motte retired to bed, but not to rest. She ruminated on the -past occurrence; and her surprise and curiosity concerning the words and -behaviour of her husband were but more strongly stimulated by -reflection. One truth, however, appeared: she could not doubt but the -mysterious conduct of La Motte, which had for so many months oppressed -her with anxiety, and the late scene with the Marquis, originated from -the same cause. This belief, which seemed to prove how unjustly she had -suspected Adeline, brought with it a pang of self-accusation. She looked -forward to the morrow, which would lead the Marquis again to the abbey, -with impatience. Wearied nature at length resumed her rights, and -yielded a short oblivion of care. - -At a late hour the next day the family assembled to breakfast. Each -individual of the party appeared silent and abstracted; but very -different was the aspect of their features, and still more the -complexion of their thoughts. La Motte seemed agitated by impatient -fear, yet the sullenness of despair overspread his countenance; a -certain wildness in his eye at times expressed the sudden start of -horror, and again his features would sink into the gloom of despondency. - -Madame La Motte seemed harassed with anxiety; she watched every turn of -her husband's countenance, and impatiently awaited the arrival of the -Marquis. Louis was composed and thoughtful. Adeline seemed to feel her -full share of uneasiness; she had observed the behaviour of La Motte the -preceding night with much surprise, and the happy confidence she had -hitherto reposed in him was shaken. She feared also, lest the exigency -of his circumstances should precipitate him again into the world, and -that he would be either unable or unwilling to afford her a shelter -beneath his roof. - -During breakfast La Motte frequently rose to the window, from whence he -cast many an anxious look. His wife understood too well the cause of his -impatience, and endeavoured to repress her own. In these intervals Louis -attempted by whispers to obtain some information from his father; but La -Motte always returned to the table, where the presence of Adeline -prevented further discourse. - -After breakfast, as he walked upon the lawn, Louis would have joined -him, but La Motte peremptorily declared he intended to be alone; and -soon after, the Marquis having not yet arrived, proceeded to a greater -distance from the abbey. - -Adeline retired into their usual working room with Madame La Motte, who -affected an air of cheerfulness and even of kindness. Feeling the -necessity of offering some reason for the striking agitation of La -Motte, and of preventing the surprise which the unexpected appearance of -the Marquis would occasion Adeline, if she was left to connect it with -his behaviour of the preceding night, she mentioned that the Marquis and -La Motte had long been known to each other, and that this unexpected -meeting, after an absence of many years, and under circumstances so -altered and humiliating on the part of the latter, had occasioned him -much painful emotion. This had been heightened by a consciousness that -the Marquis had formerly misinterpreted some circumstances in his -conduct towards him, which had caused a suspension of their intimacy. - -This account did not bring conviction to the mind of Adeline, for it -seemed inadequate to the degree of emotion which the Marquis and La -Motte had mutually betrayed. Her surprise was excited, and her curiosity -awakened by the words, which were meant to delude them both. But she -forbore to express her thoughts. - -Madame proceeding with her plan, said, the Marquis was now expected, and -she hoped whatever differences remained would be perfectly adjusted. -Adeline blushed, and endeavouring to reply, her lips faltered. Conscious -of this agitation, and of the observance of Madame La Motte, her -confusion increased, and her endeavours to suppress served only to -heighten it. Still she tried to renew the discourse, and still she found -it impossible to collect her thoughts. Shocked lest Madame should -apprehend the sentiment which had till this moment been concealed almost -from herself, her colour fled, she fixed her eyes on the ground, and for -some time found it difficult to respire. Madame La Motte inquired if she -was ill; when Adeline, glad of the excuse, withdrew to the indulgence of -her own thoughts, which were now wholly engrossed by the expectation of -seeing again the young chevalier who had accompanied the Marquis. - -As she looked from her room, she saw the Marquis on horseback, with -several attendants, advancing at a distance, and she hastened to apprize -Madame La Motte of his approach. In a short time, he arrived at the -gates, and Madame and Louis went out to receive him, La Motte being not -yet returned. He entered the hall, followed by the young chevalier, and -accosting Madame with a sort of stately politeness, inquired for La -Motte, whom Louis now went to seek. - -The Marquis remained for a few minutes silent, and then asked of Madame -La Motte how her fair daughter did? Madame understood it was Adeline he -meant; and having answered his inquiry, and slightly said that she was -not related to them, Adeline, upon some indication of the Marquis's -wish, was sent for. She entered the room with a modest blush and a timid -air, which seemed to engage all his attention. His compliments she -received with a sweet grace; but when the young chevalier approached, -the warmth of his manner rendered hers involuntarily more reserved, and -she scarcely dared to raise her eyes from the ground, lest they should -encounter his. - -La Motte now entered and apologized for his absence, which the Marquis -noticed only by a slight inclination of his head, expressing at the same -time by his looks both distrust and pride. They immediately quitted the -abbey together, and the Marquis beckoned his attendants to follow at a -distance. La Motte forbad his son to accompany him, but Louis observed -he took the way into the thickest part of the forest. He was lost in a -chaos of conjecture concerning this affair, but curiosity and anxiety -for his father induced him to follow at some distance. - -In the mean time the young stranger, whom the Marquis addressed by the -name of Theodore, remained at the abbey with Madame La Motte and -Adeline. The former, with all her address, could scarcely conceal her -agitation during this interval. She moved involuntary to the door -whenever she heard a footstep, and several times she went to the hall -door, in order to look into the forest, but as often returned, checked -by disappointment; no person appeared. Theodore seemed to address as -much of his attention to Adeline as politeness would allow him to -withdraw from Madame La Motte. His manners so gentle, yet dignified, -insensibly subdued her timidity, and banished her reserve. Her -conversation no longer suffered a painful constraint, but gradually -disclosed the beauties of her mind, and seemed to produce a mutual -confidence. A similarity of sentiment soon appeared; and Theodore, by -the impatient pleasure which animated his countenance, seemed frequently -to anticipate the thought of Adeline. - -To them the absence of the Marquis was short, though long to Madame La -Motte, whose countenance brightened when she heard the trampling of -horses at the gate. - -The Marquis appeared but for a moment, and passed on with La Motte to a -private room, where they remained for some time in conference; -immediately after which he departed. Theodore took leave of -Adeline--who, as well as La Motte and Madame, attended them to the -gates--with an expression of tender regret, and often, as he went, -looked back upon the abbey, till the intervening branches entirely -excluded it from his view. - -The transient glow of pleasure diffused over the cheek of Adeline -disappeared with the young stranger, and she sighed as she turned into -the hall. The image of Theodore pursued her to her chamber; she -recollected with exactness every particular of his late -conversation--his sentiments so congenial with her own--his manners so -engaging--his countenance so animated--so ingenious and so noble, in -which manly dignity was blended with the sweetness of benevolence; -these, and every other grace, she recollected, and a soft melancholy -stole upon her heart. I shall see him no more, said she. A sigh that -followed, told her more of her heart than she wished to know. She -blushed, and sighed again; and then suddenly recollecting herself, she -endeavoured to divert her thoughts to a different subject. La Motte's -connection with the Marquis for sometime engaged her attention; but, -unable to develop the mystery that attended it, she sought a refuge from -her own reflections in the more pleasing ones to be derived from books. - -During this time, Louis, shocked and surprised at the extreme distress -which his father had manifested upon the first appearance of the -Marquis, addressed him upon the subject. He had no doubt that the -Marquis was intimately concerned in the event which made it necessary -for La Motte to leave Paris, and he spoke his thoughts without disguise, -lamenting at the same time the unlucky chance, which had brought him to -seek refuge in a place, of all others, the least capable of affording -it--the estate of his enemy. La Motte did not contradict this opinion of -his son's, and joined in lamenting the evil fate which had conducted him -thither. - -The term of Louis's absence from his regiment was now nearly expired, -and he took occasion to express his sorrow that he must soon be obliged -to leave his father in circumstances so dangerous as the present. I -should leave you, Sir, with less pain, continued he, was I sure I knew -the full extent of your misfortunes; at present I am left to conjecture -evils which perhaps do not exist. Relieve me, Sir, from this state of -painful uncertainty, and suffer me to prove myself worthy of your -confidence. - -I have already answered you on this subject, said La Motte, and forbad -you to renew it: I am now obliged to tell you, I care not how soon you -depart, if I am to be subjected to these inquiries. La Motte walked -abruptly away, and left his son to doubt and concern. - -The arrival of the Marquis had dissipated the jealous fears of Madame La -Motte, and she awoke to a sense of her cruelty towards Adeline. When she -considered her orphan state--the uniform affection which had appeared in -her behaviour--the mildness and patience with which she had borne her -injurious treatment, she was shocked, and took an early opportunity of -renewing her former kindness. But she could not explain this seeming -inconsistency of conduct, without betraying her late suspicions, which -she now blushed to remember, nor could she apologize for her former -behaviour, without giving this explanation. - -She contented herself, therefore, with expressing in her manner the -regard which was thus revived. Adeline was at first surprised, but she -felt too much pleasure at the change to be scrupulous in inquiring its -cause. - -But notwithstanding the satisfaction which Adeline received from the -revival of Madame La Motte's kindness, her thoughts frequently recurred -to the peculiar and forlorn circumstances of her condition. She could -not help feeling less confidence than she had formerly done in the -friendship of Madame La Motte, whose character now appeared less amiable -than her imagination had represented it, and seemed strongly tinctured -with caprice. Her thoughts often dwelt upon the strange introduction of -the Marquis at the abbey, and on the mutual emotions and apparent -dislike of La Motte and himself; and under these circumstances, it -equally excited her surprise that La Motte should choose, and that the -Marquis should permit him, to remain in his territory. - -Her mind returned the oftener, perhaps, to this subject, because it was -connected with Theodore; but it returned unconscious of the idea which -attracted it. She attributed the interest she felt in the affair to her -anxiety for the welfare of La Motte, and for her own future destination, -which was now so deeply involved in his. Sometimes, indeed, she caught -herself busy in conjecture as to the degree of relationship in which -Theodore stood to the Marquis; but she immediately checked her thoughts, -and severely blamed herself for having suffered them to stray to an -object which she perceived was too dangerous to her peace. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Present fears -Are less than horrible imaginings. - - -A few days after the occurrence related in the preceding chapter, as -Adeline was alone in her chamber, she was roused from a reverie by a -trampling of horses near the gate; and on looking from the casement she -saw the Marquis de Montalt enter the abbey. This circumstance surprised -her, and an emotion, whose cause she did not trouble herself to inquire -for, made her instantly retreat from the window. The same cause, -however, led her thither again as hastily; but the object of her search -did not appear, and she was in no haste to retire. - -As she stood musing and disappointed, the Marquis came out with La -Motte, and immediately looking up, saw Adeline and bowed. She returned -his compliment respectfully, and withdrew from the window, vexed at -having been seen there. They went into the forest, but the Marquis's -attendants did not, as before, follow them thither. When they returned, -which was not till after a considerable time, the Marquis immediately -mounted his horse and rode away. - -For the remainder of the day La Motte appeared gloomy and silent, and -was frequently lost in thought. Adeline observed him with particular -attention and concern: she perceived that he was always more melancholy -after an interview with the Marquis, and was now surprised to hear that -the latter had appointed to dine the next day at the abbey. - -When La Motte mentioned this, he added some high eulogiums on the -character of the Marquis, and particularly praised his generosity and -nobleness of soul. At this instant, Adeline recollected the anecdotes -she had formerly heard concerning the abbey, and they threw a shadow -over the brightness of that excellence which La Motte now celebrated. -The account, however, did not appear to deserve much credit; a part of -it, as far as a negative will admit of demonstration, having been -already proved false; for it had been reported that the abbey was -haunted, and no supernatural appearance had ever been observed by the -present inhabitants. - -Adeline, however, ventured to inquire whether it was the present Marquis -of whom those injurious reports had been raised? La Motte answered her -with a smile of ridicule: Stories of ghosts and hobgoblins have always -been admired and cherished by the vulgar, said he: I am inclined to rely -upon my own experience, at least as much as upon the accounts of these -peasants; if you have seen any thing to corroborate these accounts, pray -inform me of it, that I may establish my faith. - -You mistake me, Sir, said she, it was not concerning supernatural agency -that I would inquire; I alluded to a different part of the report, which -hinted that some person had been confined here by order of the Marquis, -who was said to have died unfairly; this was alleged as a reason for the -Marquis's having abandoned the abbey. - -All the mere coinage of idleness, said La Motte; a romantic tale to -excite wonder: to see the Marquis is alone sufficient to refute this; -and if we credit half the number of those stories that spring from the -same source, we prove ourselves little superior to the simpletons who -invent them. Your good sense, Adeline, I think, will teach you the merit -of disbelief. - -Adeline blushed and was silent; but La Motte's defence of the Marquis -appeared much warmer and more diffuse than was consistent with his own -disposition, or required by the occasion: his former conversation with -Louis occurred to her, and she was the more surprised at what passed at -present. - -She looked forward to the morrow with a mixture of pain and pleasure: -the expectation of seeing again the young chevalier occupying her -thoughts, and agitating them with a various emotion:--now she feared his -presence, and now she doubted whether he would come. At length she -observed this, and blushed to find how much he engaged her attention. -The morrow arrived--the Marquis came--but he came alone; and the -sunshine of Adeline's mind was clouded, though she was able to wear her -usual air of cheerfulness. The Marquis was polite, affable, and -attentive: to manners the most easy and elegant, was added the last -refinement of polished life. His conversation was lively, amusing, -sometimes even witty, and discovered great knowledge of the world; or, -what is often mistaken for it, an acquaintance with the higher circles, -and with the topics of the day. - -Here La Motte was also qualified to converse with him, and they entered -into a discussion of the characters and manners of the age with great -spirit and some humour. Madame La Motte had not seen her husband so -cheerful since they left Paris, and sometimes she could almost fancy she -was there. Adeline listened, till the cheerfulness which she had at -first only assumed became real. The address of the Marquis was so -insinuating and affable, that her reserve insensibly gave way before it, -and her natural vivacity resumed its long-lost empire. - -At parting, the Marquis told La Motte he rejoiced at having found so -agreeable a neighbour. La Motte bowed. I shall sometimes visit you, -continued he, and I lament that I cannot at present invite Madame La -Motte and her fair friend to my chateau; but it is undergoing some -repairs, which make it but an uncomfortable residence. - -[Illustration 03] - -The vivacity of La Motte disappeared with his guest, and he soon -relapsed into fits of silence and abstraction. The Marquis is a very -agreeable man, said Madame La Motte. Very agreeable, replied he. And -seems to have an excellent heart, she resumed. An excellent one, said La -Motte. - -You seem discomposed, my dear; what has disturbed you? - -Not in the least--I was only thinking, that with such agreeable talents -and such an excellent heart, it was a pity the Marquis should-- - -What? my dear, said Madame with impatience. That the Marquis -should--should suffer this abbey to fall into ruins, replied La Motte. - -Is that all? said Madame with disappointment.--That is all, upon my -honour, said La Motte, and left the room. - -Adeline's spirits, no longer supported by the animated conversation of -the Marquis, sunk into languor, and when he departed she walked -pensively into the forest. She followed a little romantic path that -wound along the margin of the stream and was overhung with deep shades. -The tranquillity of the scenes which autumn now touched with her -sweetest tints, softened her mind to a tender kind of melancholy; and -she suffered a tear, which she knew not wherefore had stolen into her -eye, to tremble there unchecked. She came to a little lonely recess -formed by high trees; the wind sighed mournfully among the branches, and -as it waved their lofty heads scattered their leaves to the ground. She -seated herself on a bank beneath, and indulged the melancholy -reflections that pressed on her mind. - -O! could I dive into futurity and behold the events which await me! said -she; I should perhaps, by constant contemplation, be enabled to meet -them with fortitude. An orphan in this wide world--thrown upon the -friendship of strangers for comfort, and upon their bounty for the very -means of existence, what but evil have I to expect? Alas, my father! how -could you thus abandon your child--how leave her to the storms of -life--to sink, perhaps, beneath them? alas, I have no friend! - -She was interrupted by a rustling among the fallen leaves; she turned -her head, and perceiving the Marquis's young friend, arose to depart. -Pardon this intrusion, said he, your voice attracted me hither, and your -words detained me: my offence, however, brings with it its own -punishment; having learned your sorrows--how can I help feeling them -myself? would that my sympathy or my suffering could rescue you from -them!--He hesitated.--Would that I could deserve the title of your -friend, and be thought worthy of it by yourself! - -The confusion of Adeline's thoughts could scarcely permit her to reply; -she trembled, and gently withdrew her hand, which he had taken while he -spoke. You have perhaps heard, Sir, more than is true: I am indeed not -happy; but a moment of dejection has made me unjust, and I am less -unfortunate than I have represented. When I said I had no friend, I was -ungrateful to the kindness of Monsieur and Madame La Motte, who have -been more than friends--have been as parents to me. - -If so, I honour them, cried Theodore with warmth; and if I did not feel -it to be presumption, I would ask why you are unhappy?--But--he paused. -Adeline, raising her eyes, saw him gazing upon her with intense and -eager anxiety, and her looks were again fixed upon the ground. I have -pained you, said Theodore, by an improper request. Can you forgive me, -and also when I add, that it was an interest in your welfare which urged -my inquiry? - -Forgiveness, Sir, it is unnecessary to ask; I am certainly obliged by -the compassion you express. But the evening is cold, if you please we -will walk towards the abbey. As they moved on, Theodore was for some -time silent. At length, It was but lately that I solicited your pardon, -said he, and I shall now perhaps have need of it again; but you will do -me the justice to believe that I have a strong and indeed a pressing -reason to inquire how nearly you are related to Monsieur La Motte. - -We are not at all related, said Adeline; but the service he has done me -I can never repay, and I hope my gratitude will teach me never to forget -it. - -Indeed! said Theodore, surprised: and may I ask how long you have known -him? - -Rather, Sir, let me ask why these questions should be necessary. - -You are just, said he, with an air of self-condemnation, my conduct has -deserved this reproof; I should have been more explicit. He looked as if -his mind was labouring with something which he was unwilling to express. -But you know not how delicately I am circumstanced, continued he; yet I -will aver that my questions are prompted by the tenderest interest in -your happiness--and even by my fears for your safety. Adeline started. -I fear you are deceived, said he, I fear there's danger near you. - -Adeline stopped, and looking earnestly at him, begged he would explain -himself. She suspected that some mischief threatened La Motte; and -Theodore continuing silent, she repeated her request. If La Motte is -concerned in this danger, said she, let me entreat you to acquaint him -with it immediately; he has but too many misfortunes to apprehend. - -Excellent Adeline! cried Theodore, that heart must be adamant that would -injure you. How shall I hint what I fear is too true, and how forbear to -warn you of your danger without--He was interrupted by a step among the -trees, and presently after saw La Motte cross into the path they were -in. Adeline felt confused at being thus seen with the chevalier, and was -hastening to join La Motte; but Theodore detained her, and entreated a -moment's attention. There is now no time to explain myself, said he; yet -what I would say is of the utmost consequence to _yourself_. - -Promise, therefore, to meet me in some part of the forest at about this -time to-morrow evening; you will then, I hope, be convinced that my -conduct is directed neither by common circumstances nor common regard. -Adeline shuddered at the idea of making an appointment; she hesitated, -and at length entreated Theodore not to delay till to-morrow an -explanation which appeared to be so important, but to follow La Motte -and inform him of his danger immediately. It is not with La Motte I -would speak, replied Theodore; I know of no danger that threatens -him--but he approaches, be quick, lovely Adeline, and promise to meet -me. - -I do promise, said Adeline, with a faltering voice; I will come to the -spot where you found me this evening, an hour earlier to-morrow. Saying -this, she withdrew her trembling hand, which Theodore had pressed to his -lips in token of acknowledgement, and he immediately disappeared. - -La Motte now approached Adeline, who, fearing that he had seen Theodore, -was in some confusion. Whither is Louis gone so fast? said La Motte. She -rejoiced to find his mistake, and suffered him to remain in it. They -walked pensively towards the abbey, where Adeline, too much occupied by -her own thoughts to bear company, retired to her chamber. She ruminated -upon the words of Theodore; and the more she considered them, the more -she was perplexed. Sometimes she blamed herself for having made an -appointment, doubting whether he had not solicited it for the purpose of -pleading a passion; and now delicacy checked this thought, and made her -vexed that she had presumed upon having inspired one. She recollected -the serious earnestness of his voice and manner when he entreated her to -meet him; and as they convinced her of the importance of the subject, -she shuddered at a danger which she could not comprehend, looking -forward to the morrow with anxious impatience. - -Sometimes too a remembrance of the tender interest he had expressed for -her welfare, and of his correspondent look and air, would steal across -her memory, awakening a pleasing emotion and a latent hope that she was -not indifferent to him. From reflections like these she was roused by a -summons to supper:--the repast was a melancholy one, it being the last -evening of Louis's stay at the abbey. Adeline, who esteemed him, -regretted his departure, while his eyes were often bent on her with a -look which seemed to express that he was about to leave the object of -his affection. She endeavoured by her cheerfulness to reanimate the -whole party, and especially Madame La Motte, who frequently shed tears. -We shall soon meet again, said Adeline, I trust in happier -circumstances. La Motte sighed. The countenance of Louis brightened at -her words. Do you wish it? said he with peculiar emphasis. Most -certainly I do, she replied: can you doubt my regard for my best -friends? - -I cannot doubt any thing that is good of you, said he. - -You forget you have left Paris, said La Motte to his son, while a faint -smile crossed his face; such a compliment would there be in character -with the place--in these solitary woods it is quite _outre_. - -The language of admiration is not always that of compliment, Sir, said -Louis. Adeline, willing to change the discourse, asked to what part of -France he was going. He replied that his regiment was now at Peronne, -and he should go immediately thither. After some mention of indifferent -subjects, the family withdrew for the night to their several chambers. - -The approaching departure of her son occupied the thoughts of Madame La -Motte, and she appeared at breakfast with eyes swollen with weeping. The -pale countenance of Louis seemed to indicate that he had rested no -better than his mother. When breakfast was over, Adeline retired for a -while, that she might not interrupt by her presence their last -conversation. As she walked on the lawn before the abbey, she returned -in thought to the occurrence of yesterday evening, and her impatience -for the appointed interview increased. She was soon joined by Louis. It -was unkind of you to leave us, said he, in the last moments of my stay. -Could I hope that you would sometimes remember me when I am far away, I -should depart with less sorrow. He then expressed his concern at leaving -her: and though he had hitherto armed himself with resolution to forbear -a direct avowal of an attachment, which must be fruitless, his heart now -yielded to the force of passion, and he told what Adeline every moment -feared to hear. - -This declaration, said Adeline, endeavouring to overcome the agitation -it excited, gives me inexpressible concern. - -O, say not so! interrupted Louis, but give me some slender hope to -support me in the miseries of absence. Say that you do not hate -me--Say-- - -That I do most readily say, replied Adeline in a tremulous voice; -if it will give you pleasure to be assured of my esteem and -friendship--receive this assurance:--as the son of my best benefactors, -you are entitled to---- - -Name not benefits, said Louis, your merits outrun them all: and suffer -me to hope for a sentiment less cool than that of friendship, as well as -to believe that I do not owe your approbation of me to the actions of -others. I have long borne my passion in silence, because I foresaw the -difficulties that would attend it; nay, I have even dared to endeavour -to overcome it: I have dared to believe it possible--forgive the -supposition, that I could forget you--and---- - -You distress me, interrupted Adeline; this is a conversation which I -ought not to hear. I am above disguise, and therefore assure you that, -though your virtues will always command my esteem, you have nothing to -hope from my love. Were it even otherwise, our circumstances would -effectually decide for us. If you are really my friend, you will rejoice -that I am spared this struggle between affection and prudence. Let me -hope, also, that time will teach you to reduce love within the limits of -friendship. - -Never, cried Louis vehemently: were this possible, my passion would be -unworthy of its object. While he spoke, Adeline's favourite fawn came -bounding towards her. This circumstance affected Louis even to tears. -This little animal, said he, after a short pause, first conducted me to -you: it was witness to that happy moment when I first saw you surrounded -by attractions too powerful for my heart; that moment is now fresh in my -memory, and the creature comes even to witness this sad one of my -departure. Grief interrupted his utterance. - -When he recovered his voice, he said, Adeline! when you look upon your -little favourite and caress it, remember the unhappy Louis, who will -then be far--far from you. Do not deny me the poor consolation of -believing this! - -I shall not require such a monitor to remind me of you, said Adeline -with a smile; your excellent parents and your own merits have sufficient -claim upon my remembrance. Could I see your natural good sense resume -its influence over passion, my satisfaction would equal my esteem for -you. - -Do not hope it, said Louis, nor will I wish it; for passion here is -virtue. As he spoke he saw La Motte turning round an angle of the abbey. -The moments are precious, said he, I am interrupted. O! Adeline, -farewell! and say that you will sometimes think of me. - -Farewell, said Adeline, who was affected by his distress--farewell! and -peace attend you. I will think of you with the affection of a -sister.--He sighed deeply and pressed her hand; when La Motte, winding -round another projection of the ruin, again appeared. Adeline left them -together, and withdrew to her chamber, oppressed by the scene. Louis's -passion and her esteem were too sincere not to inspire her with a strong -degree of pity for his unhappy attachment. She remained in her chamber -till he had quitted the abbey, unwilling to subject him or herself to -the pain of a formal parting. - -As evening and the hour of appointment drew nigh, Adeline's impatience -increased; yet when the time arrived, her resolution failed, and she -faltered from her purpose. There was something of indelicacy and -dissimulation in an _appointed_ interview on her part, that shocked her. -She recollected the tenderness of Theodore's manner, and several little -circumstances which seemed to indicate that his heart was not -unconcerned in the event. Again she was inclined to doubt whether he had -not obtained her consent to this meeting upon some groundless suspicion; -and she almost determined not to go: yet it was possible Theodore's -assertion might be sincere, and her danger real; the chance of this made -her delicate scruples appear ridiculous; she wondered that she had for a -moment suffered them to weigh against so serious an interest, and -blaming herself for the delay they had occasioned, hastened to the place -of appointment. - -The little path which led to this spot, was silent and solitary, and -when she reached the recess Theodore had not arrived. A transient pride -made her unwilling he should find that she was more punctual to his -appointment than himself; and she turned from the recess into a track -which wound among the trees to the right. Having walked some way without -seeing any person or hearing a footstep, she returned; but he was not -come, and she again left the place. A second time she came back, and -Theodore was still absent. Recollecting the time at which she had -quitted the abbey, she grew uneasy, and calculated that the hour -appointed was now much exceeded. She was offended and perplexed; but she -seated herself on the turf, and was resolved to wait the event. After -remaining here till the fall of twilight in fruitless expectation, her -pride became more alarmed; she feared that he had discovered something -of the partiality he had inspired; and believing that he now treated her -with purposed neglect, she quitted the place with disgust and -self-accusation. - -When these emotions subsided, and reason resumed its influence, she -blushed for what she termed this childish effervescence of self-love. -She recollected, as if for the first time, these words of Theodore: I -fear you are deceived, and that some danger is near you. Her judgment -now acquitted the offender, and she saw only the friend. The import of -these words, whose truth she no longer doubted, again alarmed her. Why -did he trouble himself to come from the chateau, on purpose to hint her -danger, if he did not wish to preserve her? And if he wished to preserve -her, what but necessity could have withheld him from the appointment? - -These reflections decided her at once. She resolved to repair on the -following day at the same hour to the recess, whither the interest which -she believed him to take in her fate would no doubt conduct him in the -hope of meeting her. That some evil hovered over her she could not -disbelieve, but what it might be she was unable to guess. Monsieur and -Madame La Motte were her friends, and who else, removed as she now -thought herself, beyond the reach of her father, could injure her? But -why did Theodore say she was deceived? She found it impossible to -extricate herself from the labyrinth of conjecture, but endeavoured to -command her anxiety till the following evening. In the mean time she -engaged herself in efforts to amuse Madame La Motte, who required some -relief after the departure of her son. - -Thus oppressed by her own cares and interested by those of Madame La -Motte, Adeline retired to rest. She soon lost her recollection: but it -was only to fall into harassed slumbers, such as but too often haunt the -couch of the unhappy. At length her perturbed fancy suggested the -following dream. - -She thought she was in a large old chamber belonging to the abbey, more -ancient and desolate, though in part furnished, than any she had yet -seen. It was strongly barricadoed, yet no person appeared. While she -stood musing and surveying the apartment, she heard a low voice call -her; and looking towards the place whence it came, she perceived by the -dim light of a lamp a figure stretched on a bed that lay on the floor. -The Voice called again; and approaching the bed, she distinctly saw the -features of a man who appeared to be dying. A ghastly paleness -overspread his countenance, yet there was an expression of mildness and -dignity in it, which strongly interested her. - -While she looked on him his features changed, and seemed convulsed in -the agonies of death. The spectacle shocked her, and she started back; -but he suddenly stretched forth his hand, and seizing hers, grasped it -with violence: she struggled in terror to disengage herself; and again -looking on his face, saw a man who appeared to be about thirty, with the -same features, but in full health, and of a most benign countenance. He -smiled tenderly upon her, and moved his lips as if to speak, when the -floor of the chamber suddenly opened and he sunk from her view. The -effort she made to save herself from following awoke her.--This dream -had so strongly impressed her fancy, that it was some time before she -could overcome the terror it occasioned, or even be perfectly convinced -she was in her own apartment. At length, however, she composed herself -to sleep; again she fell into a dream. - -She thought she was bewildered in some winding passages of the abbey; -that it was almost dark, and that she wandered about a considerable time -without being able to find a door. Suddenly she heard a bell toll from -above, and soon after a confusion of distant voices. She redoubled her -efforts to extricate herself. Presently all was still; and at length -wearied with the search, she sat down on a step that crossed the -passage. She had not been long here when she saw a light glimmer at a -distance on the walls; but a turn in the passage, which was very long, -prevented her seeing from what it proceeded. It continued to glimmer -faintly for some time and then grew stronger, when she saw a man enter -the passage habited in a long black cloak like those usually worn by -attendants at funerals, and bearing a torch. He called to her to follow -him, and led her through a long passage to the foot of a staircase. Here -she feared to proceed, and was running back, when the man suddenly -turned to pursue her, and with the terror which this occasioned she -awoke. - -Shocked by these visions, and more so by their seeming connection, which -now struck her, she endeavoured to continue awake, lest their terrific -images should again haunt her mind: after some time, however, her -harassed spirits again sunk into slumber, though not to repose. - -She now thought herself in a large old gallery, and saw at one end of it -a chamber door standing a little open and a light within: she went -towards it, and perceived the man she had before seen, standing at the -door and beckoning her towards him. With the inconsistency so common in -dreams, she no longer endeavoured to avoid him, but advancing, followed -him into a suit of very ancient apartments hung with black and lighted -up as if for a funeral. Still he led her on, till she found herself in -the same chamber she remembered to have seen in her former dream: a -coffin covered with a pall stood at the further end of the room; some -lights and several persons surrounded it, who appeared to be in great -distress. - -Suddenly she thought these persons were all gone, and that she was left -alone; that she went up to the coffin, and while she gazed upon it, she -heard a voice speak, as if from within, but saw nobody. The man she had -before seen, soon after stood by the coffin, and lifting the pall, she -saw beneath it a dead person, whom she thought to be the dying chevalier -she had seen in her former dream; his features were sunk in death, but -they were yet serene. While she looked at him, a stream of blood gushed -from his side, and descending to the floor the whole chamber was -overflowed; at the same time some words were uttered in a voice she -heard before; but the horror of the scene so entirely overcame her, that -she started and awoke. - -When she had recovered her recollection, she raised herself in the bed, -to be convinced it was a dream she had witnessed; and the agitation of -her spirits was so great, that she feared to be alone, and almost -determined to call Annette. The features of the deceased person, and the -chamber where he lay, were strongly impressed upon her memory, and she -still thought she heard the voice and saw the countenance which her -dream represented. The longer she considered these dreams, the more she -was surprised; they were so very terrible, returned so often, and seemed -to be so connected with each other, that she could scarcely think them -accidental; yet why they should be supernatural, she could not tell. She -slept no more that night. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -...... When these prodigies -Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, -_These are their reasons; they are natural_; -For I believe they are portentous things. - -JULIUS CÆSAR. - - -When Adeline appeared at breakfast, her harassed and languid countenance -struck Madame La Motte, who inquired if she was ill. Adeline, forcing a -smile upon her features, said she had not rested well, for that she had -had very disturbed dreams: she was about to describe them, but a strong -and involuntary impulse prevented her. At the same time La Motte -ridiculed her concern so unmercifully, that she was almost ashamed to -have mentioned it, and tried to overcome the remembrance of its cause. - -After breakfast, she endeavoured to employ her thoughts by conversing -with Madame La Motte; but they were really engaged by the incidents of -the last two days, the circumstance of her dreams, and her conjectures -concerning the information to be communicated to her by Theodore. They -had thus sat for some time, when a sound of voices arose from the great -gate of the abbey; and on going to the casement, Adeline saw the Marquis -and his attendants on the lawn below. The portal of the abbey concealed -several people from her view, and among these it was possible might be -Theodore, who had not yet appeared: she continued to look for him with -great anxiety, till the Marquis entered the hall with La Motte and some -other persons, soon after which Madame went to receive him, and Adeline -retired to her own apartment. - -A message from La Motte, however, soon called her to join the party, -where she vainly hoped to find Theodore. The Marquis arose as she -approached, and, having paid her some general compliments, the -conversation took a very lively turn. Adeline, finding it impossible to -counterfeit cheerfulness while her heart was sinking with anxiety and -disappointment, took little part in it: Theodore was not once named. She -would have asked concerning him, had it been possible to inquire with -propriety; but she was obliged to content herself with hoping, first, -that he would arrive before dinner, and then before the departure of the -Marquis. - -Thus the day passed in expectation and disappointment. The evening was -now approaching, and she was condemned to remain in the presence of the -Marquis, apparently listening to a conversation which, in truth, she -scarcely heard, while the opportunity was perhaps escaping that would -decide her fate. She was suddenly relieved from this state of torture, -and thrown into one, if possible, still more distressing. - -The Marquis inquired for Louis, and being informed of his departure, -mentioned that Theodore Peyrou had that morning set out for his regiment -in a distant province. He lamented the loss he should sustain by his -absence; and expressed some very flattering praise of his talents. The -shock of this intelligence overpowered the long-agitated spirits of -Adeline: the blood forsook her cheeks, and a sudden faintness came over -her, from which she recovered only to a consciousness of having -discovered her emotion, and the danger of relapsing into a second fit. - -She retired to her chamber, where being once more alone, her oppressed -heart found relief from tears, in which she freely indulged. Ideas -crowded so fast upon her mind, that it was long ere she could arrange -them so as to produce any thing like reasoning. She endeavoured to -account for the abrupt departure of Theodore. Is it possible, said she, -that he should take an interest in my welfare, and yet leave me exposed -to the full force of a danger which he himself foresaw? Or am I to -believe that he has trifled with my simplicity for an idle frolic, and -has now left me to the wondering apprehension he has raised? Impossible! -a countenance so noble, and a manner so amiable, could never disguise a -heart capable of forming so despicable a design. No!--whatever is -reserved for me, let me not relinquish the pleasure of believing that he -is worthy of my esteem. - -She was awakened from thoughts like these by a peal of distant thunder, -and now perceived that the gloominess of evening was deepened by the -coming storm; it rolled onward, and soon after the lightning began to -flash along the chamber. Adeline was superior to the affectation of -fear, and was not apt to be terrified; but she now felt it unpleasant to -be alone, and hoping that the Marquis might have left the abby, she went -down to the sitting-room: but the threatening aspect of the heavens had -hitherto detained him, and now the evening tempest made him rejoice that -he had not quitted a shelter. The storm continued, and night came on. La -Motte pressed his guest to take a bed at the abbey, and he at length -consented; a circumstance which threw Madame La Motte into some -perplexity as to the accommodation to be afforded him. After some time -she arranged the affair to her satisfaction; resigning her own apartment -to the Marquis, and that of Louis to two of his superior attendants; -Adeline, it was further settled, should give up her room to Monsieur and -Madame La Motte, and to remove to an inner chamber, where a small bed, -usually occupied by Annette, was placed for her. - -At supper the Marquis was less gay than usual; he frequently addressed -Adeline, and his look and manner seemed to express the tender interest -which her indisposition, for she still appeared pale and languid, had -excited. Adeline, as usual, made an effort to forget her anxiety and -appear happy: but the veil of assumed cheerfulness was too thin to -conceal the features of sorrow; and her feeble smiles only added a -peculiar softness to her air. The Marquis conversed with her on a -variety of subjects, and displayed an elegant mind. The observations of -Adeline, which, when called upon, she gave with reluctant modesty, in -words at once simple and forceful, seemed to excite his admiration, -which he sometimes betrayed by an inadvertent expression. - -Adeline retired early to her room, which adjoined on one side to Madame -La Motte's, and on the other to the closet formerly mentioned. It was -spacious and lofty, and what little furniture it contained was falling -to decay; but perhaps the present tone of her spirits might contribute -more than these circumstances to give that air of melancholy which -seemed to reign in it. She was unwilling to go to bed, lest the dreams -that had lately pursued her should return; and determined to sit up till -she found herself oppressed by sleep, when it was probable her rest -would be profound. She placed the light on a small table, and taking a -book, continued to read for above an hour, till her mind refused any -longer to abstract itself from its own cares, and she sat for some time -leaning pensively on her arm. - -The wind was high, and as it whistled through the desolate apartment, -and shook the feeble doors, she often started, and sometimes even -thought she heard sighs between the pauses of the gust; but she checked -these illusions, which the hour of the night and her own melancholy -imagination conspired to raise. As she sat musing, her eyes fixed on the -opposite wall, she perceived the arras, with which the room was hung, -wave backwards and forwards; she continued to observe it for some -minutes, and then rose to examine it further. It was moved by the wind; -and she blushed at the momentary fear it had excited; but she observed -that the tapestry was more strongly agitated in one particular place -than elsewhere, and a noise that seemed something more than that of the -wind issued thence. The old bedstead, which La Motte had found in this -apartment, had been removed to accommodate Adeline, and it was behind -the place where this had stood, that the wind seemed to rush with -particular force: curiosity prompted her to examine still further; she -felt about the tapestry, and perceiving the wall behind shake under her -hand, she lifted the arras, and discovered a small door, whose loosened -hinges admitted the wind, and occasioned the noise she had heard. - -The door was held only by a bolt, having undrawn which, and brought the -light, she descended by a few steps into another chamber; she instantly -remembered her dreams. The chamber was not much like that in which she -had seen the dying chevalier, and afterwards the bier; but it gave her a -confused remembrance of one through which she had passed. Holding up the -light to examine it more fully, she was convinced by its structure that -it was part of the ancient foundation. A shattered casement, placed high -from the floor, seemed to be the only opening to admit light. She -observed a door on the opposite side of the apartment; and after some -moments of hesitation gained courage, and determined to pursue the -inquiry. A mystery seems to hang over these chambers, said she, which it -is perhaps my lot to develop; I will at least see to what that door -leads. - -She stepped forward, and having unclosed it, proceeded with faltering -steps along a suite of apartments, resembling the first in style and -condition, and terminating in one exactly like that where her dream had -represented the dying person; the remembrance struck so forcibly upon -her imagination, that she was in danger of fainting; and looking round -the room, almost expected to see the phantom of her dream. - -Unable to quit the place, she sat down on some old lumber to recover -herself, while her spirits were nearly overcome by a superstitious -dread, such as she had never felt before. She wondered to what part of -the abbey these chambers belonged, and that they had so long escaped -detection. The casements were all too high to afford any information -from without. When she was sufficiently composed to consider the -direction of the rooms and the situation of the abbey, there appeared -not a doubt that they formed an interior part of the original building. - -As these reflections passed over her mind, a sudden gleam of moonlight -fell upon some object without the casement. Being now sufficiently -composed to wish to pursue the inquiry, and believing this object might -afford her some means of learning the situation of these rooms, she -combated her remaining terrors; and in order to distinguish it more -clearly, removed the light to an outer chamber; but before she could -return, a heavy cloud was driven over the face of the moon, and all -without was perfectly dark; she stood for some moments waiting a -returning gleam, but the obscurity continued. As she went softly back -for the light, her foot stumbled over something on the floor; and while -she stooped to examine it, the moon again shone, so that she could -distinguish through the casement, the eastern towers of the abbey. This -discovery confirmed her former conjectures concerning the interior -situation of these apartments. The obscurity of the place prevented her -discovering what it was that had impeded her steps, but having brought -the light forward, she perceived on the floor an old dagger: with a -trembling hand she took it up, and upon a closer view perceived that it -was spotted and stained with rust. - -Shocked and surprised, she looked round the room for some object that -might confirm or destroy the dreadful suspicion which now rushed upon -her mind; but she saw only a great chair with broken arms, that stood in -one corner of the room, and a table in a condition equally shattered, -except that in another part lay a confused heap of things, which -appeared to be old lumber. She went up to it, and perceived a broken -bedstead, with some decayed remnants of furniture, covered with dust and -cobwebs, and which seemed indeed as if they had not been moved for many -years. Desirous, however, of examining further, she attempted to raise -what appeared to have been part of the bedstead; but it slipped from her -hand, and, rolling to the floor, brought with it some of the remaining -lumber. Adeline started aside and saved herself; and when the noise it -made had ceased, she heard a small rustling sound, and as she was about -to leave the chamber, saw something falling gently among the lumber. - -It was a small roll of paper, tied with a string, and covered with dust. -Adeline took it up, and on opening it perceived a hand writing. She -attempted to read it, but the part of the manuscript she looked at was -so much obliterated, that she found this difficult, though what few -words were legible impressed her with curiosity and terror, and induced -her to return with it immediately to her chamber. - -Having reached her own room, she fastened the private door, and let the -arras fall over it as before. It was now midnight. The stillness of the -hour, interrupted only at intervals by the hollow sighings of the blast, -heightened the solemnity of Adeline's feelings. She wished she was not -alone, and before she proceeded to look into the manuscript, listened -whether Madame La Motte was yet in her chamber:--not the least sound was -heard, and she gently opened the door. The profound silence within -almost convinced her that no person was there; but willing to be further -satisfied, she brought the light and found the room empty. The lateness -of the hour made her wonder that Madame La Motte was not in her chamber, -and she proceeded to the top of the tower stairs, to hearken if any -person was stirring. - -She heard the sound of voices from below, and, amongst the rest, that of -La Motte speaking in his usual tone. Being now satisfied that all was -well, she turned towards her room, when she heard the Marquis pronounce -her name with very unusual emphasis. She paused. I adore her, pursued -he, and by Heaven--He was interrupted by La Motte, my Lord, remember -your promise. - -I do, replied the Marquis, and I will abide by it. But we trifle. -To-morrow I will declare myself, and I shall then know both what to hope -and how to act. Adeline trembled so excessively, that she could scarcely -support herself: she wished to return to her chamber; yet she was too -much interested in the words she had heard, not to be anxious to have -them more fully explained. There was an interval of silence, after which -they conversed in a lower tone. Adeline remembered the hints of -Theodore, and determined, if possible, to be relieved from the terrible -suspense she now suffered. She stole softly down a few steps, that she -might catch the accents of the speakers, but they were so low that she -could only now and then distinguish a few words. Her father, say you? -said the Marquis. Yes, my Lord, her father. I am well informed of what I -say. Adeline shuddered at the mention of her father, a new terror seized -her, and with increasing eagerness she endeavoured to distinguish their -words, but for some time found this to be impossible. Here is no time to -be lost, said the Marquis, to-morrow then.--She heard La Motte rise, and -believing it was to leave the room, she hurried up the steps, and having -reached her chamber, sunk almost lifeless in a chair. - -It was her father only of whom she thought. She doubted not that he had -pursued and discovered her retreat; and though this conduct appeared -very inconsistent with his former behaviour in abandoning her to -strangers, her fears suggested that it would terminate in some new -cruelty. She did not hesitate to pronounce this the danger of which -Theodore had warned her; but it was impossible to surmise how he had -gained his knowledge of it, or how he had become sufficiently acquainted -with her story, except through La Motte, her apparent friend and -protector, whom she was thus, though unwillingly, led to suspect of -treachery. Why, indeed, should La Motte conceal from her only his -knowledge of her father's intention, unless he designed to deliver her -into his hands? Yet it was long ere she could bring herself to believe -this conclusion possible. To discover depravity in those whom we have -loved, is one of the most exquisite tortures to a virtuous mind, and the -conviction is often rejected before it is finally admitted. - -The words of Theodore, which told her he was fearful she was deceived, -confirmed this most painful apprehension of La Motte, with another yet -more distressing, that Madame La Motte was also united against her. This -thought, for a moment, subdued terror and left her only grief; she wept -bitterly. Is this human nature? cried she. Am I doomed to find every -body deceitful? An unexpected discovery of vice in those whom we have -admired, inclines us to extend our censure of the individual to the -species; we henceforth contemn appearances, and too hastily conclude -that no person is to be trusted. - -Adeline determined to throw herself at the feet of La Motte on the -following morning, and implore his pity and protection. Her mind was now -too much agitated by her own interests to permit her to examine the -manuscripts, and she sat musing in her chair till she heard the steps of -Madame La Motte, when she retired to bed. La Motte soon after came up to -his chamber; and Adeline, the mild, persecuted Adeline, who had now -passed two days of torturing anxiety, and one night of terrific visions, -endeavoured to compose her mind to sleep. In the present state of her -spirits she quickly caught alarm, and she had scarcely fallen into a -slumber when she was roused by a loud and uncommon noise. She listened, -and thought the sound came from the apartments below, but in a few -minutes there was a hasty knocking at the door of La Motte's chamber. - -La Motte, who had just fallen asleep, was not easily to be roused; but -the knocking increased with such violence, that Adeline, extremely -terrified, arose and went to the door that opened from her chamber into -his, with a design to call him. She was stopped by the voice of the -Marquis, which she now clearly distinguished at the door. He called to -La Motte to rise immediately; and Madame La Motte endeavoured at the -same time to rouse her husband, who at length awoke in much alarm, and -soon after joining the Marquis, they went down stairs together. Adeline -now dressed herself, as well as her trembling hands would permit, and -went into the adjoining chamber, where she found Madame La Motte -extremely surprised and terrified. - -The Marquis in the mean time told La Motte, with great agitation, that -he recollected having appointed some persons to meet him upon business -of importance early in the morning, and it was therefore necessary for -him to set off for his chateau immediately. As he said this, and desired -that his servants might be called, La Motte could not help observing the -ashy paleness of his countenance, or expressing some apprehension that -his Lordship was ill. The Marquis assured him he was perfectly well, but -desired that he might set out immediately. Peter was now ordered to call -the other servants, and the Marquis having refused to take any -refreshment, bade La Motte a hasty adieu, and as soon as his people were -ready left the abbey. - -La Motte returned to his chamber, musing on the abrupt departure of his -guest, whose emotion appeared much too strong to proceed from the cause -assigned. He appeased the anxiety of Madame La Motte, and at the same -time excited her surprise by acquainting her with the occasion of the -late disturbance. Adeline, who had retired from the chamber on the -approach of La Motte, looked out from her window on hearing the -trampling of horses. It was the Marquis and his people, who just then -passed at a little distance. Unable to distinguish who the persons were, -she was alarmed at observing such a party about the abbey at that hour, -and calling to inform La Motte of the circumstance, was made acquainted -with what had passed. - -At length she retired to her bed, and her slumbers were this night -undisturbed by dreams. - -When she arose in the morning, she observed La Motte walking alone in -the avenue below, and she hastened to seize the opportunity which now -offered of pleading her cause. She approached him with faltering steps, -while the paleness and timidity of her countenance discovered the -disorder of her mind. Her first words, without entering upon any -explanation, implored his compassion. La Motte stopped, and looking -earnestly in her face, inquired whether any part of his conduct towards -her merited the suspicion which her request implied. Adeline for a -moment blushed that she had doubted his integrity, but the words she had -overheard returned to her memory. - -Your behaviour, Sir, said she, I acknowledge to have been kind and -generous, beyond what I had a right to expect, but--and she paused. She -knew not how to mention what she blushed to believe. La Motte continued -to gaze on her in silent expectation, and at length desired her to -proceed and explain her meaning. She entreated that he would protect her -from her father. La Motte looked surprised and confused. Your father! -said he. Yes, Sir, replied Adeline; I am not ignorant that he has -discovered my retreat: I have every thing to dread from a parent who has -treated me with such cruelty as you was witness of; and I again implore -that you will save me from his hands. - -La Motte stood fixed in thought, and Adeline continued her endeavours to -interest his pity. What reason have you to suppose, or rather how have -you learned, that your father pursues you? The question confused -Adeline, who blushed to acknowledge that she had overheard his -discourse, and disdained to invent or utter a falsity: at length she -confessed the truth. The countenance of La Motte instantly changed to a -savage fierceness, and, sharply rebuking her for a conduct to which she -had been rather tempted by chance than prompted by design, he inquired -what she had overheard that could so much alarm her. She faithfully -repeated the substance of the incoherent sentences that had met her -ear;--while she spoke, he regarded her with a fixed attention. And was -this all you heard? Is it from these few words that you draw such a -positive conclusion? Examine them, and you will find they do not justify -it. - -She now perceived, what the fervour of her fears had not permitted her -to observe before, that the words, unconnectedly as she heard them, -imported little, and that her imagination had filled up the void in the -sentences, so as to suggest the evil apprehended. Notwithstanding this, -her fears were little abated. Your apprehensions are, doubtless, now -removed, resumed La Motte; but to give you a proof of the sincerity -which you have ventured to question, I will tell you they were just. You -seem alarmed, and with reason. Your father has discovered your -residence, and has already demanded you. It is true, that from a motive -of compassion I have refused to resign you, but I have neither authority -to withhold nor means to defend you. When he comes to enforce his -demand, you will perceive this. Prepare yourself, therefore, for the -evil, which you see is inevitable. - -Adeline for some time could speak only by her tears. At length, with a -fortitude which despair had roused, she said, I resign myself to the -will of Heaven! La Motte gazed on her in silence, and a strong emotion -appeared in his countenance. He forbore, however, to renew the -discourse, and withdrew to the abbey, leaving Adeline in the avenue, -absorbed in grief. - -A summons to breakfast hastened her to the parlour, where she passed the -morning in conversation with Madame La Motte, to whom she told all her -apprehensions, and expressed all her sorrow. Pity and superficial -consolation were all that Madame La Motte could offer, though apparently -much affected by Adeline's discourse. Thus the hours passed heavily -away, while the anxiety of Adeline continued to increase, and the moment -of her fate seemed fast approaching. Dinner was scarcely over, when -Adeline was surprised to see the Marquis arrive. He entered the room -with his usual ease, and apologizing for the disturbance he had -occasioned on the preceding night, repeated what he had before told La -Motte. - -The remembrance of the conversation she had overheard at first gave -Adeline some confusion, and withdrew her mind from a sense of the evils -to be apprehended from her father. The Marquis, who was, as usual, -attentive to Adeline, seemed affected by her apparent indisposition, and -expressed much concern for that dejection of spirits which, -notwithstanding every effort, her manner betrayed. When Madame La Motte -withdrew, Adeline would have followed her; but the Marquis entreated a -few moments' attention, and led her back to her seat. La Motte -immediately disappeared. - -Adeline knew too well what would be the purport of the Marquis's -discourse, and his words soon increased the confusion which her fears -had occasioned. While he was declaring the ardour of his passion in such -terms as but too often make vehemence pass for sincerity, Adeline, to -whom this declaration, if honourable, was distressing, and if -dishonourable, was shocking, interrupted him and thanked him for the -offer of a distinction which, with a modest but determined air, she said -she must refuse. She rose to withdraw. Stay, too lovely Adeline! said -he, and if compassion for my sufferings will not interest you in my -favour, allow a consideration of your own dangers to do so. Monsieur La -Motte has informed me of your misfortunes, and of the evil that now -threatens you; accept from me the protection which he cannot afford. - -Adeline continued to move towards the door, when the Marquis threw -himself at her feet, and seizing her hand, impressed it with kisses. She -struggled to disengage herself. Hear me, charming Adeline! hear me, -cried the Marquis; I exist but for you. Listen to my entreaties, and my -fortune shall be yours. Do not drive me to despair by ill-judged rigour, -or, because-- - -My Lord, interrupted Adeline with an air of ineffable dignity, and still -affecting to believe his proposal honourable, I am sensible of the -generosity of your conduct, and also flattered by the distinction you -offer me; I will therefore say something more than is necessary to a -bare expression of the denial which I must continue to give. _I can not_ -bestow my heart. _You can not_ obtain more than my esteem, to which, -indeed, nothing can so much contribute as a forbearance from any similar -offers in future. - -She again attempted to go, but the Marquis prevented her; and, after -some hesitation, again urged his suit, though in terms that would no -longer allow her to misunderstand him. Tears swelled into her eyes, but -she endeavoured to check them; and with a look in which grief and -indignation seemed to struggle for pre-eminence, she said, My Lord, this -is unworthy of reply; let me pass. - -For a moment he was awed by the dignity of her manner, and he threw -himself at her feet to implore forgiveness. But she waved her hand in -silence, and hurried from the room. When she reached her chamber she -locked the door, and, sinking into a chair, yielded to the sorrow that -pressed at her heart. And it was not the least of her sorrow to suspect -that La Motte was unworthy of her confidence; for it was almost -impossible that he could be ignorant of the real designs of the Marquis. -Madame La Motte, she believed, was imposed upon by a specious pretence -of honourable attachment; and thus was she spared the pang which a doubt -of her integrity would have added. - -She threw a trembling glance upon the prospect around her. On one side -was her father, whose cruelty had already been but too plainly -manifested; and on the other, the Marquis pursuing her with insult and -vicious passion. She resolved to acquaint Madame La Motte with the -purport of the late conversation; and, in the hope of her protection and -sympathy, she wiped away her tears, and was leaving the room just as -Madame La Motte entered it. While Adeline related what had passed, her -friend wept, and appeared to suffer great agitation. She endeavoured to -comfort her, and promised to use her influence in persuading La Motte to -prohibit the addressee of the Marquis. You know, my dear, added Madame, -that our present circumstances oblige us to preserve terms with the -Marquis, and you will therefore suffer as little resentment to appear in -your manner towards him as possible; conduct yourself with your usual -ease in his presence, and I doubt not this affair will pass over without -subjecting you to further solicitation. - -Ah, Madam! said Adeline, how hard is the task you assign me! I entreat -you that I may never more be subjected to the humiliation of being in -his presence,--that, whenever he visits the abbey, I may be suffered to -remain in my chamber. - -This, said Madame La Motte, I would most readily consent to, would our -situation permit it. But you well know our asylum in this abbey depends -upon the good-will of the Marquis, which we must not wantonly lose; and -surely such a conduct as you propose would endanger this. Let us use -milder measures, and we shall preserve his friendship without subjecting -you to any serious evil. Appear with your usual complaisance: the task -is not so difficult as you imagine. - -Adeline sighed. I obey you, Madam, said she; it is my duty to do so: but -I may be pardoned for saying--it is with extreme reluctance. Madame La -Motte promised to go immediately to her husband; and Adeline departed, -though not convinced of her safety, yet somewhat more at ease. - -She soon after saw the Marquis depart; and as there now appeared to be -no obstacle to the return of Madame La Motte, she expected her with -extreme impatience. After thus waiting near an hour in her chamber, she -was at length summoned to the parlour, and there found Monsieur La Motte -alone. He arose upon her entrance, and for some minutes paced the room -in silence. He then seated himself, and addressed her: What you have -mentioned to Madame La Motte, said he, would give me much concern, did I -consider the behaviour of the Marquis in a light so serious as she does. -I know that young ladies are apt to misconstrue the unmeaning gallantry -of fashionable manners; and you, Adeline, can never be too cautious in -distinguishing between a levity of this kind and a more serious address. - -Adeline was surprised and offended that La Motte should think so lightly -both of her understanding and disposition as his speech implied. Is it -possible, Sir, said she, that you have been apprized of the Marquis's -conduct? - -It is very possible, and very certain, replied La Motte with some -asperity; and very possible, also, that I may see this affair with a -judgment less discoloured by prejudice than you do. But, however, I -shall not dispute this point; I shall only request that, since you are -acquainted with the emergency of my circumstances, you will conform to -them, and not, by an ill-timed resentment, expose me to the enmity of -the Marquis. He is now my friend, and it is necessary to my safety that -he should continue such; but if I suffer any part of my family to treat -him with rudeness, I must expect to see him my enemy. You may surely -treat him with complaisance. Adeline thought the term _rudeness_ a harsh -one as La Motte applied it, but she forbore from any expression of -displeasure. I could have wished, Sir, said she, for the privilege of -retiring whenever the Marquis appeared; but since you believe this -conduct would affect your interest, I ought to submit. - -This prudence and good-will delights me, said La Motte; and since you -wish to serve me, know that you cannot more effectually do it than by -treating the Marquis as a friend. The word _friend_, as it stood -connected with the Marquis, sounded dissonantly to Adeline's ear; she -hesitated, and looked at La Motte. As _your_ friend, Sir, said she, I -will endeavour to--treat him as mine, she would have said, but she found -it impossible to finish the sentence. She entreated his protection from -the power of her father. - -What protection I can afford is yours, said La Motte; but you know how -destitute I am both of the right and the means of resisting him, and -also how much I require protection myself. Since he has discovered your -retreat, he is probably not ignorant of the circumstances which detain -me here; and if I oppose him, he may betray me to the officers of the -law, as the surest method of obtaining possession of you. We are -encompassed with dangers, continued La Motte; would I could see any -method of extricating ourselves! - -Quit this abbey, said Adeline, and seek an asylum in Switzerland or -Germany; you will then be freed from further obligation to the Marquis, -and from the persecution you dread. Pardon me for thus offering advice, -which is certainly in some degree prompted by a sense of my own safety, -but which, at the same time, seems to afford the only means of ensuring -yours. - -Your plan is reasonable, said La Motte, had I money to execute it. As it -is, I must be contented to remain here as little known as possible, and -defend myself by making those who know me my friends. Chiefly I must -endeavour to preserve the favour of the Marquis: he may do much, should -your father even pursue desperate measures. But why do I talk thus? your -father may ere this have commenced these measures, and the effects of -his vengeance may now be hanging over my head. My regard for you, -Adeline, has exposed me to this; had I resigned you to his will, I -should have remained secure. - -Adeline was so much affected by this instance of La Motte's kindness, -which she could not doubt, that she was unable to express her sense of -it. When she could speak, she uttered her gratitude in the most lively -terms.--Are you sincere in these expressions? said La Motte. - -Is it possible I can be less than sincere? replied Adeline, weeping at -the idea of ingratitude.--Sentiments are easily pronounced, said La -Motte, though they may have no connection with the heart; I believe them -to be sincere so far only as they influence our actions. - -What mean you, Sir? said Adeline with surprise. - -I mean to inquire whether, if an opportunity should ever offer of thus -proving your gratitude, you would adhere to your sentiments? - -Name one that I shall refuse, said Adeline with energy. - -If, for instance, the Marquis should hereafter avow a serious passion -for you, and offer you his hand, would no petty resentment, no lurking -prepossession for some more happy lover prompt you to refuse it? - -Adeline blushed, and fixed her eyes on the ground. You have, indeed, -Sir, named the only means I should reject of evincing my sincerity. The -Marquis I can never love, nor, to speak sincerely, ever esteem. I -confess the peace of one's whole life is too much to sacrifice even to -gratitude.--La Motte looked displeased. 'Tis as I thought, said he; -these delicate sentiments make a fine appearance in speech, and render -the person who utters them infinitely amiable; but bring them to the -test of action, and they dissolve into air, leaving only the wreck of -vanity behind. - -This unjust sarcasm brought tears to her eyes. Since your safety, Sir, -depends upon my conduct, said she, resign me to my father: I am willing -to return to him, since my stay here must involve you in new misfortune: -let me not prove myself unworthy of the protection I have hitherto -experienced, by preferring my own welfare to yours. When I am gone, you -will have no reason to apprehend the Marquis's displeasure, which you -may probably incur if I stay here; for I feel it impossible that I could -even consent to receive his addresses, however honourable were his -views. - -La Motte seemed hurt and alarmed. This must not be, said he; let us not -harass ourselves by stating _possible_ evils, and then, to avoid them, -fly to those which are _certain_. No, Adeline, though you are ready to -sacrifice yourself to my safety, I will not suffer you to do so;--I will -not yield you to your father but upon compulsion. Be satisfied, -therefore, upon this point. The only return I ask, is a civil deportment -towards the Marquis. - -I will endeavour to obey you, Sir, said Adeline.--Madame La Motte now -entered the room, and this conversation ceased. Adeline passed the -evening in melancholy thoughts, and retired as soon as possible to her -chamber, eager to seek in sleep a refuge from sorrow. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -Full many a melancholy night -He watch'd the slow return of light, -And sought the powers of sleep; -To spread a momentary calm -O'er his sad couch, and in the balm -Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep. - -WARTON. - - -The MS. found by Adeline the preceding night had several times occurred -to her recollection in the course of the day; but she had then been -either too much interested by the events of the moment, or too -apprehensive of interruption, to attempt a perusal of it. She now took -it from the drawer in which it had been deposited, and, intending only -to look cursorily over the few first pages, sat down with it by her -bed-side. - -She opened it with an eagerness of inquiry which the discoloured and -almost obliterated ink but slowly gratified. The first words on the page -were entirely lost, but those that appeared to commence the narrative -were as follows: - -O! ye, whoever ye are, whom chance or misfortune may hereafter conduct -to this spot--to you I speak--to you reveal the story of my wrongs, and -ask you to avenge them. Vain hope! yet it imparts some comfort to -believe it possible that what I now write may one day meet the eye of a -fellow-creature; that the words which tell my sufferings may one day -draw pity from the feeling heart. - -Yet stay your tears--your pity now is useless: lone since have the pangs -of misery ceased; the voice of complaining is passed away. It is -weakness to wish for compassion which cannot be felt till I shall sink -in the repose of death, and taste, I hope, the happiness of eternity! - -Know, then, that on the night of the twelfth of October, in the year -1642, I was arrested on the road to Caux,--and on the very spot where a -column is erected to the memory of the immortal Henry,--by four -ruffians, who, after disabling my servant, bore me through wilds and -woods to this abbey. Their demeanour was not that of common banditti, -and I soon perceived they were employed by a superior power to -perpetrate some dreadful purpose. Entreaties and bribes were vainly -offered them to discover their employer and abandon their design; they -would not reveal even the least circumstance of their intentions. - -But when, after a long journey, they arrived at this edifice, their base -employer was at once revealed, and his horrid scheme but too well -understood. What a moment was that! All the thunders of heaven seemed -launched at this defenceless head! O! fortitude! nerve my heart to---- - -Adeline's light was now expiring in the socket, and the paleness of the -ink, so feebly shone upon, baffled her efforts to discriminate the -letters: it was impossible to procure a light from below, without -discovering that she was yet up; a circumstance which would excite -surprise, and lead to explanations such as she did not wish to enter -upon. Thus compelled to suspend the inquiry, which so many attendant -circumstances had rendered awfully interesting, she retired to her -humble bed. - -What she had read of the MS. awakened a dreadful interest in the fate of -the writer, and called up terrific images to her mind. In these -apartments!--said she; and she shuddered and closed her eyes. At length -she heard Madame La Motte enter her chamber, and the phantoms of fear -beginning to dissipate, left her to repose. - -In the morning she was awakened by Madame La Motte, and found to her -disappointment that she had slept so much beyond her usual time as to be -unable to renew the perusal of the MS.--La Motte appeared uncommonly -gloomy, and Madame wore an air of melancholy, which Adeline attributed -to the concern she felt for her. Breakfast was scarcely over, when the -sound of horses' feet announced the arrival of a stranger; and Adeline -from the oriel recess of the hall saw the Marquis alight. She retreated -with precipitation, and, forgetting the request of La Motte, was -hastening to her chamber: but the Marquis was already in the hall; and -seeing her leaving it, turned to La Motte with a look of inquiry. La -Motte called her back, and by a frown too intelligent reminded her of -her promise. She summoned all her spirits to her aid, but advanced, -notwithstanding, in visible emotion; while the Marquis addressed her as -usual, the same easy gaiety playing upon his countenance and directing -his manner. - -Adeline was surprised and shocked at this careless confidence; which, -however, by awakening her pride, communicated to her an air of dignity -that abashed him. He spoke with hesitation, and frequently appeared -abstracted from the subject of discourse. At length arising, he begged -Adeline would favour him with a few moments' conversation. Monsieur and -Madame La Motte were now leaving the room, when Adeline, turning to the -Marquis, told him she would not hear any conversation except in the -presence of her friends. But she said it in vain, for they were gone; -and La Motte, as he withdrew, expressed by his looks how much an attempt -to follow would displease him. - -She sat for some time in silence and trembling expectation. I am -sensible, said the Marquis at length, that the conduct to which the -ardour of my passion lately betrayed me, has injured me in your opinion, -and that you will not easily restore me to your esteem; but I trust the -offer which I now make you, both of my _title_ and fortune, will -sufficiently prove the sincerity of my attachment, and atone for the -transgression which love only prompted. - -After this specimen of common-place verbosity, which the Marquis seemed -to consider as a prelude to triumph, he attempted to impress a kiss upon -the hand of Adeline, who, withdrawing it hastily, said, You are already, -my Lord, acquainted with my sentiments upon this subject, and it is -almost unnecessary for me now to repeat that I cannot accept the honour -you offer me. - -Explain yourself, lovely Adeline! I am ignorant that till now I ever -made you this offer. - -Most true, Sir, said Adeline; and you do well to remind me of this, -since, after having heard your former proposal, I cannot listen for a -moment to any other. She rose to quit the room. Stay, Madam, said the -Marquis, with a look in which offended pride struggled to conceal -itself; do not suffer an extravagant resentment to operate against your -true interests; recollect the dangers that surround you, and consider -the value of an offer which may afford you at least an honourable -asylum. - -My misfortunes, my Lord, whatever they are, I have never obtruded upon -you; you will, therefore, excuse my observing, that your present mention -of them conveys a much greater appearance of insult than compassion. The -Marquis, though with evident confusion, was going to reply; but Adeline -would not be detained, and retired to her chamber. Destitute as she was, -her heart revolted from the proposal of the Marquis, and she determined -never to accept it. To her dislike of his general disposition, and the -aversion excited by his late offer, was added, indeed, the influence of -a prior attachment, and of a remembrance which she found it impossible -to erase from her heart. - -The Marquis staid to dine, and in consideration of La Motte, Adeline -appeared at table, where the former gazed upon her with such frequent -and silent earnestness, that her distress became insupportable; and when -the cloth was drawn, she instantly retired. Madame La Motte soon -followed, and it was not till evening that she had an opportunity of -returning to the MS. When Monsieur and Madame La Motte were in their -chamber, and all was still, she drew forth the narrative, and trimming -her lamp, sat down to read as follows: - -The ruffians unbound me from my horse, and led me through the hall up -the spiral staircase of the abbey: resistance was useless; but I looked -around in the hope of seeing some person less obdurate than the men who -brought me hither; some one who might be sensible to pity, and capable -at least of civil treatment. I looked in vain; no person appeared: and -this circumstance confirmed my worst apprehensions. The secrecy of the -business foretold a horrible conclusion. Having passed some chambers, -they stopped in one hung with old tapestry. I inquired why we did not go -on, and was told I should soon know. - -At that moment I expected to see the instrument of death uplifted, and -silently recommended myself to God. But death was not then designed for -me; they raised the arras, and discovered a door, which they then -opened. Seizing my arms, they led me through a suite of dismal chambers -beyond. Having reached the furthest of these, they again stopped: the -horrid gloom of the place seemed congenial to murder, and inspired -deadly thoughts. Again I looked round for the instrument of destruction, -and again I was respited. I supplicated to know what was designed me; it -was now unnecessary to ask who was the author of the design. They were -silent to my question, but at length told me this chamber was my prison. -Having said this, and set down a jug of water, they left the room, and I -heard the door barred upon me. - -O sound of despair! O moment of unutterable anguish! The pang of death -itself is surely not superior to that I then suffered. Shut out from -day, from friends, from life--for _such I must foretell it_--in the -prime of my years, in the height of my transgressions, and left to -imagine horrors more terrible than any, perhaps, which certainty could -give--I sink beneath the-- - -Here several pages of the manuscript were decayed with damp, and totally -illegible. With much difficulty Adeline made out the following lines: - -Three days have now passed in solitude and silence: the horrors of death -are ever before my eyes, let me endeavour to prepare for the dreadful -change! When I awake in the morning I think I shall not live to see -another night; and when night returns, that I must never more unclose my -eyes on morning. Why am I brought hither--why confined thus -rigorously--but for death! Yet what action of my life has deserved this -at the hand of a fellow-creature?--Of---- - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -O my children! O friends far distant! I shall never see you more--never -more receive the parting look of kindness--never bestow a parting -blessing!--Ye know not my wretched state--alas! ye cannot know it by -human means. Ye believe me happy, or ye would fly to my relief. I know -that what I now write cannot avail me, yet there is comfort in pouring -forth my griefs; and I bless that man, less savage than his fellows, who -has supplied me these means of recording them. Alas! he knows full well, -that from this indulgence he has nothing to fear. My pen can call no -friends to succour me, nor reveal my danger ere it is too late. O! ye, -who may hereafter read what I now write, give a tear to my sufferings: I -have wept often for the distresses of my fellow-creatures! - -Adeline paused. Here the wretched writer appealed directly to her heart; -he spoke in the energy of truth, and, by a strong illusion of fancy, it -seemed as if his past suffering were at this moment present. She was for -some time unable to proceed, and sat in musing sorrow. In these very -apartments, said she, this poor sufferer was confined--here he--Adeline -started, and thought she heard a sound; but the stillness of the night -was undisturbed.--In these very chambers, said she, these lines were -written--these lines, from which he then derived a comfort in believing -they would hereafter be read by some pitying eye: this time is now come. -Your miseries, O injured being! are lamented where they were endured. -_Here_, where you suffered, I weep for your sufferings! - -Her imagination was now strongly impressed, and to her distempered -senses the suggestions of a bewildered mind appeared with the force of -reality. Again she started and listened, and thought she heard _Here_ -distinctly repeated by a whisper immediately behind her. The terror of -the thought, however, was but momentary, she knew it could not be; -convinced that her fancy had deceived her, she took up the MS. and again -began to read. - -For what am I reserved? Why this delay? If I am to die--why not quickly? -Three weeks have I now passed within these walls, during which time no -look of pity has softened my afflictions; no voice, save my own, has met -my ear. The countenances of the ruffians who attend me are stern and -inflexible, and their silence is obstinate. This stillness is dreadful! -O! ye, who have known what it is to live in the depths of solitude, who -have passed your dreary days without one sound to cheer you; ye, and ye -only, can tell what now I feel; and ye may know how much I would endure -to hear the accents of a human voice. - -O dire extremity! O state of living death! What dreadful stillness! All -around me is dead; and do I really exist, or am I but a statue? Is this -a vision? Are these things real? Alas, I am bewildered!--this death-like -and perpetual silence--this dismal chamber--the dread of further -sufferings have disturbed my fancy. O for some friendly breast to lay my -weary head on! some cordial accents to revive my soul! - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -I write by stealth. He who furnished me with the means, I fear, has -suffered for some symptoms of pity he may have discovered for me; I have -not seen him for several days: perhaps he is inclined to help me, and -for that reason is forbid to come. O that hope! but how vain! Never more -must I quit these walls while life remains. Another day is gone, and yet -I live; at this time to-morrow night my sufferings may be sealed in -death. I will continue my journal nightly, till the hand that writes -shall be stopped by death: when the journal ceases, the reader will know -I am no more. Perhaps these are the last lines I shall ever write. - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -Adeline paused, while her tears fell fast. Unhappy man! she exclaimed: -and was here no pitying soul to save thee! Great God! thy ways are -wonderful! While she sat musing, her fancy, which now wandered in the -regions of terror, gradually subdued reason. There was a glass before -her upon the table, and she feared to raise her looks towards it, lest -some other face than her own should meet her eyes: other dreadful ideas -and strange images of fantastic thought now crossed her mind. - -A hollow sigh seemed to pass near her. Holy Virgin, protect me! cried -she, and threw a fearful glance round the room;--this is surely -something more than fancy. Her fears so far overcame her, that she was -several times upon the point of calling up a part of the family; but, -unwillingness to disturb them, and a dread of ridicule, withheld her. -She was also afraid to move, and almost to breathe. As she listened to -the wind, that murmured at the casement of her lonely chamber, she again -thought she heard a sigh. Her imagination refused any longer the control -of reason, and, turning her eyes, a figure, whose exact form she could -not distinguish, appeared to pass along an obscure part of the chamber: -a dreadful chillness came over her, and she sat fixed in her chair. At -length a deep sigh somewhat relieved her oppressed spirits, and her -senses seemed to return. - -All remaining quiet, after some time she began to question whether her -fancy had not deceived her, and she so far conquered her terror as to -desist from calling Madame La Motte: her mind was, however, so much -disturbed, that she did not venture to trust herself that night again -with the MS.; but having spent some time in prayer, and in endeavouring -to compose her spirits, she retired to bed. - -When she awoke in the morning, the cheerful sun-beams played upon the -casements, and dispelled the illusions of darkness: her mind soothed and -invigorated by sleep, rejected the mystic and turbulent promptings of -imagination. She arose refreshed and thankful; but upon going down to -breakfast, this transient gleam of peace fled upon the appearance of the -Marquis, whose frequent visits at the abbey, after what had passed, not -only displeased, but alarmed her. She saw that he was determined to -persevere in addressing her: and the boldness and insensibility of this -conduct, while it excited her indignation, increased her disgust. In -pity to La Motte, she endeavoured to conceal these emotions, though she -now thought that he required too much from her complaisance, and began -seriously to consider how she might avoid the necessity of continuing -it. The Marquis behaved to her with the most respectful attention; but -Adeline was silent and reserved, and seized the first opportunity of -withdrawing. - -As she passed up the spiral staircase, Peter entered the hall below, and -seeing Adeline, he stopped and looked earnestly at her: she did not -observe him, but he called her softly, and she then saw him make a -signal, as if he had something to communicate. In the next instant, La -Motte opened the door of the vaulted room, and Peter hastily -disappeared. She proceeded to her chamber, ruminating upon this signal, -and the cautious manner in which Peter had given it. - -But her thoughts soon returned to their wonted subjects. Three days were -now passed, and she heard no intelligence of her father; she began to -hope that he had relented from the violent measures hinted at by La -Motte, and that he meant to pursue a milder plan: but when she -considered his character, this appeared improbable, and she relapsed -into her former fears. Her residence at the abbey was now become -painful, from the perseverance of the Marquis and the conduct which La -Motte obliged her to adopt; yet she could not think without dread of -quitting it to return to her father. - -The image of Theodore often intruded upon her busy thoughts, and brought -with it a pang which his strange departure occasioned. She had a -confused notion that his fate was somehow connected with her own; and -her struggles to prevent the remembrance of him served only to show how -much her heart was his. - -To divert her thoughts from these subjects, and gratify the curiosity so -strongly excited on the preceding night, she now took up the MS. but was -hindered from opening it by the entrance of Madame La Motte, who came to -tell her the Marquis was gone. They passed their morning together in -work and general conversation; La Motte not appearing till dinner, when -he said little, and Adeline less. She asked him, however, if he had -heard from her father? I have not heard from him, said La Motte; but -there is good reason, as I am informed by the Marquis, to believe he is -not far off. - -Adeline was shocked, yet she was able to reply with becoming firmness. I -have already, Sir, involved you too much in my distress, and now see -that resistance will destroy you, without serving me; I am therefore -contented to return to my father, and thus spare you further calamity. - -This is a rash determination, replied La Motte; and if you pursue it, I -fear you will severely repent. I speak to you as a friend, Adeline, and -desire you will endeavour to listen to me without prejudice. The -Marquis, I find, has offered you his hand. I know not which circumstance -most excites my surprise, that a man of his rank and consequence should -solicit a marriage with a person without fortune or ostensible -connexions, or that a person so circumstanced should even for a moment -reject the advantages just offered her. You weep, Adeline; let me hope -that you are convinced of the absurdity of this conduct, and will no -longer trifle with your good fortune. The kindness I have shown you must -convince you of my regard, and that I have no motive for offering you -this advice but your advantage. It is necessary, however, to say, that -should your father not insist upon your removal, I know not how long my -circumstances may enable me to afford even the humble pittance you -receive here. Still you are silent. - -The anguish which this speech excited, suppressed her utterance, and she -continued to weep. At length she said, Suffer me, Sir, to go back to my -father; I should indeed make an ill return for the kindness you mention, -could I wish to stay after what you now tell me; and to accept the -Marquis, I feel to be impossible. The remembrance of Theodore arose to -her mind, and she wept aloud. - -La Motte sat for some time musing. Strange infatuation! said he; is it -possible that you can persist in this heroism of romance, and prefer a -father so inhuman as yours, to the Marquis de Montalt! a destiny so full -of danger, to a life of splendour and delight! - -Pardon me, said Adeline; a marriage with the Marquis would be splendid, -but never happy. His character excites my aversion, and I entreat, Sir, -that he may no more be mentioned. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sound -Reverbs no hollowness. - -LEAR. - - -The conversation related in the last chapter was interrupted by the -entrance of Peter, who, as he left the room, looked significantly at -Adeline, and almost beckoned. She was anxious to know what he meant, and -soon after went into the hall, where she found him loitering. The moment -he saw her, he made a sign of silence, and beckoned her into the recess. -Well, Peter, what is it you would say? said Adeline. - -Hush, Ma'mselle; for heaven's sake speak lower; if we should be -overheard, we are all blown up.--Adeline begged him to explain what he -meant Yes, Ma'mselle, that is what I have wanted all day long: I have -watched and watched for an opportunity, and looked and looked till I was -afraid my master himself would see me; but all would not do, you would -not understand. - -Adeline entreated he would be quick. Yes Ma'm, but I'm so afraid we -shall be seen; but I would do much to serve such a good young lady, for -I could not bear to think of what threatened you, without telling you of -it. - -For God's sake, said Adeline, speak quickly, or we shall be interrupted. - -Well then;--but you must first promise by the Holy Virgin never to say -it was I that told you; my master would-- - -I do, I do, said Adeline. - -Well, then--on Monday evening as I--hark! did not I hear a step? do, -Ma'mselle, just step this way to the cloisters: I would not for the -world we should be seen: I'll go out at the hall door, and you can go -through the passage. I would not for the world we should be -seen.--Adeline was much alarmed by Peter's words, and hurried to the -cloisters. He quickly appeared, and, looking cautiously round, resumed -his discourse. As I was saying, Ma'mselle, Monday night, when the -Marquis slept here, you know he sat up very late, and I can guess, -perhaps, the reason of that. Strange things came out, but it is not my -business to tell all I think. - -Pray do speak to the purpose, said Adeline impatiently; what is this -danger which you say threatens me? Be quick, or we shall be observed. - -Danger enough, Ma'mselle, replied Peter, if you knew all; and when you -do, what will it signify? for you can't help yourself. But that's -neither here nor there; I was resolved to tell you, though I may repent -it. - -Or rather, you are resolved not to tell me, said Adeline; for you have -made no progress towards it. But what do you mean? You was speaking of -the Marquis. - -Hush, Ma'am, not so loud. The Marquis, as I said, sat up very late, and -my master sat up with him. One of his men went to bed in the oak room, -and the other staid to undress his lord. So as we were sitting together. -Lord have mercy! it made my hair stand on end! I tremble yet. So as we -were sitting together--but as sure as I live, yonder is my master: I -caught a glimpse of him between the trees; if he sees me it is all over -with us. I'll tell you another time. So saying, he hurried into the -abbey, leaving Adeline in a state of alarm, curiosity, and vexation. She -walked out into the forest ruminating upon Peter's words, and -endeavouring to guess to what they alluded: there Madame La Motte joined -her, and they conversed on various topics till they reached the abbey. - -Adeline watched in vain through that day for an opportunity of speaking -with Peter. While he waited at supper, she occasionally observed his -countenance with great anxiety, hoping it might afford her some degree -of intelligence on the subject of her fears. When she retired, Madame La -Motte accompanied her to her chamber, and continued to converse with her -for a considerable time, so that she had no means of obtaining an -interview with Peter.--Madame La Motte appeared to labour under some -great affliction; and when Adeline, noticing this, entreated to know the -cause of her dejection, tears started into her eyes, and she abruptly -left the room. - -This behaviour of Madame La Motte concurred with Peter's discourse to -alarm Adeline, who sat pensively upon her bed, giving up to reflection, -till she was roused by the sound of a clock, which stood in the room -below, and which now struck twelve. She was preparing for rest, when she -recollected the MS. and was unable to conclude the night without reading -it. The first words she could distinguish were the following: - -Again I return to this poor consolation--again I have been permitted to -see another day. It is now midnight! My solitary lamp burns beside me; -the time is awful, but to me the silence of noon is as the silence of -midnight; a deeper gloom is all in which they differ. The still, -unvarying hours are numbered only by my sufferings; Great God! when -shall I be released: - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -But whence this strange confinement? I have never injured him. If death -is designed me, why this delay; and for what but death am I brought -hither? This abbey--alas!--Here the MS. was again illegible, and for -several pages Adeline could only make out disjointed sentences. - -O bitter draught! when, when shall I have rest? O my friends! will none -of ye fly to aid me; will none of ye avenge my sufferings? Ah! when it -is too late--when I am gone for ever, ye will endeavour to avenge them. - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -Once more is night returned to me. Another day has passed in solitude -and misery. I have climbed to the casement, thinking the view of nature -would refresh my soul, and somewhat enable me to support these -afflictions. Alas! even this small comfort is denied me, the windows -open towards other parts of this abbey, and admit only a portion of that -day which I must never more fully behold. Last night! last night! O -scene of horror! - -Adeline shuddered. She feared to read the coming sentence, yet curiosity -prompted her to proceed. Still she paused: an unaccountable dread came -over her. Some horrid deed has been done here, said she; the reports of -the peasants are true: murder has been committed. The idea thrilled her -with horror. She recollected the dagger which had impeded her steps in -the secret chamber, and this circumstance served to confirm her most -terrible conjectures. She wished to examine it, but it lay in one of -these chambers, and she feared to go in quest of it. - -Wretched, wretched victim! she exclaimed, could no friend rescue thee -from destruction! O that I had been near! Yet what could I have done to -save thee? Alas! nothing. I forget that even now, perhaps, I am, like -thee, abandoned to dangers from which I have no friend to succour me. -Too surely I guess the author of thy miseries! She stopped, and thought -she heard a sigh, such as on the preceding night had passed along the -chamber. Her blood was chilled, and she sat motionless. The lonely -situation of her room, remote from the rest of the family, (for she was -now in her old apartment, from which Madame La Motte had removed,) who -were almost beyond call, struck so forcibly upon her imagination, that -she with difficulty preserved herself from fainting. She sat for a -considerable time, and all was still. When she was somewhat recovered, -her first design was to alarm the family; but further reflection again -withheld her. - -She endeavoured to compose her spirits, and addressed a short prayer to -that Being, who had hitherto protected her in every danger. While she -was thus employed, her mind gradually became elevated and reassured; a -sublime complacency filled her heart, and she sat down once more to -pursue the narrative. - -Several lines that immediately followed, were obliterated.-- - -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * - -He had told me I should not be permitted to live long, not more than -three days, and bade me choose whether I would die by poison or the -sword. O the agonies of that moment! Great God! thou seest my -sufferings! I often viewed, with a momentary hope of escaping, the high -grated windows of my prison--all things within the compass of -possibility I was resolved to try, and with an eager desperation I -climbed towards the casements, but my foot slipped, and falling back to -the floor, I was stunned by the blow. On recovering, the first sounds I -heard, were the steps of a person entering my prison. A recollection of -the past returned, and deplorable was my condition. I shuddered at what -was to come. The same man approached; he looked at me at first with -pity, but his countenance soon recovered its natural ferocity. Yet he -did not then come to execute the purposes of his employer: I am reserved -to another day--Great God, thy will be done! - -Adeline could not go on. All the circumstances that seemed to -corroborate the fate of this unhappy man, crowded upon her mind the -reports concerning the abbey--the dreams which had forerun her discovery -of the private apartments--the singular manner in which she had found -the MS--and the apparition, which she now believed she had really seen. -She blamed herself for not having yet mentioned the discovery of the -manuscript and chambers to La Motte, and resolved to delay the -disclosure no longer than the following morning. The immediate cares -that had occupied her mind, and a fear of losing the manuscript before -she had read it, had hitherto kept her silent. - -Such a combination of circumstances, she believed, could only be -produced by some supernatural power, operating for the retribution of -the guilty. These reflections filled her mind with a degree of awe, -which the loneliness of the large old chamber in which she sat, and the -hour of the night, soon heightened into terror. She had never been -superstitious, but circumstances so uncommon had hitherto conspired in -this affair, that she could not believe them accidental. Her -imagination, wrought upon by these reflections, again became sensible to -every impression; she feared to look round, lest she should again see -some dreadful phantom, and she almost fancied she heard voices swell in -the storm which now shook the fabric. - -Still she tried to command her feelings so as to avoid disturbing the -family; but they became so painful, that even the dread of La Motte's -ridicule had hardly power to prevent her quitting the chamber. Her mind -was now in such a state, that she found it impossible to pursue the -story in the MS. though, to avoid the tortures of suspense, she had -attempted it. She laid it down again, and tried to argue herself into -composure. What have I to fear? said she; I am at least innocent, and I -shall not be punished for the crime of another. - -The violent gust of wind that now rushed through the whole suite of -apartments, shook the door that led from her late bedchamber to the -private rooms so forcibly, that Adeline, unable to remain longer in -doubt, ran to see from whence the noise issued. The arras which -concealed the door was violently agitated, and she stood for a moment -observing it in indescribable terror; till believing it was swayed by -the wind, she made a sudden effort to overcome her feelings, and was -stooping to raise it. At that instant she thought she heard a voice. She -stopped and listened, but every thing was still; yet apprehension so far -overcame her, that she had no power either to examine or to leave the -chamber. - -In a few moments the voice returned: she was now convinced she had not -been deceived, for, though low, she heard it distinctly, and was almost -sure it repeated her own name. So much was her fancy affected, that she -even thought it was the same voice she had heard in her dreams. This -conviction entirely subdued the small remains of her courage, and -sinking into a chair she lost all recollection. - -How long she remained in this state she knew not; but when she -recovered, she exerted all her strength, and reached the winding -staircase, where she called aloud. No one heard her; and she hastened, -as fast as her feebleness would permit, to the chamber of Madame La -Motte. She tapped gently at the door, and was answered by Madame, who -was alarmed at being awakened at so unusual an hour, and believed that -some danger threatened her husband. When she understood that it was -Adeline, and that she was unwell, she quickly came to her relief. The -terror that was yet visible in Adeline's countenance excited her -inquiries, and the occasion of it was explained to her. - -Madame was so much discomposed by the relation, that she called La Motte -from his bed, who, more angry at being disturbed than interested for the -agitation he witnessed, reproved Adeline for suffering her fancies to -overcome her reason. She now mentioned the discovery she had made of the -inner chamber and the manuscript, circumstances which roused the -attention of La Motte so much, that he desired to see the MS. and -resolved to go immediately to the apartments described by Adeline. - -Madame La Motte endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose; but La -Motte, with whom opposition had always an effect contrary to the one -designed, and who wished to throw further ridicule upon the terrors of -Adeline, persisted in his intention. He called to Peter to attend with a -light, and insisted that Madame La Motte and Adeline should accompany -him. Madame La Motte desired to be excused, and Adeline at first -declared she could not go; but he would be obeyed. - -They ascended the tower, and entered the first chambers together, for -each of the party was reluctant to be the last; in the second chamber -all was quiet and in order. Adeline presented the MS. and pointed to the -arras which concealed the door. La Motte lifted the arras, and opened -the door; but Madame La Motte and Adeline entreated to go no -further--again he called to them to follow. All was quiet in the first -chamber: he expressed his surprise that the rooms should so long have -remained undiscovered, and was proceeding to the second, but suddenly -stopped. We will defer our examination till to-morrow, said he, the -damps of these apartments are unwholesome at any time; but they strike -one more sensibly at night. I am chilled. Peter, remember to throw open -the windows early in the morning, that the air may circulate. - -Lord bless your honour, said Peter, don't you see I can't reach them; -besides, I don't believe they are made to open; see what strong iron -bars there are; the room looks for all the world like a prison: I -suppose this is the place the people meant, when they said nobody that -had been in ever came out. La Motte, who during this speech had been -looking attentively at the high windows, which if he had seen them at -first he had certainly not observed, now interrupted the eloquence of -Peter, and bade him carry the light before them. They all willingly -quitted these chambers, and returned to the room below, where a fire was -lighted, and the party remained together for some time. - -La Motte for reasons best known to himself, attempted to ridicule the -discovery and fears of Adeline, till she with a seriousness that checked -him, entreated he would desist. He was silent; and soon after, Adeline, -encouraged by the return of daylight, ventured to her chamber, and for -some hours experienced the blessing of undisturbed repose. - -On the following day, Adeline's first care was to obtain an interview -with Peter, whom she had some hopes of seeing as she went downstairs: -he, however, did not appear; and she proceeded to the sitting-room, -where she found La Motte apparently much disturbed. Adeline asked him if -he had looked at the MS. I have run my eye over it, said he, but it is -so much obscured by time that it can scarcely be deciphered. It appears -to exhibit a strange romantic story; and I do not wonder that after you -had suffered its terrors to impress your imagination, you fancied you -saw spectres and heard wondrous noises. - -Adeline thought La Motte did not choose to be convinced, and she -therefore forbore reply. During breakfast she often looked at Peter (who -waited) with anxious inquiry; and from his countenance was still more -assured that he had something of importance to communicate. In the hope -of some conversation with him, she left the room as soon as possible, -and repaired to her favourite avenue, where she had not long remained -when he appeared. - -God bless you! Ma'mselle, said he, I'm sorry I frighted you so last -night. - -Frighted me, said Adeline; how was you concerned in that? - -He then informed her that when he thought Monsieur and Madame La Motte -were asleep, he had stolen to her chamber door, with an intention of -giving her the sequel of what he had begun in the morning; that he had -called several times as loudly as he dared; but receiving no answer, he -believed she was asleep, or did not choose to speak with him, and he had -therefore left the door. This account of the voice she had heard, -relieved Adeline's spirits; she was even surprised that she did not know -it, till remembering the perturbation of her mind for some time -preceding, this surprise disappeared. - -She entreated Peter to be brief in explaining the danger with which she -was threatened. If you'll let me go on my own way, Ma'am, you'll soon -know it; but if you hurry me, and ask me questions here and there, out -of their places, I don't know what I am saying. - -Be it so, said Adeline; only, remember that we may be observed. - -Yes. Ma'mselle, I'm as much afraid of that as you are, for I believe I -should be almost as ill off; however, that is neither here nor there, -but I'm sure if you stay in this old abbey another night it will be -worse for you; for, as I said before, I know all about it. - -What mean you, Peter? - -Why, about this scheme that's going on. - -What then, is my father----?--Your father! interrupted Peter; Lord bless -you, that is all fudge, to frighten you: your father, _nor nobody_ else -has ever sent after you; I dare say he knows no more of you than the -Pope does--not he. Adeline looked displeased. You trifle, said she; if -you have any thing to tell, say it quickly; I am in haste. - -Bless you, young lady, I meant no harm, I hope you're not angry; but I'm -sure you can't deny that your father is cruel. But as I was saying, the -Marquis de Montalt likes you; and he and my master (Peter looked round) -have been laying their heads together about you. Adeline turned pale; -she comprehended a part of the truth, and eagerly entreated him to -proceed. - -They have been laying their heads together about you. This is what -Jaques the Marquis's man tells me: Says he, Peter, you little know what -is going on: I could tell all if I chose it; but it is not for those who -are trusted to tell again. I warrant now your master is close enough -with you. Upon which I was piqued, and resolved to make him believe I -could be trusted as well as he. Perhaps not says I; perhaps I know as -much as you, though I do not choose to brag on't; and I winked.--Do you -so? says he, then you are closer than I thought for. She is a fine girl, -says he,--meaning you Ma'mselle; but she is nothing but a poor foundling -after all, so it does not much signify. I had a mind to know further -what he meant--so I did not knock him down. By seeming to know as much -as he, I at last made him discover all; and he told me--but you look -pale, Ma'mselle, are you ill? - -No, said Adeline in a tremulous accent, and scarcely able to support -herself; pray proceed. - -And he told me that the Marquis had been courting you a good while, but -you would not listen to him, and had even pretended he would marry you, -and all would not do. As for marriage, says I, I suppose she knows the -Marchioness is alive; and I'm sure she is not one for his turn upon -other terms. - -The Marchioness is really living then! said Adeline. - -O yes, Ma'mselle! we all know that, and I thought you had known it -too.--We shall see that, replies Jaques; at least, I believe that our -master will outwit her.--I stared; I could not help it.--Aye, says he, -you know your master has agreed to give her up to my Lord. - -Good God! what will become of me? exclaimed Adeline. - -Aye, Ma'mselle, I am sorry for you; but hear me out. When Jaques said -this, I quite forgot myself: I'll never believe it, said I, I'll never -believe my master would be guilty of such a base action; he'll not give -her up, or I'm no Christian.--Oh! said, Jaques, for that matter, I -thought you'd known all, else I should not have said a word about it. -However, you may soon satisfy yourself by going to the parlour door, as -I have done; they're in consultation about it now, I dare say. - -You need not repeat any more of this conversation, said Adeline; but -tell me the result of what you heard from the parlour. - -Why, Ma'mselle, when he said this, I took him at his word, and went to -the door, where, sure enough, I heard my master and the Marquis talking -about you. They said a great deal which I could make nothing of; but, at -last, I heard the Marquis say, You know the terms; on these terms only -will I consent to bury the past in ob--ob--oblivion----that was the -word. Monsieur La Motte then told the Marquis, if he would return to the -abbey upon such a night, meaning this very night, Ma'mselle, every thing -should be prepared according to his wishes;--Adeline shall then be -yours, my Lord, said he--you are already acquainted with her chamber. - -At these words Adeline clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven -in silent despair.--Peter went on. When I heard this, I could not doubt -what Jaques had said.--Well, said he, what do you think of it now?--Why, -that my master's a rascal, says I.--It's well you don't think mine one -too, says he.--Why, as for that matter, says I----Adeline, interrupting -him, inquired if he had heard any thing further. Just then, said Peter, -we heard Madame La Motte come out from another room, and so we made -haste back to the kitchen. - -She was not present at this conversation then? said Adeline. No, -Ma'mselle; but my master has told her of it, I warrant. Adeline was -almost as much shocked by this apparent perfidy of Madame La Motte, as -by a knowledge of the destruction that threatened her. After musing a -few moments in extreme agitation, Peter, said she, you have a good -heart, and feel a just indignation at your master's treachery--will you -assist me to escape? - -Ah, Ma'mselle! said he, how can I assist you? besides, where can we go? -I have no friends about here, no more than yourself. - -O! replied Adeline in extreme emotion, we fly from enemies; strangers -may prove friends: assist me but to escape from this forest, and you -will claim my eternal gratitude; I have no fears beyond it. - -Why as for this forest, replied Peter, I am weary of it myself; though -when we first came I thought it would be fine living here, at least, I -thought it was very different from any life I had ever lived before. But -these ghosts that haunt the abbey--I am no more a coward than other men, -but I don't like them; and then there is so many strange reports abroad; -and my master--I thought I could have served him to the end of the -world, but now I care not how soon I leave him, for his behaviour to -you, Ma'mselle. - -You consent then to assist me in escaping? said Adeline with eagerness. - -Why as to that, Ma'mselle, I would willingly, if I knew where to go. To -be sure I have a sister lives in Savoy, but that is a great way off; and -I have saved a little money out of my wages, but that won't carry us -such a long journey. - -Regard not that, said Adeline; if I was once beyond this forest, I would -then endeavour to take care of myself, and repay you for your kindness. - -O! as for that, Madam----Well, well, Peter, let us consider how we may -escape. This night--say you this night--the Marquis is to return? Yes, -Ma'mselle, to-night about dark. I have just thought of a scheme:--my -master's horses are grazing in the forest; we may take one of them, and -send it back from the first stage: but how shall we avoid being seen? -besides if we go off in the daylight, he will soon pursue and overtake -us; and if you stay till night, the Marquis will be come, and then there -is no chance. If they miss us both at the same time too, they'll guess -how it is, and set off directly. Could not you contrive to go first, and -wait for me till the hurly-burly's over? Then, while they're searching -in the place under ground for you, I can slip away, and we should be out -of their reach before they thought of pursuing us. - -[Illustration 04] - -Adeline agreed to the truth of all this, and was somewhat surprised at -Peter's sagacity. She inquired if he knew of any place in the -neighbourhood of the abbey, where she could remain concealed, till he -came with a horse. Why yes, Madam, there is a place, now I think of it, -where you may be safe enough, for nobody goes near; but they say it's -haunted, and perhaps you would not like to go there. Adeline, -remembering the last night, was somewhat startled at this intelligence; -but a sense of her present danger pressed again upon her mind, and -overcame every other apprehension. Where is this place? said she; if it -will conceal me, I shall not hesitate to go. - -It is an old tomb that stands in the thickest part of the forest, about -a quarter of a mile off the nearest way and almost a mile the other. -When my master used to hide himself so much in the forest, I have -followed him somewhere thereabouts, but I did not find out the tomb till -t'other day. However, that's neither here nor there; if you dare venture -to it, Ma'mselle, I'll show you the nearest way. So saying he pointed to -a winding path on the right. Adeline, having looked round without -perceiving any person near, directed Peter to lead her to the tomb: they -pursued the path, till turning into a gloomy romantic part of the -forest, almost impervious to the rays of the sun, they came to the spot -whither Louis had formerly traced his father. - -The stillness and solemnity of the scene struck awe upon the heart of -Adeline, who paused and surveyed it for some time in silence. At length -Peter led her into the interior part of the ruin, to which they -descended by several steps. Some old abbot, said he, was formerly buried -here, as the Marquis's people say; and it's like enough that he belonged -to the abbey yonder. But I don't see why he should take it in his head -to walk; _he_ was not murdered, surely! - -I hope not, said Adeline. - -That's more than can be said for all that lies buried at the abbey -though, and----Adeline interrupted him: Hark! surely I hear a noise, -said she; Heaven protect us from discovery! They listened, but all was -still; and they went on. Peter opened a low door, and they entered upon -a dark passage, frequently obstructed by loose fragments of stone, and -along which they moved with caution. Whither are we going? said -Adeline.--I scarcely know myself, said Peter, for I never was so far -before, but the place seems quiet enough. Something obstructed his way; -it was a door which yielded to his hand, and discovered a kind of cell -obscurely seen by the twilight admitted through a grate above. A partial -gleam shot athwart the place, leaving the greatest part of it in shadow. - -Adeline sighed as she surveyed it. This is a frightful spot, said she: -but if it will afford me a shelter, it is a palace. Remember, Peter, -that my peace and honour depend upon your faithfulness; be both discreet -and resolute. In the dusk of the evening, I can pass from the abbey with -least danger of being observed, and in this cell I will wait your -arrival. As soon as Monsieur and Madame La Motte are engaged in -searching the vaults, you will bring here a horse; three knocks upon the -tomb shall inform me of your arrival. For Heaven's sake be cautious, and -be punctual! - -I will, Ma'mselle, let come what may. - -They re-ascended to the forest; and Adeline fearful of observation, -directed Peter, to run first to the abbey, and invent some excuse for -his absence, if he had been missed. When she was again alone, she -yielded to a flood of tears, and indulged the excess of her distress. -She saw herself without friends, without relations, destitute, forlorn, -and abandoned to the worst of evils; betrayed by the very persons to -whose comfort she had so long administered, whom she had loved as her -protectors, and revered as her parents! These reflections touched her -heart with the most afflicting sensations, and the sense of her -immediate danger was for a while absorbed in the grief occasioned by a -discovery of such guilt in others. - -At length she roused all her fortitude, and turning towards the abbey -endeavoured to await with patience the hour of evening, and to sustain -an appearance of composure in the presence of Monsieur and Madame La -Motte. For the present she wished to avoid seeing either of them, -doubting her ability to disguise her emotions: having reached the abbey, -she therefore passed on to her chamber. Here she endeavoured to direct -her attention to indifferent subjects, but in vain; the danger of her -situation, and the severe disappointment she had received in the -character of those whom she had so much esteemed and even loved, pressed -hard upon her thoughts. To a generous mind few circumstances are more -afflicting than a discovery of perfidy in those whom we have trusted, -even though it may fail of any absolute inconvenience to ourselves. The -behaviour of Madame La Motte in thus, by concealment, conspiring to her -destruction, particularly shocked her. - -How has my imagination deceived me! said she; what a picture did it draw -of the goodness of the world! And must I then believe that every body is -cruel and deceitful? No--let me still be deceived, and still suffer, -rather than be condemned to a state of such wretched suspicion. She now -endeavoured to extenuate the conduct of Madame La Motte, by attributing -it to a fear of her husband. She dares not oppose his will, said she, -else she would warn me of my danger, and assist me to escape from it. -No--I will never believe her capable of conspiring my ruin; terror alone -keeps her silent. - -Adeline was somewhat comforted by this thought. The benevolence of her -heart taught her, in this instance to sophisticate. She perceived not, -that by ascribing the conduct of Madame La Motte to terror, she only -softened the degree of her guilt, imputing it to a motive less depraved -but not less selfish. She remained in her chamber till summoned to -dinner, when, drying her tears, she descended with faltering steps and a -palpitating heart to the parlour. When she saw La Motte, in spite of all -her efforts she trembled and grew pale; she could not behold even with -apparent indifference the man who she knew had destined her to -destruction. He observed her emotion, and inquiring if she was ill, she -saw the danger to which her agitation exposed her. Fearful lest La Motte -should suspect its true cause, she rallied all her spirits, and with a -look of complacency answered she was well. - -During dinner she preserved a degree of composure that effectually -concealed the varied anguish of her heart. When she looked at La Motte, -terror and indignation were her predominant feelings; but when she -regarded Madame La Motte, it was otherwise: gratitude for her former -tenderness had long been confirmed into affection, and her heart now -swelled with the bitterness of grief and disappointment. Madame La Motte -appeared depressed and said little. La Motte seemed anxious to prevent -thought, by assuming a fictitious and unnatural gaiety: he laughed and -talked, and threw off frequent bumpers of wine: it was the mirth of -desperation. Madame became alarmed, and would have restrained him; but -he persisted in his libations to Bacchus till reflection seemed to be -almost overcome. - -Madame La Motte, fearful that in the carelessness of the present moment -he might betray himself, withdrew with Adeline to another room. Adeline -recollected the happy hours she once passed with her, when confidence -banished reserve, and sympathy and esteem dictated the sentiments of -friendship: now those hours were gone for ever; she could no longer -unbosom her griefs to Madame La Motte, no longer even esteem her. Yet, -notwithstanding all the danger to which she was exposed by the criminal -silence of the latter, she could not converse with her, consciously for -the last time, without feeling a degree of sorrow which wisdom may call -weakness, but to which benevolence will allow a softer name. - -Madame La Motte in her conversation appeared to labour under an almost -equal oppression with Adeline: her thoughts were abstracted from the -subject of discourse, and there were long and frequent intervals of -silence. Adeline more than once caught her gazing with a look of -tenderness upon her, and saw her eyes fill with tears. By this -circumstance she was so much affected, that she was several times upon -the point of throwing herself at her feet, and imploring her pity and -protection. Cooler reflection showed her the extravagance and danger of -this conduct: she suppressed her emotions, but they at length compelled -her to withdraw from the presence of Madame La Motte. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Thou! to whom the world unknown -With all its shadowy shapes is shown; -Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene, -While fancy lifts the veil between; -Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear! -I see, I see thee near! -I know thy hurry'd step, thy haggard eye -Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly! - -COLLINS. - - -Adeline anxiously watched from her chamber window the sun set behind the -distant hills, and the time of her departure draw nigh: it set with -uncommon splendour, and threw a fiery gleam athwart the woods and upon -some scattered fragments of the ruins, which she could not gaze upon -with indifference. Never, probably, again shall I see the sun sink below -those hills, said she, or illumine this scene! Where shall I be when -next it sets--where this time to-morrow? sunk perhaps in misery! She -wept at the thought. A few hours, resumed Adeline, and the Marquis will -arrive--a few hours, and this abbey will be a scene of confusion and -tumult: every eye will be in search of me, every recess will be -explored. These reflections inspired her with new terror, and increased -her impatience to be gone. - -Twilight gradually came on, and she now thought it sufficiently dark to -venture forth: but before she went, she kneeled down and addressed -herself to Heaven. She implored support and protection, and committed -herself to the care of the God of mercies. Having done this, she quitted -her chamber, and passed with cautious steps down the winding staircase. -No person appeared, and she proceeded through the door of the tower into -the forest. She looked around; the gloom of the evening obscured every -object. - -With a trembling heart she sought the path pointed out by Peter, which -led to the tomb: having found it, she passed along forlorn and -terrified. Often did she start as the breeze shook the light leaves of -the trees, or as the bat flitted by gamboling in the twilight; and -often, as she looked back towards the abbey, thought she distinguished -amid the deepening gloom the figures of men. Having proceeded some way, -she suddenly heard the feet of horses, and soon after a sound of voices, -among which she distinguished that of the Marquis; they seemed to come -from the quarter she was approaching, and evidently advanced. Terror for -some minutes arrested her steps; she stood in a state of dreadful -hesitation: to proceed was to run into the hands of the Marquis; to -return was to fall into the power of La Motte. - -After remaining for some time uncertain whither to fly, the sounds -suddenly took a different direction, and wheeled towards the abbey. -Adeline had a short cessation of terror; she now understood that the -Marquis had passed this spot only in his way to the abbey, and she -hastened to secrete herself in the ruin. At length, after much -difficulty, she reached it, the deep shades almost concealing it from -her search. She paused at the entrance, awed by the solemnity that -reigned within, and the utter darkness of the place; at length she -determined to watch without till Peter should arrive. If any person -approaches, said she, I can hear them before they can see me, and I can -then secrete myself in the cell. - -She leaned against a fragment of the tomb in trembling expectation, and -as she listened, no sound broke the silence of the hour. The state of -her mind can only be imagined by considering that upon the present time -turned the crisis of her fate. They have now, thought she, discovered my -flight; even now they are seeking me in every part of the abbey. I hear -their dreadful voices call me; I see their eager looks. The power of -imagination almost overcame her. While she yet looked around, she saw -lights moving at a distance; sometimes they glimmered between the trees, -and sometimes they totally disappeared. - -They seemed to be in a direction with the abbey; and she now remembered -that in the morning she had seen a part of the fabric through an opening -in the forest. She had therefore no doubt that the lights she saw -proceeded from people in search of her: who, she feared, not finding her -at the abbey, might direct their steps towards the tomb. Her place of -refuge now seemed too near her enemies to be safe, and she would have -fled to a more distant part of the forest, but recollected that Peter -would not know where to find her. - -While these thoughts passed over her mind, she heard distant voices in -the wind, and was hastening to conceal herself in the cell, when she -observed the lights suddenly disappear. All was soon after hushed in -silence and darkness, yet she endeavoured to find the way to the cell. -She remembered the situation of the outward door and of the passage, and -having passed these, she unclosed the door of the cell. Within it was -utterly dark. She trembled violently, but entered; and having felt about -the walls, at length seated herself on a projection of stone. - -She here again addressed herself to Heaven, and endeavoured to -reanimate her spirits till Peter should arrive. Above half an hour -elapsed in this gloomy recess, and no sound foretold his approach. Her -spirits sunk; she feared some part of their plan was discovered or -interrupted, and that he was detained by La Motte. This conviction -operated sometimes so strongly upon her fears, as to urge her to quit -the cell alone, and seek in flight her only chance of escape. - -While this design was fluctuating in her mind, she distinguished through -the grate above a clattering of hoofs. The noise approached, and at -length stopped at the tomb. In the succeeding moment she heard three -strokes of a whip; her heart beat, and for some moments her agitation -was such, that she made no effort to quit the cell. The strokes were -repeated: she now roused her spirits, and stepping forward, ascended to -the forest. She called Peter; for the deep gloom would not permit her to -distinguish either man or horse. She was quickly answered, Hush! -Ma'mselle, our voices will betray us. - -They mounted and rode off as fast as the darkness would permit. -Adeline's heart revived at every step they took. She inquired what had -passed at the abbey, and how he had contrived to get away. Speak softly, -Ma'mselle; you'll know all by and by, but I can't tell you now. He had -scarcely spoke ere they saw lights move along at a distance; and coming -now to a more open part of the forest, he set off on a full gallop, and -continued the pace till the horse could hold it no longer. They looked -back, and no lights appearing, Adeline's terror subsided. She inquired -again what had passed at the abbey when her flight was discovered. You -may speak without fear of being heard, said she, we are gone beyond -their reach, I hope. - -Why, Ma'mselle, said he, you had not been gone long before the Marquis -arrived, and Monsieur La Motte then found out you was fled. Upon this a -great rout there was, and he talked a great deal with the Marquis. - -Speak louder, said Adeline, I cannot hear you. - -I will, Ma'mselle-- - -Oh! heavens! interrupted Adeline, What voice is this? It is not Peter's. -For God's sake tell me who you are, and whither I am going? - -You'll know that soon enough, young lady, answered the stranger, for it -was indeed not Peter; I am taking you where my master ordered. Adeline, -not doubting he was the Marquis's servant, attempted to leap to the -ground; but the man, dismounting, bound her to the horse. One feeble ray -of hope at length beamed upon her mind; she endeavoured to soften the -man to pity, and pleaded with all the genuine eloquence of distress; but -he understood his interest too well to yield even for a moment to the -compassion which, in spite of himself, her artless supplication -inspired. - -She now resigned herself to despair, and in passive silence submitted to -her fate. They continued thus to travel, till a storm of rain -accompanied by thunder and lightning drove them to the covert of a thick -grove. The man believed this a safe situation, and Adeline was now too -careless of life to attempt convincing him of his error. The storm was -violent and long, but as soon as it abated they set off on full gallop; -and having continued to travel for about two hours, they came to the -borders of the forest, and soon after to a high lonely wall, which -Adeline could just distinguish by the moonlight, which now streamed -through the parting clouds. - -Here they stopped: the man dismounted, and having opened a small door in -the wall, he unbound Adeline, who shrieked, though involuntarily and in -vain, as he took her from the horse. The door opened upon a narrow -passage, dimly lighted by a lamp, which hung at the further end. He led -her on; they came to another door; it opened, and disclosed a -magnificent saloon splendidly illuminated, and fitted up in the most -airy and elegant taste. - -The walls were painted in fresco, representing scenes from Ovid, and -hung above with silk, drawn up in festoons, and richly fringed. The -sofas were of a silk to suit the hangings. From the centre of the -ceiling, which exhibited a scene from the Armida of Tasso, descended a -silver lamp of Etruscan form; it diffused a blaze of light that, -reflected from large pier glasses, completely illuminated the saloon. -Busts of Horace, Ovid, Anacreon, Tibullus, and Petronius Arbiter, -adorned the recesses, and stands of flowers placed in Etruscan vases -breathed the most delicious perfume. In the middle of the apartment -stood a small table spread with a collation of fruits, ices, and -liqueurs. No person appeared. The whole seemed the works of enchantment, -and rather resembled the palace of a fairy than any thing of human -conformation. - -Adeline was astonished, and inquired where she was; but the man refused -to answer her questions; and having desired her to take some -refreshment, left her. She walked to the windows, from which a gleam of -moonlight discovered to her an extensive garden, where groves and lawns, -and water glittering in the moonbeam, composed a scenery of varied and -romantic beauty. What can this mean! said she: Is this a charm to lure -me to destruction? She endeavoured, with a hope of escaping, to open the -windows, but they were all fastened; she next attempted several doors, -and found them also secured. - -Perceiving all chance of escape was removed, she remained for some time -given up to sorrow and reflection; but was at length drawn from her -reverie by the notes of soft music, breathing such dulcet and entrancing -sounds as suspended grief and awaked the soul to tenderness and pensive -pleasure. Adeline listened in surprise, and insensibly became soothed -and interested; a tender melancholy stole upon her heart, and subdued -every harsher feeling: but the moment the strain ceased, the enchantment -dissolved, and she returned to a sense of her situation. - -Again the music sounded--music such as charmeth sleep--and again she -gradually yielded to its sweet magic. A female voice, accompanied by a -lute, a hautboy, and a few other instruments, now gradually swelled into -a tone so exquisite as raised attention into ecstasy. It sunk by -degrees, and touched a few simple notes with pathetic softness, when the -measure was suddenly changed, and in a gay and airy melody Adeline -distinguished the following words: - - -SONG. - -Life's a varied, bright illusion, -Joy and sorrow--light and shade; -Turn from sorrow's dark suffusion, -Catch the pleasures ere they fade. - -Fancy paints with hues unreal, -Smile of bliss, and sorrow's mood; -If they both are but ideal, -Why reject the seeming good? - -Hence! no more! 'tis Wisdom calls ye, -Bids ye court Time's present aid; -The future trust not--Hope enthralls ye, -"Catch the pleasures ere they fade." - - -The music ceased; but the sounds still vibrated on her imagination, and -she was sunk in the pleasing languor they had inspired, when the door -opened, and the Marquis de Montalt appeared. He approached the sofa -where Adeline sat, and addressed her, but she heard not his voice--she -had fainted. He endeavoured to recover her, and at length succeeded; but -when she unclosed her eyes, and again beheld him, she relapsed into a -state of insensibility; and having in vain tried various methods to -restore her, he was obliged to call assistance. Two young women entered; -and when she began to revive, he left them to prepare her for his -reappearance. When Adeline perceived that the Marquis was gone, and that -she was in the care of women, her spirits gradually returned; she looked -at her attendants, and was surprised to see so much elegance and beauty. - -Some endeavour she made to interest their pity; but they seemed wholly -insensible to her distress, and began to talk of the Marquis in terms of -the highest admiration. They assured her it would be her own fault if -she was not happy, and advised her to appear so in his presence. It was -with the utmost difficulty that Adeline forbore to express the disdain -which was rising to her lips, and that she listened to their discourse -in silence. But she saw the inconvenience and fruitlessness of -opposition, and she commanded her feelings. - -They were thus proceeding in their praises of the Marquis, when he -himself appeared; and waving his hand, they immediately quitted the -apartment. Adeline beheld him with a kind of mute despair while he -approached and took her hand, which she hastily withdrew; and turning -from him with a look of unutterable distress, burst into tears. He was -for some time silent, and appeared softened by her anguish: but again -approaching and addressing her in a gentle voice, he entreated her -pardon for the step which despair, and, as he called it, love had -prompted. She was too much absorbed in grief to reply, till he solicited -a return of his love; when her sorrow yielded to indignation, and she -reproached him with his conduct. He pleaded that he had long loved and -sought her upon honourable terms, and his offer of those terms he began -to repeat; but raising his eyes towards Adeline, he saw in her looks the -contempt which he was conscious he deserved. - -For a moment he was confused, and seemed to understand both that his -plan was discovered and his person despised; but soon resuming his usual -command of feature, he again pressed his suit, and solicited her love. -A little reflection showed Adeline the danger of exasperating his pride -by an avowal of the contempt which his pretended offer of marriage -excited; and she thought it not improper, upon an occasion in which the -honour and peace of her life was concerned, to yield somewhat to the -policy of dissimulation. She saw that her only chance of escaping his -designs depended upon delaying them, and she now wished him to believe -her ignorant that the Marchioness was living, and that his offers were -delusive. - -He observed her pause; and in the eagerness to turn her hesitation to -his advantage, renewed his proposal with increased vehemence--To-morrow -shall unite us, lovely Adeline; to-morrow you shall consent to become -the Marchioness de Montalt. You will then return my love and---- - -You must first deserve my esteem, my Lord. - -I will--I do deserve it. Are you not now in my power, and do I not -forbear to take advantage of your situation? Do I not make you the most -honourable proposals?--Adeline shuddered: If you wish I should esteem -you, my Lord, endeavour, if possible, to make me forget by what means I -came into your power; if your views are indeed honourable, prove them so -by releasing me from my confinement. - -Can you then wish, lovely Adeline, to fly from him who adores you? -replied the Marquis with a studied air of tenderness. Why will you exact -so severe a proof of my disinterestedness, a disinterestedness which is -not consistent with love? No, charming Adeline! let me at least have the -pleasure of beholding you till the bonds of the church shall remove -every obstacle to my love. To-morrow---- - -Adeline saw the danger to which she was now exposed, and interrupted -him. _Deserve_ my esteem, Sir, and then you will _obtain_ it: as a first -step towards which, liberate me from a confinement that obliges me to -look on you only with terror and aversion. How can I believe your -professions of love, while you show that you have no interest in my -happiness?--Thus did Adeline, to whom the arts and the practice of -dissimulation were hitherto equally unknown, condescend to make use of -them in disguising her indignation and contempt. But though these arts -were adopted only for the purpose of self-preservation, she used them -with reluctance, and almost with abhorrence; for her mind was habitually -impregnated with the love of virtue, in thought, word, and action; and -while her end in using them was certainly good, she scarcely thought -that end could justify the means. - -The Marquis persisted in his sophistry. Can you doubt the reality of -that love, which to obtain you has urged me to risk your displeasure? -But have I not consulted your happiness, even in the very conduct which -you condemn? I have removed you from a solitary and desolate ruin to a -gay and splendid villa, where every luxury is at your command, and where -every person shall be obedient to your wishes. - -My first wish is to go hence, said Adeline; I entreat, I conjure you, my -Lord, no longer to detain me. I am a friendless and wretched orphan, -exposed to many evils, and I fear abandoned to misfortune: I do not wish -to be rude; but allow me to say, that no misery can exceed that I shall -feel in remaining here, or indeed in being any where pursued by the -offers you make me. Adeline had now forgot her policy: tears prevented -her from proceeding, and she turned away her face to hide her emotion. - -By Heaven! Adeline, you do me wrong, said the Marquis, rising from his -seat and seizing her hand; I love, I adore you; yet you doubt my -passion, and are insensible to my vows. Every pleasure possible to be -enjoyed within these walls you shall partake,--but beyond them you shall -not go. She disengaged her hand, and in silent anguish walked to a -distant part of the saloon: deep sighs burst from her heart, and almost -fainting she leaned on a window-frame for support. - -The Marquis followed her: Why thus obstinately persist in refusing to be -happy? said he: recollect the proposal I have made you, and accept it -while it is yet in your power. To-morrow a priest shall join our -hands--Surely, being, as you are, in my power, it must be your interest -to consent to this? Adeline could answer only by tears; she despaired of -softening his heart to pity, and feared to exasperate his pride by -disdain. He now led her, and she suffered him, to a seat near the -banquet, at which he pressed her to partake of a variety of -confectionaries, particularly of some liqueurs of which he himself drank -freely: Adeline accepted only of a peach. - -And now the Marquis, who interrupted her silence into a secret -compliance with his proposal, resumed all his gaiety and spirit, while -the long and ardent regards he bestowed on Adeline overcame her with -confusion and indignation. In the midst of the banquet, soft music again -sounded the most tender and impassioned airs; but its effect on Adeline -was now lost, her mind being too much embarrassed and distressed by the -presence of the Marquis to admit even the soothings of harmony. A song -was now heard, written with that sort of impotent art by which some -voluptuous poets believe they can at once conceal and recommend the -principles of vice. Adeline received it with contempt and displeasure; -and the Marquis perceiving its effect, presently made a sign for another -composition, which, adding the force of poetry to the charms of music, -might withdraw her mind from the present scene, and enchant it in sweet -delirium. - - -SONG OF A SPIRIT. - -In the sightless air I dwell, -On the sloping sun-beams play; -Delve the cavern's inmost cell, -Where never yet did daylight stray. - -Dive beneath the green sea waves, -And gambol in the briny deeps; -Skim every shore that Neptune laves, -From Lapland's plains to India's steeps. - -Oft I mount with rapid force -Above the wide earth's shadowy zone; -Follow the day-star's flaming course -Through realms of space to thought unknown: - -And listen oft celestial sounds -That swell the air unheard of men, -As I watch my nightly rounds -O'er woody steep and silent glen. - -Under the shade of waving trees, -On the green bank of fountain clear, -At pensive eve I sit at ease, -While dying music murmurs near. - -And oft on point of airy clift, -That hangs upon the western main, -I watch the gay tints passing swift, -And twilight veil the liquid plain. - -Then, when the breeze has sunk away, -And ocean scarce is heard to lave, -For me the sea-nymphs softly play -Their dulcet shells beneath the wave. - -Their dulcet shells! I hear them now, -Slow swells the strain upon mine ear -Now faintly falls--now warbles low, -Till rapture melts into a tear. - -The ray that silvers o'er the dew, -And trembles through the leafy shade, -And tints the scene with softer hue, -Calls me to rove the lonely glade; - -Or hie me to some ruin'd tower, -Faintly shewn by moonlight gleam, -Where the lone wanderer owns my power -In shadows dire that substance seem. - -In thrilling sounds that murmur woe, -And pausing silence makes more dread; -In music breathing from below -Sad, solemn strains, that wake the dead. - -Unseen I move--unknown am fear'd! -Fancy's wildest dreams I weave; -And oft by bards my voice is heard -To die along the gales of eve. - - -When the voice ceased, a mournful strain, played with exquisite -expression, sounded from a distant horn; sometimes the notes floated on -the air in soft undulations--now they swelled into full and sweeping -melody, and now died faintly into silence, when again they rose and -trembled in sounds so sweetly tender, as drew tears from Adeline, and -exclamations of rapture from the Marquis: he threw his arm round her, -and would have pressed her towards him; but she liberated herself from -his embrace, and with a look, on which was impressed the firm dignity of -virtue, yet touched with sorrow, she awed him to forbearance. Conscious -of a superiority which he was ashamed to acknowledge, and endeavouring -to despise the influence which he could not resist, he stood for a -moment the slave of virtue, though the votary of vice. Soon, however, he -recovered his confidence, and began to plead his love; when Adeline, no -longer animated by the spirit she had lately shown, and sinking beneath -the languor and fatigue which the various and violent agitations of her -mind produced, entreated he would leave her to repose. - -The paleness of her countenance and the tremulous tone of her voice were -too expressive to be misunderstood; and the Marquis, bidding her -remember to-morrow, with some hesitation withdrew. The moment she was -alone she yielded to the bursting anguish of her heart; and was so -absorbed in grief, that it was some time before she perceived she was in -the presence of the young women who had lately attended her, and had -entered the saloon soon after the Marquis quitted it; they came to -conduct her to her chamber. She followed them for some time in silence, -till, prompted by desperation, she again endeavoured to awaken their -compassion: but again the praises of the Marquis were repeated: and -perceiving that all attempts to interest them in her favour were in vain -she dismissed them. She secured the door through which they had -departed, and then, in the languid hope of discovering some means of -escape, she surveyed her chamber. The airy elegance with which it was -fitted up, and the luxurious accommodations with which it abounded, -seemed designed to fascinate the imagination and to seduce the heart. -The hangings were of straw-coloured silk, adorned with a variety of -landscapes and historical paintings, the subjects of which partook of -the voluptuous character of the owner; the chimney-piece, of Parian -marble, was ornamented with several reposing figures from the antique. -The bed was of silk, the colour of the hangings, richly fringed with -purple and silver, and the head made in form of a canopy. The steps -which were placed near the bed to assist in ascending it, were supported -by cupids apparently of solid silver. China vases filled with perfume -stood in several of the recesses, upon stands of the same structure as -the toilet, which was magnificent, and ornamented with a variety of -trinkets. - -Adeline threw a transient look upon these various objects, and proceeded -to examine the windows, which descended to the floor and opened into -balconies towards the garden she had seen from the saloon. They were now -fastened, and her efforts to move them were ineffectual: at length she -gave up the attempt. A door next attracted her notice, which she found -was not fastened; it opened upon a dressing-closet, to which she -descended by a few steps: two windows appeared, she hastened towards -them; one refused to yield, but her heart beat with sudden joy when the -other opened to her touch. - -In the transport of the moment, she forgot that its distance from the -ground might yet deny the escape she meditated. She returned to lock the -door of the closet, to prevent a surprise, which, however, was -unnecessary, that of the bed-room being already secured. She now looked -out from the window; the garden lay before her, and she perceived that -the window, which descended to the floor, was so near the ground, that -she might jump from it with ease: almost in the same moment she -perceived this, she sprang forward and alighted safely in an extensive -garden, resembling more an English pleasure ground, than a series of -French parterres. - -Thence she had little doubt of escaping, either by some broken fence, or -low part of the wall; she tripped lightly along, for hope played round -her heart. The clouds of the late storm were now dispersed, and the -moonlight, which slept on the lawns and spangled the flowerets yet heavy -with rain drops, afforded her a distinct view of the surrounding -scenery; she followed the direction of the high wall that adjoined the -chateau, till it was concealed from her sight by a thick wilderness, so -entangled with boughs and obscured by darkness, that she feared to -enter, and turned aside into a walk on the right; it conducted her to -the margin of a lake overhung with lofty trees. - -The moonbeams dancing upon the waters, that with gentle undulation -played along the shore, exhibited a scene of tranquil beauty, which -would have soothed a heart less agitated than was that of Adeline: she -sighed as she transiently surveyed it, and passed hastily on in search -of the garden wall, from which she had now strayed a considerable way. -After wandering for some time through alleys and over lawns, without -meeting with any thing like a boundary to the grounds, she again found -herself at the lake, and now traversed its border with the footsteps of -despair:--tears rolled down her cheeks. The scene around exhibited only -images of peace and delight; every object seemed to repose; not a breath -waved the foliage, not a sound stole through the air: it was in her -bosom only that tumult and distress prevailed. She still pursued the -windings of the shore, till an opening in the woods conducted her up a -gentle ascent: the path now wound along the side of a hill where the -gloom was so deep, that it was with some difficulty she found her way: -suddenly, however, the avenue opened to a lofty grove, and she perceived -a light issue from a recess at some distance. - -She paused, and her first impulse was to retreat; but listening, and -hearing no sound, a faint hope beamed upon her mind, that the person to -whom the light belonged, might be won to favour her escape. She -advanced, with trembling and cautious steps, towards the recess, that -she might secretly observe the person, before she ventured to enter it. -Her emotion increased as she approached; and, having reached the bower, -she beheld, through an open window, the Marquis reclining on a sofa, -near which stood a table, covered with fruit and wine. He was alone, and -his countenance was flushed with drinking. - -While she gazed, fixed to the spot by terror, he looked up towards the -casement; the light gleamed full upon her face, but she stayed not to -learn whether he had observed her, for, with the swiftness of sound, she -left the place and ran, without knowing whether she was pursued. Having -gone a considerable way, fatigue at length compelled her to stop, and -she threw herself upon the turf, almost fainting with fear and languor. -She knew, if the Marquis detected her in an attempt to escape, he would, -probably, burst the bounds which she had hitherto prescribed to himself, -and that she had the most dreadful evils to expect. The palpitations of -terror were so strong, that she could with difficulty breathe. - -She watched and listened in trembling expectation, but no form met her -eye, no sound her ear; in this state she remained a considerable time. -She wept, and the tears she shed relieved her oppressed heart. O my -father! said she, why did you abandon your child? If you knew the -dangers to which you have exposed her, you would, surely, pity and -relieve her. Alas! shall I never find a friend! am I destined still to -trust and be deceived?--Peter too, could he be treacherous? She wept -again, and then returned to a sense of her present danger, and to a -consideration of the means of escaping it--but no means appeared. - -To her imagination the grounds were boundless; she had wandered from -lawn to lawn, and from grove to grove, without perceiving any -termination to the place; the garden-wall she could not find, but she -resolved neither to return to the chateau, nor to relinquish her search. -As she was rising to depart, she perceived a shadow move along at some -distance: she stood still to observe it. It slowly advanced and then -disappeared; but presently she saw a person emerge from the gloom, and -approach the spot where she stood. She had no doubt that the Marquis had -observed her, and she ran with all possible speed to the shade of some -woods on the left. Footsteps pursued her, and she heard her name -repeated, while she in vain endeavoured to quicken her pace. - -Suddenly the sound of pursuit turned, and sunk away in a different -direction: she paused to take breath; she looked around, and no person -appeared. She now proceeded slowly along the avenue, and had almost -reached its termination, when she saw the same figure emerge from the -woods and dart across the avenue: it instantly pursued her and -approached. A voice called her, but she was gone beyond its reach, for -she had sunk senseless upon the ground: it was long before she revived: -when she did, she found herself in the arms of a stranger, and made an -effort to disengage herself. - -Fear nothing, lovely Adeline, said he, fear nothing: you are in the arms -of a friend, who will encounter any hazard for your sake; who will -protect you with his life. He pressed her gently to his heart. Have you -then forgot me? continued he. She looked earnestly at him, and was now -convinced that it was Theodore who spoke. Joy was her first emotion; -but, recollecting his former abrupt departure, at a time so critical to -her safety and that he was the friend of the Marquis, a thousand mingled -sensations struggled in her breast, and overwhelmed her with mistrust, -apprehension, and disappointment. - -Theodore raised her from the ground, and while he yet supported her, let -us fly from this place, said he; a carriage waits to receive us; it -shall go wherever you direct, and convey you to your friends. This last -sentence touched her heart: Alas, I have no friends! said she, nor do I -know whither to go. Theodore gently pressed her hand between his, and, -in a voice of the softest compassion, said, _My_ friends then shall be -yours; suffer me to lead you to them. But I am in agony while you remain -in this place; let us hasten to quit it. Adeline was going to reply, -when voices were heard among the trees, and Theodore, supporting her -with his arm, hurried her along the avenue; they continued their flight -till Adeline, panting for breath, could go no further. - -[Illustration 05] - -Having paused a while, and heard no footsteps in pursuit, they renewed -their course: Theodore knew that they were now not far from the garden -wall; but he was also aware, that in the intermediate space several -paths wound from remote parts of the grounds into the walk he was to -pass, from whence the Marquis's people might issue and intercept him. -He, however, concealed his apprehensions from Adeline, and endeavoured -to soothe and support her spirits. - -At length they reached the wall, and Theodore was leading her towards a -low part of it, near which stood the carriage, when again they heard -voices in the air. Adeline's spirits and strength were nearly exhausted, -but she made a last effort to proceed and she now saw the ladder at some -distance by which Theodore had descended to the garden. Exert yourself -yet a little longer, said he, and you will be in safety. He held the -ladder while she ascended; the top of the wall was broad and level, and -Adeline, having reached it, remained there till Theodore followed and -drew the ladder to the other side. - -When they had descended, the carriage appeared in waiting, but without -the driver. Theodore feared to call, lest his voice should betray him; -he, therefore, put Adeline into the carriage, and went in search of the -postillion, whom he found asleep under a tree at some distance: having -awakened him, they returned to the vehicle, which soon drove furiously -away. Adeline did not yet dare to believe herself safe; but, after -proceeding a considerable time without interruption, joy burst upon her -heart, and she thanked her deliverer in terms of the warmest gratitude. -The sympathy expressed in the tone of his voice and manner, proved that -his happiness, on this occasion, almost equalled her own. - -As reflection gradually stole upon her mind, anxiety superseded joy: in -the tumult of the late moments, she thought only of escape; but the -circumstances of her present situation now appeared to her, and she -became silent and pensive: she had no friends to whom she could fly, and -was going with a young chevalier, almost a stranger to her, she knew not -whither. She remembered how often she had been deceived and betrayed -where she trusted most, and her spirits sunk: she remembered also the -former attention which Theodore had shown her, and dreaded lest his -conduct might be prompted by a selfish passion. She saw this to be -possible, but she disdained to believe it probable, and felt that -nothing could give her greater pain than to doubt the integrity of -Theodore. - -He interrupted her reverie, by recurring to her late situation at the -abbey. You would be much surprised, said he, and, I fear, offended that -I did not attend my appointment at the abbey, after the alarming hints -I had given you in our last interview. That circumstance has, perhaps, -injured me in your esteem, if, indeed, I was ever so happy as to possess -it: but my designs were overruled by those of the Marquis de Montalt; -and I think I may venture to assert, that my distress upon this occasion -was, at least, equal to your apprehensions. - -Adeline said, she had been much alarmed by the hints he had given her, -and by his failing to afford further information concerning the subject -of her danger; and--She checked the sentence that hung upon her lips, -for she perceived that she was unwarily betraying the interest he held -in her heart. There were a few moments of silence, and neither party -seemed perfectly at ease. Theodore, at length, renewed the conversation: -Suffer me to acquaint you, said he, with the circumstances that withheld -me from the interview I solicited; I am anxious to exculpate myself. -Without waiting her reply, he proceeded to inform her, that the Marquis -had, by some inexplicable means, learned or suspected the subject of -their last conversation, and, perceiving his designs were in danger of -being counteracted, had taken effectual means to prevent her obtaining -further intelligence of them. Adeline immediately recollected that -Theodore and herself had been seen in the forest by La Motte, who had, -no doubt, suspected their growing intimacy, and had taken care to inform -the Marquis how likely he was to find a rival in his friend. - -On the day following that on which I last saw you, said Theodore, the -Marquis, who is my colonel, commanded me to prepare to attend my -regiment, and appointed the following morning for my journey. This -sudden order gave me some surprise, but I was not long in doubt -concerning the motive for it: a servant of the Marquis, who had been -long attached to me, entered my room soon after I had left his lord, and -expressing concern at my abrupt departure, dropped some hints respecting -it, which excited my surprise. I inquired further, and was confirmed in -the suspicions I had for some time entertained of the Marquis's designs -upon you. - -Jaques further informed me, that our late interview had been noticed and -communicated to the Marquis. His information had been obtained from a -fellow-servant, and it alarmed me so much, that I engaged him to send me -intelligence from time to time, concerning the proceedings of the -Marquis. I now looked forward to the evening which would bring me again -to your presence with increased impatience: but the ingenuity of the -Marquis effectually counteracted my endeavours and wishes; he had made -an engagement to pass the day at the villa of a nobleman some leagues -distant, and, notwithstanding all the excuses I could offer, I was -obliged to attend him. Thus compelled to obey, I passed a day of more -agitation and anxiety than I had ever before experienced. It was -midnight before we returned to the Marquis's chateau. I arose early in -the morning to commence my journey, and resolved to seek an interview -with you before I left the province. - -When I entered the breakfast room, I was much surprised to find the -Marquis there already, who, commending the beauty of the morning, -declared his intention of accompanying me as far as Chineau. Thus -unexpectedly deprived of my last hope, my countenance, I believe, -expressed what I felt, for the scrutinizing eye of the Marquis instantly -changed from seeming carelessness to displeasure. The distance from -Chineau to the abbey was at least twelve leagues; yet I had once some -intention of returning from thence, when the Marquis should leave me, -till I recollected the very remote chance there would even then be of -seeing you alone, and also, that if I was observed by La Motte, it would -awaken all his suspicions, and caution him against any future plan I -might see it expedient to attempt; I therefore proceeded to join my -regiment. - -Jaques sent me frequent accounts of the operations of the Marquis; but -his manner of relating them was so very confused, that they only served -to perplex and distress me. His last letter, however, alarmed me so -much, that my residence in quarters became intolerable; and, as I found -it impossible to obtain leave of absence, I secretly left the regiment, -and concealed myself in a cottage about a mile from the chateau, that I -might obtain the earliest intelligence of the Marquis's plans. Jaques -brought me daily information, and, at last, an account of the horrible -plot which was laid for the following night. - -I saw little probability of warning you of your danger. If I ventured -near the abbey, La Motte might discover me, and frustrate every attempt -on my part to save you; yet I determined to encounter this risk for the -chance of seeing you, and towards evening I was preparing to set out for -the forest, when Jaques arrived, and informed me that you was to be -brought to the chateau. My plan was thus rendered less difficult. I -learned also, that the Marquis, by means of those refinements in luxury, -with which he is but too well acquainted, designed, now that his -apprehension of losing you was no more, to seduce you to his wishes, and -impose upon you by a fictitious marriage. Having obtained information -concerning the situation of the room allotted you, I ordered a chaise to -be in waiting, and with a design of scaling your window, and conducting -you thence, I entered the garden at midnight. - -Theodore having ceased to speak:--I know not how words can express my -sense of the obligations I owe you, said Adeline, or my gratitude for -your generosity. - -Ah! call it not generosity, he replied, it was love. He paused. Adeline -was silent. After some moments of expressive emotion, he resumed; But -pardon this abrupt declaration; yet why do I call it abrupt, since my -actions have already disclosed what my lips have never, till this -instant, ventured to acknowledge. He paused again. Adeline was still -silent. Yet do me the justice to believe, that I am sensible of the -impropriety of pleading my love at present, and have been surprised into -this confession. I promise also to forbear from a renewal of the -subject, till you are placed in a situation where you may freely accept, -or refuse, the sincere regards I offer you. If I could, however, now be -certain that I possess your esteem, it would relieve me from much -anxiety. - -Adeline felt surprised that he should doubt her esteem for him, after -the signal and generous service he had rendered her; but she was not yet -acquainted with the timidity of love. Do you then, said she in a -tremulous voice, believe me ungrateful? It is impossible I can consider -your friendly interference in my behalf without esteeming you. Theodore -immediately took her hand and pressed it to his lips in silence. They -were both too much agitated to converse, and continued to travel for -some miles without exchanging a word. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -And hope enchanted smiled and waved her golden -hair, -And longer had she sung--but, with a frown, -Revenge impatient rose. - -ODE TO THE PASSIONS. - - -The dawn of morning now trembled through the clouds, when the travellers -stopped at a small town to change horses. Theodore entreated Adeline to -alight and take some refreshment, and to this she at length consented. -But the people of the inn were not yet up, and it was some time before -the knocking and the roaring of the postillion could rouse them. - -Having taken some slight refreshment, Theodore and Adeline returned to -the carriage. The only subject upon which Theodore could have spoke with -interest, delicacy forbade him at this time to notice; and after -pointing out some beautiful scenery on the road, and making other -efforts to support a conversation, he relapsed into silence. His mind, -though still anxious, was now relieved from the apprehension that had -long oppressed it. When he first saw Adeline, her loveliness made a deep -impression on his heart: there was a sentiment in her beauty, which his -mind immediately acknowledged, and the effect of which, her manners and -conversation had afterwards confirmed. Her charms appeared to him like -those since so finely described by an English poet: - - -Oh! have you seen, bathed in the morning dew, -The budding rose its infant bloom display? -When first its virgin tints unfold to view. -It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day. - -So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, -Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek. -I gaz'd, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame, -Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak. - - -A knowledge of her destitute condition and of the dangers with which she -was environed, had awakened in his heart the tenderest touch of pity, -and assisted the change of admiration into love. The distress he -suffered, when compelled to leave her exposed to these dangers, without -being able to warn her of them, can only be imagined. During his -residence with his regiment, his mind was the constant prey of terrors, -which he saw no means of combating but by returning to the neighbourhood -of the abbey where he might obtain early intelligence of the Marquis's -schemes, and be ready to give his assistance to Adeline. - -Leave of absence he could not request, without betraying his design -where most he dreaded it should be known; and at length with a generous -rashness, which though it defied law was impelled by virtue, he secretly -quitted his regiment. The progress of the Marquis's plan he had observed -with trembling anxiety, till the night that was to decide the fate of -Adeline and himself roused all his mind to action, and involved him in a -tumult of hope and fear, horror and expectation. - -Never till the present hour had he ventured to believe she was in -safety. Now the distance they had gained from the chateau without -perceiving any pursuit, increased his best hopes. It was impossible he -could sit by the side of his beloved Adeline, and receive assurances of -her gratitude and esteem, without venturing to hope for her love. He -congratulated himself as her preserver, and anticipated scenes of -happiness when she should be under the protection of his family. The -clouds of misery and apprehension disappeared from his mind, and left it -to the sunshine of joy. When a shadow of fear would sometimes return, or -when he recollected with compunction the circumstances under which he -had left his regiment, stationed as it was upon the frontiers, and in a -time of war, he looked at Adeline, and her countenance with -instantaneous magic beamed peace upon his heart. - -But Adeline had a subject of anxiety from which Theodore was exempt: the -prospect of her future days was involved in darkness and uncertainty. -Again she was going to claim the bounty of strangers--again going to -encounter the uncertainty of their kindness; exposed to the hardships of -dependance, or to the difficulty of earning a precarious livelihood. -These anticipations obscured the joy occasioned by her escape, and by -the affection which the conduct and avowal of Theodore had exhibited. -The delicacy of his behaviour, in forbearing to take advantage of her -present situation to plead his love, increased her esteem and flattered -her pride. - -Adeline was lost in meditation upon subjects like these, when the -postillion stopped the carriage, and pointing to part of a road which -wound down the side of a hill they had passed, said there were several -horsemen in pursuit! Theodore immediately ordered him to proceed with -all possible speed, and to strike out of the great road into the first -obscure way that offered. The postillion cracked his whip in the air, -and set off as if he was flying for life. In the meanwhile Theodore -endeavoured to reanimate Adeline, who was sinking with terror, and who -now thought, if she could only escape from the Marquis, she could defy -the future. - -Presently they struck into a by lane screened and overshadowed by thick -trees. Theodore again looked from the window, but the closing boughs -prevented his seeing far enough to determine whether the pursuit -continued. For his sake Adeline endeavoured to disguise her emotions. -This lane, said Theodore, will certainly lead to a town or village, and -then we have nothing to apprehend: for, though my single arm could not -defend you against the number of our pursuers, I nave no doubt of being -able to interest some of the inhabitants in our behalf. - -Adeline appeared to be comforted by the hope this reflection suggested: -and Theodore again looked back: but the windings of the road closed his -view, and the rattling of the wheels overcame every other sound. At -length he called to the postillion to stop; and having listened -attentively without perceiving any sound of horses, he began to hope -they were now in safety. Do you know whither this road leads? said he. -The postillion answered that he did not, but he saw some houses through -the trees at a distance, and believed that it led to them. This was most -welcome intelligence to Theodore, who looked forward and perceived the -houses. The postillion set off. Fear nothing, my adored Adeline, said -he, you are now safe; I will part with you but with life. Adeline -sighed, not for herself only, but for the danger to which Theodore might -be exposed. - -They had continued to travel in this manner for near half an hour, when -they arrived at a small village, and soon after stopped at an inn, the -best the place afforded. As Theodore lifted Adeline from the chaise, he -again entreated her to dismiss her apprehensions, and spoke with a -tenderness to which she could reply only by a smile that ill concealed -her anxiety. After ordering refreshments, he went out to speak with the -landlord; but had scarcely left the room when Adeline observed a party -of horsemen enter the inn yard, and she had no doubt these were the -persons from whom they fled. The faces of two of them only were turned -towards her, but she thought the figure of one of the others not unlike -that of the Marquis. - -Her heart was chilled, and for some moments the powers of reason forsook -her. Her first design was to seek concealments but while she considered -the means, one of the horsemen looked up to the window near, which she -stood, and speaking to his companions they entered the inn. To quit the -room without being observed was impossible; to remain there, alone and -unprotected as she was, would almost be equally dangerous. She paced the -room in an agony of terror, often secretly calling on Theodore, and -often wondering he did not return. These were moments of indescribable -suffering. A loud and tumultuous sound of voices now arose from a -distant part of the house, and she soon, distinguished the words of the -disputants. I arrest you in the king's name, said one; and bid you, at -your peril, attempt to go from hence, except under a guard. - -The next minute Adeline heard the voice of Theodore in reply. I do not -mean to dispute the king's orders, said he, and give you my word of -honour not to go without you; but first unhand me, that I may return to -that room; I have a friend there whom I wish to speak with. To this -proposal they at first objected, considering it merely as an excuse to -obtain an opportunity of escaping; but after much altercation and -entreaty his request was granted. He sprang forward towards the room -where Adeline remained; and while a sergeant and corporal followed him -to the door, the two soldiers went out into the yard of the inn to watch -the windows of the apartment. - -With an eager hand he unclosed the door; but Adeline hastened not to -meet him, for she had fainted almost at the beginning of the dispute. -Theodore called loudly for assistance; and the mistress of the inn soon -appeared with her stock of remedies, which were administered in vain to -Adeline, who remained insensible, and by breathing alone gave signs of -her existence. The distress of Theodore was in the mean time heightened -by the appearance of the officers, who, laughing at the discovery of his -pretended friend, declared they could wait no longer. Saying this, they -would have forced him from the inanimate form of Adeline, over whom he -hung in unutterable anguish, when fiercely turning upon them he drew his -sword, and swore no power on earth should force him away before the lady -recovered. - -The men, enraged by the action and the determined air of Theodore, -exclaimed, Do you oppose the king's orders? and advanced to seize him: -but he presented the point of his sword, and bade them at their peril -approach. One of them immediately drew. Theodore kept his guard, but did -not advance. I demand only to wait here till the lady recovers, said -he;--you understand the alternative. The man already exasperated by the -opposition of Theodore, regarded the latter part of his speech as a -threat, and became determined not to give up the point: he pressed -forward; and while his comrade called the men from the yard, Theodore -wounded him slightly in the shoulder, and received himself the stroke of -a sabre on his head. - -The blood gushed furiously from the wound: Theodore, staggering to a -chair, sunk into it, just as the remainder of the party entered the -room; and Adeline unclosed her eyes to see him ghastly pale, and covered -with blood. She uttered an involuntary scream, and exclaiming, They have -murdered him, nearly relapsed. At the sound of her voice he raised his -head, and smiling held out his hand to her. I am not much hurt said he -faintly, and shall soon be better, if indeed you are recovered. She -hastened towards him, and gave her hand. Is nobody gone for a surgeon? -said she with a look of agony. Do not be alarmed, said Theodore, I am -not so ill as you imagine. The room was now crowded with people, whom -the report of the affray had now brought together; among these was a man -who acted as physician, apothecary, and surgeon to the village, and who -now stepped forward to the assistance of Theodore. - -Having examined the wound, he declined giving his opinion, but ordered -the patient to be immediately put to bed; to which the officers -objected, alleging that it was their duty to carry him to the regiment. -That cannot be done without great danger to his life, replied the -doctor; and-- - -Oh; his life, said the sergeant; we have nothing to do with that, we -must do our duty. Adeline, who had hitherto stood in trembling anxiety, -could now no longer be silent. Since the surgeon, said she, has declared -it his opinion that this gentleman cannot be removed in his present -condition without endangering his life, you will remember that if he -dies, yours will probably answer it. - -Yes, rejoined the surgeon, who was unwilling to relinquish his patient; -I declare before these witnesses, that he cannot be removed with safety: -you will do well therefore to consider the consequences. He has received -a very dangerous wound, which requires the most careful treatment, and -the event is even then doubtful; but if he travels, a fever may ensue, -and the wound will then be mortal. Theodore heard this sentence with -composure, but Adeline could with difficulty conceal the anguish of her -heart: she roused all her fortitude to suppress the tears that struggled -in her eyes; and though she wished to interest the humanity or to awaken -the fears of the men in behalf of their unfortunate prisoner, she dared -not to trust her voice with utterance. - -From this internal struggle she was relieved by the compassion of the -people who filled the room, and becoming clamorous in the cause of -Theodore, declared the officers would be guilty of murder if they -removed him. Why he must die at any rate, said the sergeant, for -quitting his post, and drawing upon me in the execution of the king's -orders. A faint sickness seized the heart of Adeline, and she leaned for -support against Theodore's chair, whose concern for himself was for a -while suspended in his anxiety for her. He supported her with his arm, -and forcing a smile, said in a low voice, which she only could hear. -This is a misrepresentation; I doubt not, when the affair is inquired -into, it will be settled without any serious consequences. - -Adeline knew these words were uttered only to console her, and therefore -did not give much credit to them, though Theodore continued to give her -similar assurances of his safety. Meanwhile the mob, whose compassion -for him had been gradually excited by the obduracy of the officer, were -now roused to pity and indignation by the seeming certainty of his -punishment, and the unfeeling manner in which it had been denounced. In -a short time they became so much enraged that, partly from a dread of -further consequences, and partly from the shame which their charges of -cruelty occasioned, the sergeant consented that he should be put to bed, -till his commanding officer might direct what was to be done. Adeline's -joy at this circumstance overcame for a moment the sense of her -misfortunes and of her situation. - -She waited in an adjoining room the sentence of the surgeon, who was now -engaged in examining the wound; and though the accident would in any -other circumstances have severely afflicted her, she now lamented it the -more, because she considered herself as the cause of it, and because the -misfortune by illustrating more fully the affection of her lover, drew -him closer to her heart, and seemed therefore to sharpen the poignancy -of her affliction. The dreadful assertion that Theodore, should he -recover, would be punished with death, she scarcely dared to consider, -but endeavoured to believe that it was no more than a cruel exaggeration -of his antagonist. - -Upon the whole, Theodore's present danger, together with the attendant -circumstances, awakened all her tenderness, and discovered to her the -true state of her affections. The graceful form, the noble, intelligent, -countenance, and the engaging manners which she had at first admired in -Theodore, became afterwards more interesting by that strength of thought -and elegance of sentiment exhibited in his conversation. His conduct, -since her escape, had excited her warmest gratitude; and the danger -which he had now encountered in her behalf, called forth her tenderness, -and heightened it into love. The veil was removed from her heart, and -she saw for the first time its genuine emotions. - -The surgeon at length came out of Theodore's chamber into the room where -Adeline was waiting to speak with him. She inquired concerning the state -of his wound. You are a relation of the gentleman's, I presume, Madam; -his sister, perhaps? The question vexed and embarrassed her, and without -answering it she repeated her inquiry. Perhaps, Madam, you are more -nearly related, pursued the surgeon, seeming also to disregard her -question,--perhaps you are his wife? Adeline blushed, and was about to -reply, but he continued his speech. The interest you take in his welfare -is at least very flattering, and I would almost consent to exchange -conditions with him, were I sure of receiving such tender compassion -from so charming a lady. Saying this, he bowed to the ground. Adeline -assuming a very reserved air, said, Now, Sir, that you have concluded -your compliment, you will perhaps attend to my question; I have inquired -how you have left your patient. - -That, Madam, is perhaps a question very difficult to be resolved; and it -is likewise a very disagreeable office to pronounce ill news--I fear he -will die. The surgeon opened his snuff-box and presented it to Adeline. -Die! she exclaimed in a faint voice, die! - -Do not be alarmed, Madam, resumed the surgeon, observing her grow pale, -do not be alarmed. It is possible that the wound may not have reached -the----, he stammered, in that case the----, stammering again, is not -affected; and if so, the interior membranes of the brain are not -touched: in this case the wound may perhaps escape inflammation, and the -patient may possibly recover. But if, on the other hand---- - -I beseech you, Sir, to speak intelligibly, interrupted Adeline, and not -to trifle with my anxiety. Do you really believe him in danger? - -In danger, Madam, exclaimed the surgeon, in danger! yes, certainly, in -very great danger. Saying this, he walked away with an air of chagrin -and displeasure. Adeline remained for some moments in the room, in an -excess of sorrow, which she found it impossible to restrain; and then -drying her tears, and endeavouring to compose her countenance, she went -to inquire for the mistress of the inn, to whom she sent a waiter. After -expecting her in vain for some time, she rang the bell, and sent another -message somewhat more pressing. Still the hostess did not appear; and -Adeline at length went herself down stairs, where she found her, -surrounded by a number of people, relating, with a loud voice and -various gesticulations, the particulars of the late accident. Perceiving -Adeline, she called out, Oh! here is Mademoiselle herself; and the eyes -of the assembly were immediately turned upon her. Adeline, whom the -crowd prevented from approaching the hostess, now beckoned her, and was -going to withdraw; but the landlady, eager in the pursuit of her story, -disregarded the signal. In vain did Adeline endeavour to catch her eye; -it glanced every where but upon her, who was unwilling to attract the -further notice of the crowd by calling out. - -It is a great pity, to be sure, that he should be shot, said the -landlady, he's such a handsome man; but they say he certainly will if he -recovers. Poor gentleman! he will very likely not suffer though, for the -doctor says he will never go out of this house alive. Adeline now spoke -to a man who stood near, and desiring he would tell the hostess she -wished to speak with her, left the place. - -In about ten minutes the landlady appeared. Alas! Mademoiselle, said -she, your brother is in a sad condition; they fear he won't get over. -Adeline inquired whether there was any other medical person in the town -than the surgeon whom she had seen. Lord, Madam, this is a rare healthy -place; we have little need of medicine people here; such an accident -never happened in it before. The doctor has been here ten years, but -there's very bad encouragement for his trade, and I believe he's poor -enough himself. One of the sort's quite enough for us. Adeline -interrupted her to ask some questions concerning Theodore, whom the -hostess had attended to his chamber. She inquired how he had borne the -dressing of the wound, and whether he appeared to be easier after the -operation; questions to which the hostess gave no very satisfactory -answers. She now inquired whether there was any surgeon in the -neighbourhood of the town, and was told there was not. - -The distress visible in Adeline's countenance seemed to excite the -compassion of the landlady, who now endeavoured to console her in the -best manner she was able. She advised her to send for her friends, and -offered to procure a messenger. Adeline sighed, and said it was -unnecessary. I don't know, Ma'mselle, what you may think necessary, -continued the hostess; but I know I should think it very hard to die in -a strange place, with no relations near me, and I dare say the poor -gentleman thinks so himself; and besides, who is to pay for his funeral -if he dies? Adeline begged she would be silent; and desiring that every -proper attention might be given, she promised her a reward for her -trouble, and requested pen and ink immediately. Ay, to be sure, -Ma'mselle, that is the proper way; why your friends would never forgive -you if you did not acquaint them; I know it by myself. And as for taking -care of him, he shall have every thing the house affords; and I warrant -there is never a better inn in the province, though the town is none of -the biggest. Adeline was obliged to repeat her request for pen and ink, -before the loquacious hostess would quit the room. - -The thought of sending for Theodore's friends had, in the tumult of the -late scenes, never occurred to her, and she was now somewhat consoled by -the prospect of comfort which it opened for him. When the pen and ink -were brought, she wrote the following note to Theodore:-- - -"In your present condition, you have need of every comfort that can be -procured you; and surely there is no cordial more valuable in illness -than the presence of a friend. Suffer me, therefore, to acquaint your -family with your situation: it will be a satisfaction to me, and, I -doubt not, a consolation to you." - -In a short time after she had sent the note, she received a message from -Theodore, entreating most respectfully, but earnestly, to see her for a -few minutes. She immediately went to his chamber, and found her worst -apprehensions confirmed, by the languor expressed in his countenance; -while the shock she received, together with her struggle to disguise her -emotions, almost overcame her. I thank you for this goodness, said he, -extending his hand, which she received, and sitting down by the bed, -burst into a flood of tears. When her agitation had somewhat subsided, -and, removing her handkerchief from her eyes, she again looked on -Theodore, a smile of the tenderest love expressed his sense of the -interest she took in his welfare, and administered a temporary relief to -her heart. - -Forgive this weakness, said she; my spirits have of late been so -variously agitated--Theodore interrupted her: These tears are more -flattering to my heart. But for my sake endeavour to support yourself: I -doubt not I shall soon be better; the surgeon-- - -I do not like him, said Adeline; but tell me how you find yourself? He -assured her that he was now much easier than he had yet been; and -mentioning her kind note, he led to the subject on account of which he -had solicited to see her. My family, said he, reside at a great distance -from hence, and I well know their affection is such, that, were they -informed of my situation, no consideration, however reasonable, could -prevent their coming to my assistance: but before they can arrive, their -presence will probably be unnecessary (Adeline looked earnestly at him.) -I should probably be well, pursued he, smiling, before a letter could -reach them; it would, therefore, occasion them unnecessary pain, and -moreover a fruitless journey. For your sake, Adeline, I could wish they -were here; but a few days will more fully show the consequences of my -wound: let us wait at least till then, and be directed by circumstances. - -Adeline forbore to press the subject further, and turned to one more -immediately interesting. I much wish, said she, that you had a more able -surgeon; you know the geography of the province better than I do; are we -in the neighbourhood of any town likely to afford you other advice? - -I believe not, said he; and this is an affair of little consequence, for -my wound is so inconsiderable that a very moderate share of skill may -suffice to cure it. But why, my beloved Adeline, do you give way to this -anxiety? why suffer yourself to be disturbed by this tendency to -forebode the worst? I am willing, perhaps presumptuously so, to -attribute it to your kindness; and suffer me to assure you, that while -it excites my gratitude, it increases my tenderest esteem. O Adeline! -since you wish my speedy recovery, let me see you composed: while I -believe you to be unhappy I cannot be well.--She assured him she would -endeavour to be at least tranquil; and fearing the conversation, if -prolonged, would be prejudicial to him, she left him to repose. - -As she turned out of the gallery she met the hostess, upon whom certain -words of Adeline had operated as a talisman, transforming neglect and -impertinence into officious civility. She came to inquire whether the -gentleman above stairs had every thing that he liked, for she was sure -it was her endeavour that he should. I have got him a nurse, Ma'mselle, -to attend him, and I dare say she will do very well; but I will look to -that, for I shall not mind helping him myself sometimes. Poor gentleman! -how patiently he bears it! One would not think now that he believes he -is going to die; yet the doctor told him so himself, or at least as -good. Adeline was extremely shocked at this imprudent conduct of the -surgeon, and dismissed the landlady, after ordering a slight dinner. - -Towards evening the surgeon again made his appearance; and having passed -some time with his patient, returned to the parlour, according to the -desire of Adeline, to inform her of his condition. He answered Adeline's -inquiries with great solemnity. It is impossible to determine positively -at present. Madam, but I have reason to adhere to the opinion I gave you -this morning. I am not apt indeed, to form opinions upon uncertain -grounds--I will give you a singular instance of this: - -It is not above a fortnight since I was sent for to a patient at some -leagues distance: I was from home when the messenger arrived, and the -case being urgent, before I could reach the patient another physician -was consulted, who had ordered such medicines as he thought proper, and -the patient had been apparently relieved by them. His friends were -congratulating themselves upon his improvement when I arrived, and had -agreed in opinion with the physician that there was no danger in his -case. Depend upon it, said I, you are mistaken; these medicines cannot -have relieved him; the patient is in the utmost danger. The patient -groaned; but my brother physician persisted in affirming that the -remedies he had prescribed would not only be certain, but speedy, some -good effect having been already produced by them. Upon this I lost all -patience; and adhering to my opinion, that these effects were fallacious -and the case desperate, I assured the patient himself that his life was -in the utmost danger. I am not one of those, Madam, who deceive their -patients to the last moment;--but you shall hear the conclusion. - -My brother physician was, I suppose, enraged by the firmness of my -opposition, for he assumed a most angry look, which did not in the least -affect me, and turning to the patient, desired he would decide upon -which of our opinions to rely, for he must decline acting with me. The -patient did me the honour, pursued the surgeon with a smile of -complacency and smoothing his ruffles, to think more highly of me than, -perhaps, I deserved, for he immediately dismissed my opponent. I could -not have believed, said he, as the physician left the room--I could not -have believed that a man who has been so many years in the profession -could be so wholly ignorant of it. - -I could not have believed it either, said I.--I am astonished that he -was not aware of my danger, resumed the patient. I am astonished -likewise, replied I. I was resolved to do what I could for the patient, -for he was a man of understanding, as you perceive, and I had a regard -for him. I therefore altered the prescriptions, and myself administered -the medicines; but all would not do,--my opinion was verified, and he -died even before the next morning.--Adeline, who had been compelled to -listen to this long story, sighed at the conclusion of it. I don't -wonder that you are affected, Madam, said the surgeon; the instance I -have related is certainly a very affecting one. It distressed me so -much, that it was some time before I could think or even speak -concerning it. But you must allow, Madam, continued he, lowering his -voice and bowing with a look of self-congratulation, that this was a -striking instance of the infallibility of my judgment. - -Adeline shuddered at the infallibility of his judgment, and made no -reply. It was a shocking thing for the poor man, resumed the -surgeon.--It was indeed, very shocking, said Adeline.--It affected me a -good deal when it happened, continued he.--Undoubtedly, Sir, said -Adeline. - -But time wears away the most painful impressions. - -I think you mention it was about a fortnight since this happened? - -Somewhere thereabouts, replied the surgeon without seeming to understand -the observation.--And will you permit me, Sir, to ask the name of the -physician who so ignorantly opposed you? - -Certainly, Madame; it is Lafance. - -He lives in the obscurity he deserves, no doubt, said Adeline. - -Why no, Madam, he lives in a town of some note, at about the distance of -four leagues from hence; and affords one instance, among many others, -that the public opinion, is generally erroneous. You will hardly believe -it, but I assure you it is a fact, that this man comes into a great deal -of practice, while I am suffered to remain here neglected, and, indeed -very little known. - -During his narrative Adeline had been considering by what means she -could discover the name of the physician; for the instance that had been -produced to prove his _ignorance_, and the _infallibility_ of his -opponent, had completely settled her opinion concerning them both. She -now more than ever wished to deliver Theodore from the hands of the -surgeon, and was musing on the possibility, when he with so much -self-security, developed the means. - -She asked him a few more questions concerning the state of Theodore's -wound; and was told it was much as it had been, but that some degree of -fever had come on. But I have ordered a fire to be made in the room, -continued the surgeon, and some additional blankets to be laid on the -bed; these, I doubt not, will have a proper effect. In the mean time -they must be careful to keep from him every kind of liquid, except some -cordial draughts which I shall send. He will naturally ask for drink, -but it must on no account be given to him. - -You do not approve then of the method which I have somewhere heard of, -said Adeline, of attending to nature in these cases? - -Nature, Madam! pursued he, nature is the most improper guide in the -world: I always adopt a method directly contrary to what she would -suggest; for what can be the use of art, if she is only to follow -nature? This was my first opinion on setting out in life, and I have -ever since strictly adhered to it. From what I have said, indeed, Madam, -you may perhaps perceive that my opinions may be depended on; what they -once are they always are, for my mind is not of that frivolous kind to -be affected by circumstances. - -Adeline was fatigued by this discourse, and impatient to impart to -Theodore her discovery of a physician: but the surgeon seemed by no -means disposed to leave her, and was expatiating upon various topics, -with new instances of his surprising sagacity, when the waiter brought a -message that some person desired to see him. He was, however, engaged -upon too agreeable a topic to be easily prevailed upon to quit it, and -it was not till after a second message was brought that he made his bow -to Adeline and left the room. The moment he was gone she sent a note to -Theodore, entreating his permission to call in the assistance of the -physician. - -The conceited manners of the surgeon had by this time given Theodore a -very unfavourable opinion of his talents, and the last prescription had -so fully confirmed it, that he now readily consented to have other -advice. Adeline immediately inquired for a messenger; but recollecting -that the residence of the physician was still a secret, she applied to -the hostess, who being really ignorant of it, or pretending to be so, -gave her no information. What further inquiries she made were equally -ineffectual, and she passed some hours in extreme distress, while the -disorder of Theodore rather increased than abated. - -When supper appeared, she asked the boy who waited if he knew a -physician of the name of Lafance in the neighbourhood. Not in the -neighbourhood, Madame; but I know doctor Lafance of Chancy, for I come -from the town.--Adeline inquired further, and received very satisfactory -answers. But the town was at some leagues distance, and the delay this -circumstance must occasion again alarmed her; she, however, ordered a -messenger to be immediately dispatched, and having sent again to inquire -concerning Theodore, retired to her chamber for the night. - -The continued fatigue she had suffered for the last fourteen hours -overcame anxiety, and her harassed spirits sunk to repose. She slept -till late in the morning, and was then awakened by the landlady, who -came to inform her that Theodore was much worse, and to inquire what -should be done. Adeline, finding that the physician was not arrived, -immediately arose, and hastened to inquire further concerning Theodore. -The hostess informed her that he had passed a very disturbed night; that -he had complained of being very hot, and desired that the fire in his -room might be extinguished; but that the nurse knew her duty too well to -obey him, and had strictly followed the doctor's orders. - -She added, that he had taken the cordial draughts regularly, but had, -notwithstanding, continued to grow worse, and at last became -light-headed. In the mean time the boy who had been sent for the -physician was still absent:--And no wonder, continued the hostess; why, -only consider, it's eight leagues off, and the lad had to find the road, -bad as it is, in the dark. But indeed, Ma'mselle, you might as well have -trusted our doctor, for we never want any body else, not we, in the town -here; and if I might speak my mind, Jaques had better have been sent off -for the young gentleman's friends than for this strange doctor that -nobody knows. - -After asking some further questions concerning Theodore, the answers to -which rather increased than diminished her alarm, Adeline endeavoured to -compose her spirits, and await in patience the arrival of the physician. -She was now more sensible than ever of the forlornness of her own -condition, and of the danger of Theodore's, and earnestly wished that -his friends could be informed of his situation; a wish which could not -be gratified, for Theodore, who alone could acquaint her with their -place of residence, was deprived of recollection. - -When the surgeon arrived and perceived the situation of his patient, he -expressed no surprise; but having asked some questions and given a few -general directions, he went down to Adeline. After paying her his usual -compliments, he suddenly assumed an air of importance,--I am sorry -Madam, said he, that it is my office to communicate disagreeable -intelligence, but I wish you to be prepared for the event, which I fear, -is approaching. Adeline comprehended his meaning; and though she had -hitherto given little faith to his judgment, she could not hear him hint -at the immediate danger of Theodore without yielding to the influence of -fear. - -She entreated him to acquaint her with all he apprehended: and he then -proceeded to say that Theodore was, as he had foreseen, much worse this -morning than he had been the preceding night; and the disorder having -now affected his head, there was every reason to fear it would prove -fatal in a few hours. The worst consequences may ensue, continued he; if -the wound becomes inflamed, there will be very little chance of his -recovery. - -Adeline listened to this sentence with a dreadful calmness, and gave no -utterance to grief, either by words or tears. The gentleman, I suppose, -Madam, has friends, and the sooner you inform them of his condition the -better. If they reside at any distance, it is indeed too late; but there -are other necessary--You are ill, Madam! - -Adeline made an effort to speak, but in vain, and the surgeon now called -loudly for a glass of water; she drank it, and a deep sigh that she -uttered, seemed somewhat to relieve her oppressed heart: tears -succeeded. In the mean time the surgeon perceiving she was better, -though not well enough to listen to his conversation, took leave, and -promised to return in an hour. The physician was not yet arrived, and -Adeline awaited his appearance with a mixture of fear and anxious hope. - -About noon he came; and having been informed of the accident by which -the fever was produced, and of the treatment which the surgeon had given -it, he ascended to Theodore's chamber. In a quarter of an hour he -returned to the room where Adeline expected him: The gentleman is still -delirious, said he, but I have ordered him a composing draught.----Is -there any hope, Sir? inquired Adeline. Yes, Madam, certainly there is -hope; the case at present is somewhat doubtful, but a few hours may -enable me to judge with more certainty: in the mean time, I have -directed that he shall be kept quiet, and be allowed to drink freely of -some diluting liquids. - -He had scarcely, at Adeline's request, recommended a surgeon, instead of -the one at present employed, when the latter gentleman entered the room, -and perceiving the physician, threw a glance of mingled surprise and -anger at Adeline, who retired with him to another apartment, where she -dismissed him with a politeness which he did not deign to return, and -which he certainly did not deserve. - -Early the following morning the surgeon arrived; but either the -medicines or the crisis of the disorder had thrown Theodore into a deep -sleep, in which he remained for several hours. The physician now gave -Adeline reason to hope for a favourable issue, and every precaution was -taken to prevent his being disturbed. He awoke perfectly sensible and -free from fever; and his first words inquired for Adeline, who soon -learned that he was out of danger. - -In a few days he was sufficiently recovered to be removed from his -chamber to a room adjoining, where Adeline met him with a joy which she -found it impossible to repress; and the observance of this lighted up -his countenance with pleasure: indeed Adeline, sensible to the -attachment he had so nobly testified, and softened by the danger he had -encountered, no longer attempted to disguise the tenderness of her -esteem, and was at length brought to confess the interest his first -appearance had impressed upon her heart. - -After an hour of affecting conversation, in which the happiness of a -young and mutual attachment totally occupied their minds, and excluded -every idea not in unison with delight, they returned to a sense of their -present embarrassments. Adeline recollected that Theodore was arrested -for disobedience of orders, and deserting his post; and Theodore, that -he must shortly be torn away from Adeline, who would be left exposed to -all the evils from which he had so lately rescued her. This thought -overwhelmed his heart with anguish; and after a long pause he ventured -to propose what his wishes had often suggested--a marriage with Adeline -before he departed from the village: this was the only means of -preventing, perhaps, an eternal separation; and though he saw the many -dangerous inconveniences to which she would be exposed by a marriage -with a man circumstanced like himself, yet these appeared so unequal to -those she would otherwise be left to encounter alone, that his reason -could no longer scruple to adopt what his affection had suggested. - -Adeline was for some time too much agitated to reply: and though she had -little to oppose to the arguments and pleadings of Theodore; though she -had no friends to control, and no contrariety of interests to perplex -her, she could not bring herself to consent thus hastily to a marriage -with a man of whom she had little knowledge, and to whose family and -connexions she had no sort of introduction. At length she entreated he -would drop the subject; and the conversation for the remainder of the -day was more general, yet still interesting. - -That similarity of taste and opinion which had at first attracted them, -every moment now more fully disclosed. Their discourse was enriched by -elegant literature, and endeared by mutual regard. Adeline had enjoyed -few opportunities of reading; but the books to which she had access, -operating upon a mind eager for knowledge, and upon a taste peculiarly -sensible of the beautiful and the elegant, had impressed all their -excellences upon her understanding. Theodore had received from nature -many of the qualities of genius, and from education, all that it could -bestow; to these were added a noble independency of spirit, a feeling -heart, and manners which partook of a happy mixture of dignity and -sweetness. - -In the evening, one of the officers who, upon the representation of the -sergeant, was sent by the person employed to prosecute military -criminals, arrived at the village; and entering the apartment of -Theodore, from which Adeline immediately withdrew, informed him with an -air of infinite importance that he should set out on the following day -for head-quarters. Theodore answered that he was not able to bear the -journey, and referred him to his physician: but the officer replied that -he should take no such trouble, it being certain that the physician -might be instructed what to say, and that he should begin his journey on -the morrow. Here has been delay enough, said he, already; and you will -have sufficient business on your hands when you reach head-quarters; for -the sergeant whom you have severely wounded intends to appear against -you; and this, with the offence you have committed by deserting your -post---- - -Theodore's eyes flashed fire: Deserting! said he, rising from his seat -and darting a look of menace at his accuser--who dares to brand me with -the name of deserter? But instantly recollecting how much his conduct -had appeared to justify the accusation, he endeavoured to stifle his -emotions; and with a firm voice and composed manner said, that when he -reached head-quarters he should be ready to answer whatever might be -brought against him, but that till then he should be silent. The -boldness of the officer was repressed by the spirit and dignity with -which Theodore spoke these words, and muttering a reply that was -scarcely audible, he left the room. - -Theodore sat musing on the danger of his situation: he knew that he had -much to apprehend from the peculiar circumstances attending his abrupt -departure from his regiment, it having been stationed in a garrison town -upon the Spanish frontiers, where the discipline was very severe, and -from the power of his colonel, the Marquis de Montalt, whom pride and -disappointment would now rouse to vengeance, and probably render -indefatigable in the accomplishment of his destruction. But his thoughts -soon fled from his own danger to that of Adeline; and in the -consideration of this, all his fortitude forsook him: he could not -support the idea of leaving her exposed to the evils he foreboded, nor, -indeed, of a separation so sudden as that which now threatened him: and -when she again entered the room, he renewed his solicitations for a -speedy marriage, with all the arguments that tenderness and ingenuity -could suggest. - -Adeline, when she learned that he was to depart on the morrow, felt as -if bereaved of her last comfort: all the horrors of his situation arose -to her mind, and she turned from him in unutterable anguish. Considering -her silence as a favourable presage, he repeated his entreaties that she -would consent to be his, and thus give him a surety that their -separation should not be eternal. Adeline sighed deeply to these words: -And who can know that our separation will not be eternal, said she, even -if I could consent to the marriage you propose? But while you hear my -determination, forbear to accuse me of indifference; for indifference -towards you would indeed be a crime, after the services you have -rendered me. - -And is a cold sentiment of gratitude all that I must expect from you? -said Theodore. I know that you are going to distress me with a proof of -your indifference, which you mistake for the suggestions of prudence; -and that I shall be compelled to look without reluctance upon the evils -that may shortly await me. Ah, Adeline! if you mean to reject this, -perhaps the last proposal which I can ever make to you, cease at least -to deceive yourself with an idea that you love me--that delirium is -fading even from my mind. - -Can you then so soon forget our conversation of this morning? replied -Adeline; and can you think so lightly of me as to believe I would -profess a regard which I do not feel? If indeed you can believe this, I -shall do well to forget that I ever made such an acknowledgement, and -you that you heard it. - -Forgive me, Adeline, forgive the doubts and inconsistencies I have -betrayed: let the anxieties of love, and the emergency of my -circumstances, plead for me. Adeline; smiling faintly through her tears, -held out her hand, which he seized and pressed to his lips. Yet do not -drive me to despair by a rejection of my suit, continued Theodore; think -what I must suffer to leave you here destitute of friends and -protection. - -I am thinking how I may avoid a situation so deplorable, said Adeline. -They say there is a convent which receives boarders, within a few miles, -and thither I wish to go. - -A convent! rejoined Theodore; would you go to a convent? Do you know the -persecutions you would be liable to; and that if the Marquis should -discover you, there is little probability the superior would resist his -authority, or at least his bribes? - -All this I have considered, said Adeline, and am prepared to encounter -it, rather than enter into an engagement which at this time can be -productive only of misery to us both. - -Ah, Adeline! could you think thus, if you truly loved? I see myself -about to be separated, and that perhaps for ever, from the object of my -tenderest affections; and I cannot but express all the anguish I feel--I -cannot forbear to repeat every argument that may afford even the -slightest possibility of altering your determination. But _you_, -Adeline, you look with complacency upon a circumstance which tortures -_me_ with despair. - -Adeline, who had long strove to support her spirits in his presence, -while she adhered to a resolution which reason suggested, but which the -pleadings of her heart powerfully opposed, was unable longer to command -her distress, and burst into tears. Theodore was in the same moment -convinced of his error, and shocked at the grief he had occasioned. He -drew his chair towards her, and taking her hand, again entreated her -pardon, and endeavoured in the tenderest accents to soothe and comfort -her.--What a wretch was I to cause you this distress, by questioning -that regard with which I can no longer doubt you honour me! Forgive me, -Adeline; say but you forgive me, and whatever may be the pain of this -separation, I will no longer oppose it. - -You have given me some pain, said Adeline, but you have not offended -me.--She then mentioned some further particulars concerning the convent. -Theodore endeavoured to conceal the distress which the approaching -separation occasioned him, and to consult with her on these plans with -composure. His judgment by degrees prevailed over his passions, and he -now perceived that the plan she suggested, would afford her best chance -of security. He considered, what in the first agitation of his mind had -escaped him, that he might be condemned upon the charges brought against -him, and that his death, should they have been married, would not only -deprive her of her protector, but leave her more immediately exposed to -the designs of the Marquis, who would doubtless attend his trial. -Astonished that he had not noticed this before, and shocked at the -unwariness by which he might have betrayed her into so dangerous a -situation, he became at once reconciled to the idea of leaving her in a -convent. He could have wished to place her in the asylum of his own -family: but the circumstances under which she must be introduced were so -awkward and painful, and above all, the distance at which they resided -would render a journey so highly dangerous for her, that he forbore to -propose it. He entreated only that she would allow him to write to her; -but recollecting that his letters might be a means of betraying the -place of her residence to the Marquis, he checked himself: I must deny -myself even this melancholy pleasure, said he, lest my letters should -discover your abode; yet hew shall I be able to endure the impatience -and uncertainty to which prudence condemns me! If you are in danger, I -shall be ignorant of it; though, indeed, did I know it, said he with a -look of despair, I could not fly to save you. O exquisite misery! 'tis -now only I perceive all the horrors of confinement--'tis now only that I -understand all the value of liberty. - -His utterance was interrupted by the violent agitation of his mind; he -arose from his chair, and walked with quick paces about the room. -Adeline sat, overcome by the description which Theodore had given of his -approaching situation, and by the consideration that she might remain in -the most terrible suspense concerning his fate. She saw him in a -prison--pale--emaciated, and in chains:--she saw all the vengeance of -the Marquis descending upon him; and this for his noble exertions in her -cause. Theodore, alarmed by the placid despair expressed in her -countenance, threw himself into a chair by hers, and taking her hand, -attempted to speak comfort to her; but the words faltered on his lips, -and he could only bathe her hand with tears. - -This mournful silence was interrupted by the arrival of the carriage at -the inn, and Theodore, arising, went to the window that opened into the -yard. The darkness of the night prevented his distinguishing the objects -without, but a light now brought from the house showed him a carriage -and four, attended by several servants. Presently he saw a gentleman, -wrapped up in a roquelaure, alight and enter the inn, and in the next -moment he heard the voice of the Marquis. - -He had flown to support Adeline, who was sinking with terror, when the -door opened, and the Marquis followed by the officers and several -servants entered. Fury flashed from his eyes as they glanced upon -Theodore, who hung over Adeline with a look of fearful solicitude--Seize -that traitor, said he, turning to the officers; why have you suffered -him to remain here so long? - -I am no traitor, said Theodore with a firm voice and the dignity of -conscious worth, but a defender of innocence, of one whom the -treacherous Marquis de Montalt would destroy. - -Obey your orders, said the Marquis to the officers. Adeline shrieked, -held faster by Theodore's arm, and entreated the men not to part them. -Force only can effect it, said Theodore, as he looked round for some -instrument of defence; but he could see none, and in the same moment -they surrounded and seized him. Dread every thing from my vengeance, -said the Marquis to Theodore, as he caught the hand of Adeline, who had -lost all power of resistance and was scarcely sensible of what passed; -dread every thing from my vengeance; you know you have deserved it. - -I defy your vengeance, cried Theodore, and dread only the pangs of -conscience, which your power cannot inflict upon me, though your vices -condemn you to its tortures. - -Take him instantly from the room, and see that he is strongly fettered, -said the Marquis; he shall soon know what a criminal who adds insolence -to guilt may suffer.--Theodore exclaiming, Oh, Adeline! farewell! was -now forced out of the room; while Adeline, whose torpid senses were -roused by his voice and his last looks, fell at the feet of the Marquis, -and with tears of agony implored compassion for Theodore: but her -pleadings for his rival served only to irritate the pride and exasperate -the hatred of the Marquis. He denounced vengeance on his head, and -imprecations too dreadful for the spirits of Adeline, whom he compelled -to rise; and then endeavouring to stifle the emotions of rage, which the -presence of Theodore had excited, he began to address her with his usual -expressions of admiration. - -The wretched Adeline, who, regardless of what he said, still endeavoured -to plead for her unhappy lover, was at length alarmed by the returning -rage which the countenance of the Marquis expressed; and exerting all -her remaining strength, she sprung from his grasp towards the door of -the room: but he seized her hand before she could reach it, and -regardless of her shrieks, bringing her back to her chair, was going to -speak, when voices were heard in the passage, and immediately the -landlord and his wife, whom Adeline's cries had alarmed, entered the -apartment. The Marquis, turning furiously at them, demanded what they -wanted; but not waiting for an answer, he bade them attend him, and -quitting the room, she heard the door locked upon her. - -[Illustration 06] - -Adeline now ran to the windows, which were unfastened and opened into -the inn-yard. All was dark and silent. She called aloud for help, but no -person appeared; and the windows were so high that it was impossible to -escape unassisted. She walked about the room in an agony of terror and -distress, now stooping to listen, and fancying she heard voices -disputing below and now quickening her steps, as suspense increased the -agitation of her mind. - -She had continued in this state for near half an hour, when she suddenly -heard a violent noise in the lower part of the house, which increased -till all was uproar and confusion. People passed quickly through the -passages, and doors were frequently opened and shut. She called, but -received no answer. It immediately occurred to her that Theodore, having -heard her screams, had attempted to come to her assistance, and that the -bustle had been occasioned by the opposition of the officers. Knowing -their fierceness and cruelty, she was seized with dreadful apprehensions -for the life of Theodore. - -A confused uproar of voices now sounded from below, and the screams of -women convinced her there was fighting; she even thought she heard the -clashing of swords: the image of Theodore dying by the hands of the -Marquis now rose to her imagination, and the terrors of suspense became -almost insupportable. She made a desperate effort to force the door, and -again called for help; but her trembling hands were powerless, and every -person in the house seemed to be too much engaged even to hear her. A -loud shriek now pierced her ears, and amidst the tumult that followed -she clearly distinguished deep groans. This confirmation of her fears -deprived her of all her remaining spirits, and growing faint, she sunk -almost lifeless into a chair near the door. The uproar gradually -subsided till all was still, but nobody returned to her. Soon after she -heard voices in the yard, but she had no power to walk across the room, -even to ask the questions she wished, yet feared, to have answered. - -About a quarter of an hour elapsed, when the door was unlocked, and the -hostess appeared with a countenance as pale as death. For God's sake, -said Adeline, tell me what has happened? Is he wounded? Is he killed? - -He is not dead, Ma'mselle, but-- - -He is dying then?--tell me where he is--let me go. - -Stop, Ma'mselle, cried the hostess, you are to stay here, I only want -the hartshorn out of that cupboard there. Adeline tried to escape by the -door; but the hostess, pushing her aside, locked it, and went down -stairs. - -Adeline's distress now entirely overcame her, and she sat motionless and -scarcely conscious that she existed, till roused by a sound of footsteps -near the door, which was again opened, and three men, whom she knew to -be the Marquis's servants entered. She had sufficient recollection to -repeat the questions she had asked the landlady; but they answered only -that she must come with them, and that a chaise was waiting for her at -the door. Still she urged her questions. Tell me if he lives, cried -she.--Yes, Ma'mselle, he is alive, but he is terribly wounded, and the -surgeon is just come to him. As they spoke they hurried her along the -passage: and without noticing her entreaties and supplications to know -whither she was going, they had reached the foot of the stairs, when her -cries brought several people to the door. To these the hostess related -that the lady was the wife of a gentleman just arrived, who had -overtaken her in her flight with a gallant; an account which the -Marquis's servants corroborated. 'Tis the gentleman who has just fought -the duel, added the hostess, and it was on her account. - -Adeline, partly disdaining to take any notice of this artful story, and -partly from her desire to know the particulars of what had happened, -contented herself with repeating her inquiries; to which one of the -spectators at last replied, that the gentleman was desperately wounded. -The Marquis's people would now have hurried her into the chaise, but she -sunk lifeless in their arms; and her condition so interested the -humanity of the spectators, that, notwithstanding their belief of what -had been said, they opposed the effort made to carry her, senseless as -she was, into the carriage. - -She was at length taken into a room, and by proper applications restored -to her senses. There she so earnestly besought an explanation of what -had happened, that the hostess acquainted her with some particulars of -the late rencounter. When the gentleman that was ill heard your screams, -Madam, said she, he became quite outrageous, as they tell me, and -nothing could pacify him. The Marquis, for they say he is a Marquis, but -you know best, was then in the room with my husband and I, and when he -heard the uproar, he went down to see what was the matter; and when he -came into the room where the Captain was, he found him struggling with -the sergeant. Then the Captain was more outrageous than ever; and -notwithstanding he had one leg chained, and no sword, he contrived to -get the sergeant's cutlass out of the scabbard, and immediately flew at -the Marquis, and wounded him desperately; upon which he was secured.--It -is the Marquis then who is wounded, said Adeline; the other gentleman is -not hurt? - -No, not he, replied the hostess; but he will smart for it by and by, for -the Marquis swears he will do for him. Adeline for a moment forgot all -her misfortunes and all her danger in thankfulness for the immediate -escape of Theodore; and she was proceeding to make some further -inquiries concerning him, when the Marquis's servants entered the room, -and declared they could wait no longer. Adeline, now awakened to a sense -of the evils with which she was threatened, endeavoured to win the pity -of the hostess, who however was, or affected to be, convinced of the -truth of the Marquis's story, and therefore insensible to all she could -urge. Again she addressed his servants, but in vain; they would neither -suffer her to remain longer at the inn, nor inform her whither she was -going; but in the presence of several persons, already prejudiced by the -injurious assertions of the hostess, Adeline was hurried into the -chaise, and her conductors mounting their horses, the whole party was -very soon beyond the village. - -Thus ended Adeline's share of an adventure, begun with a prospect not -only of security, but of happiness--an adventure which had attached her -more closely to Theodore, and shown him to be more worthy of her love; -but which, at the same time, had distressed her by new disappointment, -produced the imprisonment of her generous and now adored lover, and -delivered both himself and her into the power of a rival irritated by -delay, contempt, and opposition. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave, -Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave, -Where flame-eyed fury means to frown--can save. - - -The surgeon of the place, having examined the Marquis's wound, gave him -an immediate opinion upon it, and ordered that he should be put to bed: -but the Marquis, ill as he was, had scarcely any other apprehension than -that of losing Adeline, and declared he should be able to begin his -journey in a few hours. With this intention he had begun to give orders -for keeping horses in readiness, when the surgeon persisting most -seriously, and even passionately to exclaim that his life would be the -sacrifice of his rashness, he was carried to a bedchamber, where his -valet alone was permitted to attend him. - -This man, the convenient confident of all his intrigues, had been the -chief instrument in assisting his designs concerning Adeline, and was -indeed the very person who had brought her to the Marquis's villa on the -borders of the forest. To him the Marquis gave his further directions -concerning her: and, foreseeing the inconvenience as well as the danger -of detaining her at the inn, he had ordered him, with several other -servants, to carry her away immediately in a hired carriage. The valet -having gone to execute his orders, the Marquis was left to his own -reflections, and to the violence of contending passions. - -The reproaches and continued opposition of Theodore, the favoured lover -of Adeline, exasperated his pride and roused all his malice. He could -not for a moment consider this opposition, which was in some respects -successful, without feeling an excess of indignation and inveteracy, -such as the prospect of a speedy revenge could alone enable him to -support. - -When he had discovered Adeline's escape from the villa, his surprise at -first equalled his disappointment; and, after exhausting the paroxysms -of his rage upon his domestics, he dispatched them all different ways in -pursuit of her, going himself to the abbey, in the faint hope that, -destitute as she was of other succour, she might have fled thither. La -Motte, however, being as much surprised as himself, and as ignorant of -the route which Adeline had taken, he returned to the villa impatient of -intelligence, and found some of his servants arrived, without any news -of Adeline, and those who came afterwards were as successless as the -first. - -A few days after, a letter from the lieutenant-colonel of the regiment -informed him, that Theodore had quitted his company, and had been for -some time absent, nobody knew where. This information, confirming a -suspicion which had frequently occurred to him, that Theodore had been -by some means or other instrumental in the escape of Adeline, all his -other passions became for a time subservient to his revenge, and he gave -orders for the immediate pursuit and apprehension of Theodore: but -Theodore, in the mean time, had been overtaken and secured. - -It was in consequence of having formerly observed the growing partiality -between him and Adeline, and of intelligence received from La Motte, who -had noticed their interview in the forest, that the Marquis had resolved -to remove a rival so dangerous to his love, and so likely to be informed -of his designs. He had therefore told Theodore, in a manner as plausible -as he could, that it would be necessary for him to join the regiment; a -notice which affected him only as it related to Adeline, and which -seemed the less extraordinary, as he had already been at the villa a -much longer time than was usual with the officers invited by the -Marquis. Theodore, indeed, very well knew the character of the Marquis, -and had accepted his invitation rather from an unwillingness to show any -disrespect to his colonel by a refusal, than from a sanguine expectation -of pleasure. - -From the men who had apprehended Theodore, the Marquis received the -information, which had enabled him to pursue and recover Adeline; but -though he had now effected this, he was internally a prey to the -corrosive effects of disappointed passion and exasperated pride. The -anguish of his wound was almost forgotten in that of his mind, and every -pang he felt seemed to increase his thirst of revenge, and to recoil -with new torture upon his heart. While he was in this state, he heard -the voice of the innocent Adeline imploring protection; but her cries -excited in him neither pity nor remorse: and when, soon after, the -carriage drove away, and he was certain both that she was secured and -Theodore was wretched, he seemed to feel some cessation of mental pain. - -Theodore, indeed, did suffer all that a virtuous mind, labouring under -oppression so severe, could feel; but he was at least free from those -inveterate and malignant passions which tore the bosom of the Marquis, -and which inflict upon the professor a punishment more severe than any -they can prompt him to imagine for another. What indignation he might -feel towards the Marquis, was at this time secondary to his anxiety for -Adeline. His captivity was painful, as it prevented his seeking a just -and honourable revenge; but it was dreadful, as it withheld him from -attempting the rescue of her whom he loved more than life. - -When he heard the wheels of the carriage that contained her drive off, -he felt an agony of despair which almost overcame his reason. Even the -stern hearts of the soldiers who attended him were not wholly insensible -to his wretchedness, and by venturing to blame the conduct of the -Marquis they endeavoured to console their prisoner. The physician, who -was just arrived, entered the room during this paroxysm of his distress, -and both feeling and expressing much concern at his condition, inquired -with strong surprise why he had been thus precipitately removed to a -room so very unfit for his reception? - -Theodore explained to him the reason of this, of the distress he -suffered, and of the chains by which he was disgraced; and perceiving -the physician listened to him with attention and compassion, he became -desirous of acquainting him with some further particulars, for which -purpose he desired the soldiers to leave the room. The men, complying -with his request, stationed themselves on the outside of the door. - -He then related all the particulars of the late transaction, and of his -connection with the Marquis. The physician attended to his narrative -with deep concern, and his countenance frequently expressed strong -agitation. When Theodore concluded, he remained for some time silent and -lost in thought; at length, awaking from his reverie, he said, I fear -your situation is desperate: the character of the Marquis is too well -known to suffer him either to be loved or respected; from such a man you -have nothing to hope, for he has scarcely any thing to fear: I wish it -was in my power to serve you, but I see no possibility of it. - -Alas! said Theodore, my situation is indeed desperate, and--for that -suffering angel--deep sobs interrupted his voice, and the violence of -his agitation would not allow him to proceed. The physician could only -express the sympathy he felt for his distress, and entreat him to be -more calm, when a servant entered the room from the Marquis, who desired -to see the physician immediately. After some time, he said he would -attend the Marquis; and having endeavoured to attain a degree of -composure which he found it difficult to assume, he wrung the hand of -Theodore and quitted the room, promising to return before he left the -house. - -He found the Marquis much agitated both in body and mind, and rather -more apprehensive for the consequences of the wound than he had -expected. His anxiety for Theodore now suggested a plan, by the -execution of which he hoped he might be able to serve him. Having felt -his patient's pulse, and asked some questions, he assumed a very serious -look; when the Marquis, who watched every turn of his countenance, -desired he would, without hesitation, speak his opinion. - -I am sorry to alarm you, my Lord, but here is some reason for -apprehension: how long is it since you received the wound. - -Good God! there is danger then! cried the Marquis, adding some bitter -execrations against Theodore.--There certainly _is_ danger, replied the -physician; a few hours may enable me to determine its degree. - -A few hours, Sir! interrupted the Marquis; a few hours! The physician -entreated him to be more calm. Confusion! cried the Marquis: a man in -health may, with great composure, entreat a dying man to be calm. -Theodore will be broke upon the wheel for it, however. - -You mistake me, Sir, said the physician; if I believed you a dying man, -or, indeed, _very_ near death, I should not have spoken as I did. But it -is of consequence I should know how long the wound has been -inflicted.--The Marquis's terror now began to subside, and he gave a -circumstantial account of the affray with Theodore, representing that he -had been basely used in an affair where his own conduct had been -perfectly just and humane. The physician heard this relation with great -coolness, and when it concluded without making any comment upon it, told -the Marquis he would prescribe a medicine which he wished him to take -immediately. - -The Marquis again alarmed by the gravity of his manner, entreated he -would declare most seriously, whether he thought him in immediate -danger. The physician hesitated, and the anxiety of the Marquis -increased: It is of consequence, said he, that I should know my exact -situation. The physician then said, that if he had any worldly affairs -to settle, it would be as well to attend to them, for that it was -impossible to say what might be the event. - -He then turned the discourse, and said he had just been with the young -officer under arrest, who, he hoped, would not be removed at present, as -such a procedure must endanger his life. The Marquis uttered a dreadful -oath, and, cursing Theodore for having brought him to his present -condition, said he should depart with the guard that very night. Against -the cruelty of this sentence the physician ventured to expostulate; and -endeavouring to awaken the Marquis to a sense of humanity, pleaded -earnestly for Theodore. But these entreaties and arguments seemed, by -displaying to the Marquis a part of his own character, to rouse his -resentment and rekindle all the violence of his passions. - -The physician at length withdrew in despondency, after promising, at the -Marquis's request, not to leave the inn. He had hoped, by aggravating -his danger, to obtain some advantages both for Adeline and Theodore; but -the plan had quite a contrary effect: for the apprehension of death, so -dreadful to the guilty mind of the Marquis, instead of awakening -penitence, increased his desire of vengeance against the man who had -brought him to such a situation. He determined to have Adeline conveyed -where Theodore, should he by any accident escape, could never obtain -her; and thus to secure to himself at least some means of revenge. He -knew, however, that when Theodore was once safely conveyed to his -regiment, his destruction was certain; for should he even be acquitted -of the intention of deserting, he would be condemned for having -assaulted his superior officer. - -The physician returned to the room where Theodore was confined. The -violence of his distress was now subsided into a stern despair more -dreadful than the vehemence which had lately possessed him. The guard, -in compliance with his request, having left the room, the physician -repeated to him some part of his conversation with the Marquis. -Theodore, after expressing his thanks, said he had nothing more to hope. -For himself he felt little; it was for his family and Adeline he -suffered. He inquired what route she had taken; and though he had no -prospect of deriving advantage from the information, desired the -physician to assist him in obtaining it: but the landlord and his wife -either were, or affected to be, ignorant of the matter, and it was in -vain to apply to any other person. - -The sergeant now entered with orders from the Marquis for the immediate -departure of Theodore, who heard the message with composure, though the -physician could not help expressing his indignation at this precipitate -removal, and his dread of the consequences that might attend it. -Theodore had scarcely time to declare his gratitude for the kindness of -this valuable friend, before the soldiers entered the room to conduct -him to the carriage in waiting. As he bade him farewell, Theodore -slipped his purse into his hand, and turning abruptly away, told the -soldiers to lead on: but the physician stopped him, and refused the -present with such serious warmth that he was compelled to resume it. He -wrung the hand of his new friend, and being unable to speak, hurried -away. The whole party immediately set off; and the unhappy Theodore was -left to the remembrance of his past hopes and sufferings, to his anxiety -for the fate of Adeline, the contemplation of his present wretchedness, -and the apprehension of what might be reserved for him in future. For -himself, indeed, he saw nothing but destruction, and was only relieved -from total despair by a feeble hope that she whom he loved better than -himself might one time enjoy that happiness of which he did not venture -to look for a participation. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, -_I knit my handkerchief about your brows_, -And with my hand at midnight held your head; -And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. -Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time. - -KING JOHN. - -If the midnight bell -Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, -Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; -If this same were a church-yard where we stand, -And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; -Or if that surly spirit Melancholy -Had baked thy blood and made it heavy, thick; -Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, -I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. - -KING JOHN. - - -Meanwhile the persecuted Adeline continued to travel, with little -interruption, all night. Her mind suffered such a tumult of grief, -regret, despair, and terror, that she could not be said to think. The -Marquis's valet, who had placed himself in the chaise with her, at first -seemed inclined to talk; but her inattention soon silenced him, and left -her to the indulgence of her own misery. - -They seemed to travel through obscure lanes and by-ways, along which the -carriage drove as furiously as the darkness would permit. When the dawn -appeared, she perceived herself on the borders of a forest, and renewed -her entreaties to know whither she was going. The man replied he had no -orders to tell, but she would soon see. Adeline, who had hitherto -supposed they were carrying her to the villa, now began to doubt it; and -as every place appeared less terrible to her imagination than that, her -despair began to abate, and she thought only of the devoted Theodore, -whom she knew to be the victim of malice and revenge. - -They now entered upon the forest, and it occurred to her that she was -going to the abbey; for though she had no remembrance of the scenery -through which she passed, it was not the less probable that this was the -forest of Fontanville, whose boundaries were by much too extensive to -have come within the circle of her former walks. This conjecture revived -a terror little inferior to that occasioned by the idea of going to the -villa; for at the abbey she would be equally in the power of the -Marquis, and also in that of her cruel enemy La Motte. Her mind revolted -at the picture her fancy drew; and as the carriage moved under the -shades, she threw from the window a look of eager inquiry for some -object which might confirm or destroy her present surmise: she did not -long look, before an opening in the forest showed her the distant towers -of the abbey--I am, indeed, lost then, said she, bursting into tears. - -They were soon at the foot of the lawn, and Peter was seen running to -open the gate, at which the carriage stopped. When he saw Adeline, he -looked surprised and made an effort to speak; but the chaise now drove -up to the abbey, where, at the door of the hall, La Motte himself -appeared. As he advanced to take her from the carriage, an universal -trembling seized her; it was with the utmost difficulty she supported -herself, and for some moments she neither observed his countenance nor -heard his voice. He offered his arm to assist her into the abbey, which -she at first refused, but having tottered a few paces was obliged to -accept; they then entered the vaulted room, where, sinking into a chair, -a flood of tears came to her relief. La Motte did not interrupt the -silence, which continued for some time, but paced the room in seeming -agitation. When Adeline was sufficiently recovered to notice external -objects, she observed his countenance, and there read the tumult of his -soul, while he was struggling to assume a firmness which his better -feelings opposed. - -La Motte now took her hand, and would have led her from the room; but -she stopped, and with a kind of desperate courage made an effort to -engage him to pity and to save her. He interrupted her; It is not in my -power, said he in a voice of emotion; I am not master of myself or my -conduct; inquire no further--it is sufficient for you to know that I -pity you; more I cannot do. He gave her no time to reply, but taking her -hand led her to the stairs of the tower, and from thence to the chamber -she had formerly occupied. - -Here you must remain for the present, said he, in a confinement which -is, perhaps, almost as involuntary on my part as it can be on yours. I -am willing to render it as easy as possible, and have therefore ordered -some books to be brought you. - -Adeline made an effort to speak; but he hurried from the room, seemingly -ashamed of the part he had undertaken, and unwilling to trust himself -with her tears. She heard the door of the chamber locked; and then -looking towards the windows, perceived they were secured: the door that -led to the other apartments was also fastened. Such preparation for -security shocked her; and hopeless as she had long believed herself, she -now perceived her mind sink deeper in despair. When the tears she shed -had somewhat relieved her, and her thoughts could turn from the subjects -of her immediate concern, she was thankful for the total seclusion -allotted her, since it would spare her the pain she must feel in the -presence of Monsieur and Madame La Motte, and allow the unrestrained -indulgence of her own sorrow and reflection; reflection which, however -distressing, was preferable to the agony inflicted on the mind when, -agitated by care and fear, it is obliged to assume an appearance of -tranquillity. - -In about a quarter of an hour her chamber door was unlocked, and Annette -appeared with refreshments and books: she expressed satisfaction at -seeing Adeline again, but seemed fearful of speaking, knowing, probably, -that it was contrary to the orders of La Motte, who, she said, was -waiting at the bottom of the stairs. When Annette was gone, Adeline took -some refreshment, which was indeed necessary, for she had tasted nothing -since she left the inn. She was pleased, but not surprised, that Madame -La Motte did not appear, who, it was evident, shunned her from a -consciousness of her own ungenerous conduct,--a consciousness which -offered some presumption that she was still not wholly unfriendly to -her. She reflected upon the words of La Motte,--I am not master of -myself or my conduct,--and though they afforded her no hope, she derived -some comfort, poor as it was, from the belief that he pitied her. After -some time spent in miserable reflection and various conjectures, her -long-agitated spirits seemed to demand repose, and she lay down to -sleep. - -Adeline slept quietly for several hours, and awoke with a mind refreshed -and tranquillized. To prolong this temporary peace, and to prevent -therefore the intrusion of her own thoughts, she examined the books La -Motte had sent her: among these she found some that in happier times had -elevated her mind and interested her heart: their effect was now -weakened; they were still, however, able to soften for a time the sense -of her misfortunes. - -But this Lethean medicine to a wounded mind was but a temporary -blessing; the entrance of La Motte dissolved the illusions of the page, -and awakened her to a sense of her own situation. He came with food, and -having placed it on the table left the room without speaking. Again she -endeavoured to read, but his appearance had broken the enchantment; -bitter reflection returned to her mind, and brought with it the image of -Theodore--of Theodore lost to her for ever! - -La Motte meanwhile experienced all the terrors that could be inflicted -by a conscience not wholly hardened to guilt. He had been led on by -passion to dissipation, and from dissipation to vice; but having once -touched the borders of infamy, the progressive steps followed each other -fast, and he now saw himself the pander of a villain, and the betrayer -of an innocent girl whom every plea of justice and humanity called upon -him to protect. He contemplated his picture--he shrunk from it, but he -could change its deformity only by an effort too nobly daring for a mind -already effeminated by vice. He viewed the dangerous labyrinth into -which he was led, and perceived, as if for the first time, the -progression of his guilt: from this labyrinth he weakly imagined further -guilt could alone extricate him. Instead of employing his mind upon the -means of saving Adeline from destruction, and himself from being -instrumental to it, he endeavoured only to lull the pangs of conscience, -and to persuade himself into a belief that he must proceed in the course -he had begun. He knew himself to be in the power of the Marquis, and he -dreaded that power more than the sure though distant punishment that -awaits upon guilt. The honour of Adeline, and the quiet of his own -conscience, he consented to barter for a few years of existence. - -He was ignorant of the present illness of the Marquis, or he would have -perceived that there was a chance of escaping the threatened punishment -at a price less enormous than infamy, and he would perhaps have -endeavoured to save Adeline and himself by flight. But the Marquis, -foreseeing the possibility of this, had ordered his servants carefully -to conceal the circumstance which detained him, and to acquaint La Motte -that he should be at the abbey in a few days, at the same time directing -his valet to await him there. Adeline, as he expected, had neither -inclination nor opportunity to mention it; and thus La Motte remained -ignorant of the circumstance which might have preserved him from further -guilt and Adeline from misery. - -Most unwillingly had La Motte made his wife acquainted with the action -which had made him absolutely dependent upon the will of the Marquis; -but the perturbation of his mind partly betrayed him: frequently in his -sleep he muttered incoherent sentences, and frequently would start from -his slumber, and call in passionate exclamation upon Adeline. These -instances of a disturbed mind had alarmed and terrified Madame La Motte, -who watched while he slept, and soon gathered from his words a confused -idea of the Marquis's designs. - -She hinted her suspicions to La Motte, who reproved her for having -entertained them; but his manner, instead of repressing, increased her -fears for Adeline; fears, which the conduct of the Marquis soon -confirmed. On the night that he slept at the abbey, it had occurred to -her that whatever scheme was in agitation it would now most probably be -discussed; and anxiety for Adeline made her stoop to a meanness which, -in other circumstances, would have been despicable. She quitted her -room, and concealing herself in an apartment adjoining that in which she -had left the Marquis and her husband, listened to their discourse. It -turned upon the subject she had expected, and disclosed to her the full -extent of their designs. Terrified for Adeline, and shocked at the -guilty weakness of La Motte, she was for some time incapable of -thinking, or determining how to proceed. She knew her husband to be -under great obligation to the Marquis, whose territory thus afforded him -a shelter from the world, and that it was in the power of the former to -betray him into the hands of his enemies. She believed also that the -Marquis would do this, if provoked: yet she thought, upon such an -occasion, La Motte might find some way of appeasing the Marquis without -subjecting himself to dishonour. After some further reflection, her mind -became more composed, and she returned to her chamber, where La Motte -soon followed. Her spirits, however, were not now in a state to -encounter either his displeasure or his opposition, which she had too -much reason to expect whenever she should mention the subject of her -concern, and she therefore resolved not to notice it till the morrow. - -On the morrow she told La Motte all he had uttered in his dreams; and -mentioned other circumstances, which convinced him it was in vain any -longer to deny the truth of her apprehensions. His wife then represented -to him how possible it was to avoid the infamy into which he was about -to plunge, by quitting the territories of the Marquis; and pleaded so -warmly for Adeline, that La Motte in sullen silence appeared to meditate -upon the plan. His thoughts were however very differently engaged. He -was conscious of having deserved from the Marquis a dreadful punishment, -and knew that if he exasperated him by refusing to acquiesce with his -wishes, he had little to expect from flight, for the eye of justice and -revenge would pursue him with indefatigable research. - -La Motte meditated how to break this to his wife, for he perceived that -there was no other method of counteracting her virtuous compassion for -Adeline, and the dangerous consequences to be expected from it, than by -opposing it with terror for his safety; and this could be done only by -showing her the full extent of the evils that must attend the resentment -of the Marquis. Vice had not yet so entirely darkened his conscience, -but that the blush of shame stained his cheek, and his tongue faltered -when he would have told his guilt. At length, finding it impossible to -mention particulars, he told her that on account of an affair which no -entreaties should ever induce him to explain, his life was in the power -of the Marquis. You see the alternative, said he, take your choice of -evils; and, if you can, tell Adeline of her danger, and sacrifice my -life to save her from a situation which many would be ambitious to -obtain.--Madame La Motte, condemned to the horrible alternative of -permitting the seduction of innocence, or of dooming her husband to -destruction, suffered a distraction of thought which defied all control. -Perceiving, however, that an opposition to the designs of the Marquis -would ruin La Motte and avail Adeline little, she determined to yield -and endure in silence. - -At the time when Adeline was planning her escape from the abbey, the -significant looks of Peter had led La Motte to suspect the truth and to -observe them more closely. He had seen them separate in the hall with -apparent confusion, and had afterwards observed them conversing together -in the cloisters. Circumstances so unusual left him not a doubt that -Adeline had discovered her danger, and was concerting with Peter some -means of escape. Affecting, therefore, to be informed of the whole -affair, he charged Peter with treachery towards himself, and threatened -him with the vengeance of the Marquis if he did not disclose all he -knew. The menace intimidated Peter, and supposing that all chance of -assisting Adeline was gone, he made a circumstantial confession, and -promised to forbear acquainting Adeline with the discovery of the -scheme. In this promise he was seconded by inclination, for he feared to -meet the displeasure which Adeline, believing he had betrayed her, might -express. - -On the evening of the day on which Adeline's intended escape was -discovered, the Marquis designed to come to the abbey, and it had been -agreed that he should then take Adeline to his villa. La Motte had -immediately perceived the advantage of permitting Adeline to repair, in -the belief of being undiscovered, to the tomb. It would prevent much -disturbance and opposition, and spare himself the pain he must feel in -her presence, when she should know that he had betrayed her. A servant -of the Marquis might go at the appointed hour to the tomb, and wrapt in -the disguise of night might take her quietly thence in the character of -Peter. Thus, without resistance she would be carried to the villa, nor -discover her mistake till it was too late to prevent its consequence. - -When the Marquis did arrive, La Motte, who was not so much intoxicated -by the wine he had drunk as to forget his prudence, informed him of what -had happened and what he had planned; and the Marquis approving it, his -servant was made acquainted with the signal, which afterwards betrayed -Adeline to his power. - -A deep consciousness of the unworthy neutrality she had observed in -Adeline's concerns, made Madame La Motte anxiously avoid seeing her now -that she was again in the abbey. Adeline understood this conduct; and -she rejoiced that she was spared the anguish of meeting her as an enemy, -whom she had once considered as a friend. Several days now passed in -solitude, in miserable retrospection, and dreadful expectation. The -perilous situation of Theodore was almost the constant subject of her -thoughts. Often did she breathe an agonizing wish for his safety, and -often look round the sphere of possibility in search of hope: but hope -had almost left the horizon of her prospect, and when it did appear, it -sprung only from the death of the Marquis, whose vengeance threatened -most certain destruction. - -The Marquis, meanwhile, lay at the inn at Caux, in a state of very -doubtful recovery. The physician and surgeon, neither of whom he would -dismiss nor suffer to leave the village, proceeded upon contrary -principles; and the good effect of what the one prescribed, was -frequently counteracted by the injudicious treatment of the other. -Humanity alone prevailed on the physician to continue his attendance. -The malady of the Marquis was also heightened by the impatience of his -temper, the terrors of death, and the irritation of his passions. One -moment he believed himself dying, another he could scarcely be prevented -from attempting to follow Adeline to the abbey. So various were the -fluctuations of his mind, and so rapid the schemes that succeeded each -other, that his passions were in a continual state of conflict. The -physician attempted to persuade him that his recovery greatly depended -upon tranquillity, and to prevail upon him to attempt at least some -command of his feelings; but he was soon silenced in hopeless disgust by -the impatient answers of the Marquis. - -At length the servant who had carried off Adeline returned; and the -Marquis having ordered him into his chamber, asked so many questions in -a breath, that the man knew not which to answer. At length he pulled a -folded paper from his pocket, which he said had been dropped in the -chaise by Mademoiselle Adeline, and as he thought his Lordship would -like to see it, he had taken care of it. The Marquis stretched forth his -hand with eagerness, and received a note addressed to Theodore. On -perceiving the superscription, the agitation of jealous rage for a -moment overcame him, and he held it in his hand unable to open it. - -He, however, broke the seal, and found it to be a note of inquiry, -written by Adeline to Theodore during his illness, and which from some -accident she had been prevented from sending him. The tender solicitude -it expressed for his recovery stung the soul of the Marquis, and drew -from him a comparison of her feelings on the illness of his rival and -that of himself. She could be solicitous for his recovery, said he, but -for mine she only dreads it. As if willing to prolong the pain this -little billet had excited, he then read it again. Again he cursed his -fate and execrated his rival. Giving himself up, as usual, to the -transports of his passion, he was going to throw it from him, when his -eyes caught the seal, and he looked earnestly at it: his anger seemed -now to have subsided, he deposited the note carefully in his -pocket-book, and was for some time lost in thought. - -After many days of hopes and fears, the strength of his constitution -overcame his illness, and he was well enough to write several letters, -one of which he immediately sent off to prepare La Motte for his -reception. The same policy which had prompted him to conceal his illness -from La Motte, now urged him to say what he knew would not happen, that -he should reach the abbey on the day after his servant. He repeated this -injunction, that Adeline should be strictly guarded, and renewed his -promises of reward for the future services of La Motte. - -La Motte, to whom each succeeding day had brought new surprise and -perplexity concerning the absence of the Marquis, received this notice -with uneasiness; for he had begun to hope that the Marquis had altered -his intentions concerning Adeline, being either engaged in some new -adventure, or obliged to visit his estates in some distant province: he -would have been willing thus to have got rid of an affair, which was to -reflect so much dishonour on himself. - -This hope was now vanished, and he directed Madame to prepare for the -reception of the Marquis. Adeline passed these days in a state of -suspense which was now cheered by hope and now darkened by despair. The -delay, so much exceeding her expectation, seemed to prove that the -illness of the Marquis was dangerous; and when she looked forward to the -consequences of his recovery, she could not be sorry that it was so. So -odious was the idea of him to her mind, that she would not suffer her -lips to pronounce his name, nor make the inquiry of Annette, which was -of such consequence to her peace. - -It was about a week after the receipt of the Marquis's letter that -Adeline one day saw from her window a party of horsemen enter the -avenue, and knew them to be the Marquis and his attendants. She retired -from the window, in a state of mind not to be described, and sinking -into a chair, was for some time scarcely conscious of the objects around -her. When she had recovered from the first terror which his appearance -excited, she again tottered to the window; the party was not in sight, -but she heard the trampling of horses, and knew that the Marquis had -wound round to the great gate of the abbey. She addressed herself to -Heaven for support and protection; and her mind being now somewhat -composed, sat down to wait the event. - -La Motte received the Marquis with expressions of surprise at his long -absence; and the latter, merely saying he had been detained by illness, -proceeded to inquire for Adeline. He was told she was in her chamber, -from whence she might be summoned if he wished to see her. The Marquis -hesitated, and at length excused himself, but desired she might be -strictly watched. Perhaps, my Lord, said La Motte smiling, Adeline's -obstinacy has been too powerful for your passion? you seem less -interested concerning her than formerly. - -O! by no means, replied the Marquis; she interests me if possible, more -than ever; so much, indeed, that I cannot have her too closely guarded; -and I therefore beg, La Motte, that you will suffer nobody to attend her -but when you can observe them yourself. Is the room where she is -confined sufficiently secure? La Motte assured him it was; but at the -same time expressed his wish that she was removed to the villa. If by -any means, said he, she should contrive to escape, I know what I must -expect from your displeasure; and this reflection keeps my mind in -continual anxiety. - -This removal cannot be at present, said the Marquis; she is safer here, -and you do wrong to disturb yourself with any apprehension of her -escape, if her chamber is so secure as you represent it. - -I can have no motive for deceiving you, my Lord, in this point. - -I do not suspect you of any, said the Marquis; guard her carefully, and -trust me she will not escape. I can rely upon my valet, and if you wish -it he shall remain here. La Motte thought there could be no occasion for -him, and it was agreed that the man should go home. - -The Marquis, after remaining about half an hour in conversation with La -Motte, left the abbey; and Adeline saw him depart with a mixture of -surprise and thankfulness that almost overcame her. She had waited in -momentary expectation of being summoned to appear, and had been -endeavouring to arm herself with resolution to support his presence. She -had listened to every voice that sounded from below; and at every step -that crossed the passage her heart had palpitated with dread, lest it -should be La Motte coming to lead her to the Marquis. This state of -suffering had been prolonged almost beyond her power of enduring it, -when she heard voices under her window, and rising, saw the Marquis ride -away. After giving way to the joy and thankfulness that swelled her -heart, she endeavoured to account for this circumstance, which, -considering what had passed, was certainly very strange. It appeared, -indeed, wholly inexplicable; and after much fruitless inquiry, she -quitted the subject, endeavouring to persuade herself that it could only -portend good. - -The time of La Motte's usual visitation now drew near, and Adeline -expected it in the trembling hope of hearing that the Marquis had ceased -his persecution; but he was, as usual, sullen and silent, and it was not -till he was about to quit the room that Adeline had the courage to -inquire when the Marquis was expected again. La Motte, opening the door -to depart, replied, on the following day; and Adeline, whom fear and -delicacy embarrassed, saw she could obtain no intelligence of Theodore -but by a direct question; she looked earnestly, as if she would have -spoke, and he stopped; but she blushed and was still silent, till upon -his again attempting to leave the room she faintly called him back. - -I would ask, said she, after that unfortunate chevalier who has incurred -the resentment of the Marquis, by endeavouring to serve me: Has the -Marquis mentioned him? - -He has, replied La Motte; and your indifference towards the Marquis is -now fully explained. - -Since I must feel resentment towards those who injure me, said Adeline, -I may surely be allowed to be grateful towards those who serve me. Had -the Marquis deserved my esteem, he would probably have possessed it. - -Well, well, said La Motte, this young hero, who it seems has -been brave enough to lift his arm against his Colonel, is taken -care of, and I doubt not will soon be sensible of the value of his -quixotism.--Indignation, grief, and fear, struggled in the bosom of -Adeline; she disdained to give La Motte an opportunity of again -pronouncing the name of Theodore; yet the uncertainty under which she -laboured, urged her to inquire whether the Marquis had heard of him -since he left Caux. Yes, said La Motte, he has been safely carried to -his regiment, where he is confined till the Marquis can attend to appear -against him. - -Adeline had neither power nor inclination to inquire further; and La -Motte quitting the chamber, she was left to the misery he had renewed. -Though this information contained no new circumstance of misfortune, -(for she now heard confirmed what she had always expected,) a weight of -new sorrow seemed to fall upon her heart, and she perceived that she had -unconsciously cherished a latent hope of Theodore's escape before he -reached the place of his destination. All hope was now, however, gone; -he was suffering the miseries of a prison, and the tortures of -apprehension both for his own life and her safety. She pictured to -herself the dark damp dungeon where he lay, loaded with chains and pale -with sickness and grief; she heard him, in a voice that thrilled her -heart, call upon her name, and raise his eyes to heaven in silent -supplication: she saw the anguish of his countenance, the tears that -fell slowly on his cheek; and remembering at the same time, the generous -conduct that had brought him to this abyss of misery, and that it was -for her sake he suffered, grief resolved itself into despair, her tears -ceased to flow, and she sunk silently into a state of dreadful torpor. - -On the morrow the Marquis arrived, and departed as before. Several days -then elapsed, and he did not appear; till one evening, as La Motte and -his wife were in their usual sitting-room, he entered, and conversed for -some time upon general subjects, from which, however, he by degrees fell -into a reverie, and after a pause of silence he rose and drew La Motte -to the window. I would speak to you alone, said he, if you are at -leisure; if not, another time will do. La Motte assuring him he was -perfectly so, would have conducted him to another room, but the Marquis -proposed a walk in the forest. They went out together; and when they had -reached a solitary glade, where the spreading branches of the beech and -oak deepened the shades of twilight and threw a solemn obscurity around, -the Marquis turned to La Motte and addressed him: - -Your condition, La Motte, is unhappy; this abbey is a melancholy -residence for a man like you fond of society, and like you also -qualified to adorn it. La Motte bowed. I wish it was in my power to -restore you to the world, continued the Marquis; perhaps, if I knew the -particulars of the affair which has driven you from it, I might perceive -that my interest could effectually serve you:--I think I have heard you -hint it was an affair of honour? La Motte was silent. I mean not to -distress you, however; nor is it common curiosity that prompts this -inquiry, but a sincere desire to befriend you. You have already informed -me of some particulars of your misfortunes; I think the liberality of -your temper led you into expenses which you afterwards endeavoured to -retrieve by gaming? - -Yes, my Lord, said La Motte, 'tis true that I dissipated the greater -part of an affluent fortune in luxurious indulgencies, and that I -afterwards took unworthy means to recover it: but I wish to be spared -upon this subject. I would, if possible, lose the remembrance of a -transaction which must for ever stain my character, and the rigorous -effect of which, I fear, it is not in your power, my Lord, to soften. - -You may be mistaken on this point, replied the Marquis; my interest at -court is by no means inconsiderable. Fear not from me any severity of -censure; I am not at all inclined to judge harshly of the faults of -others: I well know how to allow for the emergency of circumstances; and -I think La Motte, you have hitherto found me your friend. - -I have, my Lord. - -And when you recollect, that I have forgiven a certain transaction of -late date---- - -It is true, my Lord; and allow me to say, I have a just sense of your -generosity. The transaction you allude to is by far the worst of my -life; and what I have to relate cannot therefore lower me in your -opinion. When I had dissipated the greatest part of my property in -habits of voluptuous pleasure, I had recourse to gaming to supply the -means of continuing them. A run of good luck for some time enabled me to -do this; and encouraging my most sanguine expectations, I continued in -the same career of success. - -Soon after this, a sudden turn of fortune destroyed my hopes, and -reduced me to the most desperate extremity. In one night my money was -lowered to the sum of two hundred louis. These I resolved to stake also, -and with them my life; for it was my resolution not to survive their -loss. Never shall I forget the horrors of that moment on which hung my -fate, nor the deadly anguish that seized my heart when my last stake was -gone. I stood for some time in a state of stupefaction, till, roused to -a sense of my misfortune, my passion made me pour forth execrations on -my more fortunate rivals, and act all the phrensy of despair. During -this paroxysm of madness, a gentleman, who had been a silent observer of -all that passed, approached me.--You are unfortunate, Sir, said he.--I -need not be informed of that. Sir, I replied. - -You have perhaps been ill used? resumed he.--Yes, Sir, I am ruined, and -therefore it may be said I am ill used. - -Do you know the people you have played with? - -No; but I have met them in the first circles. - -Then I am probably mistaken, said he, and walked away. His last words -roused me, and raised a hope that my money had not been fairly lost. -Wishing for further information, I went in search of the gentleman, but -he had left the rooms. I however stifled my transports, returned to the -table where I had lost my money, placed myself behind the chair of one -of the persons who had won it, and closely watched the game. For some -time I saw nothing that could confirm my suspicions, but was at length -convinced they were just. - -When the game was ended I called one of my adversaries out of the room, -and telling him what I had observed, threatened instantly to expose him -if he did not restore my property. The man was for some time as positive -as myself; and assuming the bully, threatened me with chastisement for -my scandalous assertions. I was not, however, in a state of mind to be -frightened; and his manner served only to exasperate my temper, already -sufficiently inflamed by misfortune. After retorting his threats, I was -about to return to the apartment we had left, and expose what had -passed, when, with an insidious smile and a softened voice, he begged I -would favour him with a few moments' attention, and allow him to speak -with the gentleman his partner. To the latter part of his request I -hesitated, but in the mean time the gentleman himself entered the room. -His partner related to him, in few words, what had passed between us, -and the terror that appeared in his countenance sufficiently declared -his consciousness of guilt. - -They then drew aside, and remained a few minutes in conversation -together, after which they approached me with an offer, as they phrased -it, of a compromise. I declared, however, against any thing of this -kind, and swore nothing less than the whole sum I had lost should -content me.--Is it not possible, Monsieur, that you may be offered -something as advantageous as the whole?--I did not understand their -meaning; but after they had continued for some time to give distant -hints of the same sort, they proceeded to explain. - -Perceiving their characters wholly in my power, they wished to secure my -interest to their party, and therefore informing me that they belonged -to an association of persons who lived upon the folly and inexperience -of others, they offered me a share in their concern. My fortunes were -desperate; and the proposal now made me would not only produce an -immediate supply, but enable me to return to those scenes of dissipated -pleasure to which passion had at first, and long habit afterwards, -attached me. I closed with the offer, and thus sunk from dissipation -into infamy. - -La Motte paused, as if the recollection of these times filled him with -remorse. The Marquis understood his feelings. You judge too rigorously -of yourself, said he; there are few persons, let their appearance of -honesty be what it may, who in such circumstances would have acted -better than you have done. Had I been in your situation, I know not how -I might have acted. That rigid virtue which shall condemn you, may -dignify itself with the appellation of wisdom, but I wish not to possess -it; let it still reside where it generally is to be found, in the cold -bosoms of those who, wanting feeling to be men, dignify themselves with -the title of philosophers. But pray proceed. - -Our success was for some time unlimited, for we held the wheel of -fortune, and trusted not to her caprice. Thoughtless and voluptuous by -nature, my expenses fully kept pace with my income. An unlucky discovery -of the practices of our party was at length made by a young nobleman, -which obliged us to act for some time with the utmost circumspection. It -would be tedious to relate the particulars, which made us at length so -suspected, that the distant civility and cold reserve of our -acquaintance rendered the frequenting public assemblies both painful and -unprofitable. We turned our thoughts to other modes of obtaining money; -and a swindling transaction, in which I engaged to a very large amount, -soon compelled me to leave Paris. You know the rest my Lord. - -La Motte was now silent, and the Marquis continued for some time musing. -You perceive, my Lord, at length resumed La Motte, you perceive that my -case is hopeless. - -It is bad indeed, but not entirely hopeless. From my soul I pity you: -yet, if you should return to the world, and incur the danger of -prosecution, I think my interest with the minister might save you from -any severe punishment. You seem, however, to have lost your relish for -society, and perhaps do not wish to return to it. - -Oh! my Lord can you doubt this?--But I am overcome with the excess of -your goodness; would to heaven it were in my power to prove the -gratitude it inspires! - -Talk not of goodness, said the Marquis; I will not pretend that my -desire of serving you is unalloyed by any degree of self-interest: I -will not affect to be more than man, and trust me those who do are less. -It is in your power to testify your gratitude, and bind me to your -interest for ever. He paused. Name but the means, cried La Motte,--name -but the means, and if they are within the compass of possibility they -shall be executed. The Marquis was still silent. Do you doubt my -sincerity, my Lord, that you are yet silent? Do you fear to repose a -confidence in the man whom you have already loaded with obligation? who -lives by your mercy, and almost by your means! The Marquis looked -earnestly at him, but did not speak. I have not deserved this of you, my -Lord; speak, I entreat you. - -There are certain prejudices attached to the human mind, said the -Marquis in a slow and solemn voice, which it requires all our wisdom to -keep from interfering with our happiness; certain set notions, acquired -in infancy, and cherished involuntarily by age, which grow up and assume -a gloss so plausible, that few minds, in what is called a civilized -country, can afterwards overcome them. Truth is often perverted by -education. While the refined Europeans boast a standard of honour and a -sublimity of virtue which often leads them from pleasure to misery, and -from nature to error, the simple uninformed American follows the impulse -of his heart, and obeys the inspiration of wisdom. The Marquis paused, -and La Motte continued to listen in eager expectation. - -Nature, uncontaminated by false refinement, resumed the Marquis, every -where acts alike in the great occurrences of life. The Indian discovers -his friend to be perfidious, and he kills him; the wild Asiatic does the -same: the Turk, when ambition fires or revenge provokes, gratifies his -passion at the expense of life, and does not call it murder. Even the -polished Italian, distracted by jealousy, or tempted by a strong -circumstance of advantage, draws his stiletto, and accomplishes his -purpose. It is the first proof of a superior mind to liberate itself -from prejudices of country or of education. You are silent, La Motte: -are you not of my opinion? - -I am attending, my Lord, to your _reasoning_. - -There are, I repeat it, said the Marquis, people of minds so weak, as to -shrink from acts they have been accustomed to hold wrong, however -advantageous; they never suffer themselves to be guided by -circumstances, but fix for life upon a certain standard, from which they -will on no account depart. Self-preservation is the great law of nature; -when a reptile hurts us, or an animal of prey threatens us, we think no -further, but endeavour to annihilate it. When my life, or what may be -essential to my life, requires the sacrifice of another,--or even if -some passion, wholly unconquerable, requires it,--I should be a madman -to hesitate. La Motte, I think I may confide in you--there are ways of -doing certain things--you understand me? There are times, and -circumstances, and opportunities--you comprehend my meaning? - -Explain yourself, my Lord. - -Kind services that--in short, there are services which excite all our -gratitude, and which we can never think repaid. It is in your power to -place me in such a situation. - -Indeed! my Lord, name the means. - -I have already named them. This abbey well suits the purpose; it is shut -up from the eye of observation; any transaction may be concealed within -its walls; the hour of midnight may witness the deed, and the morn shall -not dawn to disclose it; these woods tell no tales. Ah! La Motte am I -right in trusting this business with you? may I believe you are desirous -of serving me, and of preserving yourself? The Marquis paused, and -looked steadfastly at La Motte, whose countenance was almost concealed -by the gloom of evening. - -My Lord, you may trust me in any thing; explain yourself more fully. - -What security will you give me of your faithfulness? - -My life, my Lord; is it not already in your power? The Marquis -hesitated, and then said, To-morrow about this time I shall return to -the abbey, and will then explain my meaning, if indeed you shall not -already have understood it. You in the mean time will consider your own -powers of resolution, and be prepared either to adopt the purpose I -shall suggest, or to declare you will not. La Motte made some confused -reply. Farewell till to-morrow, said the Marquis; remember that freedom -and affluence are now before you. He moved towards the abbey, and, -mounting his horse, rode off with his attendants. La Motte walked slowly -home, musing on the late conversation. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Danger, whose limbs of giant mould -What mortal eye can fixed behold? -Who stalks his round, an hideous form! -_Howling amidst the midnight storm!_---- -And with him thousand phantoms join'd, -_Who prompt to deeds accurst the mind!_ -On whom that rav'ning brood of Fate -Who lap the blood of Sorrow wait; -Who, Fear! this ghastly train can see, -And look not madly wild like thee! - -COLLINS. - - -The Marquis was punctual to the hour. La Motte received him at the gate; -but he declined entering, and said he preferred a walk in the forest. -Thither, therefore, La Motte attended him. After some general -conversation, Well, said the Marquis, have you considered what I said, -and are you prepared to decide? - -I have, my Lord, and will quickly decide, when you shall further explain -yourself: till then I can form no resolution. The Marquis appeared -dissatisfied, and was a moment silent. Is it then possible, he at length -resumed, that you do not understand? This ignorance is surely affected. -La Motte, I expect sincerity. Tell me, therefore, is it necessary I -should say more? - -It is, my Lord, said La Motte immediately. If you fear to confide in me -freely, how can I fully accomplish your purpose? - -Before I proceed further, said the Marquis, let me administer some oath -which shall bind you to secrecy. But this is scarcely necessary; for, -could I even doubt your word of honour, the remembrance of a certain -transaction would point out to you the necessity of being as silent -yourself as you must wish me to be. There was now a pause of silence, -during which both the Marquis and La Motte betrayed some confusion. I -think, La Motte, said he, I have given you sufficient proof that I can -be grateful: the services you have already rendered me with respect to -Adeline have not been unrewarded. - -True, my Lord; I am ever willing to acknowledge this; and am sorry it -has not been in my power to serve you more effectually. Your further -views respecting her I am ready to assist. - -I thank you.--Adeline----the Marquis hesitated--Adeline, rejoined La -Motte, eager to anticipate his wishes, has beauty worthy of your -pursuit: she has inspired a passion of which she ought to be proud, and -at any rate she shall soon be yours. Her charms are worthy of---- - -Yes, yes, interrupted the Marquis; but--he paused. But they have given -you too much trouble in the pursuit, said La Motte; and to be sure, my -Lord, it must be confessed they have; but this trouble is all over--you -may now consider her as your own. - -I would do so, said the Marquis, fixing an eye of earnest regard upon La -Motte--I would do so. - -Name your hour, my Lord; you shall not be interrupted. Beauty such as -Adeline's-- - -Watch her closely, interrupted the Marquis, and on no account suffer her -to leave her apartment. Where is she now? - -Confined in her chamber. - -Very well. But I am impatient. - -Name your time, my Lord--to-morrow night. - -_To-morrow_ night, said the Marquis, to-morrow night. Do you understand -me now? - -Yes, my Lord, this night if you wish it so. But had you not better -dismiss your servants, and remain yourself in the forest? You know the -door that opens upon the woods from the west tower. Come thither about -twelve--I will be there to conduct you to her chamber. Remember then, my -Lord, that to-night-- - -Adeline dies! interrupted the Marquis in a low voice scarcely human. Do -you understand me now? - -----La Motte shrunk aghast--My Lord! - -La Motte! said the Marquis.--There was a silence of several minutes, in -which La Motte endeavoured to recover himself. Let me ask, my Lord, the -meaning of this? said he, when he had breath to speak. Why should you -wish the death of Adeline--of Adeline, whom so lately you loved? - -Make no inquiries for my motive, said the Marquis; but it is as certain -as that I live that she you name must die. This is sufficient. The -surprise of La Motte equalled his horror. The means are various, resumed -the Marquis. I could have wished that no blood might be spilt; and there -are drugs sure and speedy in their effect, but they cannot be soon or -safely procured. I also wish it over--it must be done quickly--this -night. - -This night, my Lord! - -Aye, this night, La Motte; if it is to be, why not soon? Have you no -convenient drug at hand? - -None, my Lord. - -I feared to trust a third person, or I should have been provided, said -the Marquis. As it is, take this poniard! use it as occasion offers, but -be resolute. La Motte received the poniard with a trembling hand, and -continued to gaze upon it for some time, scarcely knowing what he did. -Put it up, said the Marquis, and endeavour to recollect yourself. La -Motte obeyed, but continued to muse in silence. - -He saw himself entangled in the web which his own crimes had woven. -Being in the power of the Marquis, he knew he must either consent to the -commission of a deed, from the enormity of which, depraved as he was, he -shrunk in horror, or sacrifice fortune, freedom, probably life itself, -to the refusal. He had been led on by slow gradations from folly to -vice, till he now saw before him an abyss of guilt which startled even -the conscience that so long had slumbered. The means of retreating were -desperate--to proceed was equally so. - -When he considered the innocence and the helplessness of Adeline, her -orphan state, her former affectionate conduct, and her confidence in his -protection, his heart melted with compassion for the distress he had -already occasioned her, and shrunk in terror from the deed he was urged -to commit. But when, on the other hand, he contemplated the destruction -that threatened him from the vengeance of the Marquis, and then -considered the advantages that were offered him of favour, freedom, and -probably fortune,--terror and temptation contributed to overcome the -pleadings of humanity, and silence the voice of conscience. In this -state of tumultuous uncertainty he continued for some time silent, until -the voice of the Marquis roused him to a conviction of the necessity of -at least appearing to acquiesce in his designs. - -Do you hesitate? said the Marquis.--No, my Lord, my resolution is -fixed--I will obey you. But methinks it would be better to avoid -bloodshed. Strange secrets have been revealed by---- - -Aye, but how avoid it? interrupted the Marquis.--Poison I will not -venture to procure. I have given you one sure instrument of death. You -also may find it dangerous to inquire for a drug. La Motte perceived -that he could not purchase poison without incurring a discovery much -greater than that he wished to avoid. You are right, my Lord, and I will -follow your orders implicitly. The Marquis now proceeded, in broken -sentences, to give further directions concerning this dreadful scheme. - -In her sleep, said he, at midnight; the family will then be at rest. -Afterwards they planned a story which was to account for her -disappearance, and by which it was to seem that she had sought an escape -in consequence of her aversion to the addresses of the Marquis. The -doors of her chamber and of the west tower were to be left open to -corroborate this account, and many other circumstances were to be -contrived to confirm the suspicion. They further consulted how the -Marquis was to be informed of the event; and it was agreed that he -should come as usual to the abbey on the following day.--_To-night -then_, said the Marquis, I may rely upon your resolution? - -You may, my Lord. - -Farewell, then. When we meet again---- - -When we meet again said La Motte, it will be done. He followed the -Marquis to the abbey; and having seen him mount his horse and wished him -a good night, he retired to his chamber, where he shut himself up. - -Adeline, meanwhile, in the solitude of her prison gave way to the -despair which her condition inspired. She tried to arrange her thoughts, -and to argue herself into some degree of resignation; but reflection, by -representing the past, and reason, by anticipating the future, brought -before her mind the full picture, of her misfortunes, and she sunk in -despondency. Of Theodore, who, by a conduct so noble, had testified his -attachment and involved himself in ruin, she thought with a degree of -anguish infinitely superior to any she had felt upon any other occasion. - -That the very exertions which had deserved all her gratitude, and -awakened all her tenderness, should be the cause of his destruction, was -a circumstance so much beyond the ordinary bounds of misery, -that her fortitude sunk at once before it. The idea of Theodore -suffering--Theodore dying--was for ever present to her imagination; and -frequently excluding the sense of her own danger, made her conscious -only of his. Sometimes the hope he had given her of being able to -vindicate his conduct, or at least to obtain a pardon, would return; but -it was like the faint beam of an April morn, transient and cheerless. -She knew that the Marquis, stung with jealousy and exasperated to -revenge, would pursue him with unrelenting malice. - -Against such an enemy what could Theodore oppose? Conscious rectitude -would not avail him to ward off the blow which disappointed passion and -powerful pride directed. Her distress was considerably heightened by -reflecting that no intelligence of him could reach her at the abbey, and -that she must remain she knew not how long in the most dreadful suspense -concerning his fate. From the abbey she saw no possibility of escaping. -She was a prisoner in a chamber inclosed at every avenue; she had no -opportunity of conversing with any person who could afford her even a -chance of relief; and she saw herself condemned to await in passive -silence the impending destiny, infinitely more dreadful to her -imagination than death itself. - -Thus circumstanced, she yielded to the pressure of her misfortunes, and -would sit for hours motionless and given up to thought. Theodore! she -would frequently exclaim, you cannot hear my voice, you cannot fly to -help me; yourself a prisoner and in chains. The picture was too horrid: -the swelling anguish of her heart would subdue her utterance--tears -bathed her cheeks--and she became insensible to every thing but the -misery of Theodore. - -On this evening her mind had been remarkably tranquil; and as she -watched from her window, with a still and melancholy pleasure, the -setting sun, the fading splendour of the western horizon, and the -gradual approach of twilight, her thoughts bore her back to the time -when in happier circumstances she had watched the same appearances. She -recollected also the evening of her temporary escape from the abbey, -when from this same window she had viewed the declining sun--how -anxiously she had awaited the fall of twilight--how much she had -endeavoured to anticipate the events of her future life--with what -trembling fear she had descended from the tower and ventured into the -forest. These reflections produced others that filled her heart with -anguish and her eyes with tears. - -While she was lost in her melancholy reverie she saw the Marquis mount -his horse and depart from the gate. The sight of him revived in all its -force a sense of the misery he inflicted on her beloved Theodore, and a -consciousness of the evils which more immediately threatened herself. -She withdrew from the window in an agony of tears, which continuing for -a considerable time, her frame was at length quite exhausted, and she -retired early to rest. - -La Motte remained in his chamber till supper obliged him to descend. At -table his wild and haggard countenance, which, in spite of all his -endeavours, betrayed the disorder of his mind, and his long and frequent -fits of abstraction, surprised as well as alarmed Madame La Motte. When -Peter left the room she tenderly inquired what had disturbed him, and he -with a distorted smile tried to be gay; but the effort was beyond his -art, and he quickly relapsed into silence; or when Madame La Motte -spoke, and he strove to conceal the absence of his thoughts, he answered -so entirely from the purpose that his abstraction became still more -apparent. Observing this, Madame La Motte appeared to take no notice of -his present temper; and they continued to sit in uninterrupted silence -till the hour of rest, when they retired to their chamber. - -La Motte lay in a state of disturbed watchfulness for some time, and his -frequent starts awoke Madame, who however, being pacified by some -trifling excuse, soon went to sleep again. This agitation continued till -near midnight, when recollecting that the time was now passing in idle -reflection which ought to be devoted to action, he stole silently from -his bed, wrapped himself in his night-gown, and taking the lamp which -burned nightly in his chamber, passed up the spiral staircase. As he -went he frequently looked back, and often started and listened to the -hollow sighings of the blast. - -His hand shook so violently when he attempted to unlock the door of -Adeline's chamber, that he was obliged to set the lamp on the ground, -and apply both his hands. The noise he made with the key induced him to -suppose he must have awakened her; but when he opened the door, and -perceived the stillness that reigned within, he was convinced she was -asleep. When he approached the bed he heard her gently breathe, and soon -after sigh--and he stopped: but silence returning he again advanced, and -then heard her sing in her deep. As he listened he distinguished some -notes of a melancholy little air, which in her happier days she had -often sung to him. The low and mournful accent in which she now uttered -them expressed too well the tone of her mind. - -La Motte now stepped hastily towards the bed, when breathing a deep sigh -she was again silent. He undrew the curtain and saw her lying in a -profound sleep, her cheek, yet wet with tears, resting upon her arm. He -stood a moment looking at her; and as he viewed her innocent and lovely -countenance, pale in grief, the light of the lamp, which shone strong -upon her eyes, awoke her, and perceiving a man, she uttered a scream. -Her recollection returning, she knew him to be La Motte; and it -instantly occurring to her that the Marquis was at hand, she raised -herself in bed, and implored pity and protection. La Motte stood looking -eagerly at her, but without replying. - -The wildness of his looks and the gloomy silence he preserved increased -her alarm, and with tears of terror she renewed her supplication. You -once saved me from destruction, cried she; O save me now! have pity upon -me--I have no protector but you. - -What is it you fear? said La Motte in a tone scarcely articulate.--O -save me--save me from the Marquis! - -Rise then, said he, and dress yourself quickly: I shall be back again in -a few minutes. He lighted a candle that stood on the table, and left the -chamber; Adeline immediately arose and endeavoured to dress; but her -thoughts were so bewildered that she scarcely knew what she did, and her -whole frame so violently agitated, that it was with the utmost -difficulty she preserved herself from fainting. She threw her clothes -hastily on, and then sat down to await the return of La Motte. A -considerable time elapsed, yet he did not appear; and having in vain -endeavoured to compose her spirits, the pain of suspense became at -length so insupportable, that she opened the door of her chamber, and -went to the top of the staircase to listen. She thought she heard voices -below; but considering that if the Marquis was there, her appearance -could only increase her danger, she checked the step she had almost -involuntarily taken to descend. Still she listened, and still thought -she distinguished voices. Soon after, she heard a door shut, and then -footsteps, and she hastened back to her chamber. - -Near a quarter of an hour had elapsed and La Motte did not appear; when -again she thought she heard a murmur of voices below and also passing -steps: and at length, her anxiety not suffering her to remain in her -room, she moved through the passage that communicated with the spiral -staircase; but all was now still. In a few moments, however, a light -flashed across the hall, and La Motte appeared at the door of the -vaulted room. He looked up, and seeing Adeline in the gallery, beckoned -her to descend. - -She hesitated, and looked towards her chamber; but La Motte now -approached the stairs, and with faltering steps she went to meet him. I -fear the Marquis may see me, said she, whispering; where is he? La Motte -took her hand and led her on, assuring her she had nothing to fear from -the Marquis. The wildness of his looks, however, and the trembling of -his hand, seemed to contradict this assurance, and she inquired whether -he was leading her. To the forest, said La Motte, that you may escape -from the abbey--a horse waits for you without: I can save you by no -other means. New terror seized her. She could scarcely believe that La -Motte, who had hitherto conspired with the Marquis, and had so closely -confined her, should now himself undertake her escape; and she at this -moment felt a dreadful presentiment which it was impossible to account -for, that he was leading her out to murder her in the forest. Again -shrinking back, she supplicated his mercy. He assured her he meant only -to protect her, and desired she would not waste time. - -There was something in his manner that spoke sincerity, and she suffered -him to conduct her to a side door that opened into the forest, where she -could just distinguish through the gloom a man on horseback. This -brought to her remembrance the night in which she had quitted the tomb, -when, trusting to the person who appeared, she had been carried to the -Marquis's villa. La Motte called, and was answered by Peter, whose voice -somewhat reassured Adeline. - -He then told her that the Marquis would return to the abbey on the -following morning and that this could be her only opportunity of -escaping his designs; that she might rely upon his (La Motte's) word, -that Peter had orders to carry her wherever she choose; but as he knew -the Marquis would be indefatigable in search of her, he advised her by -all means to leave the kingdom, which she might do with Peter, who was a -native of Savoy, and would convey her to the house of his sister. There -she might remain till La Motte himself, who did not now think it would -be safe to continue much longer in France, should join her. He entreated -her, whatever might happen, never to mention the events which had passed -at the abbey. To save you, Adeline, I have risked my life; do not -increase my danger and your own by any unnecessary discoveries. We may -never meet again, but I hope you will be happy; and remember, when you -think of me, that I am not quite so bad as I have been tempted to be. - -Having said this, he gave her some money, which he told her would be -necessary to defray the expenses of her journey. Adeline could no longer -doubt his sincerity, and her transports of joy and gratitude would -scarcely permit her to thank him. She wished to have bid Madame La Motte -farewell, and indeed earnestly requested it; but he again told her she -had no time to lose; and having wrapped her in a large cloak, he lifted -her upon the horse. She bade him adieu with tears of gratitude, and -Peter set off as fast as the darkness would permit. - -When they were got some way,--I am glad with all my heart, Mam'selle, -said he, to see you again. Who would have thought, after all, that my -master himself would have bid me take you away! Well, to be sure, -strange things come to pass; but I hope we shall have better luck this -time. Adeline, not choosing to reproach him with the treachery of which -she feared he had been formerly guilty, thanked him for his good wishes, -and said she hoped they should be more fortunate: but Peter, in his -usual strain of eloquence, proceeded to undeceive her in this point, and -to acquaint her with every circumstance which his memory, and it was -naturally a strong one could furnish. - -Peter expressed such an artless interest in her welfare, and such a -concern for her disappointment, that she could no longer doubt his -faithfulness; and this conviction not only strengthened her confidence -in the present undertaking, but made her listen to his conversation with -kindness and pleasure. I should never have staid at the abbey till this -time, said he, if I could have got away; but my master frighted me so -much about the Marquis, and I had not money enough to carry me into my -own country, so that I was forced to stay. It's well we have got some -solid louis d'ors now; for I question, Ma'mselle, whether the people on -the road would have taken those trinkets you formerly talked of for -money. - -Possibly not, said Adeline: I am thankful to Monsieur La Motte that we -have more certain means of procuring conveniences. What route shall you -take when we leave the forest, Peter?--Peter mentioned very correctly a -great part of the road to Lyons; And then, said he, we can easily get to -Savoy, and that will be nothing. My sister, God bless her! I hope, is -living; I have not seen her many a year: but if she is not all the -people will be glad to see me, and you will easily get a lodging, -Ma'mselle, and every thing you want. - -Adeline resolved to go with him to Savoy. La Motte, who knew the -character and designs of the Marquis, had advised her to leave the -kingdom, and had told her, what her fears would have suggested, that the -Marquis would be indefatigable in search of her. His motive for this -advice must be a desire of serving her; why else, when she was already -in his power, should he remove her to another place, and even furnish -her with money for the expenses of a journey? - -At Leloncourt, where Peter said he was well known, she would be most -likely to meet with protection and comfort, even should his sister be -dead; and its distance and solitary situation pleased her. These -reflections would have pointed out to her the prudence of proceeding to -Savoy, had she been less destitute of resources in France; in her -present situation they proved it to be necessary. - -She inquired further concerning the route they were to take, and whether -Peter was sufficiently acquainted with the road. When once I get to -Thiers, I know it well enough, said Peter; for I have gone it many a -time in my younger days, and any body will tell us the way there. They -travelled for several hours in darkness and silence; and it was not till -they emerged from the forest that Adeline saw the morning light streak -the eastern clouds. The sight cheered and revived her; and as she -travelled silently along, her mind revolved the events of the past -night, and meditated plans for the future. The present kindness of La -Motte appeared so very different from his former conduct, that it -astonished and perplexed her; and she could only account for it by -attributing it to one of those sudden impulses of humanity which -sometimes operate even upon the most depraved hearts. - -But when she recollected his former words--that he was not master of -himself--she could scarcely believe that mere pity could induce him to -break the bonds which had hitherto so strongly held him; and then, -considering the altered conduct of the Marquis, she was inclined to -think that she owed her liberty to some change in his sentiments towards -her: yet the advice La Motte had given her to quit the kingdom, and the -money with which he had supplied her for that purpose, seemed to -contradict this opinion, and involved her again in doubt. - -Peter now got directions to Thiers, which place they reached without any -accident, and there stopped to refresh themselves. As soon as Peter -thought the horse sufficiently rested, they again set forward, and from -the rich plains of the Lyonnois, Adeline for the first time caught a -view of the distant Alps, whose majestic heads, seeming to prop the -vault of heaven, filled her mind with sublime emotions. - -In a few hours they reached the vale in which stands the city of Lyons, -whose beautiful environs, studded with villas and rich with cultivation, -withdrew Adeline from the melancholy contemplation of her own -circumstances, and her more painful anxiety for Theodore. - -When they reached that busy city, her first care was to inquire -concerning the passage of the Rhone; but she forbore to make these -inquiries of the people of the inn, considering that if the Marquis -should trace her thither, they might enable him to pursue her route. -She, therefore, sent Peter to the quays to hire a boat, while she -herself took a slight repast, it being her intention to embark -immediately. Peter presently returned, having engaged a boat and men to -take them up the Rhone to the nearest part of Savoy, from whence they -were to proceed by land to the village of Leloncourt. - -Having taken some refreshment, she ordered him to conduct her to the -vessel. A new and striking scene presented itself to Adeline, who looked -with surprise upon the river, gay with vessels, and the quay crowded -with busy faces, and felt the contrast which the cheerful objects around -bore to herself--to her, an orphan, desolate, helpless, and flying from -persecution and her country. She spoke with the master of the boat; and -having sent Peter back to the inn for the horse, (La Motte's gift to -Peter in lieu of some arrears of wages,) they embarked. - -As they slowly passed up the Rhone, whose steep banks, crowned with -mountains, exhibited the most various, wild, and romantic scenery, -Adeline sat in pensive reverie. The novelty of the scene through which -she floated, now frowning with savage grandeur, and now smiling in -fertility and gay with towns and villages, soothed her mind, and her -sorrow gradually softened into a gentle and not unpleasing melancholy. -She had seated herself at the head of the boat, where she watched its -sides cleave the swift stream, and listened to the dashing of the -waters. - -The boat, slowly opposing the current, passed along for some hours, and -at length the veil of evening was stretched over the landscape. The -weather was fine, and Adeline, regardless of the dews that now fell, -remained in the open air, observing the objects darken round her, the -gay tints of the horizon fade away, and the stars gradually appear -trembling upon the lucid mirror of the waters. The scene was now sunk in -deep shadow, and the silence of the hour was broken only by the measured -dashing of the oars, and now and then by the voice of Peter speaking to -the boatmen. Adeline sat lost in thought--the forlornness of her -circumstances came heightened to her imagination. - -She saw herself surrounded by the darkness and stillness of night, in a -strange place, far distant from any friends, going she scarcely knew -whither, under the guidance of strangers, and pursued, perhaps, by an -inveterate enemy. She pictured to herself the rage of the Marquis now -that he had discovered her flight; and though she knew it very unlikely -he should follow her by water, for which reason she had chosen that -manner of travelling, she trembled at the portrait her fancy drew. Her -thoughts then wandered to the plan she should adopt after reaching -Savoy; and much as her experience had prejudiced her against the manners -of a convent, she saw no place more likely to afford her a proper -asylum. At length she retired to the little cabin for a few hours -repose. - -She awoke with the dawn: and her mind being too much disturbed to sleep -again, she rose and watched the gradual approach of day. As she mused, -she expressed the feelings of the moment in the following: - - -SONNET - -Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose, -And wake the blushes of the rose, -That all night long oppress'd with dews, -And veil'd in chilly shade its hues, -Reclined, forlorn, the languid head, -And sadly sought its parent bed; -Warmth from her ray the trembling flower derives, -And, sweetly blushing, through its tears revives. - -Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose, -And melt the tears that bend the rose; -But can their charms suppress the sigh, -Or chase the tear from Sorrow's eye? -Can all their lustrous light impart -One ray of peace to Sorrow's heart? -Ah! no; their fires her fainting soul oppress---- -Eve's pensive shades more soothe her meek distress! - - -When Adeline left the abbey, La Motte had remained for some time at the -gate, listening to the steps of the horse that carried her, till the -sound was lost in distance: he then turned into the hall with a -lightness of heart to which he had long been a stranger. The -satisfaction of having thus preserved her, as he hoped, from the designs -of the Marquis, overcame for a while all sense of the danger in which -this step must involve him. But when he returned entirely to his own -situation, the terrors of the Marquis's resentment struck their full -force upon his mind, and he considered how he might best escape it. - -It was now past midnight--the Marquis was expected early on the -following day; and in this interval it at first appeared probable to him -that he might quit the forest. There was only one horse; but he -considered whether it would be best to set off immediately for Auboine, -where a carriage might be procured to convey his family and his -moveables from the abbey, or quietly await the arrival of the Marquis, -and endeavour to impose upon him by a forged story of Adeline's escape. - -The time which must elapse before a carriage could reach the abbey would -leave him scarcely sufficient to escape from the forest; what money he -had remaining from the Marquis's bounty would not carry him far; and -when it was expended he must probably be at a loss for subsistence, -should he not before then be detected. By remaining at the abbey it -would appear that he was unconscious of deserving the Marquis's -resentment; and though he could not expect to impress a belief upon him -that his orders had been executed, he might make it appear that Peter -only had been accessary to the escape of Adeline; an account which would -seem the more probable, from Peter's having been formerly detected in a -similar scheme. He believed, also, that if the Marquis should threaten -to deliver him into the hands of justice he might save himself by a -menace of disclosing the crime he had commissioned him to perpetrate. - -Thus arguing, La Motte resolved to remain at the abbey, and await the -event of the Marquis's disappointment. - -When the Marquis did arrive, and was informed of Adeline's flight, the -strong workings of his soul, which appeared in his countenance, for a -while alarmed and terrified La Motte. He cursed himself and her in terms -of such coarseness and vehemence, as La Motte was astonished to hear -from a man whose _manners_ were generally amiable, whatever might be the -violence and criminality of his passions. To invent and express these -terms seemed to give him not only relief, but delight; yet he appeared -more shocked at the circumstance of her escape than exasperated at the -carelessness of La Motte; and recollecting at length that he wasted -time, he left the abbey, and dispatched several of his servants in -pursuit of her. - -When he was gone, La Motte, believing that his story had succeeded, -returned to the pleasure of considering that he had done his duty, and -to the hope that Adeline was now beyond the reach of pursuit. This calm -was of short continuance. In a few hours the Marquis returned, -accompanied by the officers of justice. The affrighted La Motte, -perceiving him approach, endeavoured to conceal himself, but was seized -and carried to the Marquis, who drew him aside. - -I am not to be imposed upon, said he, by such a superficial story as you -have invented; you know your life is in my hands; tell me instantly -where you have secreted Adeline, or I will charge you with the crime you -have committed against me; but upon your disclosing the place of her -concealment I will dismiss the officers and, if you wish it, assist you -to leave the kingdom. You have no time to hesitate, and may know that I -will not be trifled with. La Motte attempted to appease the Marquis, and -affirmed that Adeline was really fled he knew not whither. You will -remember, my Lord, that your character is also in my power; and that, if -you proceed to extremities, you will compel me to reveal in the face of -day that you would have made me a murderer. - -And who will believe you? said the Marquis. The crimes that banished you -from society will be no testimony of your veracity, and that with which -I now charge you will bring with it a sufficient presumption that your -accusation is malicious. Officers, do your duty. - -They then entered the room and seized La Motte, whom terror now deprived -of all power of resistance, could resistance have availed him; and in -the perturbation of his mind he informed the Marquis that Adeline had -taken the road to Lyons. This discovery, however, was made too late to -serve himself; the Marquis seized the advantage it offered: but the -charge had been given; and with the anguish of knowing that he had -exposed Adeline to danger without benefiting himself, La Motte submitted -in silence to his fate. Scarcely allowing him time to collect what -little effects might easily be carried with him, the officers conveyed -him from the abbey: but the Marquis, in consideration of the extreme -distress of Madame La Motte, directed one of his servants to procure a -carriage from Auboine, that she might follow her husband. - -The Marquis in the mean time, now acquainted with the route Adeline had -taken, sent forward his faithful valet to trace her to her place of -concealment, and return immediately with intelligence to the villa. - -Abandoned to despair, La Motte and his wife quitted the forest of -Fontanville, which had for so many months afforded them an asylum, and -embarked once more upon the tumultuous world, where justice would meet -La Motte in the form of destruction. They had entered the forest as a -refuge, rendered necessary by the former crimes of La Motte, and for -sometime found in it the security they sought: but other offences, for -even in that sequestered spot there happened to be temptation, soon -succeeded; and his life, already sufficiently marked by the punishment -of vice, now afforded him another instance of this great truth, "That -where guilt is, there peace cannot enter." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Hail awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, -And woo the weary to profound repose! - -BEATTIE. - - -Adeline meanwhile, and Peter, proceeded on their voyage without any -accident, and landed in Savoy, where Peter placed her upon the horse, -and himself walked beside her. When he came within sight of his native -mountains, his extravagant joy burst forth into frequent exclamations, -and he would often ask Adeline if she had ever seen such _hills_ in -France. No, no, said he, the hills there are very well for French hills, -but they are not to be named on the same day with ours. Adeline, lost in -admiration of the astonishing and tremendous scenery around her, -assented very warmly to the truth of Peter's assertion, which encouraged -him to expatiate more largely upon the advantages of his country; its -disadvantages he totally forgot; and though he gave away his last sous -to the children of the peasantry that ran barefooted by the side of the -horse, he spoke of nothing but the happiness and content of the -inhabitants. - -His native village, indeed, was an exception to the general character of -the country, and to the usual effects of an arbitrary government; it was -flourishing, healthy, and happy; and these advantages it chiefly owed to -the activity and attention of the benevolent clergyman whose cure it -was. - -Adeline, who now began to feel the effects of long anxiety and fatigue, -much wished to arrive at the end of her journey, and inquired -impatiently of Peter concerning it. Her spirits thus weakened, the -gloomy grandeur of the scenes which had so lately awakened emotions of -delightful sublimity, now awed her into terror; she trembled at the -sound of the torrents rolling among the cliffs and thundering in the -vale below, and shrunk from the view of the precipices, which sometimes -overhung the road and at others appeared beneath it. Fatigued as she -was, she frequently dismounted to climb on foot the steep flinty road, -which she feared to travel on horseback. - -The day was closing when they drew near a small village at the foot of -the Savoy Alps; and the sun, in all his evening splendour, now sinking -behind their summits, threw a farewell gleam athwart the landscape so -soft and glowing as drew from Adeline, languid as she was, an -exclamation of rapture. - -The romantic situation of the village next attracted her notice. It -stood at the foot of several stupendous mountains, which formed a chain -round a lake at some little distance, and the woods that swept from -their summits almost embosomed the village. The lake, unruffled by the -lightest air, reflected the vermeil tints of the horizon with the -sublime on its borders, darkening every instant with the falling -twilight. - -When Peter perceived the village, he burst into a shout of joy. Thank -God, said he, we are near home; there is my dear native place: it looks -just as it did twenty years ago: and there are the same old trees -growing round our cottage yonder, and the huge rock that rises above it. -My poor father died there, Ma'mselle. Pray Heaven my sister be alive! it -is a long while since I saw her. Adeline listened with a melancholy -pleasure to these artless expressions of Peter, who in retracing the -scenes of his former days seemed to live them over again. As they -approached the village, he continued to point out various objects of his -remembrance. And there too is the good pastor's chateau; look, -Ma'mselle, that white house with the smoke curling, that stands on the -edge of the lake yonder. I wonder whether he is alive yet: he was not -old when I left the place, and as much beloved as ever man was; but -death spares nobody! - -[Illustration 07] - -They had by this time reached the village, which was extremely neat, -though it did not promise much accommodation. Peter had hardly advanced -ten steps before he was accosted by some of his old acquaintance, who -shook hands, and seemed not to know how to part with him. He inquired -for his sister, and was told she was alive and well. As they passed on, -so many of his old friends flocked round him, that Adeline became quite -weary of the delay. Many whom he had left in the vigour of life were now -tottering under the infirmities of age, while their sons and daughters, -whom he had known only in the playfulness of infancy, were grown from -his remembrance, and in the pride of youth. At length they approached -the cottage, and were met by his sister, who having heard of his -arrival, came and welcomed him with unfeigned joy. - -On seeing Adeline, she seemed surprised, but assisted her to alight; and -conducting her into a small but neat cottage, received her with a warmth -of ready kindness which would have graced a better situation. Adeline -desired to speak with her alone, for the room was now crowded with -Peter's friends; and then acquainting her with such particulars of her -circumstances as it was necessary to communicate, desired to know if she -could be accommodated with lodging in the cottage. Yes, Ma'mselle, said -the good woman, such as it is, you are heartily welcome: I am only sorry -it is not better. But you seem ill Ma'mselle; what shall I get you? - -Adeline, who had been long struggling with fatigue and indisposition, -now yielded to their pressure. She said she was indeed ill; but hoped -that rest would restore her, and desired a bed might be immediately -prepared. The good woman went out to obey her, and soon returning showed -her to a little cabin, where she retired to a bed whose cleanliness was -its only recommendation. - -But notwithstanding her fatigue, she could not sleep; and her mind, in -spite of all her efforts, returned to the scenes that were passed, or -presented gloomy and imperfect visions of the future. - -The difference between her own condition and that of other persons, -educated as she had been, struck her forcibly, and she wept. They, said -she, have friends and relations, all striving to save them not only from -what may hurt, but what may displease them; watching not only for their -present safety, but for their future advantage, and preventing them even -from injuring themselves. But during my whole life I have never known a -friend; have been in general surrounded by enemies, and very seldom -exempt from some circumstance either of danger or calamity. Yet surely I -am not born to be for ever wretched; the time will come when----She -began to think she might one time be happy; but recollecting the -desperate situation of Theodore,--No, said she, I can never hope even -for peace! - -Early the following morning the good woman of the house came to inquire -how she had rested; and found she had slept little, and was much worse -than on the preceding night. The uneasiness of her mind contributed to -heighten the feverish symptoms that attended her, and in the course of -the day her disorder began to assume a serious aspect. She observed its -progress with composure, resigning herself to the will of God, and -feeling little to regret in life. Her kind hostess did every thing in -her power to relieve her, and there was neither physician nor apothecary -in the village, so that nature was deprived of none of her advantages. -Notwithstanding this, the disorder rapidly increased, and on the third -day from its first attack she became delirious, after which she sunk -into a state of stupefaction. - -How long she remained in this deplorable condition she knew not; but on -recovering her senses she found herself in an apartment very different -from any she remembered. It was spacious and almost beautiful, the bed -and every thing around being in one style of elegant simplicity. For -some minutes she lay in a trance of surprise, endeavouring to recollect -her scattered ideas of the past, and almost fearing to move lest the -pleasing vision should vanish from her eyes. - -At length she ventured to raise herself, when she presently heard a soft -voice speaking near her, and the bed curtain on one side was gently -undrawn by a beautiful girl. As she leaned forward over the bed, and -with a smile of mingled tenderness and joy inquired of her patient how -she did. Adeline gazed in silent admiration upon the most interesting -female countenance she had ever seen, in which the expression of -sweetness, united with lively sense and refinement, was chastened by -simplicity. - -Adeline at length recollected herself sufficiently to thank her kind -inquirer, and begged to know to whom she was obliged, and where she was? -The lovely girl pressed her hand, 'Tis we who are obliged, said she. Oh! -how I rejoice to find that you have recovered your recollection! She -said no more, but flew to the door of the apartment, and disappeared. In -a few minutes she returned with an elderly lady, who approaching the bed -with an air of tender interest, asked concerning the state of Adeline; -to which the latter replied as well as the agitation of her spirits -would permit, and repeated her desire of knowing to whom she was so -greatly obliged. You shall know that hereafter, said the lady; at -present be assured that you are with those who will think their care -much overpaid by your recovery; submit, therefore, to every thing that -may conduce to it, and consent to be kept as quiet as possible. - -Adeline gratefully smiled and bowed her head in silent assent. The lady -now quitted the room for a medicine; having given which to Adeline, the -curtain was closed and she was left to repose. But her thoughts were too -busy to suffer her to profit by the opportunity:--she contemplated the -past and viewed the present; and when she compared them, the contrast -struck her with astonishment: the whole appeared like one of those -sudden transitions so frequent in dreams, in which we pass from grief -and despair, we know not how, to comfort and delight. - -Yet she looked forward to the future with a trembling anxiety that -threatened to retard her recovery, and which when she remembered the -words of her generous benefactress, she endeavoured to suppress. Had she -better known the disposition of the persons in whose house she now was, -her anxiety, as far as it regarded herself, must in a great measure have -been done away; for La Luc, its owner, was one of those rare characters -to whom misfortune seldom looks in vain, and whose native goodness, -confirmed by principle, is uniform and unassuming in its acts. The -following little picture of his domestic life, his family, and his -manners, will more fully illustrate his character. It was drawn from the -life, and its exactness will, it is hoped, compensate for its length. - - -THE FAMILY OF LA LUC. - -But half mankind, like Handel's fool, destroy, -Through rage and ignorance, the strain of joy; -Irregularly wild, the passions roll -Through Nature's finest instrument, the soul:-- -While men of sense, with Handel's happier skill, -Correct the taste and harmonize the will; -Teach their affections like his notes to flow, -Nor raised too high, nor ever sunk too low; -Till every virtue, measured and refined, -As fits the concert of the master mind, -Melts in its kindred sounds, and pours along -Th' according music of the moral song. - -CAWTHORNE. - - -In the village of Leloncourt, celebrated for its picturesque situation -at the foot of the Savoy Alps, lived Arnaud La Luc, a clergyman -descended from an ancient family of France, whose decayed fortunes -occasioned them to seek a retreat in Switzerland, in an age when the -violence of civil commotion seldom spared the conquered. He was minister -of the village, and equally loved for the piety and benevolence of the -Christian, as respected for the dignity and elevation of the -philosopher. His was the philosophy of nature, directed by common sense. -He despised the jargon of the modern schools, and the brilliant -absurdities of systems which dazzled without enlightening, and guided -without convincing their disciples. - -His mind was penetrating; his views extensive; and his systems, like his -religion, were simple, rational, and sublime. The people of his parish -looked up to him as to a father; for while his precepts directed their -minds, his example touched their hearts. - -In early youth La Luc lost a wife whom he tenderly loved. This event -threw a tincture of soft and interesting melancholy over his character, -which remained when time had mellowed the remembrance that occasioned -it. Philosophy had strengthened, not hardened, his heart; it enabled him -to resist the pressure of affliction, rather than to overcome it. - -Calamity taught him to feel with peculiar sympathy the distresses of -others. His income from the parish was small, and what remained from the -divided and reduced estates of his ancestors did not much increase it; -but though he could not always relieve the necessities of the indigent, -his tender pity and holy conversation seldom failed in administering -consolation to the mental sufferer. On these occasions the sweet and -exquisite emotions of his heart have often induced him to say, that -could the voluptuary be once sensible of these feelings, he would never -after forego the luxury of doing good. Ignorance of true pleasure, he -would say, more frequently than temptation to that which is false, leads -to vice. - -La Luc had one son and a daughter, who were too young when their mother -died to lament their loss. He loved them with peculiar tenderness, as -the children of her whom he never ceased to deplore; and it was for some -time his sole amusement to observe the gradual unfolding of their infant -minds, and to bend them to virtue. His was the deep and silent sorrow of -the heart: his complaints he never obtruded upon others, and very seldom -did he even mention his wife. His grief was too sacred for the eye of -the vulgar. Often he retired to the deep solitude of the mountains, and -amid their solemn and tremendous scenery would brood over the -remembrance of times past, and resign himself to the luxury of grief. On -his return from these little excursions he was always more placid and -contented. A sweet tranquillity, which arose almost to happiness, was -diffused over his mind, and his manners were more than usually -benevolent. As he gazed on his children, and fondly kissed them, a tear -would sometimes steal into his eye: but it was a tear of tender regret, -unmingled with the darker qualities of sorrow, and was most precious to -his heart. - -On the death of his wife he received into his house a maiden sister, a -sensible, worthy woman, who was deeply interested in the happiness of -her brother. Her affectionate attention and judicious conduct -anticipated the effect of time in softening the poignancy of his -distress; and her unremitted care of his children, while it proved the -goodness of her own heart, attracted her more closely to his. - -It was with inexpressible pleasure that he traced in the infant features -of Clara the resemblance of her mother. The same gentleness of manner -and the same sweetness of disposition soon displayed themselves; and as -she grew up, her actions frequently reminded him so strongly of his lost -wife as to fix him in reveries, which absorbed all his soul. - -Engaged in the duties of his parish, the education of his children, and -in philosophic research, his years passed in tranquillity. The tender -melancholy with which affliction had tinctured his mind, was by long -indulgence become dear to him, and he would not have relinquished it for -the brightest dream of airy happiness. When any passing incident -disturbed him, he retired for consolation to the idea of her he so -faithfully loved, and yielding to a gentle, and what the world would -call a romantic, sadness, gradually reassumed his composure. -This was the secret luxury to which he withdrew from temporary -disappointment--the solitary enjoyment which dissipated the cloud of -care, and blunted the sting of vexation--which elevated his mind above -this world, and opened to his view the sublimity of another. - -The spot he now inhabited, the surrounding scenery, the romantic -beauties of the neighbouring walks, were dear to La Luc, for they had -once been loved by Clara; they had been the scenes of her tenderness, -and of his happiness. - -His chateau stood on the borders of a small lake that was almost -environed by mountains of stupendous height, which, shooting into a -variety of grotesque forms, composed a scenery singularly solemn and -sublime. Dark woods intermingled with bold projections of rock, -sometimes barren and sometimes covered with the purple bloom of wild -flowers, impended over the lake, and were seen in the clear mirror of -its waters. The wild and alpine heights which rose above, were either -crowned with perpetual snows, or exhibited tremendous crags and masses -of solid rock, whose appearance was continually changing as the rays of -light were variously reflected on their surface, and whose summits were -often wrapt in impenetrable mists. Some cottages and hamlets, scattered -on the margin of the lake or seated in picturesque points of view on the -rocks above, were the only objects that reminded the beholder of -humanity. - -On the side of the lake, nearly opposite to the chateau, the mountains -receded, and a long chain of Alps was seen stretching in perspective. -Their innumerable tints and shades, some veiled in blue mists, some -tinged with rich purple, and others glittering in partial light, gave -luxurious and magical colouring to the scene. - -The chateau was not large, but it was convenient, and was characterized -by an air of elegant simplicity and good order. The entrance was a small -hall, which opening by a glass door into the garden, afforded a view of -the lake, with the magnificent scenery exhibited on its borders. On the -left of the hall was La Luc's study, where he usually passed his -mornings; and adjoining was a small room fitted up with chemical -apparatus, astronomical instruments, and other implements of science. On -the right hand was the family parlour, and behind it a room which -belonged exclusively to Madame La Luc. Here were deposited various -medicines and botanical distillations, together with the apparatus for -preparing them. From this room the whole village was liberally supplied -with medicinal comfort; for it was the pride of Madame to believe -herself skilful in relieving the disorders of her neighbours. - -Behind the chateau rose a tuft of pines, and in front a gentle -declivity, covered with verdure and flowers, extended to the lake, whose -waters flowed even with the grass, and gave freshness to the acacias -that waved over its surface. Flowering shrubs, intermingled with -mountain-ash, cypress, and ever-green oak, marked the boundary of the -garden. - -At the return of spring it was Clara's care to direct the young shoots -of the plants, to nurse the budding flowers, and to shelter them with -the luxuriant branches of the shrubs from the cold blasts that descended -from the mountains. In summer she usually rose with the sun, and visited -her favourite flowers while the dew yet hung glittering on their leaves. -The freshness of early day, with the glowing colouring which then -touched the scenery, gave a pure and exquisite delight to her innocent -heart. Born amid scenes of grandeur and sublimity, she had quickly -imbibed a taste for their charms, which taste was heightened by the -influence of a warm imagination. To view the sun rising above the Alps, -tinging their snowy heads with light, and suddenly darting his rays over -the whole face of nature--to see the fiery splendour of the clouds -reflected in the lake below, and the roseate tints first steal upon the -rocks above--were among the earliest pleasures of which Clara was -susceptible. From being delighted with the observance of nature, she -grew pleased with seeing her finely imitated, and soon displayed a taste -for poetry and painting. When she was about sixteen she often selected -from her father's library those of the Italian poets most celebrated for -picturesque beauty, and would spend the first hours of morning in -reading them under the shade of the acacias that bordered the lake. Here -too she would often attempt rude sketches of the surrounding scenery; -and at length by repeated efforts, assisted by some instruction from her -brother she succeeded so well as to produce twelve drawings in crayon, -which were judged worthy of decorating the parlour of the chateau. - -Young La Luc played the flute, and she listened to him with exquisite -delight, particularly when he stood on the margin of the lake, under her -beloved acacias. Her voice was sweet and flexible, though not strong, -and she soon learned to modulate it to the instrument. She knew nothing -of the intricacies of execution; her airs were simple, and her style -equally so; but she soon gave them a touching expression, inspired by -the sensibility of her heart, which seldom left those of her hearers -unaffected. - -It was the happiness of La Luc to see his children happy; and in one of -his excursions to Geneva, whither he went to visit some relations of his -late wife, he bought Clara a lute. She received it with more gratitude -than she could express; and having learned one air, she hastened to her -favourite acacias, and played it again and again till she forgot every -thing besides. Her little domestic duties, her books, her drawing, even -the hour which her father dedicated to her improvement, when she met her -brother in the library, and with him partook of knowledge, even this -hour passed unheeded by. La Luc suffered it to pass. Madame was -displeased that her niece neglected her domestic duties, and wished to -reprove her, but La Luc begged she would be silent. Let experience teach -her her error, said he, precept seldom brings conviction to young minds. - -Madame objected that experience was a slow teacher. It is a sure one, -replied La Luc, and is not unfrequently the quickest of all teachers: -when it cannot lead us into serious evil, it is well to trust to it. - -The second day passed with Clara as the first, and the third as the -second. She could now play several tunes; she came to her father and -repeated what she had learnt. - -At supper the cream was not dressed, and there was no fruit on the -table. La Luc inquired the reason; Clara recollected it, and blushed. -She observed that her brother was absent, but nothing was said. Toward -the conclusion of the repast he appeared; his countenance expressed -unusual satisfaction, but he seated himself in silence. Clara inquired -what had detained him from supper, and learnt that he had been to a sick -family in the neighbourhood with the weekly allowance which her father -gave them. La Luc had intrusted the care of this family to his daughter, -and it was her duty to have carried them their little allowance on the -preceding day, but she had forgotten every thing but music. - -How did you find the woman? said La Luc to his son. Worse, Sir, he -replied; for her medicines had not been regularly given and the children -had had little or no food to-day. - -Clara was shocked. No food to-day! said she to herself; and I have been -playing all day on my lute, under the acacias by the lake! Her father -did not seem to observe her emotion, but turned to his son. I left her -better, said the latter; the medicines I carried eased her pain, and I -had the pleasure to see her children make a joyful supper. - -Clara, perhaps, for the first time in her life, envied him his pleasure; -her heart was full, and she sat silent. No food to-day! thought she. - -She retired pensively to her chamber. The sweet serenity with which she -usually went to rest was vanished, for she could no longer reflect on -the past day with satisfaction. - -What a pity, said she, that what is so pleasing should be the cause of -so much pain! This lute is my delight, and my torment! This reflection -occasioned her much internal debate; but before she could come to any -resolution upon the point in question, she fell asleep. - -She awoke very early the next morning, and impatiently watched the -progress of the dawn. The sun at length appearing, she arose, and -determined to make all the atonement in her power for her former -neglect, hastened to the cottage. - -Here she remained a considerable time, and when she returned to the -chateau, her countenance had recovered all its usual serenity. She -resolved, however, not to touch her lute that day. - -Till the hour of breakfast she busied herself in binding up the flowers -and pruning the shoots that were too luxuriant, and she at length found -herself, she scarcely knew how, beneath her beloved acacias by the side -of the lake. Ah! said she with a sigh, how sweetly would the song I -learned yesterday sound now over the waters! But she remembered her -determination, and checked the step she was involuntarily taking towards -the chateau. - -She attended her father in the library at the usual hour, and learned -from his discourse with her brother on what had been read the two -preceding days, that she had lost much entertaining knowledge. She -requested her father would inform her to what this conversation alluded; -but he calmly replied, that she had preferred another amusement at the -time when the subject was discussed, and must therefore content herself -with ignorance. You would reap the rewards of study from the amusements -of idleness, said he; learn to be reasonable--do not expect to unite -inconsistencies. - -Clara felt the justness of this rebuke, and remembered her lute. What -mischief has it occasioned! sighed she. Yes, I am determined not to -touch it at all this day. I will prove that I am able to control my -inclinations when I see it is necessary so to do. Thus resolving, she -applied herself to study with more than usual assiduity. - -She adhered to her resolution, and towards the close of the day went -into the garden to amuse herself. The evening was still and uncommonly -beautiful. Nothing was heard but the faint shivering of the leaves, -which returned but at intervals, making silence more solemn, and the -distant murmurs of the torrents that rolled among the cliffs. As she -stood by the lake, and watched the sun slowly sinking below the Alps, -whose summits were tinged with gold and purple; as she saw the last rays -of light gleam upon the waters, whose surface was not curled by the -slightest air, she sighed, oh! how enchanting would be the sound of my -lute at this moment, on this spot, and when every thing is so still -around me! - -The temptation was too powerful for the resolution of Clara: she ran to -the chateau, returned with the instrument to her dear acacias, and -beneath their shade continued to play till the surrounding objects faded -in darkness from her sight. But the moon rose, and shedding a trembling -lustre on the lake, made the scene more captivating than ever. - -It was impossible to quit so delightful a spot; Clara repeated her -favourite airs again and again. The beauty of the hour awakened all her -genius; she never played with such expression before, and she listened -with increasing rapture to the tones as they languished over the waters -and died away on the distant air. She was perfectly enchanted--no! -nothing was ever so delightful as to play on the lute beneath her -acacias, on the margin of the lake, by moonlight! - -When she returned to the chateau, supper was over. La Luc had observed -Clara, and would not suffer her to be interrupted. - -When the enthusiasm of the hour was passed, she recollected that she had -broken her resolution, and the reflection gave her pain. I prided myself -on controlling my inclinations, said she, and I have weakly yielded to -their direction. But what evil have I incurred by indulging them this -evening? I have neglected no duty, for I had none to perform. Of what -then have I to accuse myself? It would have been absurd to have kept my -resolution, and denied myself a pleasure when there appeared no reason -for this self-denial. - -She paused, not quite satisfied with this reasoning. Suddenly resuming -her inquiry, But how, said she, am I certain that I should have resisted -my inclinations if there _had_ been a reason for opposing them? If the -poor family whom I neglected yesterday had been unsupplied to-day, I -fear I should again have forgotten them while I played on my lute on the -banks of the lake. - -She then recollected all that her father had at different times said on -the subject of self-command, and she felt some pain. - -No, said she, if I do not consider that to preserve a resolution, which -I have once solemnly formed, is a sufficient reason to control my -inclinations, I fear no other motive would long restrain me. I seriously -determined not to touch my lute this whole day, and I have broken my -resolution. To-morrow perhaps I may be tempted to neglect some duty, for -I have discovered that I cannot rely on my own prudence. Since I cannot -conquer temptation, I will fly from it. - -On the following morning she brought her lute to La Luc, and begged he -would receive it again, and at least keep it till she had taught her -inclinations to submit to control. - -The heart of La Luc swelled as she spoke. No, Clara, said he, it is -unnecessary that I should receive your lute; the sacrifice you would -make proves you worthy of my confidence. Take back the instrument; since -you have sufficient resolution to resign it when it leads you from duty, -I doubt not that you will be able to control its influence now that it -is restored to you. - -Clara felt a degree of pleasure and pride at these words, such as she -had never before experienced; but she thought, that to deserve the -commendation they bestowed, it was necessary to complete the sacrifice -she had begun. In the virtuous enthusiasm of the moment the delights of -music were forgotten in those of aspiring to well-earned praise; and -when she refused the lute thus offered, she was conscious only of -exquisite sensations. Dear Sir, said she, tears of pleasure, swelling in -her eyes, allow me to deserve the praises you bestow, and then I shall -indeed be happy. - -La Luc thought she had never resembled her mother so much as at this -instant, and tenderly kissing her, he for some moments wept in silence. -When he was able to speak, You do already deserve my praises, said he, -and I restore your lute as a reward for the conduct which excites them. -This scene called back recollections too tender for the heart of La Luc, -and giving Clara the instrument, he abruptly quitted the room. - -La Luc's son, a youth of much promise, was designed by his father for -the church, and had received from him an excellent education, which, -however, it was thought necessary he should finish at an university. -That of Geneva was fixed upon by La Luc. His scheme had been to make his -son not a scholar only; he was ambitious that he should also be enviable -as a man. From early infancy he had accustomed him to hardihood and -endurance, and as he advanced in youth, he encouraged him in manly -exercises, and acquainted him with the useful arts as well as with -abstract science. - -He was high-spirited and ardent in his temper, but his heart was -generous and affectionate. He looked forward to Geneva, and to the new -world it would disclose, with the sanguine expectations of youth; and in -the delight of these expectations was absorbed the regret he would -otherways have felt at a separation from his family. - -A brother of the late Madame La Luc, who was by birth an Englishman, -resided at Geneva with his family. To have been related to his wife was -a sufficient claim upon the heart of La Luc, and he had therefore always -kept up an intercourse with Mr. Audley, though the difference in their -characters and manner of thinking would never permit this association to -advance into friendship. La Luc now wrote to him, signifying an -intention of sending his son to Geneva, and recommending him to his -care. To this letter Mr. Audley returned a friendly answer; and a short -time after, an acquaintance of La Luc's being called to Geneva, he -determined that his son should accompany him. The separation was painful -to La Luc, and almost insupportable to Clara. Madame was grieved, and -took care that he should have a sufficient quantity of medicines put up -in his travelling trunk; she was also at some pains to point out their -virtues, and the different complaints for which they were requisite; but -she was careful to deliver her lecture during the absence of her -brother. - -La Luc, with his daughter, accompanied his son on horseback to the next -town, which was about eight miles from Leloncourt; and there again -enforcing all the advice he had formerly given him respecting his -conduct and pursuits, and again yielding to the tender weakness of the -father, he bade him farewell. Clara wept, and felt more sorrow at this -parting than the occasion could justify; but this was almost the first -time she had known grief, and she artlessly yielded to its influence. - -La Luc and Clara travelled pensively back, and the day was closing when -they came within view of the lake, and soon after of the chateau. Never -had it appeared gloomy till now; but now Clara wandered forlornly -through every deserted apartment where she had been accustomed to see -her brother, and recollected a thousand little circumstances which, had -he been present, she would have thought immaterial, but on which -imagination now stamped a value. The garden, the scenes around, all wore -a melancholy aspect, and it was long ere they resumed their natural -character and Clara recovered her vivacity. - -Near four years had elapsed since this separation, when one evening, as -Madame La Luc and her niece were sitting at work together in the -parlour, a good woman in the neighbourhood desired to be admitted. She -came to ask for some medicines, and the advice of Madame La Luc. Here is -a sad accident happened at our house, Madame, said she; I am sure my -heart aches for the poor young creature.--Madame La Luc desired she -would explain herself, and the woman proceeded to say that her brother -Peter, whom she had not seen for so many years, was arrived, and had -brought a young lady to her cottage, who she verily believed was dying. -She described her disorder, and acquainted Madame with what particulars -of her mournful story Peter had related, failing not to exaggerate such -as her compassion for the unhappy stranger and her love of the -marvellous prompted. - -The account appeared a very extraordinary one to Madame; but pity for -the forlorn condition of the young sufferer induced her to inquire -further into the affair. Do let me go to her, Madame, said Clara, who -had been listening with ready compassion to the poor woman's narrative: -Do suffer me to go--she must want comforts, and I wish much to see how -she is. Madame asked some further questions concerning her disorder, and -then, taking off her spectacles, she rose from her chair, and said she -would go herself. Clara desired to accompany her. They put on their hats -and followed the good woman to the cottage, where, in a very small close -room, on a miserable bed, lay Adeline, pale, emaciated, and unconscious -of all around her. Madame turned to the woman, and asked how long she -had been in this way, while Clara went up to the bed, and taking the -almost lifeless hand that lay on the quilt, looked anxiously in her -face. She observes nothing, said she, poor creature! I wish she was at -the chateau, she would be better accommodated, and I could nurse her -there. The woman told Madame La Luc that the young lady had lain in that -state for several hours. Madame examined her pulse, and shook her head. -This room is very close, said she.--Very close indeed, cried Clara -eagerly; surely she would be better at the chateau, if she could be -moved. - -We will see about that, said her aunt. In the mean time let me speak to -Peter; it is some years since I saw him. She went to the outer room, and -the woman ran out of the cottage to look for him. When she was gone, -This is a miserable habitation for the poor stranger, said Clara; she -will never be well here: do, Madame, let her be carried to our house; I -am sure my father would wish it. Besides, there is something in her -features, even inanimate as they now are, that prejudices me in her -favour. - -Shall I never persuade you to give up that romantic notion of judging -people by their faces? said her aunt. What sort of a face she has is of -very little consequence--her condition is lamentable, and I am desirous -of altering it; but I wish first to ask Peter a few questions concerning -her. - -Thank you, my dear aunt, said Clara; she will be removed then. Madame La -Luc was going to reply; but Peter now entered, and expressing great joy -at seeing her again, inquired how Monsieur La Luc and Clara did. Clara -immediately welcomed honest Peter to his native place, and he returned -her salutation with many expressions of surprise at finding her _so much -grown_. Though I have so often dandled you in my arms, Ma'mselle, I -should never have known you again: Young twigs shoot fast, as they say. - -Madame La Luc now inquired into the particulars of Adeline's story; and -heard as much as Peter knew of it, being only that his late master found -her in a very distressed situation, and that he had himself brought her -from the abbey to save her from a French Marquis. The simplicity of -Peter's manner would not suffer her to question his veracity, though -some of the circumstances he related excited all her surprise and -awakened all her pity. Tears frequently stood in Clara's eyes during the -course of his narrative; and when he concluded, she said, Dear Madame, -I am sure when my father learns the history of this unhappy young woman -he will not refuse to be a parent to her, and I will be her sister. - -She deserves it all, said Peter, for she is very good indeed. He then -proceeded in a strain of praise which was very unusual with him.--I will -go home and consult with my brother about her, said Madame La Luc, -rising: she certainly ought to be removed to a more airy room. The -chateau is so near, that I think she may be carried thither without much -risk. - -Heaven bless you! Madam, cried Peter, rubbing his hands, for your -goodness to my poor young lady. - -La Luc had just returned from his evening walk when they reached the -chateau. Madame told him where she had been, and related the history of -Adeline and her present condition.--By all means have her removed -hither, said La Luc, whose eyes bore testimony to the tenderness of his -heart: she can be better attended to here than in Susan's cottage. - -I knew you would say so, my dear father, said Clara: I will go and order -the green bed to be prepared for her. - -Be patient, niece, said Madame La Luc; there is no occasion for such -haste: some things are to be considered first; but you are young and -romantic.--La Luc smiled.--The evening is now closed, resumed Madame; it -will therefore be dangerous to remove her before morning. Early -to-morrow a room shall be got ready, and she shall be brought here; in -the mean time I will go and make up a medicine which I hope may be of -service to her.--Clara reluctantly assented to this delay, and Madame La -Luc retired to her closet. - -On the following morning Adeline, wrapped in blankets and sheltered as -much as possible from the air, was brought to the chateau, where the -good La Luc desired she might have every attention paid her, and where -Clara watched over her with unceasing anxiety and tenderness. She -remained in a state of torpor during the greater part of the day, but -towards evening she breathed more freely; and Clara, who still watched -by her bed, had at length the pleasure of perceiving that her senses -were restored. It was at this moment that she found herself in the -situation from which we have digressed to give this account of the -venerable La Luc and his family. The reader will find that his virtues -and his friendship to Adeline deserved this notice. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Still Fancy, to herself unkind, -Awakes to grief the soften'd mind. -And points the bleeding friend. - -COLLINS. - - -Adeline, assisted by a fine constitution, and the kind attentions of her -new friends, was in a little more than a week so much recovered as to -leave her chamber. She was introduced to La Luc, whom she met with tears -of gratitude, and thanked for his goodness in a manner so warm, yet so -artless, as interested him still more in her favour. During the progress -of her recovery, the sweetness of her behaviour had entirely won the -heart of Clara, and greatly interested that of her aunt, whose reports -of Adeline, together with the praises bestowed by Clara, had excited -both esteem and curiosity in the breast of La Luc; and he now met her -with an expression of benignity which spoke peace and comfort to her -heart. She had acquainted Madame La Luc with such particulars of her -story as Peter, either through ignorance or inattention, had not -communicated, suppressing only, through a false delicacy perhaps, an -acknowledgment of her attachment to Theodore. These circumstances were -repeated to La Luc, who, ever sensible to the sufferings of others, was -particularly interested by the singular misfortunes of Adeline. - -Near a fortnight had elapsed since her removal to the chateau, when one -morning La Luc desired to speak with her alone. She followed him into -his study, and then in a manner the most delicate he told her, that as -he found she was so unfortunate in her father, he desired she would -henceforth consider him as her parent, and his house as her home. You -and Clara shall be equally my daughters, continued he; I am rich in -having such children. The strong emotions of surprise and gratitude for -some time kept Adeline silent. Do not thank me, said La Luc; I know all -you would say, and I know also that I am but doing my duty: I thank God -that my duty and my pleasures are generally in unison. Adeline wiped -away the tears which his goodness had excited, and was going to speak; -but La Luc pressed her hand, and turning away to conceal his emotion, -walked out of the room. - -Adeline was now considered as a part of the family; and in the parental -kindness of La Luc, the sisterly affection of Clara, and the steady and -uniform regard of Madame, she would have been happy as she was thankful, -had not unceasing anxiety for the fate of Theodore, of whom in this -solitude she was less likely than ever to hear, corroded her heart, and -embittered every moment of reflection. Even when sleep obliterated for -awhile the memory of the past, his image frequently arose to her fancy, -accompanied by all the exaggerations of terror. She saw him in chains, -and struggling in the grasp of ruffians, or saw him led, amidst the -dreadful preparations for execution, into the field: she saw the agony -of his look, and heard him repeat her name in frantic accents, till the -horrors of the scene overcame her and she awoke. - -A similarity of taste and character attached her to Clara; yet the -misery that preyed upon her heart was of a nature too delicate to be -spoken of, and she never mentioned Theodore even to her friend. Her -illness had yet left her weak and languid, and the perpetual anxiety of -her mind contributed to prolong this state. She endeavoured by strong -and almost continual efforts to abstract her thoughts from their -mournful subject, and was often successful. La Luc had an excellent -library, and the instruction it offered at once gratified her love of -knowledge, and withdrew her mind from painful recollections. His -conversation too afforded her another refuge from misery. - -But her chief amusement was to wander among the sublime scenery of the -adjacent country, sometimes with Clara, though often with no other -companion than a book. There were indeed times when the conversation of -her friend imposed a painful restraint, and, when, given up to -reflection, she would ramble alone through scenes whose solitary -grandeur assisted and soothed the melancholy of her heart. Here she -would retrace all the conduct of her beloved Theodore, and endeavour to -recollect his exact countenance, his air and manner. Now she would weep -at the remembrance, and then, suddenly considering that he had perhaps -already suffered an ignominious death for her sake, even in consequence -of the very action which had proved his love, a dreadful despair would -seize her, and, arresting her tears, would threaten to bear down every -barrier that fortitude and reason could oppose. - -Fearing longer to trust her own thoughts, she would hurry home, and by a -desperate effort would try to lose, in the conversation of La Luc, the -remembrance of the past. Her melancholy, when he observed it, La Luc -attributed to a sense of the cruel treatment she had received from her -father; a circumstance which, by exciting his compassion, endeared her -more strongly to his heart; while that love of rational conversation, -which in her calmer hours so frequently appeared, opened to him a new -source of amusement in the cultivation of a mind eager for knowledge, -and susceptible of all the energies of genius. She found a melancholy -pleasure in listening to the soft tones of Clara's lute, and would often -soothe her mind by attempting to repeat the airs she heard. - -The gentleness of her manners, partaking so much of that pensive -character which marked La Luc's, was soothing to his heart, and -tinctured his behaviour with a degree of tenderness that imparted -comfort to her, and gradually won her entire confidence and affection. -She saw with extreme concern the declining state of his health, and -united her efforts with those of the family to amuse and revive him. - -The pleasing society of which she partook, and the quietness of the -country, at length restored her mind to a state of tolerable composure. -She was now acquainted with all the wild walks of the neighbouring -mountains; and never tired of viewing their astonishing scenery, she -often indulged herself in traversing alone their unfrequented paths, -where now and then a peasant from a neighbouring village was all that -interrupted the profound solitude. She generally took with her a book, -that if she perceived her thought inclined to fix on the one object of -her grief, she might force them to a subject less dangerous to her -peace. She had become a tolerable proficient in English while at the -convent where she received her education, and the instruction of La Luc, -who was well acquainted with the language, now served to perfect her. He -was partial to the English; he admired their character, and the -constitution of their laws, and his library contained a collection of -their best authors, particularly of their philosophers and poets. -Adeline found that no species of writing had power so effectually to -withdraw her mind from the contemplation of its own misery as the higher -kinds of poetry, and in these her taste soon taught her to distinguish -the superiority of the English from that of the French. The genius of -the language, more perhaps than the genius of the people, if indeed the -distinction may be allowed, occasioned this. - -She frequently took a volume of Shakespeare or of Milton, and, having -gained some wild eminence, would seat herself beneath the pines, whose -low murmurs soothed her heart, and conspired with the visions of the -poet to lull her to forgetfulness of grief. - -One evening, when Clara was engaged at home, Adeline wandered alone to a -favourite spot among the rocks that bordered the lake. It was an -eminence which commanded an entire view of the lake, and of the -stupendous mountains that environed it. A few ragged thorns grew from -the precipice beneath, which descended perpendicularly to the water's -edge; and above rose a thick wood of larch, pine, and fir, intermingled -with some chesnut and mountain ash. The evening was fine, and the air so -still that it scarcely waved the light leaves of the trees around, or -rippled the broad expanse of the waters below. Adeline gazed on the -scene with a kind of still rapture, and watched the sun sinking amid a -crimson glow, which tinted the bosom of the lake and the snowy heads of -the distant Alps. The delight which the scenery inspired: - - -Soothing each gust of passion into peace, -All but the swellings of the soften'd heart, -That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind; - - -was now heightened by the tones of a French horn, and, looking on the -lake, she perceived at some distance a pleasure-boat. As it was a -spectacle rather uncommon in this solitude, she concluded the boat -contained a party of foreigners come to view the wonderful scenery of -the country, or perhaps of Genevois, who choose to amuse themselves on -a lake as grand, though much less extensive, than their own; and the -latter conjecture was probably just. - -As she listened to the mellow and enchanting tones of the horn, which -gradually sunk away in distance, the scene appeared more lovely than -before; and finding it impossible to forbear attempting to paint in -language what was so beautiful in reality, she composed the following: - - -STANZAS - -How smooth that lake expands its ample breast! -Where smiles in soften'd glow the summer sky: -How vast the rocks that o'er its surface rest! -How wild the scenes its winding shores supply! - -Now down the western steep slow sinks the sun, -And paints with yellow gleam the tufted woods; -While here the mountain-shadows, broad and dun, -Sweep o'er the crystal mirror of the floods. - -Mark how his splendour tips with partial light -Those shatter'd battlements! that on the brow -Of yon bold promontory burst to sight -From o'er the woods that darkly spread below. - -In the soft blush of light's reflected power, -The ridgy rock, the woods that crown its steep, -Th' illumin'd battlement, and darker tower, -On the smooth wave in trembling beauty sleep. - -But, lo! the sun recalls his fervid ray, -And cold and dim the watery visions fail; -While o'er yon cliff, whose pointed crags decay, -Mild evening draws her thin empurpled veil! - -How sweet that strain of melancholy horn! -That floats along the slowly-ebbing wave, -And up the far-receding mountains borne, -Returns a dying close from Echo's cave! - -Hail! shadowy forms of still, expressive Eve! -Your pensive graces stealing on my heart, -Bid all the fine-attun'd emotions live, -And Fancy all her loveliest dreams impart. - - -La Luc observing how much Adeline was charmed with the features of the -country, and desirous of amusing her melancholy, which, notwithstanding -her efforts, was often too apparent, wished to show her other scenes -than those to which her walks were circumscribed. He proposed a party on -horseback to take a nearer view of the Glaciers; to attempt their ascent -was a difficulty and fatigue to which neither La Luc, in his present -state of health, nor Adeline were equal. She had not been accustomed to -ride single, and the mountainous road they were to pass made the -experiment rather dangerous; but she concealed her fears, and they were -not sufficient to make her wish to forego an enjoyment such as was now -offered her. - -The following day was fixed for this excursion. La Luc and his party -arose at an early hour, and having taken a slight breakfast, they set -out towards the Glacier of Montanvert, which lay at a few leagues -distance. Peter carried a small basket of provisions; and it was their -plan to dine on some pleasant spot in the open air. - -It is unnecessary to describe the high enthusiasm of Adeline, the more -complacent pleasure of La Luc, and the transports of Clara, as the -scenes of this romantic country shifted to their eyes. Now frowning in -dark and gloomy grandeur, it exhibited only tremendous rocks and -cataracts rolling from the heights into some deep and narrow valley, -along which their united waters roared and foamed, and burst away to -regions inaccessible to mortal foot: and now the scene arose less -fiercely wild: - - -The pomp of groves and garniture of fields - - -were intermingled with the ruder features of nature; and while the snow -froze on the summit of the mountain, the vine blushed at its foot. - -Engaged in interesting conversation, and by the admiration which the -country excited, they travelled on till noon, when they looked round for -a pleasant spot where they might rest and take refreshment. At some -little distance they perceived the ruins of a fabric which had once been -a castle; it stood almost on a point of rock that overhung a deep -valley; and its broken turrets rising from among the woods that -embosomed it, heightened the picturesque beauty of the object. - -The edifice invited curiosity, and the shades repose--La Luc and his -party advanced. - - -Deep struck with awe they mark'd the dome o'erthrown, -Where once the beauty bloom'd, the warrior shone: -They saw the _castle's_ mouldering towers decay'd, -The loose stone tottering o'er the trembling shade. - - -They seated themselves on the grass under the shade of some high trees -near the ruins. An opening in the woods afforded a view of the distant -Alps--the deep silence of solitude reigned. For some time they were lost -in meditation. Adeline felt a sweet complacency, such as she had long -been a stranger to. Looking at La Luc, she perceived a tear stealing -down his cheek, while the elevation of his mind was strongly expressed -on his countenance. He turned on Clara his eyes, which were now filled -with tenderness, and made an effort to recover himself. - -The stillness and total seclusion of this scene, said Adeline, those -stupendous mountains, the gloomy grandeur of these woods, together with -that monument of faded glory on which the hand of time is so -emphatically impressed, diffuse a sacred enthusiasm over the mind, and -awaken sensations truly sublime. - -La Luc was going to speak; but Peter coming forward, desired to know -whether he had not better open the wallet, as he fancied his honour and -the young ladies must be main hungry, jogging on so far up hill and down -before dinner. They acknowledged the truth of honest Peter's suspicion, -and accepted his hint. - -Refreshments were spread on the grass; and having seated themselves -under the canopy of waving woods, surrounded by the sweets of wild -flowers, they inhaled the pure breeze of the Alps, which might be called -spirit of air, and partook of a repast which these circumstances -rendered delicious. - -When they arose to depart,--I am unwilling, said Clara, to quit this -charming spot. How delightful would it be to pass one's life beneath -these shades with the friends who are dear to one!--La Luc smiled at the -romantic simplicity of the idea: but Adeline sighed deeply to the image -of felicity and of Theodore which it recalled, and turned away to -conceal her tears. - -They now mounted their horses, and soon after arrived at the foot of -Montanvert. The emotions of Adeline, as she contemplated in various -points of view the astonishing objects around her, surpassed all -expression; and the feelings of the whole party were too strong to admit -of conversation. The profound stillness which reigned in these regions -of solitude inspired awe, and heightened the sublimity of the scenery to -an exquisite degree. - -It seems, said Adeline, as if we were walking over the ruins of the -world, and were the only persons who had survived the wreck. I can -scarcely persuade myself that we are not left alone on the globe. - -The view of these objects, said La Luc, lift the soul to their Great -Author, and we contemplate with a feeling almost too vast for -humanity--the sublimity of his nature in the grandeur of his works.--La -Luc raised his eyes, filled with tears, to heaven, and was for some -moments lost in silent adoration. - -They quitted these scenes with extreme reluctance; but the hour of the -day, and the appearance of the clouds, which seemed gathering for a -storm, made them hasten their departure. Could she have been sheltered -from its fury, Adeline almost wished to have witnessed the tremendous -effect of a thunder storm in these regions. - -They returned to Leloncourt by a different route, and the shade of the -overhanging precipices was deepened by the gloom of the atmosphere. It -was evening when they came within view of the lake, which the travelers -rejoiced to see, for the storm so long threatened was now fast -approaching; the thunder murmured among the Alps; and the dark vapours -that rolled heavily along their sides heightened their dreadful -sublimity. La Luc would have quickened his pace, but the road winding -down the steep side of a mountain made caution necessary. The darkening -air and the lightnings that now flashed along the horizon terrified -Clara, but she withheld the expression of her fear in consideration of -her father. A peal of thunder, which seemed to shake the earth to its -foundations, and was reverberated in tremendous echoes from the cliffs, -burst over their heads. Clara's horse took fright at the sound, and -setting off, hurried her with amazing velocity down the mountain towards -the lake, which washed its foot. The agony of La Luc, who viewed her -progress in the horrible expectation of seeing her dashed down the -precipice that bordered the road, is not to be described. - -Clara kept her seat, but terror had almost deprived her of sense. Her -efforts to preserve herself were mechanical, for she scarcely knew what -she did. The horse, however, carried her safely almost to the foot of -the mountain, but was making towards the lake, when a gentleman who -travelled along the road caught the bridle as the animal endeavoured to -pass. The sudden stopping of the horse threw Clara to the ground, and, -impatient of restraint, the animal burst from the hand of the stranger, -and plunged into the lake. The violence of the fall deprived her of -recollection; but while the stranger endeavoured to support her, his -servant ran to fetch water. - -She soon recovered, and unclosing her eyes found herself in the arms of -a chevalier, who appeared to support her with difficulty. The compassion -expressed in his countenance while he inquired how she did, revived her -spirits; and she was endeavouring to thank him for his kindness, when La -Luc and Adeline came up. The terror impressed on her father's features -was perceived by Clara; languid as she was, she tried to raise herself, -and said with a faint smile, which betrayed instead of disguising her -sufferings, Dear Sir, I am not hurt. Her pale countenance and the blood -that trickled down her cheek contradicted her words. But La Luc, to whom -terror had suggested the utmost possible evil, now rejoiced to hear her -speak; he recalled some presence of mind, and while Adeline applied her -salts, he chafed her temples. - -When she revived, she told him how much she was obliged to the stranger. -La Luc endeavoured to express his gratitude; but the former interrupting -him, begged he might be spared the pain of receiving thanks for having -followed only an impulse of common humanity. - -They were now not far from Leloncourt; but the evening was almost shut -in, and the thunder murmured deeply among the hills. La Luc was -distressed how to convey Clara home. - -In endeavouring to raise her from the ground, the stranger betrayed such -evident symptoms of pain, that La Luc inquired concerning it. The sudden -jerk which the horse had given the arm of the chevalier, in escaping -from his hold, had violently sprained his shoulder, and rendered his arm -almost useless. The pain was exquisite; and La Luc, whose fears for his -daughter were now subsiding, was shocked at the circumstance, and -pressed the stranger to accompany him to the village, where relief might -be obtained. He accepted the invitation; and Clara, being at length -placed on a horse led by her father, was conducted to the chateau. - -When Madame, who had been looking out for La Luc some time, perceived -the cavalcade approaching, she was alarmed, and her apprehensions were -confirmed when she saw the situation of her niece. Clara was carried -into the house, and La Luc would have sent for a surgeon, but there was -none within several leagues of the village, neither were there any of -the physical profession within the same distance. Clara was assisted to -her chamber by Adeline, and Madame La Luc undertook to examine the -wounds. The result restored peace to the family, for though she was much -bruised, she had escaped material injury; a slight contusion on the -forehead had occasioned the bloodshed which at first alarmed La Luc. -Madame undertook to restore her niece in a few days with the assistance -of a balsam composed by herself, on the virtues of which she descanted -with great eloquence, till La Luc interrupted her by reminding her of -the condition of her patient. - -Madame having bathed Clara's bruises, and given her a cordial of -incomparable efficacy, left her; and Adeline watched in the chamber of -her friend till she retired to her own for the night. - -La Luc, whose spirits had suffered much perturbation, was now -tranquillized by the report his sister made of Clara. He introduced the -stranger; and having mentioned the accident he had met with, desired -that he might have immediate assistance. Madame hastened to her closet; -and it is perhaps difficult to determine whether she felt most concern -for the sufferings of her guest, or pleasure at the opportunity thus -offered of displaying her medical skill. However this might be, she -quitted the room with great alacrity, and very quickly returned with a -phial containing her inestimable balsam; and having given the necessary -directions for the application of it, she left the stranger to the care -of his servant. - -La Luc insisted that the chevalier, M. Verneuil, should not leave the -chateau that night, and he very readily submitted to be detained. His -manners during the evening were as frank and engaging as the hospitality -and gratitude of La Luc were sincere, and they soon entered into -interesting conversation. M. Verneuil conversed like a man who had seen -much, and thought more; and if he discovered any prejudice in his -opinions, it was evidently the prejudice of a mind which, seeing objects -through the medium of his own goodness, tinges them with the hue of its -predominant quality. La Luc was much pleased, for in his retired -situation he had not often an opportunity of receiving the pleasure -which results from a communion of intelligent minds. He found that M. -Verneuil had travelled. La Luc having asked some questions relative to -England, they fell into discourse concerning the national characters of -the French and English. - -If it is the privilege of wisdom, said M. Verneuil, to look beyond -happiness, I own I had rather be without it. When we observe the -English, their laws, writings, and conversations, and at the same time -mark their countenances, manners, and the frequency of suicide among -them, we are apt to believe that wisdom and happiness are incompatible. -If, on the other hand, we turn to their neighbours, the French, and -see[1] their wretched policy, their sparkling but sophistical discourse, -frivolous occupations, and, withal, their gay animated air, we shall be -compelled to acknowledge that happiness and folly too often dwell -together. - -It is the end of wisdom, said La Luc, to attain happiness, and I can -hardly dignify that conduct or course of thinking which tends to misery -with the name of wisdom. By this rule, perhaps, the folly, as we term -it, of the French deserves, since its effect is happiness, to be called -wisdom. That airy thoughtlessness, which alike to contemn reflection and -anticipation, produces all the effect of it without reducing its -subjects to the mortification of philosophy. But in truth wisdom is an -exertion of mind to subdue folly; and as the happiness of the French is -less the consequence of mind than of constitution, it deserves not the -honours of wisdom. - -Discoursing on the variety of opinions that are daily formed on the same -conduct, La Luc observed how much that which is commonly called opinion -is the result of passion and temper. - -True, said M. Vernueil, there is a tone of thought, as there is a key -note in music, that leads all its weaker affections. Thus, where the -powers of judging may be equal, the disposition to judge is different; -and the actions of men are but too often arraigned by whim and caprice, -by partial vanity, and the humour of the moment. - -Here La Luc took occasion to reprobate the conduct of those writers, -who, by showing the dark side only of human nature, and by dwelling on -the evils only which are incident to humanity, have sought to degrade -man in his own eyes, and to make him discontented with life. What should -we say of a painter, continued La Luc, who collected in his piece -objects of a black hue only, who presents you with a black man, a black -horse, a black dog, &c. &c., and tells you that his is a picture of -nature, and that nature is black?--'Tis true, you would reply, the -objects you exhibit do exist in nature, but they form a very small part -of her works. You say that nature is black, and, to prove it, you have -collected on your canvass all the animals of this hue that exist. But -you have forgot to paint the green earth, the blue sky, the white man, -and objects of all those various hues with which creation abounds, and -of which black is a very inconsiderable part. - -The countenance of M. Verneuil lightened with peculiar animation during -the discourse of La Luc.--To think well of his nature, said he, is -necessary to the dignity and the happiness of man. There is a decent -pride which becomes every mind, and is congenial to virtue. That -consciousness of innate dignity, which shows him the glory of his -nature, will be his best protection from the meanness of vice. Where -this consciousness is wanting, continued M. Verneuil, there can be no -sense of moral honour, and consequently none of the higher principles of -action. What can be expected of him who says it is his nature to be mean -and selfish? Or who can doubt that he who thinks thus, thinks from the -experience of his own heart, from the tendency of his own inclinations? -Let it always be remembered, that he who would persuade men to be good, -ought to show them that they are great. - -You speak, said La Luc, with the honest enthusiasm of a virtuous mind; -and in obeying the impulse of your heart, you utter the truths of -philosophy: and, trust me, a bad heart and a truly philosophic head have -never yet been united in the same individual. Vicious inclinations not -only corrupt the heart, but the understanding, and thus lead to false -reasoning. Virtue only is on the side of truth. - -La Luc and his guest, mutually pleased with each other, entered upon the -discussion of subjects so interesting to them both, that it was late -before they parted for the night. - - -[Footnote 1: It must be remembered that this was said in the -seventeenth century.] - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -'Twas such a scene as gave a kind relief -To memory, in sweetly pensive grief. - -VIRGIL'S TOMB. - -Mine be the breezy hill, that skirts the down, -Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, -With here and there a violet bestrown, -And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. - -THE MINSTREL. - - -Repose had so much restored Clara, that when Adeline, anxious to know -how she did, went early in the morning to her chamber, she found her -already risen, and ready to attend the family at breakfast. Monsieur -Verneuil appeared also; but his looks betrayed a want of rest, and -indeed he had suffered during the night a degree of anguish from his arm -which it was an effort of some resolution to endure in silence. It was -now swelled and somewhat inflamed, and this might in some degree be -attributed to the effect of Madame La Luc's balsam, the restorative -qualities of which for once had failed. The whole family sympathized -with his sufferings, and Madame at the request of M. Verneuil, abandoned -her balsam, and substituted an emollient fomentation. - -From an application of this, he in a short time found an abatement of -the pain, and returned to the breakfast table with greater composure. -The happiness which La Luc felt at seeing his daughter in safety was -very apparent; but the warmth of his gratitude towards her preserver he -found it difficult to express. Clara spoke the genuine emotions of her -heart with artless but modest energy, and testified sincere concern for -the sufferings which she had occasioned M. Verneuil. - -The pleasure received from the company of his guest, and the -consideration of the essential services he had rendered him, co-operated -with the natural hospitality of La Luc, and he pressed M. Verneuil to -remain some time at the chateau.--I can never repay the services you -have done me, said La Luc; yet I seek to increase my obligations to you -by requesting you will prolong your visit, and thus allow me an -opportunity of cultivating your acquaintance. - -M. Verneuil, who at the time he met La Luc was travelling from Geneva to -a distant part of Savoy, merely for the purpose of viewing the country, -being now delighted with his host and with every thing around him, -willingly accepted the invitation. In this circumstance prudence -concurred with inclination, for to have pursued his journey on -horseback, in his present situation, would have been dangerous, if not -impracticable. - -The morning was spent in conversation, in which M. Verneuil displayed a -mind enriched with taste, enlightened by science, and enlarged by -observation. The situation of the chateau and the features of the -surrounding scenery charmed him, and in the evening he found himself -able to walk with La Luc and explore the beauties of this romantic -region. As they passed through the village, the salutations of the -peasants, in whom love and respect were equally blended, and their eager -inquiries after Clara, bore testimony to the character of La Luc; while -his countenance expressed a serene satisfaction, arising from the -consciousness of deserving and possessing their love.--I live surrounded -by my children, said he, turning to M. Verneuil, who had noticed their -eagerness; for such I consider my parishioners. In discharging the -duties of my office, I am repaid not only by my own conscience, but by -their gratitude. There is a luxury in observing their simple and honest -love, which I would not exchange for any thing the world calls -blessings. - -Yet the world, Sir, would call the pleasures of which you speak -romantic, said M. Verneuil; for to be sensible of this pure and -exquisite delight requires a heart untainted with the vicious pleasures -of society--pleasures that deaden its finest feelings and poison the -source of its truest enjoyments.--They pursued their way along the -borders of the lake, sometimes under the shade of hanging woods, and -sometimes over hillocks of turf, where the scene opened in all its wild -magnificence. M. Verneuil often stopped in raptures to observe and point -out the singular beauties it exhibited, while La Luc, pleased with the -delight his friend expressed, surveyed with more than usual satisfaction -the objects which had so often charmed him before. But there was a -tender melancholy in the tone of his voice and his countenance, which -arose from the recollection of having often traced those scenes, and -partaken of the pleasure they inspired, with her who had long since bade -them an eternal farewell. - -They presently quitted the lake, and, winding up a steep ascent between -the woods, came after a hour's walk to a green summit, which appeared, -among the savage rocks that environed it, like the blossom on the thorn. -It was a spot formed for solitary delight, inspiring that soothing -tenderness so dear to the feeling mind, and which calls back to memory -the images of past regret, softened by distance and endeared by frequent -recollection. Wild shrubs grew from the crevices of the rocks beneath, -and the high trees of pine and cedar that waved above, afforded a -melancholy and romantic shade. The silence of the scene was interrupted -only by the breeze as it rolled over the woods, and by the solitary -notes of the birds that inhabited the cliffs. - -From this point the eye commanded an entire view of those majestic and -sublime Alps whose aspect fills the soul with emotions of indescribable -awe, and seems to lift it to a nobler nature. The village and the -chateau of La Luc appeared in the bosom of the mountains, a peaceful -retreat from the storms that gathered on their tops. All the faculties -of M. Verneuil were absorbed in admiration, and he was for some time -quite silent; at length, bursting into a rhapsody, he turned, and would -have addressed La Luc, when he perceived him at a distance leaning -against a rustic urn, over which drooped in beautiful luxuriance the -weeping willow. - -As he approached, La Luc quitted his position, and advanced to meet him, -while M. Verneuil inquired upon what occasion the urn had been erected. -La Luc, unable to answer, pointed to it, and walked silently away, and -M. Verneuil approaching the urn, read the following inscription: - - -TO -THE MEMORY OF CLARA LA LUC, -THIS URN -IS ERECTED ON THE SPOT WHICH SHE -LOVED, IN TESTIMONY OF -THE AFFECTION OF -A HUSBAND. - - -M. Verneuil now comprehended the whole, and, feeling for his friend, was -hurt that he had noticed this monument of his grief. He rejoined La Luc, -who was standing on the point of the eminence contemplating the -landscape below with an air more placid, and touched with the sweetness -of piety and resignation. He perceived that M. Verneuil was somewhat -disconcerted, and he sought to remove his uneasiness. You will consider -it, said he, as a mark of my esteem that I have brought you to this -spot: it is never profaned by the presence of the unfeeling; they would -deride the faithfulness of an attachment which has so long survived its -object, and which, in their own breasts, would quickly have been lost -amidst the dissipation of general society. I have cherished in my heart -the remembrance of a woman whose virtues claimed all my love: I have -cherished it as a treasure to which I could withdraw from temporary -cares and vexations, in the certainty of finding a soothing, though -melancholy comfort. - -La Luc paused. M. Verneuil expressed the sympathy he felt, but he knew -the sacredness of sorrow, and soon relapsed into silence. One of the -brightest hopes of a future state, resumed La Luc, is, that we shall -meet again those whom we have loved upon earth. And perhaps our -happiness may be permitted to consist very much in the society of our -friends, purified from the frailties of mortality, with the finer -affections more sweetly attuned, and with the faculties of mind -infinitely more elevated and enlarged. We shall then be enabled to -comprehend subjects which are too vast for human conception; to -comprehend, perhaps, the sublimity of that Deity who first called us -into being. These views of futurity, my friend, elevate us above the -evils of this world, and seem to communicate to us a portion of the -nature we contemplate. - -Call them not the illusions of a visionary brain, proceeded La Luc: I -trust in their reality. Of this I am certain, that whether they are -illusions or not, a faith in them ought to be cherished for the comfort -it brings to the heart, and reverenced for the dignity it imparts to the -mind. Such feelings make a happy and an important part of our belief in -a future existence: they give energy to virtue, and stability to -principle. - -This, said M. Verneuil, is what I have often felt, and what every -ingenuous mind must acknowledge. - -La Luc and M. Verneuil continued in conversation till the sun had left -the scene. The mountains, darkened by twilight, assumed a sublimer -aspect, while the tops of some of the highest Alps were yet illuminated -by the sun's rays, and formed a striking contrast to the shadowy -obscurity of the world below. As they descended through the woods, and -traversed the margin of the lake, the stillness and solemnity of the -hour diffused a pensive sweetness over their minds, and sunk them into -silence. - -They found supper spread, as was usual, in the hall, of which the -windows opened upon a garden, where the flowers might be said to yield -their fragrance in gratitude to the refreshing dews. The windows were -embowered with eglantine and other sweet shrubs, which hung in wild -luxuriance around, and formed a beautiful and simple decoration. Clara -and Adeline loved to pass their evenings in this hall, where they had -acquired the first rudiments of astronomy, and from which they had a -wide view of the heavens. La Luc pointed out to them the planets and the -fixed stars, explained their laws, and from thence taking occasion to -mingle moral with scientific instruction, would often ascend towards -that great First Cause, whose nature soars beyond the grasp of human -comprehension. - -No study, he would sometimes say, so much enlarges the mind, or -impresses it with so sublime an idea of the Deity, as that of astronomy. -When the imagination launches into the regions of space, and -contemplates the innumerable worlds which are scattered through it, we -are lost in astonishment and awe. This globe appears as a mass of atoms -in the immensity of the universe, and man a mere insect. Yet how -wonderful! that man, whose frame is so diminutive in the scale of being, -should have powers which spurn the narrow boundaries of time and place, -soar beyond the sphere of his existence, penetrate the secret laws of -nature, and calculate their progressive effects. - -O! how expressively does this prove the spirituality of our being! Let -the materialist consider it, and blush that he has ever doubted. - -In this hall the whole family now met at supper; and during the -remainder of the evening the conversation turned upon general subjects, -in which Clara joined in modest and judicious remark. La Luc had taught -her to familiarize her mind to reasoning, and had accustomed her to -deliver her sentiments freely: she spoke them with a simplicity -extremely engaging, and which convinced her hearers that the love of -knowledge, not the vanity of talking, induced her to converse. M. -Verneuil evidently endeavoured to draw forth her sentiments; and Clara, -interested by the subjects he introduced, a stranger to affectation, and -pleased with the opinions he expressed, answered them with frankness and -animation. They retired mutually pleased with each other. - -M. Verneuil was about six-and-thirty; his figure manly, his countenance -frank and engaging. A quick penetrating eye, whose fire was softened by -benevolence, disclosed the chief traits of his character; he was quick -to discern, but generous to excuse, the follies of mankind; and while no -one more sensibly felt an injury, none more readily accepted the -concession of an enemy. - -He was by birth a Frenchman. A fortune lately devolved to him, had -enabled him to execute the plan which his active and inquisitive mind -had suggested, of viewing the most remarkable parts of the continent. He -was peculiarly susceptible of the beautiful and sublime in nature. To -such a taste, Switzerland and the adjacent country was, of all others, -the most interesting; and he found the scenery it exhibited infinitely -surpassing all that his glowing imagination had painted; he saw with the -eye of a painter, and felt with the rapture of a poet. - -In the habitation of La Luc he met with the hospitality, the frankness, -and the simplicity so characteristic of the country; in his venerable -host he saw the strength of philosophy united with the finest tenderness -of humanity--a philosophy which taught him to correct his feelings, not -to annihilate them; in Clara, the bloom of beauty with the most perfect -simplicity of heart; and in Adeline, all the charms of elegance and -grace, with a genius deserving of the highest culture. In this family -picture the goodness of Madame La Luc was not unperceived or forgotten. -The cheerfulness and harmony that reigned within the chateau was -delightful; but the philanthropy which, flowing from the heart of the -pastor, was diffused through the whole village, and united the -inhabitants in the sweet and firm bonds of social compact, was divine. -The beauty of its situation conspired with these circumstances to make -Leloncourt seem almost a paradise. M. Verneuil sighed that he must soon -quit it. I ought to seek no further, said he, for here wisdom and -happiness dwell together. - -The admiration was reciprocal: La Luc and his family found themselves -much interested in M. Verneuil, and looked forward to the time of his -departure with regret. So warmly they pressed him to prolong his visit, -and so powerfully his own inclinations seconded theirs, that he accepted -the invitation. La Luc admitted no circumstance which might contribute -to the amusement of his guest, who having in a few days recovered the -use of his arm, they made several excursions among the mountains. -Adeline and Clara, whom the care of Madame had restored to her usual -health, were generally of the party. - -After spending a week at the chateau, M. Verneuil bade adieu to La Luc -and his family. They parted with mutual regret; and the former promised -that when he returned to Geneva, he would take Leloncourt in his way. As -he said this, Adeline, who had for some time observed with much alarm La -Luc's declining health, looked mournfully on his languid countenance, -and uttered a secret prayer that he might live to receive the visit of -M. Verneuil. - -Madame was the only person who did not lament his departure; she saw -that the efforts of her brother to entertain his guest were more than -his present state of health would admit of, and she rejoiced in the -quiet that would now return to him. - -But this quiet brought La Luc no respite from illness; the fatigue he -had suffered in his late excursions seemed to have increased his -disorder, which in a short time assumed the aspect of a consumption. -Yielding to the solicitations of his family, he went to Geneva for -advice, and was there recommended to try the air of Nice. - -The journey thither, however, was of considerable length; and believing -his life to be very precarious, he hesitated whether to go. He was also -unwilling to leave the duty of his parish unperformed for so long a -period as his health might require; but this was an objection which -would not have withheld him from Nice, had his faith in the climate been -equal to that of his physicians. - -His parishioners felt the life of their pastor to be of the utmost -consequence to them: it was a general cause, and they testified at once -his worth, and their sense of it, by going in a body to solicit him to -leave them. He was much affected by this instance of their attachment. -Such a proof of regard, joined with the entreaties of his own family, -and a consideration that for their sakes it was a duty to endeavour to -prolong his life, was too powerful to be withstood, and he determined to -set out for Italy. - -It was settled that Clara and Adeline, whose health La Luc thought -required change of air and scene, should accompany him, attended by the -faithful Peter. - -On the morning of his departure, a large body of his parishioners -assembled round the door to bid him farewell. It was an affecting -scene;--they might meet no more. At length, wiping the tears from his -eyes, La Luc said, Let us trust in God, my friends; he has power to heal -all disorders both of body and mind. We shall meet again, if not in this -world, I hope in a better;--let our conduct be such as to ensure that -better. - -The sobs of his people prevented any reply. There was scarcely a dry eye -in the village; for there was scarcely an inhabitant of it that was not -now assembled in the presence of La Luc. He shook hands with them all; -Farewell, my friends, said he, we shall meet again.--God grant we may! -said they, with one voice of fervent petition. - -Having mounted his horse, and Clara and Adeline being ready, they took a -last leave of Madame La Luc, and quitted the chateau. The people -unwilling to leave La Luc, the greater part of them accompanied him to -some distance from the village. As he moved slowly on, he cast a last -lingering look at his little home, where he had spent so many peaceful -years, and which he now gazed on perhaps for the last time, and tears -rose to his eyes; but he checked them. Every scene of the adjacent -country called up, as he passed, some tender remembrance. He looked -towards the spot consecrated to the memory of his deceased wife; the -dewy vapours of the morning veiled it. La Luc felt the disappointment -more deeply, perhaps, than reason could justify; but those who know from -experience how much the imagination loves to dwell on any object, -however remotely connected with that of our tenderness, will feel with -him. This was an object round which the affections of La Luc had settled -themselves; it was a memorial to the eye, and the view of it awakened -more forcibly in the memory every tender idea that could associate with -the primary subject of his regard. In such cases fancy gives to the -illusions of strong affection the stamp of reality, and they are -cherished by the heart with romantic fondness. - -His people accompanied him for near a mile from the village, and could -scarcely then be prevailed on to leave him: at length he once more bade -them farewell, and went on his way, followed by their prayers and -blessings. - -La Luc and his little party travelled slowly on, sunk in pensive -silence--a silence too pleasingly sad to be soon relinquished, and which -they indulged without fear of interruption. The solitary grandeur of the -scenes through which they passed, and the soothing murmur of the pines -that waved above, aided this soft luxury of meditation. - -They proceeded by easy stages; and after travelling for some days among -the romantic mountains and green valleys of Piedmont, they entered the -rich country of Nice. The gay and luxuriant views which now opened upon -the travellers as they wound among the hills, appeared like scenes of -fairy enchantment, or those produced by the lonely visions of the poets. -While the spiral summits of the mountains exhibited the snowy severity -of winter, the pine, the cypress, the olive, and the myrtle shaded their -sides with the green tints of spring, and groves of orange, lemon, and -citron, spread over their feet the full glow of autumn. As they -advanced, the scenery became still more diversified; and at length, -between the receding heights, Adeline caught a glimpse of the distant -waters of the Mediterranean fading into the blue and cloudless horizon. -She had never till now seen the ocean; and this transient view of it -roused her imagination, and made her watch impatiently for a nearer -prospect. - -It was towards the close of day when the travellers, winding round an -abrupt projection of that range of Alps which crowns the amphitheatre -that environs Nice, looked down upon the green hills that stretch to the -shores, on the city, and its ancient castle, and on the wide waters of -the Mediterranean; with the mountains of Corsica in the furthest -distance. Such a sweep of sea and land, so varied with the gay, the -magnificent, and the awful, would have fixed any eye in admiration. For -Adeline and Clara novelty and enthusiasm added their charms to the -prospect. The soft and salubrious air seemed to welcome La Luc to this -smiling region, and the serene atmosphere to promise invariable summer. -They at length descended upon the little plain where stands the city of -Nice, and which was the most extensive piece of level ground they had -passed since they entered the country. Here, in the bosom of the -mountains, sheltered from the north and the east, where the western -gales alone seemed to breathe, all the blooms of spring and the riches -of autumn were united. Trees of myrtle bordered the road, which wound -among groves of orange, lemon, and bergamot, whose delicious fragrance -came to the sense mingled with the breath of roses and carnations that -blossomed in their shade. The gently swelling hills that rose from the -plain were covered with vines, and crowned with cypresses, olives, and -date trees; beyond, there appeared the sweep of lofty mountains whence -the travellers had descended, and whence rose the little river Paglion, -swollen by the snows that melt on their summits, and which, after -meandering through the plain, washes the walls of Nice, where it falls -into the Mediterranean. In this blooming region Adeline observed that -the countenances of the peasants, meagre and discontented, formed a -melancholy contrast to the face of the country; and she lamented again -the effects of an arbitrary government, where the bounties of nature, -which were designed for all, are monopolized by a few, and the many are -suffered to starve, tantalized by surrounding plenty. - -The city lost much of its enchantment on a nearer approach; its narrow -streets and shabby houses but ill answered the expectation which a -distant view of its ramparts and its harbour, gay with vessels, seemed -to authorize. The appearance of the inn at which La Luc now alighted did -not contribute to soften his disappointment: but if he was surprised to -find such indifferent accommodation at the inn of a town celebrated as -the resort of valetudinarians, he was still more so when he learned the -difficulty of procuring furnished lodgings. - -After much search, he procured apartments in a small but pleasant house -situated a little way out of the town; it had a garden, and a terrace -which overlooked the sea, and was distinguished by an air of neatness -very unusual in the houses of Nice. He agreed to board with the family, -whose table likewise accommodated a gentleman and lady, their lodgers; -and thus he became a temporary inhabitant of this charming climate. - -On the following morning Adeline rose at an early hour, eager to indulge -the new and sublime emotion with which a view of the ocean inspired her, -and walked with Clara toward the hills that afforded a more extensive -prospect. They pursued their way for some time between high embowering -banks, till they arrived at an eminence, whence: - - -Heaven, earth, ocean, smiled! - - -They sat down on a point of rock overshadowed by lofty palm-trees, to -contemplate at leisure the magnificent scene. The sun was just emerged -from the sea, over which his rays shed a flood of light, and darted a -thousand brilliant tints on the vapours that ascend the horizon, and -floated there in light clouds, leaving the bosom of the waters below -clear as crystal, except where the white surges were seen to beat upon -the rocks; and discovering the distant sails of the fishing-boats, and -the far distant highlands of Corsica tinted with ethereal blue. Clara, -after some time, drew forth her pencil, but threw it aside in despair. -Adeline, as they returned home through a romantic glen, when her senses -were no longer absorbed in the contemplation of this grand scenery, and -when its images floated on her memory only in softened colours, repeated -the following lines: - - -SUNRISE: A SONNET - -Oft let me wander, at the break of day, -Through the cool vale o'erhung with waving woods, -Drink the rich fragrance of the budding May, -And catch the murmur of the distant floods; -Or rest on the fresh bank of limpid rill, -Where sleeps the violet in the dewy shade, -Where opening lilies balmy sweets distil, -And the wild musk-rose weeps along the glade: -Or climb the eastern cliff, whose airy head -Hangs rudely o'er the blue and misty main; -Watch the fine hues of morn through ether spread, -And paint with roseate glow the crystal plain. -Oh! who can speak the rapture of the soul -When o'er the waves the sun first steals to sight, -And all the world of waters, as they roll, -And Heaven's vast vault unveils in living light! -So life's young hour to man enchanting smiles, -With sparkling health, and joy, and fancy's fairy wiles! - - -La Luc in his walks met with some sensible and agreeable companions, who -like himself came to Nice in search of health. Of these he soon formed a -small but pleasant society, among whom was a Frenchman, whose mild -manners, marked with a deep and interesting melancholy, had particularly -attracted La Luc. He very seldom mentioned himself, or any circumstance -that might lead to a knowledge of his family, but on other subjects -conversed with frankness and much intelligence. La Luc had frequently -invited him to his lodgings, but he had always declined the invitation; -and this in a manner so gentle as to disarm displeasure, and convince La -Luc that his refusal was the consequence of a certain dejection of mind -which made him reluctant to meet other strangers. - -The description which La Luc had given of this foreigner had excited the -curiosity of Clara; and the sympathy which the unfortunate feel for each -other called forth the commiseration of Adeline; for that he was -unfortunate she could not doubt. On their return from an evening walk La -Luc pointed out the chevalier, and quickened his pace to overtake him. -Adeline was for a moment impelled to follow; but delicacy checked her -steps, she knew how painful the presence of a stranger often is to a -wounded mind, and forbore to intrude herself on his notice for the sake -of only satisfying an idle curiosity. She turned therefore into another -path: but the delicacy which now prevented the meeting, accident in a -few days defeated, and La Luc introduced the stranger. Adeline received -him with a soft smile, but endeavoured to restrain the expression of -pity which her features had involuntarily assumed; she wished him not to -know that she observed he was unhappy. - -After this interview he no longer rejected the invitations of La Luc, -but made him frequent visits, and often accompanied Adeline and Clara in -their rambles. The mild and sensible conversation of the former seemed -to soothe his mind, and in her presence he frequently conversed with a -degree of animation which La Luc till then had not observed in him. -Adeline too derived from the similarity of their taste, and his -intelligent conversation, a degree of satisfaction which contributed, -with the compassion his dejection inspired, to win her confidence, and -she conversed with an easy frankness rather unusual to her. - -His visits soon became more frequent. He walked with La Luc and his -family; he attended them on their little excursions to view those -magnificent remains of Roman antiquity which enrich the neighbourhood of -Nice. When the ladies sat at home and worked, he enlivened the hours by -reading to them, and they had the pleasure to observe his spirits -somewhat relieved from the heavy melancholy that had oppressed him. - -M. Amand was passionately fond of music. Clara had not forgot to bring -her beloved lute: he would sometimes strike the chords in the most sweet -and mournful symphonies, but never could be prevailed on to play. When -Adeline or Clara played, he would sit in deep reverie, and lost to every -object around him, except when he fixed his eyes in mournful gaze on -Adeline, and a sigh would sometimes escape him. - -One evening, Adeline having excused herself from accompanying La Luc and -Clara in a visit to a neighbouring family, she retired to the terrace of -the garden which overlooked the sea; and as she viewed the tranquil -splendour of the setting sun, and his glories reflected on the polished -surface of the waves, she touched the strings of the lute in softest -harmony, her voice accompanying it with words which she had one day -written after having read that rich effusion of Shakespeare's genius, "A -Midsummer Night's Dream." - - -TITANIA TO HER LOVE. - -O! fly with me through distant air -To isles that gem the western deep! -For laughing Summer revels there, -And hangs her wreath on every steep. - -As through the green transparent sea -Light floating on the waves we go, -The nymphs shall gaily welcome me, -Far in their coral caves below. - -For oft upon their margin sands, -When twilight leads the freshening hours, -I come with all my jocund bands -To charm them from their sea-green bowers. - -And well they love our sports to view, -And on the ocean's breast to lave; -And oft as we the dance renew, -They call up music from the wave. - -Swift hie we to that splendid clime, -Where gay Jamaica spreads her scene, -Lifts the blue mountain--wild--sublime! -And smooths her vales of vivid green. - -Where throned high, in pomp of shade, -The _power of vegetation_ reigns, -Expanding wide, o'er hill and glade, -Shrubs of all growth--fruit of all stains: - -She steals the sun-beam's fervid glow, -To paint her flowers of mingling hue; -And o'er the grape the purple throw, -Breaking from verdant leaves to view. - -There myrtle bowers, and citron grove, -O'er canopy our airy dance; -And there the sea-breeze loves to rove, -When trembles day's departing glance. - -And when the false moon steals away, -Or ere the chasing morn doth rise, -Oft, fearless, we our gambols play -By the fire-worm's radiant eyes. - -And suck the honey'd reeds that swell -In tufted plumes of silver white; -Or pierce the cocoa's milky cell, -To sip the nectar of delight! - -And when the shaking thunders roll, -And lightnings strike athwart the gloom, -We shelter in the cedar's bole, -And revel 'mid the rich perfume! - -But chief we love beneath the palm, -Or verdant plantain's spreading leaf, -To hear, upon the midnight calm, -Sweet Philomela pour her grief. - -To mortal sprite such dulcet sound, -Such blissful hours, were never known! -O fly with me my airy round, -And I will make them all thine own! - - -Adeline ceased to sing--when she immediately heard repeated in a low -voice: - - -To mortal sprite such dulcet sound, -Such blissful hours, were never known! - - -and turning her eyes whence it came, she saw M. Amand. She blushed and -laid down the lute, which he instantly took up, and with a tremulous -hand drew forth tones - - -[Illustration 08] - - -That might create a soul, -Under the ribs of death: - - -In a melodious voice, that trembled with sensibility, he sang the -following - - -SONNET - -How sweet is Love's first gentle sway, -When crown'd with flowers he softly smiles! -His blue eyes fraught with tearful wiles, -Where beams of tender transport play: -Hope leads him on his airy way, -And faith and fancy still beguiles---- -Faith quickly tangled in her toils---- -Fancy, whose magic forms so say -The fair deceiver's self deceive---- -How sweet is love's first gentle sway! -Ne'er would that heart he bids to grieve -From sorrow's soft enchantments stray---- -Ne'er--till the God exulting in his art, -Relentless frowns and wings th' envenom'd dart. - - -Monsieur Amand paused: he seemed much oppressed, and at length, bursting -into tears, laid down the instrument and walked abruptly away to the -further end of the terrace. Adeline, without seeming to observe his -agitation, arose and leaned upon the wall, below which a group of -fishermen were busily employed in drawing a net. In a few moments he -returned with a composed and softened countenance. Forgive this abrupt -conduct, said he; I know not how to apologize for it but by owning its -cause. When I tell you, Madame, that my tears flow to the memory of a -lady who strongly resembled you, and who is lost to me for ever, you -will know how to pity me.--His voice faltered, and he paused. Adeline -was silent. The lute he resumed, was her favourite instrument, and when -you touched it with such a melancholy expression, I saw her very image -before me. But, alas! why do I distress you with a knowledge of my -sorrows! she is gone, and never to return! And you, Adeline,--you----He -checked his speech; and Adeline turning on him a look of mournful -regard, observed a wildness in his eyes which alarmed her. These -recollections are too painful, said she in a gentle voice: let us return -to the house; M. La Luc is probably come home. O no! replied M. -Amand;--No--this breeze refreshes me. How often at this hour have I -talked with _her_, as I now talk with you!--such were the soft tones of -her voice--such the ineffable expression of her countenance.--Adeline -interrupted him. Let me beg of you to consider your health--this dewy -air cannot be good for invalids. He stood with his hands clasped, and -seemed not to hear her. She took up the lute to go, and passed her -fingers lightly over the chords. The sounds recalled his scattered -senses: he raised his eyes, and fixed them in long unsettled gaze upon -hers. Must I leave you here? said she smiling, and standing in an -attitude to depart--I entreat you to play again the air I heard just -now, said M. Amand in a hurried voice.--Certainly; and she immediately -began to play. He leaned against a palm tree in an attitude of deep -attention, and as the sounds languished on the air, his features -gradually lost their wild expression, and he melted into tears. He -continued to weep silently till the song concluded, and it was some time -before he recovered voice enough to say, Adeline, I cannot thank you for -this goodness: my mind has recovered its bias; you have soothed a broken -heart. Increase the kindness you have shown me, by promising never to -mention what you have witnessed this evening, and I will endeavour never -again to wound your sensibility by a similar offence.--Adeline gave the -required promise; and M. Amand, pressing her hand, with a melancholy -smile hurried from the garden, and she saw him no more that night. - -La Luc had been near a fortnight at Nice, and his health, instead of -amending seemed rather to decline, yet he wished to make a longer -experiment of the climate. The air which failed to restore her venerable -friend revived Adeline, and the variety and novelty of the surrounding -scenes amused her mind, though, since they could not obliterate the -memory of past, or suppress the pang of present affection, they were -ineffectual to dissipate the sick languor of melancholy. Company, by -compelling her to withdraw her attention from the subject of her sorrow, -afforded her a transient relief, but the violence of the exertion -generally left her more depressed. It was in the stillness of solitude, -in the tranquil observance of beautiful nature, that her mind recovered -its tone, and, indulging the pensive inclination now become habitual to -it, was soothed and fortified. Of all the grand objects which nature had -exhibited, the ocean inspired her with the most sublime admiration. She -loved to wander alone on its shores; and when she could escape so long -from the duties or forms of society, she would sit for hours on the -beach watching the rolling waves, and listening to their dying murmur, -till her softened fancy recalled long-lost scenes, and restored the -image of Theodore; when tears of despondency too often followed those of -pity and regret. But these visions of memory, painful as they were, no -longer excited that phrensy of grief they formerly awakened in Savoy; -the sharpness of misery was passed, though its heavy influence was not -perhaps less powerful. To these solitary indulgences generally succeeded -calmness, and what Adeline endeavoured to believe was resignation. - -She usually rose early, and walked down to the shore to enjoy, in the -cool and silent hours of the morning, the cheering beauty of nature, and -inhale the pure sea-breeze. Every object then smiled in fresh and lively -colours. The blue sea, the brilliant sky, the distant fishing-boats with -their white sails, and the voices of the fishermen borne at intervals on -the air, were circumstances which reanimated her spirits; and in one of -her rambles, yielding to that taste for poetry which had seldom forsaken -her, she repeated the following lines:-- - - -MORNING, ON THE SEA SHORE - -What print of fairy feet is here -On Neptune's smooth and yellow sands? -What midnight revel's airy dance, -Beneath the moonbeam's trembling glance -Has blest these shores?--What sprightly bands -Have chased the waves uncheck'd by fear? -Whoe'er they were they fled from morn, -For now, all silent and forlorn, -These tide-forsaken sands appear-- -Return, sweet sprites! the scene to cheer! - -In vain the call!--Till moonlight's hour -Again diffuse its softer power, -Titania, nor her fairy loves, -Emerge from India's spicy groves. -Then, when the shadowy hour returns, -When silence reigns o'er air and earth, -And every star in ether burns, -They come to celebrate their mirth; -In frolic ringlet trip the ground, -Bid music's voice on silence win, -Till magic echoes answer round-- -Thus do their festive rites begin. - -O fairy forms so coy to mortal ken, -Your mystic steps to poets only shown; -O! lead me to the brook, or hollow'd glen, -Retiring far, with winding woods o'ergrown -Where'er ye best delight to rule; -If in some forest's lone retreat, -Thither conduct my willing feet -To the light brink of fountain cool, -Where, sleeping in the midnight dew, -Lie spring's young buds of every hue, -Yielding their sweet breath to the air; -To fold their silken leaves from harm, -And their chill heads in moonshine warm, -Is bright Titania's tender care. - -There, to the night-birds's plaintive chaunt -Your carols sweet ye love to raise, -With oaten reed and pastoral lays; -And guard with forceful spell her haunt, -Who, when your antic sports are done, -Oft lulls ye in the lily's cell, -Sweet flower! that suits your slumbers well, -And shields ye from the rising sun. -When not to India's steeps ye fly -After twilight and the moon, -In honey buds ye love to lie, -While reigns supreme light's fervid noon; -Nor quit the cell where peace pervades. -Till night leads on the dews and shades. - -E'en now your scenes enchanted meet my sight! -I see the earth unclose, the palace rise, -The high dome swell, and long arcades of light -Glitter among the deep embowering woods, -And glance reflecting from the trembling floods! -While to soft lutes the portals wide unfold, -And fairy forms, of fine ethereal dyes, -Advance with frolic step and laughing eyes, -Their hair with pearl, their garments deck'd with gold; -Pearls that in Neptune's briny waves they sought, -And gold from India's deepest caverns brought. -Thus your light visions to my eyes unveil, -Ye sportive pleasures, sweet illusion, hail! -But ah! at morn's first blush again ye fade! -So from youth's ardent gaze life's landscape gay, -And forms in fancy's summer hues array'd, -Dissolve at once in air at truth's resplendent day! - - -During several days succeeding that on which M. Amand had disclosed the -cause of his melancholy, he did not visit La Luc. At length Adeline met -him in one of her solitary rambles on the shore. He was pale, and -dejected, and seemed much agitated when he observed her; she therefore -endeavoured to avoid him, but he advanced with quickened steps and -accosted her. He said it was his intention to leave Nice in a few days. -I have found no benefit from the climate, added M. Amand; alas! what -climate can relieve the sickness of the heart! I go to lose in the -varieties of new scenes the remembrance of past happiness; yet the -effort is vain; I am every where equally restless and unhappy. Adeline -tried to encourage him to hope much from time and change of place. Time -_will_ blunt the sharpest edge of sorrow, said she; I know it from -experience. Yet while she spoke, the tears in her eyes contradicted the -assertions of her lips.--You have been unhappy, Adeline!--Yes--I knew it -from the first. The smile of pity which you gave me, assured me that you -knew what it was to suffer. The desponding air with which he spoke -renewed her apprehension of a scene similar to the one she had lately -witnessed, and she changed the subject; but he soon returned to it. You -bid me hope much from time!--My wife!--My dear wife!----his tongue -faltered--It is now many months since I lost her--yet the moment of her -death seems but as yesterday. Adeline faintly smiled. You can scarcely -judge of the effect of time, yet you have much to hope for. He shook his -head. But I am again intruding my misfortunes on your notice; forgive -this perpetual egotism. There is a comfort in the pity of the good, such -as nothing else can impart; this must plead my excuse; may you, Adeline, -never want it! Ah! those tears----Adeline hastily dried them. M. Amand -forbore to press the subject, and immediately began to converse on -indifferent topics. They returned towards the chateau; but La Luc being -from home, M. Amand took leave at the door. Adeline retired to her -chamber, oppressed by her own sorrows, and those of her amiable friend. - -Near three weeks had now elapsed at Nice, during which the disorder of -La Luc seemed rather to increase than abate, when his physician very -honestly confessed the little hope he entertained from the climate, and -advised him to try the effect of a sea voyage, adding that if the -experiment failed, even the air of Montpellier appeared to him more -likely to afford relief than that of Nice. La Luc received this -disinterested advice with a mixture of gratitude and disappointment. The -circumstances which had made him reluctant to quit Savoy, rendered him -yet more so to protract his absence and increase his expenses; but the -ties of affection that bound him to his family, and the love of life, -which so seldom leaves us, again prevailed over inferior considerations; -and he determined to coast the Mediterranean as far as Languedoc, where -if the voyage did not answer his expectation he would land and proceed -to Montpellier. - -When M. Amand learned that La Luc designed to quit Nice in a few days, -he determined not to leave it before him. During this interval he had -not sufficient resolution to deny himself the frequent conversation of -Adeline, though her presence, by reminding him of his lost wife, gave -him more pain than comfort. He was the second son of a French gentleman -of family, and had been married about a year to a lady to whom he had -long been attached, when she died in her lying-in. The infant soon -followed its mother, and left the disconsolate father abandoned to -grief, which had preyed so heavily on his health, that his physician -thought it necessary to send him to Nice. From the air of Nice, however, -he had derived no benefit; and he now determined to travel further into -Italy, though he no longer felt any interest in those charming scenes -which in happier days and with her whom he never ceased to lament, would -have afforded him the highest degree of mental luxury--now he sought -only to escape from himself, or rather from the image of her who had -once constituted his truest happiness. - -La Luc having laid his plan, hired a small vessel, and in a few days -embarked, with a sick hope, bidding adieu to the shores of Italy and the -towering Alps, and seeking on a new element the health which had -hitherto mocked his pursuit. - -M. Amand took a melancholy leave of his new friends, whom he attended to -the sea-side. When he assisted Adeline on board, his heart was too full -to suffer him to say farewell; but he stood long on the beach pursuing -with his eyes her course over the waters, and waving his hand, till -tears dimmed his sight. The breeze wafted the vessel gently from the -coast, and Adeline saw herself surrounded by the undulating waves of the -ocean. The shore appeared to recede, its mountains to lessen, the gay -colours of its landscape to melt into each other, and in a short time -the figure of M. Amand was seen no more: the town of Nice, with its -castle and harbour next faded away in distance, and the purple tint of -the mountains was at length all that remained on the verge of the -horizon. She sighed as she gazed, and her eyes filled with tears. So -vanished my prospect of happiness, said she; and my future view is like -the waste of waters that surround me. Her heart was full, and she -retired from observation to a remote part of the deck, where she -indulged her tears as she watched the vessel cut its way through the -liquid glass. The water was so transparent that she saw the sun-beams -playing at a considerable depth, and fish of various colours glance -athwart the current. Innumerable marine plants spread their vigorous -leaves on the rocks below, and the richness of their verdure formed a -beautiful contrast to the glowing scarlet of the coral that branched -beside them. - -The distant coast at length entirely disappeared. Adeline gazed with an -emotion the most sublime, on the boundless expanse of waters that spread -on all sides: she seemed as if launched into a new world: the grandeur -and immensity of the view astonished and overpowered her: for a moment -she doubted the truth of the compass, and believed it to be almost -impossible for the vessel to find its way over the pathless waters to -any shore. And when she considered that a plank alone separated her from -death, a sensation of unmixed terror superseded that of sublimity, and -she hastily turned her eyes from the prospect, and her thoughts from the -subject. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -Is there a heart that music cannot melt? -Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn! -Is there who ne'er the mystic transports felt -Of solitude and melancholy born? -He need not woo the Muse--he is her scorn. - -BEATTIE. - - -Towards evening the captain, to avoid the danger of encountering a -Barbary corsair steered for the French coast, and Adeline distinguished -in the gleam of the setting sun the shores of Provence, feathered with -wood and green with pasturage. La Luc, languid and ill, had retired to -the cabin, whither Clara attended him. The pilot at the helm guiding the -tall vessel through the sounding waters, and one solitary sailor leaning -with crossed arms against the mast, and now and then singing parts of a -mournful ditty, were all of the crew, except Adeline, that remained upon -deck--and Adeline silently watched the declining sun, which threw a -saffron glow upon the waves and on the sails gently swelling in the -breeze that was now dying away. The sun at length sunk below the ocean, -and twilight stole over the scene, leaving the shadowy shores yet -visible, and touching with a solemn tint the waters that stretched wide -around. She sketched the picture, but it was with a faint pencil. - - -NIGHT - -O'er the dim breast of Ocean's wave -Night spreads afar her gloomy wings, -And pensive thought, and silence brings, -Save when the distant waters lave; -Or when the mariner's lone voice -Swells faintly in the passing gale, -Or when the screaming sea-gulls poise -O'er the tall mast and swelling sail. -Bounding the grey gleam of the deep, -Where fancied forms arouse the mind, -Dark sweep the shores, on whose rude steep -Sighs the sad spirit of the wind. -Sweet is its voice upon the air, -At Evening's melancholy close, -When the smooth wave in silence flows! -Sweet, sweet the peace its stealing accents bear! -Blest be thy shades, O Night! and blest the song -Thy low winds breathe the distant shores along! - - -As the shadows thickened, the scene sunk into deeper repose. Even the -sailor's song had ceased; no sound was heard but that of the waters -dashing beneath the vessel, and their fainter murmur on the pebbly -coast. Adeline's mind was in unison with the tranquillity of the hour; -lulled by the waves, she resigned herself to a still melancholy and sat -lost in reverie. The present moment brought to her recollection her -voyage up the Rhone, when seeking refuge from the terrors of the Marquis -de Montalt, she so anxiously endeavoured to anticipate her future -destiny. She then, as now, had watched the fall of evening and the -fading prospect, and she remembered what a desolate feeling had -accompanied the impression which those objects made. She had then no -friends--no asylum--no certainty of escaping the pursuit of her enemy. -Now she had found affectionate friends--a secure retreat--and was -delivered from the terrors she then suffered--but still she was unhappy. -The remembrance of Theodore--of Theodore who had loved her so truly, who -had encountered and suffered so much for her sake, and of whose fate she -was now as ignorant as when she traversed the Rhone, was an incessant -pang to her heart. She seemed to be more remote than ever from the -possibility of hearing of him. Sometimes a faint hope crossed her that -he had escaped the malice of his persecutor; but when she considered the -inveteracy and power of the latter, and the heinous light in which the -law regards an assault upon a superior officer, even this poor hope -vanished, and left her to tears and anguish, such as this reverie, which -began with a sensation of only gentle melancholy, now led to. She -continued to muse till the moon arose from the bosom of the ocean, and -shed her trembling lustre upon the waves, diffusing peace, and making -silence more solemn; beaming a soft light on the white sails, and -throwing upon the waters the tall shadow of the vessel which now seemed -to glide along unopposed by any current. Her tears had somewhat relieved -the anguish of her mind, and she again reposed in placid melancholy, -when a strain of such tender and entrancing sweetness stole on the -silence of the hour, that it seemed more like celestial than mortal -music--so soft, so soothing, it sunk upon her ear, that it recalled her -from misery to hope and love. She wept again--but these were tears which -she would not have exchanged for mirth and joy. She looked round, but -perceived neither ship nor boat; and as the undulating sounds swelled on -the distant air, she thought they came from the shore. Sometimes the -breeze wafted them away, and again returned them in tones of the most -languishing softness. The links of the air thus broken, it was music -rather than melody that she caught, till, the pilot gradually steering -nearer the coast, she distinguished the notes of a song familiar to her -ear. She endeavoured to recollect where she had heard it, but in vain; -yet her heart beat almost unconsciously with a something resembling -hope. Still she listened, till the breeze again stole the sounds. With -regret she now perceived that the vessel was moving from them, and at -length they trembled faintly on the waves, sunk away at distance, and -were heard no more. She remained upon deck a considerable time, -unwilling to relinquish the expectation of hearing them again, and their -sweetness still vibrating on her fancy, and at length retired to the -cabin oppressed by a degree of disappointment which the occasion did not -appear to justify. - -La Luc grew better during the voyage, his spirits revived, and when the -vessel entered that part of the Mediterranean called the Gulf of Lyons, -he was sufficiently animated to enjoy from the deck the noble prospect -which the sweeping shores of Provence, terminating in the far distant -ones of Languedoc, exhibited. Adeline and Clara, who anxiously watched -his looks, rejoiced in their amendment; and the fond wishes of the -latter already anticipated his perfect recovery. The expectations of -Adeline had been too often checked by disappointment permit her now to -indulge an equal degree of hope with that of her friend, yet she -confided much in the effect of this voyage. - -La Luc amused himself at intervals with discoursing, and pointing out -the situations of considerable ports on the coast, and the mouths of the -rivers that, after wandering through Provence, disembogue themselves -into the Mediterranean. The Rhone, however, was the only one of much -consequence which he passed. On this object, though it was so distant -that fancy perhaps, rather than the sense, beheld it, Clara gazed with -peculiar pleasure, for it came from the banks of Savoy; and the wave -which she thought she perceived, had washed the feet of her dear native -mountains. The time passed with mingled pleasure and improvement as La -Luc described to his attentive pupils the manners and commerce of the -different inhabitants of the coast, and the natural history of the -country: or as he traced in imagination the remote wanderings of rivers -to their source, and delineated the characteristic beauties of their -scenery. - -After a pleasant voyage of a few days, the shores of Provence receded, -and that of Languedoc, which had long bounded the distance, became the -grand object of the scene, and the sailors drew near their port. They -landed in the afternoon at a small town, situated at the foot of a woody -eminence, on the right overlooking the sea, and on the left the rich -plains of Languedoc gay with the purple vine. La Luc determined to defer -his journey till the following day, and was directed to a small inn at -the extremity of the town, where the accommodation, such as it was, he -endeavoured to be contented with. - -In the evening, the beauty of the hour and the desire of exploring new -scenes, invited Adeline to walk. La Lac was fatigued, and did not go -out, and Clara remained with him. Adeline took her way to the woods that -rose from the margin of the sea, and climbed the wild eminence on which -they hung. Often as she went she turned her eyes to catch between the -dark foliage the blue waters of the bay, the white sail that flitted by, -and the trembling gleam of the setting sun. When she reached the summit, -and looked down over the dark tops of the woods on the wide and various -prospect, she was seized with a kind of still rapture impossible to be -expressed, and stood unconscious of the flight of time, till the sun had -left the scene, and twilight threw its solemn shade upon the mountains. -The sea alone reflected the fading splendour of the west; its tranquil -surface was partially disturbed by the low wind that crept in tremulous -lines along the waters, whence rising to the woods, it shivered their -light leaves, and died away. Adeline, resigning herself to the luxury of -sweet and tender emotions, repeated the following lines:-- - - -SUNSET - -Soft o'er the mountain's purple brow -Meek Twilight draws her shadows gray; -From tufted woods and valleys low, -Light's magic colours steal away. -Yet still, amid the spreading gloom, -Resplendent glow the western waves, -That roll o'er Neptune's coral caves, -A zone of light on Evening's dome. -On this lone summit let me rest, -And view the forms to Fancy dear, -Till on the Ocean's darken'd breast -The stars of Evening tremble clear; -Or the moon's pale orb appear, -Throwing her line of radiance wide, -Far o'er the lightly-curling tide, -That seems the yellow sands to chide. -No sounds o'er silence now prevail, -Save of the dying wave below, -Or sailor's song borne on the gale, -Or oar at distance striking slow. -So sweet! so tranquil! may my evening ray -Set to this world--and rise in future day! - - -Adeline quitted the heights, and followed a narrow path that wound to -the beach below: her mind was now particularly sensible to fine -impressions, and the sweet notes of the nightingale amid the stillness -of the woods again awakened her enthusiasm. - - -TO THE NIGHTINGALE - -Child of the melancholy song! -O yet that tender strain prolong! - -Her lengthen'd shade when Evening flings, -From mountain-cliffs, and forests green, -And sailing slow on silent wings, -Along the glimmering West is seen; -I love o'er pathless hills to stray, -Or trace the winding vale remote, -And pause, sweet Bird! to hear thy lay -While moonbeams on the thin clouds float, -Till o'er the Mountain's dewy head -Pale Midnight steals to wake the dead. - -Far through the heaven's ethereal blue, -Wafted on Spring's light airs you come, -With blooms, and flowers, and genial dew, -From climes where Summer joys to roam; -O! welcome to your long-lost home! -"Child of the melancholy song!" -Who lov'st the lonely woodland glade -To mourn, unseen, the boughs among, -When Twilight spreads her pensive shade, -Again thy dulcet voice I hail! -O pour again the liquid note -That dies upon the evening gale! -For Fancy loves the kindred tone; -Her griefs the plaintive accents own. -She loves to hear thy music float -At solemn Midnight's stillest hour, -And think on friends for ever lost, -On joys by disappointment crost, -And weep anew Love's charmful power! - -Then Memory wakes the magic smile, -Th' impassion'd voice, the melting eye, -That wont the trusting heart beguile, -And _wakes again_ the hopeless sigh. -Her skill the glowing tints revive -Of scenes that Time had bade decay; -She bids the soften'd Passions live-- -The Passions urge again their sway. -Yet o'er the long-regretted scene -Thy song the grace of sorrow throws; -A melancholy charm serene, -More rare than all that mirth bestows, -Then hail, sweet Bird, and hail thy pensive tear! -To Taste, to Fancy, and to Virtue dear! - - -The spreading dusk at length reminded Adeline of her distance from the -inn, and that she had her way to find through a wild and lonely wood: -she bade adieu to the syren that had so long detained her, and pursued -the path with quick steps. Having followed it for some time, she became -bewildered among the thickets, and the increasing darkness did not allow -her to judge of the direction she was in. Her apprehensions heightened -her difficulties: she thought she distinguished the voices of men at -some little distance, and she increased her speed till she found herself -on the sea-sands over which the woods impended. Her breath was now -exhausted--she paused a moment to recover herself, and fearfully -listened: but instead of the voices of men, she heard faintly swelling -in the breeze the notes of mournful music.--Her heart, ever sensible to -the impressions of melody, melted with the tones, and her fears were for -a moment lulled in sweet enchantment. Surprise was soon mingled with -delight when, as the sound advanced, she distinguished the tone of that -instrument, and the melody of that well-known air, she had heard a few -preceding evenings from the shores of Provence. But she had no time for -conjecture--footsteps approached, and she renewed her speed. She was now -emerged from the darkness of the woods, and the moon, which shone -bright, exhibited along the level sands the town and port in the -distance. The steps that had followed now came up with her, and she -perceived two men; but they passed in conversation without noticing her, -and as they passed she was certain she recollected the voice of him who -was then speaking. Its tones were so familiar to her ear, that she was -surprised at the imperfect memory which did not suffer her to be assured -by whom they were uttered. Another step now followed, and a rude voice -called to her to stop. As she hastily turned her eyes she saw -imperfectly by the moonlight a man in sailor's habit pursuing, while he -renewed the call. Impelled by terror, she fled along the sands; but her -steps were short and trembling--those of her pursuer strong and quick. - -She had just strength sufficient to reach the men who had before passed -her, and to implore their protection, when her pursuer came up with -them, but suddenly turned into the woods on the left, and disappeared. - -She had no breath to answer the inquiries of the strangers who supported -her, till a sudden exclamation, and the sound of her own name, drew her -eyes attentively upon the person who uttered them, and in the rays which -shone strong from his features she distinguished M. Verneuil! Mutual -satisfaction and explanation ensued; and when he learned that La Luc and -his daughter were at the inn, he felt an increased pleasure in -conducting her thither. He said that he had accidentally met with an old -friend in Savoy, whom he now introduced by the name of Mauron, and who -had prevailed on him to change his route and accompany him to the shores -of the Mediterranean. They had embarked from the coast of Provence only -a few preceding days, and had that evening landed in Languedoc on the -estate of M. Mauron. Adeline had now no doubt that it was the flute of -M. Verneuil, and which had so often delighted her at Leloncourt, that -she had heard on the sea. - -When they reached the inn, they found La Luc under great anxiety for -Adeline, in search of whom he had sent several people. Anxiety yielded -to surprise and pleasure, when he perceived her with M. Verneuil, whose -eyes beamed with unusual animation on seeing Clara. After mutual -congratulations, M. Verneuil observed, and lamented, the very -indifferent accommodation which the inn afforded his friends, and M. -Mauron immediately invited them to his chateau with a warmth of -hospitality that overcame every scruple which delicacy or pride could -oppose. The woods that Adeline had traversed formed a part of his -domain, which extended almost to the inn; but he insisted that his -carriage should take his guests to the chateau, and departed to give -orders for their reception. The presence of M. Verneuil, and the -kindness of his friend, gave to La Luc an unusual flow of spirits; he -conversed with a degree of vigour and liveliness to which he had long -been unaccustomed, and the smile of satisfaction that Clara gave to -Adeline expressed how much she thought he was already benefited by the -voyage. Adeline answered her look with a smile of less confidence, for -she attributed his present animation to a more temporary cause. - -About half an hour after the departure of M. Mauron, a boy who served as -waiter brought a message from a chevalier then at the inn, requesting -permission to speak with Adeline. The man who had pursued her along the -sands instantly occurred to her, and she scarcely doubted that the -stranger was some person belonging to the Marquis de Montalt, perhaps -the Marquis himself, though that he should have discovered her -accidentally, in so obscure a place, and so immediately upon her -arrival, seemed very improbable. With trembling lips and a countenance -pale as death she inquired the name of the chevalier. The boy was not -acquainted with it. La Luc asked what sort of a person he was; but the -boy, who understood little of the art of describing, gave such a -confused account of him, that Adeline could only learn he was not large, -but of a middle stature. This circumstance, however, convincing her it -was not the Marquis de Montalt who desired to see her, she asked whether -it would be agreeable to La Luc to have the stranger admitted. La Luc -said, By all means; and the waiter withdrew. Adeline sat in trembling -expectation till the door opened, and Louis de la Motte entered the -room. He advanced with an embarrassed and melancholy air, though his -countenance had been enlightened with a momentary pleasure when he first -beheld Adeline--Adeline, who was still the idol of his heart. After the -first salutations were over, all apprehensions of the Marquis being now -dissipated, she inquired when Louis had seen Monsieur and Madame La -Motte. - -I ought rather to ask you that question, said Louis in some confusion, -for I believe you have seen them since I have; and the pleasure of -meeting you thus is equalled by my surprise. I have not heard from my -father for some time, owing probably to my regiment being removed to new -quarters. - -He looked as if he wished to be informed with whom Adeline now was; but -as this was a subject upon which it was impossible she could speak in -the presence of La Luc, she led the conversation to general topics, -after having said that Monsieur and Madame La Motte were well when she -left them. Louis spoke little, and often looked anxiously at Adeline, -while his mind seemed labouring under strong oppression. She observed -this, and recollecting the declaration he had made her on the morning of -his departure from the abbey, she attributed his present embarrassment -to the effect of a passion yet unsubdued, and did not appear to notice -it. After he had sat near a quarter of an hour, under a struggle of -feelings which he could neither conquer nor conceal, he rose to leave -the room; and as he passed Adeline, said, in a low voice, Do permit me -to speak with you alone for five minutes. She hesitated in some -confusion, and then, saying there were none but friends present, begged -he would be seated.--Excuse me, said he, in the same low accent; what I -would say nearly concerns you, and you only. Do favour me with a few -moments' attention. He said this with a look that surprised her; and -having ordered candles in another room, she went thither. - -Louis sat for some moments silent, and seemingly in great perturbation -of mind. At length he said, I know not whether to rejoice or to lament -at this unexpected meeting, though, if you are in safe hands, I ought -certainly to rejoice, however hard the task that now falls to my lot. I -am not ignorant of the dangers and persecutions you have suffered, and -cannot forbear expressing my anxiety to know how you are now -circumstanced. Are you indeed with friends?--I am, said Adeline; M. La -Motte has informed you----No, replied Louis with a deep sigh, not my -father.--He paused.--But I do indeed rejoice, resumed he, O! how -sincerely rejoice! that you are in safety. Could you know, lovely -Adeline, what I have suffered!--He checked himself.--I understood you -had something of importance to say, Sir, said Adeline; you must excuse -me if I remind you that I have not many moments to spare. - -It is indeed of importance, replied Louis; yet I know not how to mention -it--how to soften----This task is too severe. Alas! my poor friend! - -Whom is it you speak of, Sir? said Adeline with quickness. Louis rose -from his chair and walked about the room. I would prepare you for what I -have to say, he resumed, but upon my soul I am not equal to it. - -I entreat you to keep me no longer in suspense, said Adeline, who had a -wild idea that it was Theodore he would speak of. Louis still hesitated. -Is it--O! is it?--I conjure you tell me the worst at once, said she in a -voice of agony. I can bear it,--indeed I can. - -My unhappy friend! exclaimed Louis. O! Theodore!--Theodore! faintly -articulated Adeline; he lives then!--He does, said Louis, but--He -stopped.--But what? cried Adeline, trembling violently; if he is living, -you cannot tell me worse than my fears suggest; I entreat you therefore -not to hesitate.--Louis resumed his seat and, endeavouring to assume a -collected air, said, He is living, Madame, but he is a prisoner; -and--for why should I deceive you? I fear he has little to hope in this -world. - -I have long feared so, Sir, said Adeline in a voice of forced composure; -you have something more terrible than this to relate, and I again -entreat you will explain yourself. - -He has every thing to apprehend from the Marquis de Montalt, said Louis. -Alas! why do I say to apprehend? His judgment is already fixed--he is -condemned to die. - -At this confirmation of her fears, a death-like paleness diffused itself -over the countenance of Adeline; she sat motionless, and attempted to -sigh, but seemed almost suffocated. Terrified at her situation, and -expecting to see her faint, Louis would have supported her, but with her -hand she waved him from her, and was unable to speak. He now called for -assistance, and La Luc and Clara, with M. Verneuil, informed of -Adeline's indisposition, were quickly by her side. - -At the sound of their voices she looked up, and seemed to recollect -herself, when uttering a heavy sigh she burst into tears. La Luc, -rejoiced to see her weep, encouraged her tears, which after some time -relieved her; and when she was able to speak, she desired to go back to -La Luc's parlour. Louis attended her thither; when she was better he -would have withdrawn, but La Luc begged he would stay. - -You are perhaps a relation of this young lady, Sir, said he, and may -have brought news of her father?--Not so, Sir, replied Louis, -hesitating--This gentleman, said Adeline, who had now recollected her -dissipated thoughts, is the son of the M. La Motte whom you may have -heard me mention.--Louis seemed shocked to be declared the son of a man -that had once acted so unworthily towards Adeline, who, instantly -perceiving the pain her words occasioned, endeavoured to soften their -effect by saying that La Motte had saved her from imminent danger, and -had afforded her an asylum for many months.--Adeline sat in a state of -dreadful solicitude to know the particulars of Theodore's situation, yet -could not acquire courage to renew the subject in the presence of La -Luc; she ventured, however, to ask Louis if his own regiment was -quartered in the town. - -He replied that his regiment lay at Vaceau, a French town on the -frontiers of Spain; that he had just crossed a part of the Gulf of -Lyons, and was on his way to Savoy, whither he should set out early in -the morning. - -We are lately come from thence, said Adeline; may I ask to what part of -Savoy you are going?---To Leloncourt, he replied.--To Leloncourt! said -Adeline, in some surprise.--I am a stranger to the country, resumed -Louis; but I go to serve my friend. You seem to know Leloncourt.--I do -indeed, said Adeline.--You probably know then that M. La Luc lives -there, and will guess the motive of my journey? - -O Heavens! is it possible? exclaimed Adeline--is it possible that -Theodore Peyrou is a relation of M. La Luc? - -Theodore! what of my son? asked La Luc in surprise and -apprehension--Your son! said Adeline, in a trembling voice--your -son!--The astonishment and anguish depicted on her countenance increased -the apprehensions of this unfortunate father, and he renewed his -question. But Adeline was totally unable to answer him; and the distress -of Louis, on thus unexpectedly discovering the father of his unhappy -friend, and knowing that it was his task to disclose the fate of his -son, deprived him for some time of all power of utterance; and La Luc -and Clara, whose fears were every instant heightened by this dreadful -silence, continued to repeat their questions. - -At length a sense of the approaching sufferings of the good La Luc -overcoming every other feeling, Adeline recovered strength of mind -sufficient to try to soften the intelligence Louis had to communicate, -and to conduct Clara to another room. Here she collected resolution to -tell her, and with much tender consideration, the circumstances of her -brother's situation, concealing only her knowledge of his sentence being -already pronounced. This relation necessarily included the mention of -their attachment, and in the friend of her heart Clara discovered the -innocent cause of her brother's destruction. Adeline also learned the -occasion of that circumstance which had contributed to keep her ignorant -of Theodore's relationship to La Luc; she was told the former had taken -the name of Peyrou, with an estate which had been left him about a year -before by a relation of his mother's upon that condition. Theodore had -been designed for the church, but his disposition inclined him to a more -active life than the clerical habit would admit of; and on his accession -to this estate he had entered into the service of the French king. - -In the few and interrupted interviews which had been allowed them at -Caux, Theodore had mentioned his family to Adeline only in general -terms; and thus, when they were so suddenly separated, had, without -designing it, left her in ignorance of his father's name and place of -residence. - -The sacredness and delicacy of Adeline's grief, which had never -permitted her to mention the subject of it even to Clara, had since -contributed to deceive her. - -The distress of Clara, on learning the situation of her brother, could -endure no restraint; Adeline, who had commanded her feelings so as to -impart this intelligence with tolerable composure, only by a strong -effort of mind, was now almost overwhelmed by her own and Clara's -accumulated suffering. While they wept forth the anguish of their -hearts; a scene if possible, more affecting passed between La Luc and -Louis; who perceived it was necessary to inform him, though cautiously -and by degrees, of the full extent of his calamity. He, therefore, told -La Luc, that though Theodore had been first tried for the offence of -having quitted his post, he was now condemned on a charge of assault -made upon his general officer the Marquis de Montalt, who had brought -witnesses to prove that his life had been endangered by the -circumstance; and who, having pursued the prosecution with the most -bitter rancour, had at length obtained the sentence which the law could -not withhold, but which every other officer in the regiment deplored. - -Louis added, that the sentence was to be executed in less than a -fortnight, and that Theodore being very unhappy at receiving no answers -to the letters he had sent his father, wishing to see him once more, and -knowing that there was now no time to be lost, had requested him to go -to Leloncourt and acquaint his father with his situation. - -La Luc received the account of his son's condition with a distress that -admitted neither of tears nor complaint. He asked where Theodore was; -and desiring to be conducted to him, he thanked Louis for all his -kindness, and ordered post horses immediately. - -A carriage was soon ready; and this unhappy father, after taking a -mournful leave of M. Verneuil, and sending a compliment to M. Mauron, -attended by his family set out for the prison of his son. The journey -was a silent one; each individual of the party endeavoured, in -consideration of each other, to suppress the expression of grief, but -was unable to do more. La Luc appeared calm and complacent; he seemed -frequently to be engaged in prayer; but a struggle for resignation and -composure was sometimes visible upon his countenance, notwithstanding -the efforts of his mind. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -And venom'd with disgrace the dart of Death. - -SEWARD. - - -We now return to the Marquis de Montalt, who having seen La Motte safely -lodged in the prison of D----y, and learning the trial would not come on -immediately, had returned to his villa on the borders of the forest, -where he expected to hear news of Adeline. It had been his intention to -follow his servants to Lyons; but he now determined to wait a few days -for letters, and he had little doubt that Adeline, since her flight had -been so quickly pursued, would be overtaken, and probably before she -could reach that city. In this expectation he had been miserably -disappointed; for his servants informed him, that though they traced her -thither, they had neither been able to follow her route beyond, nor to -discover her at Lyons. This escape she probably owed to having embarked -on the Rhone, for it does not appear that the Marquis's people thought -of seeking her on the course of that river. - -His presence was soon after required at Vaceau, where the court-martial -was then sitting; thither therefore he went, with passions still more -exasperated by his late disappointment, and procured the condemnation of -Theodore. The sentence was universally lamented, for Theodore was much -beloved in his regiment; and the occasion of the Marquis's personal -resentment towards him being known, every heart was interested in his -cause. - -Louis de La Motte happening at this time to be stationed in the same -town, heard an imperfect account of his story; and being convinced that -the prisoner was the young chevalier whom he had formerly seen with the -Marquis at the abbey, he was induced partly from compassion, and partly -with a hope of hearing of his parents, to visit him. The compassionate -sympathy which Louis expressed, and the zeal with which he tendered his -services, affected Theodore, and excited in him a warm return of -friendship; Louis made him frequent visits, did every thing that -kindness could suggest to alleviate his sufferings, and a mutual esteem -and confidence ensued. - -Theodore at length communicated the chief subject of his concern to -Louis; who discovered with inexpressible grief that it was Adeline whom -the Marquis had thus cruelly persecuted, and Adeline for whose sake the -generous Theodore was about to suffer. He soon perceived also that -Theodore was his favoured rival; but he generously suppressed the -jealous pang this discovery occasioned, and determined that no prejudice -of passion should withdraw him from the duties of humanity and -friendship. He eagerly inquired where Adeline then resided. She is yet, -I fear, in the power of the Marquis, said Theodore, sighing deeply. O -God!--these chains!--and he threw an agonizing glance upon them. Louis -sat silent and thoughtful; at length starting from his reverie, he said -he would go to the Marquis, and immediately quitted the prison. The -Marquis, was, however, already set off for Paris, where he had been -summoned to appear at the approaching trial of La Motte; and Louis, yet -ignorant of the late transactions at the abbey, returned to the prison; -where he endeavoured to forget that Theodore was the favoured rival of -his love, and to remember him only as the defender of Adeline. So -earnestly he pressed his offers of service, that Theodore, whom the -silence of his father equally surprised and afflicted, and who was very -anxious to see him once again, accepted his proposal of going himself to -Savoy. My letters I strongly suspect to have been intercepted by the -Marquis, said Theodore; if so, my poor father will have the whole weight -of this calamity to sustain at once, unless I avail myself of your -kindness, and I shall neither see him nor hear from him before I die. -Louis! there are moments when my fortitude shrinks from the conflict, -and my senses threaten to desert me. - -No time was to be lost; the warrant for his execution had already -received the king's signature, and Louis immediately set forward for -Savoy. The letters of Theodore had indeed been intercepted by order of -the Marquis, who, in the hope of discovering the asylum of Adeline, had -opened and afterwards destroyed them. - -But to return to La Luc, who now drew near Vaceau, and whom his family -observed to be greatly changed in his looks since he had heard the late -calamitous intelligence; he uttered no complaint; but it was too obvious -that his disorder had made a rapid progress. Louis, who during the -journey proved the goodness of his disposition by the delicate -attentions he paid this unhappy party, concealed his observation of the -decline of La Luc, and to support Adeline's spirits, endeavoured to -convince her that her apprehensions on this subject were groundless. Her -spirits did indeed require support, for she was now within a few miles -of the town that contained Theodore; and while her increasing -perturbation almost overcame her, she yet tried to appear composed. When -the carriage entered the town, she cast a timid and anxious glance from -the window in search of the prison; but having passed through several -streets without perceiving any building which corresponded with her idea -of that she looked for, the coach stopped at the inn. The frequent -changes in La Luc's countenance betrayed the violent agitation of his -mind; and when he attempted to alight, feeble and exhausted, he was -compelled to accept the support of Louis, to whom he faintly said as he -passed to the parlour, I am indeed sick at heart, but I trust the pain -will not be long. Louis pressed his hand without speaking, and hastened -back for Adeline and Clara, who were already in the passage. La Luc -wiped the tears from his eyes (they were the first he had shed) as they -entered the room. I would go immediately to my poor boy, said he to -Louis; yours, Sir, is a mournful office--be so good as to conduct me to -him. He rose to go, but, feeble and overcome with grief, again sat down. -Adeline and Clara united in entreating that he would compose himself, -and take some refreshment; and Louis urging the necessity of preparing -Theodore for the interview, prevailed with him to delay it till his son -should be informed of his arrival, and immediately quitted the inn for -the prison of his friend. When he was gone, La Luc, as a duty he owed -those he loved, tried to take some support; but the convulsions of his -throat would not suffer him to swallow the wine he held to his parched -lips, and he was now so much disordered, that he desired to retire to -his chamber, where alone, and in prayer, he passed the dreadful interval -of Louis's absence. - -Clara on the bosom of Adeline, who sat in calm but deep distress, -yielded to the violence of her grief. I shall lose my dear father too, -said she; I see it; I shall lose my father and my brother together. -Adeline wept with her friend for some time in silence; and then -attempted to persuade her that La Luc was not so ill as she apprehended. - -Do not mislead me with hope, she replied that will not survive the shock -of this calamity--I saw it from the first. Adeline knowing that La Luc's -distress would be heightened by the observance of his daughter's, and -that indulgence would only increase its poignancy, endeavoured to rouse -her to an exertion of fortitude by urging the necessity of commanding -her emotion in the presence of her father. This is possible, added she, -however painful may be the effort. You must know, my dear, that my grief -is not inferior to your own, yet I have hitherto been enabled to support -my sufferings in silence; for M. La Luc I do, indeed, love and reverence -as a parent. - -Louis meanwhile reached the prison of Theodore, who received him with an -air of mingled surprise and impatience. What brings you back so soon? -said he, have you heard news of my father? Louis now gradually unfolded -the circumstances of their meetings and La Luc's arrival at Vaceau. A -various emotion agitated the countenance of Theodore on receiving this -intelligence. My poor father! said he, he has then followed his son to -this ignominious place! Little did I think when last we parted he would -meet me in a prison under condemnation! This reflection roused an -impetuosity of grief which deprived him for some time of speech? But -where is he? said Theodore, recovering himself; now he is come I shrink -from the interview I have so much wished for. The sight of his distress -will be dreadful to me. Louis! when I am gone, comfort my poor father. -His voice was again interrupted by sobs; and Louis, who had been fearful -of acquainting him at the same time of the arrival of La Luc and the -discovery of Adeline, now judged it proper to administer the cordial of -this latter intelligence. - -The glooms of a prison and of calamity vanished for a transient moment; -those who had seen Theodore would have believed this to be the instant -which gave him life and liberty. When his first emotions subsided, I -will not repine, said he, since I know that Adeline is preserved, and -that I shall once more see my father, I will endeavour to die with -resignation. He inquired if La Luc was then in the prison, and was told -he was at the inn with Clara and Adeline. Adeline! Is Adeline there -too?--This is beyond my hopes. Yet why do I rejoice? I must never see -her more: this is no place for Adeline. Again he relapsed into an agony -of distress--and again repeated a thousand questions concerning Adeline, -till he was reminded by Louis that his father was impatient to see -him--when, shocked that he had so long detained his friend, he entreated -him to conduct La Luc to the prison, and endeavoured to recollect -fortitude for the approaching interview. - -When Louis returned to the inn, La Luc was still in his chamber; and -Clara quitting the room to call him, Adeline seized with trembling -impatience the opportunity to inquire more particularly concerning -Theodore, than she chose to do in the presence of his unhappy sister. -Louis represented him to be much more tranquil than he really was. -Adeline was somewhat soothed by the account; and her tears, hitherto -restrained, flowed silently and fast till La Luc appeared. His -countenance had recovered its serenity, but was impressed with a deep -and steady sorrow, which excited in the beholder a mingled emotion of -pity and reverence. How is my son, Sir? said he as he entered the room. -We will go to him immediately. - -Clara renewed the entreaties that had been already rejected, to -accompany her father, who persisted in a refusal. To-morrow you shall -see him, added he; but our first meeting must be alone. Stay with your -friend, my dear; she has need of consolation. When La Luc was gone, -Adeline, unable longer to struggle against the force of grief, retired -to her chamber and her bed. - -La Luc walked silently towards the prison, resting on the arm of Louis. -It was now night: a dim lamp that hung above showed them the gates, and -Louis rang a bell: La Luc, almost overcome with agitation, leaned -against the postern till the porter appeared. He inquired for Theodore, -and followed the man; but when he reached the second courtyard he seemed -ready to faint, and again stopped. Louis desired the porter would fetch -some water; but La Luc, recovering his voice, said he should soon be -better, and would not suffer him to go. In a few minutes he was able to -follow Louis, who led him through several dark passages, and up a flight -of steps to a door which, being unbarred, disclosed to him the prison of -his son. He was seated at a small table, on which stood a lamp that -threw a feeble light across the place, sufficient only to show its -desolation and wretchedness. When he perceived La Luc he sprung from his -chair, and in the next moment was in his arms. My father! said he in a -tremulous voice. My son! exclaimed La Luc; and they were for some time -silent, and locked in each other's embrace. At length Theodore led him -to the only chair the room afforded, and seating himself with Louis at -the foot of the bed, had leisure to observe the ravages which illness -and calamity had made on the features of his parent. La Luc made several -efforts to speak; but, unable to articulate, laid his hand upon his -breast and sighed deeply. Fearful of the consequence of so affecting a -scene on his shattered frame, Louis endeavoured to call off his -attention from the immediate object of his distress, and interrupted the -silence; but La Luc shuddering, and complaining he was very cold, sunk -back in his chair. His condition roused Theodore from the stupor of -despair; and while he flew to support his father, Louis ran out for -other assistance.--I shall soon be better, Theodore, said La Luc, -unclosing his eyes, the faintness is already going off. I have not been -well of late; and this sad meeting!--Unable any longer to command -himself, Theodore wrung his hand, and the distress which had long -struggled for utterance burst in convulsive throbs from his breast. La -Lac gradually revived, and exerted himself to calm the transports of his -son; but the fortitude of the latter had now entirely forsaken him, and -he could only utter exclamation and complaint. Ah! little did I think we -should ever meet under circumstances so dreadful as the present! But I -have not deserved them, my father! the motives of my conduct have still -been just. - -That is my supreme consolation, said La Luc, and ought to support you in -this hour of trial. The Almighty God, who is the judge of hearts, will -reward you hereafter. Trust in him, my son; I look to him with no feeble -hope, but with a firm reliance on his justice! La Luc's voice faltered; -he raised his eyes to heaven with an expression of meek devotion, while -the tears of humanity fell slowly on his cheek. - -Still more affected by his last words, Theodore turned from him, and -paced the room with quick steps: the entrance of Louis was a very -seasonable relief to La Luc, who, taking a cordial he had brought, was -soon sufficiently restored to discourse on the subject most interesting -to him. Theodore tried to attain a command of his feelings, and -succeeded. He conversed with tolerable composure for above an hour, -during which La Luc endeavoured to elevate, by religious hope, the mind -of his son, and to enable him to meet with fortitude the awful hour that -approached. But the appearance of resignation which Theodore attained -always vanished when he reflected that he was going to leave his father -a prey to grief, and his beloved Adeline for ever. When La Luc was about -to depart he again mentioned her. Afflicting as an interview must be in -our present circumstances, said he, I cannot bear the thought of -quitting the world without seeing her once more; yet I know not how to -ask her to encounter, for my sake, the misery of a parting scene. Tell -her that my thoughts never, for a moment, leave her; that----La Luc -interrupted, and assured him, that since he so much wished it, he should -see her, though a meeting could serve only to heighten the mutual -anguish of a final separation. - -I know it--I know it too well, said Theodore; yet I cannot resolve to -see her no more, and thus spare her the pain this interview must -inflict. O my father! when I think of those whom I must soon leave for -ever, my heart breaks. But I will, indeed, try to profit by your precept -and example, and show that your paternal care has not been in vain. My -good Louis, go with my father--he has need of support. How much I owe -this generous friend, added Theodore, you well know, Sir.--I do, in -truth, replied La Luc, and can never repay his kindness to you. He has -contributed to support us all; but you require comfort more than -myself--he shall remain with you--I will go alone. - -This Theodore would not suffer; and La Luc no longer opposing him, they -affectionately embraced, and separated for the night. - -When they reached the inn, La Luc consulted with Louis on the -possibility of addressing a petition to the sovereign time enough to -save Theodore. His distance from Paris, and the short interval before -the period fixed for this execution of the sentence, made this design -difficult: but believing it was practicable, La Luc, incapable as he -appeared of performing so long a journey, determined to attempt it. -Louis, thinking that the undertaking would prove fatal to the father, -without benefiting the son, endeavoured, though faintly, to dissuade him -from it--but his resolution was fixed--If I sacrifice the small remains -of my life in the service of my child, said he, I shall lose little: if -I save him, I shall gain every thing. There is no time to be lost--I -will set off immediately. - -He would have ordered post-horses, but Louis and Clara, who were now -come from the bed-side of her friend, urged the necessity of his taking -a few hours' repose: he was at length compelled to acknowledge himself -unequal to the immediate exertion which parental anxiety prompted, and -consented to seek rest. - -When he had retired to his chamber, Clara lamented the condition of her -father.--He will not bear the journey, said she; he is greatly changed -within these few days.--Louis was so entirely of her opinion, that he -could not disguise it, even to flatter her with a hope. She added, what -did not contribute to raise his spirits, that Adeline was so much -indisposed by her grief for the situation of Theodore and the sufferings -of La Luc that she dreaded the consequence. - -It has been seen that the passion of young La Motte had suffered no -abatement from time or absence; on the contrary, the persecution and the -dangers which had pursued Adeline awakened all his tenderness, and drew -her nearer to his heart. When he had discovered that Theodore loved her, -and was beloved again, he experienced all the anguish of jealousy and -disappointment; for, though she had forbidden him to hope, he found it -too painful an effort to obey her, and had secretly cherished the flame -which he ought to have stifled. His heart was, however, too noble to -suffer his zeal for Theodore to abate because he was his favoured rival, -and his mind too strong not to conceal the anguish this certainty -occasioned. The attachment which Theodore had testified towards Adeline -even endeared him to Louis, when he had recovered from the first shock -of disappointment, and that conquest over jealousy which originated in -principle, and was pursued with difficulty, became afterwards his pride -and his glory. When, however, he again saw Adeline--saw her in the mild -dignity of sorrow more interesting than ever--saw her, though sinking -beneath its pressure, yet tender and solicitous to soften the -afflictions of those around her--it was with the utmost difficulty he -preserved his resolution, and forebore to express the sentiments she -inspired. When he further considered that her acute sufferings arose -from the strength of her affection, he more than ever wished himself the -object of a heart capable of so tender a regard--and Thedore in prison -and in chains was a momentary object of envy. - -In the morning, when La Luc arose from short and disturbed slumbers, he -found Louis, Clara, and Adeline, whom indisposition could not prevent -from paying him this testimony of respect and affection, assembled in -the parlour of the inn to see him depart. After a slight breakfast, -during which his feelings permitted him to say little, he bade his -friends a sad farewell, and stepped into the carriage, followed by their -tears and prayers.--Adeline immediately retired to her chamber, which -she was too ill to quit that day. In the evening Clara left her friend, -and, conducted by Louis, went to visit her brother, whose emotions, on -hearing of his father's departure, were various and strong. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -'Tis only when with inbred horror smote -At some base act, or done, or to be done, -That the recoiling soul, with conscious dread. -Shrinks back into itself. - -MASON. - - -We return now to Pierre de la Motte, who, after remaining some weeks in -the prison of D----y, was removed to take his trial in the courts of -Paris, whether the Marquis de Montalt followed to prosecute the charge. -Madame de la Motte accompanied her husband to the prison of the -Chatelet. His mind sunk under the weight of his misfortunes; nor could -all the efforts of his wife rouse him from the torpidity of despair -which a consideration of his circumstances occasioned. Should he be even -acquitted of the charge brought against him by the Marquis, (which was -very unlikely,) he was now in the scene of his former crimes, and the -moment that should liberate him from the walls of his prison would -probably deliver him again into the hands of offended justice. - -[Illustration 09] - -The prosecution of the Marquis was too well founded, and its object of a -nature too serious, not to justify the terror of La Motte. Soon after -the latter had settled at the abbey of St. Clair, the small stock of -money which the emergency of his circumstances had left him being nearly -exhausted, his mind became corroded with the most cruel anxiety -concerning the means of his future subsistence. As he was one evening -riding alone in a remote part of the forest, musing on his distressed -circumstances, and meditating plans to relieve the exigencies which he -saw approaching, he perceived among the trees at some distance a -chevalier on horseback, who was riding deliberately along, and seemed -wholly unattended. A thought darted across the mind of La Motte, that he -might be spared the evils which threatened him by robbing this stranger. -His former practices had passed the boundary of honesty--fraud was in -some degree familiar to him--and the thought was not dismissed. He -hesitated----every moment of hesitation increased the power of -temptation--the opportunity was such as might never occur again. He -looked round, and as far as the trees opened saw no person but the -chevalier, who seemed by his air to be a man of distinction. Summoning -all his courage, La Motte rode forward and attacked him. The Marquis de -Montalt, for it was he, was unarmed; but knowing that his attendants -were not far off, he refused to yield. While they were struggling for -victory, La Motte saw several horsemen enter the extremity of the -avenue, and rendered desperate by opposition and delay, he drew from his -pocket a pistol, (which an apprehension of banditti made him usually -carry when he rode to a distance from the abbey) and fired at the -Marquis, who staggered and fell senseless to the ground. La Motte had -time to tear from his coat a brilliant star, some diamond rings from his -fingers, and to rifle his pockets before his attendants came up. Instead -of pursuing the robber, they all, in their first confusion, flew to -assist their Lord, and La Motte escaped. - -He stopped before he reached the abbey at a little ruin, the tomb -formerly mentioned, to examine his booty. It consisted of a purse -containing seventy louis d'ors; of a diamond star, three rings of great -value, and a miniature set with brilliants of the Marquis himself, which -he had intended as a present for his favourite mistress. To La Motte, -who but a few hours before had seen himself nearly destitute, the view -of this treasure excited an almost ungovernable transport; but it was -soon checked when he remembered the means he had employed to obtain it, -and that he had paid for the wealth he contemplated, the price of blood. -Naturally violent in his passions, this reflection sunk him from the -summit of exultation to the abyss of despondency. He considered himself -a murderer, and, startled as one awakened from a dream, would have given -half the world, had it been his, to have been as poor, and comparatively -as guiltless, as a few preceding hours had seen him. On examining the -portrait he discovered the resemblance; and believing that his hand had -deprived the original of life, he gazed upon the picture with -unutterable anguish. To the horrors of remorse succeeded the -perplexities of fear. Apprehensive of he knew not what, he lingered at -the tomb, where he at length deposited his treasure, believing that if -his offence should awaken justice, the abbey might be searched, and -these jewels betray him. From Madame La Motte it was easy to conceal his -increase of wealth; for as he had never made her acquainted with the -exact state of his finances, she had not suspected the extreme poverty -which menaced him; and as they continued to live as usual, she believed -that their expenses were drawn from the usual supply. But it was not so -easy to disguise the workings of remorse and horror: his manner became -gloomy and reserved, and his frequent visits to the tomb, where he went -partly to examine his treasure, but chiefly to indulge in the dreadful -pleasure of contemplating the picture of the Marquis, excited curiosity. -In the solitude of the forest, where no variety of objects occurred to -renovate his ideas, the horrible one of having committed murder was ever -present to him.--When the Marquis arrived at the abbey, the astonishment -and terror of La Motte (for at first he scarce knew whether he held the -shadow or the substance of a human form) were quickly succeeded by -apprehension of the punishment due to the crime he had really committed. -When his distress had prevailed on the Marquis to retire, he informed -him that he was by birth a chevalier: he then touched upon such parts of -his misfortunes as he thought would excite pity, expressed such -abhorrence of his guilt, and voluntarily uttered such a solemn promise -of returning the jewels he had yet in his possession, (for he had -ventured to dispose only of a small part,) that the Marquis at length -listened to him with some degree of compassion. This favourable -sentiment, seconded by a selfish motive, induced the Marquis to -compromise with La Motte. Of quick and inflammable passions, he had -observed the beauty of Adeline with an eye of no common regard, and he -resolved to spare the life of La Motte upon no other condition than the -sacrifice of this unfortunate girl. La Motte had neither resolution nor -virtue sufficient to reject the terms--the jewels were restored, and he -consented to betray the innocent Adeline. But as he was too well -acquainted with her heart to believe that she would easily be won to the -practice of vice, and as he still felt a degree of pity and tenderness -for her, he endeavoured to prevail on the Marquis to forbear precipitate -measures, and to attempt gradually to undermine her principles by -seducing her affections. He approved and adopted this plan: the failure -of his first scheme induced him to employ the stratagems he afterwards -pursued, and thus to multiply the misfortunes of Adeline. - -Such were the circumstances which had brought La Motte to his present -deplorable situation. The day of trial was now come, and he was led from -prison into the court, where the Marquis appeared as his accuser. When -the charge was delivered, La Motte, as is usual, pleaded Not guilty, and -the Advocate Nemours, who had undertaken to plead for him, afterwards -endeavoured to make it appear that the accusation, on the part of the -Marquis de Montalt, was false and malicious. To this purpose he -mentioned the circumstance of the latter having attempted to persuade -his client to the murder of Adeline: he further urged that the Marquis -had lived in habits of intimacy with La Motte for several months -immediately preceding his arrest, and that it was not till he had -disappointed the designs of his accuser, by conveying beyond his reach -the unhappy object of his vengeance, that the Marquis had thought proper -to charge La Motte with the crime for which he stood indicted. Nemours -urged the improbability of one man's keeping up a friendly intercourse -with another from whom he had suffered the double injury of assault and -robbery; yet it was certain that the Marquis had observed a frequent -intercourse with La Motte for some months following the time specified -for the commission of the crime. If the Marquis intended to prosecute, -why was it not immediately after his discovery of La Motte? and if not -then, what had influenced him to prosecute at so distant a period? - -To this nothing was replied on the part of the Marquis; for, as his -conduct on this point had been subservient to his designs on Adeline, he -could not justify it but by exposing schemes which would betray the -darkness of his character, and invalidate his cause. He, therefore, -contented himself with producing several of his servants as witnesses of -the assault and robbery, who swore without scruple to the person of La -Motte, though not one of them had seen him otherwise than through the -gloom of evening and riding off at full speed. On a cross-examination -most of them contradicted each other; their evidence was of course -rejected: but as the Marquis had yet two other witnesses to produce, -whose arrival at Paris had been hourly expected, the event of the trial -was postponed, and the court adjourned. - -La Motte was re-conducted to his prison under the same pressure of -despondency with which he had quitted it. As he walked through one of -the avenues he passed a man who stood by to let him proceed, and who -regarded him with a fixed and earnest eye. La Motte thought he had seen -him before; but the imperfect view he caught of his features through the -darkness of the place made him uncertain as to this, and his mind was in -too perturbed a state to suffer him to feel an interest on the subject. -When he was gone, the stranger inquired of the keeper of the prison who -La Motte was: on being told, and receiving answers to some further -questions he put, he desired he might be admitted to speak with him. The -request, as the man was only a debtor, was granted; but as the doors -were now shut for the night, the interview was deferred till the morrow. - -La Motte found Madame in his room, where she had been waiting for some -hours to hear the event of the trial. They now wished more earnestly -than ever to see their son; but they were, as he had suspected, ignorant -of his change of quarters, owing to the letters which he had as usual, -addressed to them under an assumed name, remaining at the post-house of -Auboine. This circumstance occasioned Madame La Motte to address her -letters to the place of her son's late residence, and he had thus -continued ignorant of his father's misfortunes and removal. Madame La -Motte, surprised at receiving no answers to her letters, sent off -another, containing an account of the trial as far as it had proceeded, -and a request that her son would obtain leave of absence, and set out -for Paris instantly. As she was still ignorant, of the failure of her -letters, and, had it been otherwise, would not have known whither to -have sent them, she directed this as usual. - -Meanwhile his approaching fate was never absent for a moment from the -mind of La Motte, which, feeble by nature, and still more enervated by -habits of indulgence, refused to support him at this dreadful period. - -While these scenes were passing at Paris, La Luc arrived there without -any accident, after performing a journey, during which he had been -supported almost entirely by the spirit of his resolution. He hastened -to throw himself at the feet of the sovereign; and such was the excess -of his feeling on presenting the petition which was to decide the fate -of his son, that he could only look silently up, and then fainted. The -king received the paper, and giving orders for the unhappy father to be -taken care of, passed on. He was carried back to his hotel, where he -awaited the event of this his final effort. - -Adeline, meanwhile, continued at Vaceau in a state of anxiety too -powerful for her long-agitated frame, and the illness in consequence of -this, confined her almost wholly to her chamber. Sometimes she ventured -to flatter herself with a hope that the journey of La Luc would be -successful: but these short and illusive intervals of comfort served -only to heighten, by contrast, the despondency that succeeded; and in -the alternate extremes of feeling she experienced a state more torturing -than that produced either by the sharp sting of unexpected calamity, or -the sullen pain of settled despair. - -When she was well enough she came down to the parlour to converse with -Louis, who brought her frequent accounts of Theodore, and who passed -every moment he could snatch from the duty of his profession in -endeavours to support and console his afflicted friends. Adeline and -Theodore, both looked to him for the little comfort allotted them, for -he brought them intelligence of each other, and whenever he appeared a -transient melancholy kind of pleasure played round their hearts. He -could not conceal from Theodore Adeline's indisposition, since it was -necessary to account for her not indulging the earnest wish he -repeatedly expressed to see her again. To Adeline he spoke chiefly of -the fortitude and resignation of his friend, not however forgetting to -mention the tender affection he constantly expressed for her. Accustomed -to derive her sole consolation from the presence of Louis, and to -observe his unwearied friendship towards him whom she so truly loved, -she found her esteem for him ripen into gratitude, and her regard daily -increase. - -The fortitude with which he had said Theodore supported his calamities -was somewhat exaggerated. He could not forget those ties which bound him -to life sufficiently to meet his fate with firmness; but though the -paroxysms of grief were acute and frequent, he sought, and often -attained in the presence of his friends, a manly composure. From the -event of his father's journey he hoped little, yet that little was -sufficient to keep his mind in the torture of suspense till the issue -should appear. - -On the day preceding that fixed for the execution of the sentence, La -Luc reached Vaceau. Adeline was at her chamber window when the carriage -drew up to the inn; she saw him alight, and with feeble steps, supported -by Peter, enter the house. From the languor of his air she drew no -favourable omen, and, almost sinking under the violence of her emotion, -she went to meet him. Clara was already with her father when Adeline -entered the room. She approached him, but, dreading to receive from his -lips a confirmation of the misfortune his countenance seemed to -indicate, she looked expressively at him and sat down, unable to speak -the question she would have asked. He held out his hand to her in -silence, sunk back in his chair, and seemed to be fainting under -oppression of heart. His manner confirmed all her fears; at this -dreadful conviction her senses failed her, and she sat motionless and -stupefied. - -La Luc and Clara were too much occupied by their own distress to observe -her situation; after some time she breathed a heavy sigh, and burst into -tears. Relieved by weeping, her spirits gradually returned, and she at -length said to La Luc, It is unnecessary, Sir, to ask the success of -your journey; yet, when you can bear to mention the subject, I wish-- - -La Luc waved his hand--Alas! said he, I have nothing to tell but what -you already guess too well. My poor Theodore!--His voice was convulsed -with sorrow, and some moments of unutterable anguish followed. - -Adeline was the first who recovered sufficient recollection to notice -the extreme languor of La Luc, and attend to his support. She ordered -him refreshments, and entreated he would retire to his bed and suffer -her to send for a physician; adding, that the fatigue he had suffered -made repose absolutely necessary. Would that I could find it, my dear -child! said he; it is not in this world that I must look for it, but in -a better, and that better, I trust, I shall soon attain. But where is -our good friend, Louis La Motte? He must lead me to my son.--Grief again -interrupted his utterance, and the entrance of Louis was a very -seasonable relief to them all. Their tears explained the question he -would have asked. La Luc immediately inquired for his son; and thanking -Louis for all his kindness to him, desired to be conducted to the -prison. Louis endeavoured to persuade him to defer his visit till the -morning, and Adeline and Clara joined their entreaties with his, but La -Luc determined to go that night.--His time is short, said he; a few -hours and I shall see him no more, at least in this world; let me not -neglect these precious moments. Adeline! I had promised my poor boy that -he should see you once more; you are not now equal to the meeting; I -will try to reconcile him to the disappointment: but if I fail, and you -are better in the morning, I know you will exert yourself to sustain the -interview.--Adeline looked impatient, and attempted to speak. La Luc -rose to depart, but could only reach the door of the room, where, faint -and feeble, he sat down in a chair. I must submit to necessity, said he; -I find I am not able to go further to-night. Go to him, La Motte, and -tell him I am somewhat disordered by my journey, but that I will be with -him early in the morning. Do not flatter him with a hope; prepare him -for the worst.--There was a pause of silence. La Luc at length -recovering himself, desired Clara would order his bed to be got ready, -and she willingly obeyed. When he withdrew, Adeline told Louis, what was -indeed unnecessary, the event of La Luc's journey. I own, continued she, -that I had sometimes suffered myself to hope, and I now feel this -calamity with double force: I fear too that M. La Luc will sink under -its pressure; he is much altered for the worse since he set out for -Paris. Tell me your opinion sincerely. - -The change was so obvious that Louis could not deny it; but he -endeavoured to soothe her apprehension by ascribing this alteration, in -a great measure, to the temporary fatigue of travelling. Adeline -declared her resolution of accompanying La Luc to take leave of Theodore -in the morning. I know not how I shall support the interview, said she; -but to see him once more is a duty I owe both to him and myself. The -remembrance of having neglected to give him this last proof of affection -would pursue me with incessant remorse. - -After some further conversation on this subject Louis withdrew to the -prison, ruminating on the best means of imparting to his friend the -fatal intelligence he had to communicate. Theodore received it with more -composure than he had expected; but he asked with impatience why he did -not see his father and Adeline; and on being informed that indisposition -withheld them, his imagination seized on the worst possibility, and -suggested that his father was dead. It was a considerable time before -Louis could convince him of the contrary, and that Adeline was not -dangerously ill: when, however, he was assured that he should see them -in the morning, he became more tranquil. He desired his friend would not -leave him that night. These are the last hours we can pass together, -added he; I cannot sleep! Stay with me and lighten their heavy moments. -I have need of comfort, Louis. Young as I am, and held by such strong -attachments, I cannot quit the world with resignation. I know not how to -credit those stories we hear of philosophic fortitude; wisdom cannot -teach us cheerfully to resign a good, and life in my circumstances is -surely such. - -The night was passed in embarrassed conversation; sometimes interrupted -by long fits of silence, and sometimes by the paroxysms of despair; and -the morning of that day which was to lead Theodore to death, at length -dawned through the grates of his prison. - -La Luc meanwhile passed a sleepless and dreadful night. He prayed for -fortitude and resignation both for himself and Theodore; but the pangs -of nature were powerful in his heart, and not to be subdued. The idea of -his lamented wife, and of what she would have suffered had she lived to -witness the ignominious death which awaited her son, frequently occurred -to him. - -It seemed as if a destiny had hung over the life of Theodore; for it is -probable that the king might have granted the petition of the unhappy -father, had it not happened that the Marquis de Montalt was present at -court when the paper was presented. The appearance and singular distress -of the petitioner had interested the monarch, and, instead of putting by -the paper, he opened it. As he threw his eyes over it, observing that -the criminal was of the Marquis de Montalt's regiment, he turned to him -and inquired the nature of the offence for which the culprit was about -to suffer. The answer was such as might have been expected from the -Marquis, and the king was convinced that Theodore was not a proper -object of mercy. - -But to return to La Luc, who was called, according to his order, at a -very early hour. Having passed some time in prayer, he went down to the -parlour, where Louis, punctual to the moment, already waited to conduct -him to the prison. He appeared calm and collected, but his countenance -was impressed with a fixed despair that sensibly affected his young -friend. While they waited for Adeline he spoke little, and seemed -struggling to attain the fortitude necessary to support him through the -approaching scene. Adeline not appearing, he at length sent to hasten -her, and was told she had been ill, but was recovering. She had indeed -passed a night of such agitation, that her frame had sunk under it, and -she was now endeavouring to recover strength and composure sufficient to -sustain her in this dreadful hour. Every moment that brought her nearer -to it had increased her emotion, and the apprehension of being prevented -seeing Theodore had alone enabled her to struggle against the united -pressure of illness and grief. - -She now, with Clara, joined La Luc, who advanced as they entered the -room, and took a hand of each in silence. After some moments he proposed -to go, and they stepped into a carriage which conveyed them to the gates -of the prison. The crowd had already begun to assemble there, and a -confused murmur arose as the carriage moved forward; it was a grievous -sight to the friends of Theodore. Louis supported Adeline when she -alighted, she was scarcely able to walk, and with trembling steps she -followed La Luc, whom the keeper led towards that part of the prison -where his son was confined. It was now eight o'clock, the sentence was -not to be executed till twelve, but a guard of soldiers was already -placed in the court; and as this unhappy party passed along the narrow -avenues, they were met by several officers who had been to take a last -farewell of Theodore. As they ascended the stairs that led to his -apartment. La Luc's ear caught the clink of chains, and heard him -walking above with a quick irregular step. The unhappy father, overcome -by the moment which now pressed upon him, stopped, and was obliged to -support himself by the bannister. Louis fearing the consequence of his -grief might be fatal, shattered as his frame already was, would have -gone for assistance, but he made a sign to him to stay, I am better, -said La Luc; O God! support me through this hour!--and in a few minutes -he was able to proceed. - -As the warder unlocked the door, the harsh grating of the key shocked -Adeline, but in the next moment she was in the presence of Theodore, who -sprung to meet her, and caught her in his arms before she sunk to the -ground. As her head reclined on his shoulder, he again viewed that -countenance so dear to him, which had so often lighted rapture in his -heart, and which, though pale and inanimate as it now was, awakened him -to momentary delight. When at length she unclosed her eyes, she fixed -them in long and mournful gaze upon Theodore, who pressing her to his -heart could answer her only with a smile of mingled tenderness and -despair; the tears he endeavoured to restrain trembled in his eyes, and -he forgot for a time every thing but Adeline. La Luc, who had seated -himself at the foot of the bed, seemed unconscious of what passed around -him, and entirely absorbed in his own grief; but Clara, as she clasped -the hand of her brother and hung weeping on his arm, expressed aloud all -the anguish of her heart, and at length recalled the attention of -Adeline, who in a voice scarcely audible entreated she would spare her -father. Her words roused Theodore, and supporting Adeline to a chair, he -turned to La Luc. My dear child! said La Luc, grasping his hand and -bursting into tears, my dear child! They wept together. After a long -interval of silence, he said, I thought I could have supported this -hour, but I am old and feeble. God knows my efforts for resignation, my -faith in his goodness. - -Theodore by a strong and sudden exertion assumed a composed and firm -countenance, and endeavoured by every gentle argument to soothe and -comfort his weeping friends. La Luc at length seemed to conquer his -sufferings; drying his eyes, he said, My son, I ought to have set you a -better example, and have practised the precepts of fortitude I have so -often given you. But it is over; I know and will perform my duty. -Adeline breathed a heavy sigh, and continued to weep. Be comforted, my -love, we part but for a time, said Theodore as he kissed the tears from -her cheek; and uniting her hand with that of his father's, he earnestly -recommended her to his protection. Receive her, added he, as the most -precious legacy I can bequeath; consider her as your child: she will -console you when I am gone, she will more than supply the loss of your -son. - -La Luc assured him that he did now, and should continue to regard -Adeline as his daughter. During those afflicting hours he endeavoured to -dissipate the terrors of approaching death by inspiring his son with -religious confidence. His conversation was pious, rational, and -consolatory; he spoke not from the cold dictates of the head, but from -the feelings of a heart which had long loved and practised the pure -precepts of Christianity, and which now drew from them a comfort such as -nothing earthly could bestow. - -You are young, my son, said he, and are yet innocent of any great crime; -you may therefore look on death without terror, for to the guilty only -is his approach dreadful. I feel that I shall not long survive you, and -I trust in a merciful God that we shall meet in a state where sorrow -never comes; where the _Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing on -his wings!_ As he spoke he looked up; the tears still trembled in his -eyes, which beamed with meek yet fervent devotion, and his countenance -glowed with the dignity of a superior being. - -Let us not neglect the awful moments, said La Luc rising, let our united -prayers ascend to Him who alone can comfort and support us! They all -knelt down, and he prayed with that simple and sublime eloquence which -true piety inspires. When he arose he embraced his children separately, -and when he came to Theodore he paused, gazed upon him with an earnest, -mournful expression, and was for some time unable to speak. Theodore -could not bear this; he drew his hand before his eyes, and vainly -endeavoured to stifle the deep sobs which convulsed his frame. At length -recovering his voice, he entreated his father would leave him. This -misery is too much for us all, said he, let us not prolong it. The time -is now drawing on--leave me to compose myself; the sharpness of death -consists in parting with those who are dear to us; when that is passed -death is disarmed. - -I will not leave you, my son, replied La Luc; my poor girls shall go, -but for me, I will be with you in your last moments. Theodore felt that -this would be too much for them both, and urged every argument which -reason could suggest to prevail with his father to relinquish his -design: but he remained firm in his determination. I will not suffer a -selfish consideration of the pain I may endure, said La Luc, to tempt me -to desert my child when he will most require my support. It is my duty -to attend you, and nothing shall withhold me. - -Theodore seized on the words of La Luc--As you would that I should be -supported in my last hour, said he, I entreat that you will not be -witness of it. Your presence, my dear father, would subdue all my -fortitude--would destroy what little composure I may otherwise be able -to attain. Add not to my sufferings the view of your distress, but leave -me to forget, if possible, the dear parent I must quit for ever. His -tears flowed anew. La Luc continued to gaze on him in silent agony. At -length he said, Well, be it so. If indeed my presence would distress -you, I will not go. His voice was broken and interrupted. After a pause -of some moments he again embraced Theodore--We must part, said he, we -_must_ part, but it is only for a time--we shall soon be reunited in a -higher world!--O God! thou seest my heart--thou seest all its feelings -in this bitter hour!--Grief again overcame him. He pressed Theodore in -his arms: and at length seeming to summon all his fortitude, he again -said, We _must_ part--Oh! my son, farewell for ever in this world!--The -mercy of Almighty God support and bless you! - -He turned away to leave the prison, but quite worn out with grief, sunk -into a chair near the door he would have opened. Theodore gazed, with a -distracted countenance, alternately on his father, on Clara, and on -Adeline, whom he pressed to his throbbing heart, and their tears flowed -together. And do I then, cried he, for the last time look upon that -countenance!--Shall I never--never more behold it?--O! exquisite misery! -Yet once again--once more, continued he, pressing her cheek; but it was -insensible and cold as marble. - -Louis, who had left the room soon after La Luc arrived, that his -presence might not interrupt their farewell grief, now returned. Adeline -raised her head, and perceiving who entered, it again sunk on the bosom -of Theodore. - -Louis appeared much agitated. La Luc arose. We must go, said he; -Adeline, my love, exert yourself--Clara--my children, let us -depart.--Yet one last--last embrace, and then!----Louis advanced and -took his hand; My dear Sir, I have something to say; yet I fear to tell -it.--What do you mean? said La Luc with quickness: no new misfortune can -have power to afflict me at this moment; do not fear to speak.--I -rejoice that I cannot put you to the proof, replied Louis; I have seen -you sustain the most trying affliction with fortitude. Can you support -the transports of hope?--La Luc gazed eagerly on Louis--Speak! said he, -in a faint voice. Adeline raised her head, and, trembling between hope -and fear, looked as if she would have searched his soul. He smiled -cheerfully upon her. Is it--O! is it possible! she exclaimed, suddenly -reanimated--He lives! He lives!--She said no more, but ran to La Luc, -who sunk fainting in his chair, while Theodore and Clara with one voice -called on Louis to relieve them from the tortures of suspense. - -He proceeded to inform them that he had obtained from the commanding -officer a respite for Theodore till the king's further pleasure could be -known, and this in consequence of a letter received that morning from -his mother, Madame de La Motte, in which she mentioned some very -extraordinary circumstances that had appeared in the course of a trial -lately conducted at Paris, and which so materially affected the -character of the Marquis de Montalt as to render it possible a pardon -might be obtained for Theodore. - -These words darted with the rapidity of lightning upon the hearts of his -hearers. La Luc revived, and that prison so lately the scene of despair -now echoed only to the voices of gratitude and gladness. La Luc, raising -his clasped hands to heaven, said, Great God! support me in this moment -as thou hast already supported me!--If my son lives, I die in peace. - -He embraced Theodore, and remembering the anguish of his last embrace, -tears of thankfulness and joy flowed to the contrast. So powerful indeed -was the effect of this temporary reprieve, and of the hope it -introduced, that if an absolute pardon had been obtained, it could -scarcely for the moment have diffused a more lively joy. But when the -first emotions were subsided, the uncertainty of Theodore's fate once -more appeared. Adeline forbore to express this; but Clara without -scruple lamented the possibility that her brother might yet be taken -from them, and all their joy be turned to sorrow. A look from Adeline -checked her. Joy was, however, so much the predominant feeling of the -present moment, that the shade which reflection threw upon their hopes -passed away like the cloud that is dispelled by the strength of the -sunbeam; and Louis alone was pensive and abstracted. - -When they were sufficiently composed, he informed them that the contents -of Madame de La Motte's letter obliged him to set out for Paris -immediately; and that the intelligence he had to communicate intimately -concerned Adeline, who would undoubtedly judge it necessary to go -thither also as soon as her health would permit. He then read to his -impatient auditors such passages in the letter as were necessary to -explain his meaning; but as Madame de La Motte had omitted to mention -some circumstances of importance to be understood, the following is a -relation of the occurrences that had lately happened at Paris. - -It may be remembered that on the first day of his trial, La Motte, in -passing from the courts to his prison, saw a person whose features, -though imperfectly seen through the dusk, he thought he recollected; and -that this same person, after inquiring the name of La Motte, desired to -be admitted to him. On the following day the warder complied with his -request, and the surprise of La Motte may be imagined when in the -stronger light of his apartment, he distinguished the countenance of the -man, from whose hands he had formerly received Adeline. - -On observing Madame de La Motte in the room, he said he had something of -consequence to impart, and desired to be left alone with the prisoner. -When she was gone, he told De La Motte that he understood he was -confined at the suit of the Marquis de Montalt. La Motte assented.--I -know him for a villain, said the stranger boldly. Your case is -desperate. Do you wish for life? - -Need the question be asked? - -Your trial, I understand proceeds to-morrow. I am now under confinement -in this place for debt; but if you can obtain leave for me to go with -you into the courts, and a condition from the judge that what I reveal -shall not criminate myself, I will make discoveries that shall confound -that same Marquis; I will prove him a villain; and it shall then be -judged how far his word ought to be taken against you. - -La Motte, whose interest was now strongly excited, desired he would -explain himself; and the man proceeded to relate a long history of the -misfortunes and consequent poverty which had tempted him to become -subservient to the schemes of the Marquis, till he suddenly checked -himself, and said. When I obtain from the court the promise I require, I -will explain myself fully; till then, I cannot say more on the subject. - -La Motte could not forbear expressing a doubt of his sincerity, and a -curiosity concerning the motive that had induced him to become the -Marquis's accuser.--As to my motive, it is a very natural one, replied -the man: it is no easy matter to receive ill usage without resenting it, -particularly from a villain whom you have served.--La Motte, for his own -sake, endeavoured to check the vehemence with which this was uttered. I -care not who hears me continued the stranger, but at the same time he -lowered his voice; I repeat it--the Marquis has used me ill--I have kept -his secret long enough: he does not think it worth while to secure my -silence, or he would relieve my necessities. I am in prison for debt, -and have applied to him for relief; since he does not choose to give it, -let him take the consequence. I warrant he shall soon repent that he has -provoked me, and 'tis fit he should. - -The doubts of La Motte were now dissipated; the prospect of life again -opened upon him, and he assured Du Bosse (which was the stranger's name) -with much warmth, that he would commission his advocate to do all in his -power to obtain leave for his appearance on the trial, and to procure -the necessary condition. After some further conversation they parted. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Drag forth the legal monster into light, -Wrench from his hand oppression's iron rod, -And bid the cruel feel the pains they give. - - -Leave was at length granted for the appearance of Du Bosse, with a -promise that his words should not criminate him, and he accompanied La -Motte into court. - -The confusion of the Marquis de Montalt on perceiving this man was -observed by many persons present, and particularly by La Motte, who drew -from this circumstance a favourable presage for himself. - -When Du Bosse was called upon, he informed the court, that on the night -of the twenty-first of April, in the preceding year, one Jean D'Aunoy, a -man he had known many years, came to his lodging. After they had -discoursed for some time on their circumstances, D'Aunoy said he knew a -way by which Du Bosse might change all his poverty to riches, but that -he would not say more till he was certain he would be willing to follow -it. The distressed state in which Du Bosse then was, made him anxious to -learn the means which would bring him relief; he eagerly inquired what -his friend meant, and after some time D'Aunoy explained himself. He said -he was employed by a nobleman (who he afterwards told Du Bosse was the -Marquis de Montalt) to carry off a young girl from a convent, and that -she was to be taken to a house a few leagues distant from Paris. I knew -the house he described well, said Du Bosse, for I had been there many -times with D'Aunoy, who lived there to avoid his creditors, though he -often passed his nights at Paris. He would not tell me more of the -scheme, but said he should want assistants, and if I and my brother, who -is since dead, would join him, his employer would grudge no money, and -we should be well rewarded. I desired him again to tell me more of the -plan, but he was obstinate; and after I had told him I would consider of -what he said, and speak to my brother, he went away. - -When he called the next night for his answer, my brother and I agreed to -engage, and accordingly we went home with him. He then told us that the -young lady he was to bring thither was a natural daughter of the Marquis -de Montalt and of a nun belonging to a convent of Ursulines; that his -wife had received the child immediately on its birth, and had been -allowed a handsome annuity to bring it up as her own, which she had done -till her death. The child was then placed in a convent and designed for -the veil; but when she was of an age to receive the vows, she had -steadily persisted in refusing them. This circumstance had so much -exasperated the Marquis, that in his rage he ordered that if she -persisted in her obstinacy she should be removed from the convent, and -got rid of any way; since if she lived in the world her birth might be -discovered, and in consequence of this, her mother, for whom he had yet -a regard, would be condemned to expiate her crime by a terrible death. - -Du Bosse was interrupted in his narrative by the counsel of the Marquis, -who contended that the circumstances alleged tending to criminate his -client, the proceeding was both irrelevant and illegal. He was answered -that it was not irrelevant, and therefore not illegal; for that the -circumstances which threw light upon the character of the Marquis, -affected his evidence against La Motte. Du Bosse was suffered to -proceed. - -D'Aunoy then said that the Marquis had ordered him to dispatch her, but -that, as he had been used to see her from her infancy, he could not find -in his heart to do it, and wrote to tell him so. The Marquis then -commanded him to find those who would, and this was the business for -which he wanted us. My brother and I were not so wicked as this came to, -and so we told D'Aunoy; and I could not help asking why the Marquis -resolved to murder his own child rather than expose her mother to the -risque of suffering death. He said the Marquis had never seen his child -and that, therefore, it could not be supposed he felt much kindness -towards it, and still less that he could love it better than he loved -its mother. - -Du Bosse proceeded to relate how much he and his brother had endeavoured -to soften the heart of D'Aunoy towards the Marquis's daughter, and that -they prevailed with him to write again and plead for her. D'Aunoy went -to Paris to await the answer, leaving them and the young girl at the -house on the heath, where the former had consented to remain, seemingly -for the purpose of executing the orders they might receive, but really -with a design to save the unhappy victim from the sacrifice. - -It is probable that Du Bosse, in this instance, gave a false account of -his motive; since, if he was really guilty of an intention so atrocious -as that of murder, he would naturally endeavour to conceal it. However -this might be, he affirmed, that on the night of the twenty-sixth of -April, he received an order from D'Aunoy for the destruction of the -girl, whom he had afterwards delivered into the hands of La Motte. - -La Motte listened to this relation in astonishment; when he knew that -Adeline was the daughter of the Marquis, and remembered the crime to -which he had once devoted her, his frame thrilled with horror. He now -took up the story, and added an account of what had passed at the abbey -between the Marquis and himself, concerning a design of the former upon -the life of Adeline, and urged, as a proof of the present prosecution -originating in malice, that it had commenced immediately after he had -effected her escape from the Marquis. He concluded, however, with -saying, that as the Marquis had immediately sent his people in pursuit -of her, it was possible she might yet have fallen a victim to his -vengeance. - -Here the Marquis's counsel again interfered, and their objections were -again overruled by the court. The uncommon degree of emotion which his -countenance betrayed during the narrations of Du Bosse and De La Motte -was generally observed. The court suspended the sentence of the latter, -ordered that the Marquis should be put under immediate arrest, and that -Adeline (the name given by her fostermother) and Jean D'Aunoy should be -sought for. - -The Marquis was accordingly seized at the suit of the crown, and put -under confinement till Adeline should appear, or proof could be obtained -that she died by his order; and till D'Aunoy should confirm or destroy -the evidence of De La Motte. - -Madame, who at length obtained intelligence of her son's residence from -the town where he was formerly stationed, had acquainted him with his -father's situation, and the proceedings of the trial; and as she -believed that Adeline, if she had been so fortunate as to escape the -Marquis's pursuit, was still in Savoy, she desired Louis would obtain -leave of absence, and bring her to Paris, where her immediate presence -was requisite to substantiate the evidence, and probably to save the -life of La Motte. - -On the receipt of her letter, which happened on the morning appointed -for the execution of Theodore, Louis went immediately to the commanding -officer to petition for a respite till the king's further pleasure -should be known. He founded his plea on the arrest of the Marquis, and -showed the letter he had just received. The commanding officer readily -granted a reprieve; and Louis, who, on the arrival of this letter had -forborne to communicate its contents to Theodore, lest it should torture -him with false hope, now hastened to him with this comfortable news. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Low on his funeral couch he lies! -No pitying heart, no eye, afford -A tear lo grace his obsequies. - -GRAY. - - -On learning the purport of Madame de La Motte's letter, Adeline saw the -necessity of her immediate departure for Paris. The life of La Motte, -who had more than saved hers, the life perhaps of her beloved Theodore, -depended on the testimony she should give. And she who had so lately -been sinking under the influence of illness and despair, who could -scarcely raise her languid head, or speak but in the faintest accents, -now reanimated with hope, and invigorated by a sense of the importance -of the business before her, prepared to perform a rapid journey of some -hundred miles. - -Theodore tenderly entreated that she would so far consider her health as -to delay this journey for a few days: but with a smile of enchanting -tenderness she assured him, that she was now too happy to be ill, and -that the same cause which would confirm her happiness would confirm her -health. So strong was the effect of hope upon her mind, now that it -succeeded to the misery of despair, that it overcame the shock she -suffered on believing herself a daughter of the Marquis, and every other -painful reflection. She did not even foresee the obstacle that -circumstance might produce to her union with Theodore, should he at last -be permitted to live. - -It was settled that she should set off for Paris in a few hours with -Louis, and attended by Peter. These hours were passed by La Luc and his -family in the prison. - -When the time of her departure arrived, the spirits of Adeline again -forsook her, and the illusions of joy disappeared. She no longer beheld -Theodore as one respited from death, but took leave of him with a -mournful presentiment that she should see him no more. So strongly was -this presage impressed upon her mind, that it was long before she could -summon resolution to bid him farewell; and when she had done so, and -even left the apartment, she returned to take of him a last look. As she -was once more quitting the room, her melancholy imagination represented -Theodore at the place of execution, pale, and convulsed in death; she -again turned her lingering eyes upon him; but fancy affected her sense, -for she thought as she now gazed that his countenance changed, and -assumed a ghastly hue. All her resolution vanished; and such was the -anguish of her heart, that she resolved to defer her journey till the -morrow, though she must by this means lose the protection of Louis, -whose impatience to meet his father would not suffer the delay. The -triumph of passion, however, was transient; soothed by the indulgence -she promised herself, her grief subsided; reason resumed its influence; -she again saw the necessity of her immediate departure, and recollected -sufficient resolution to submit. La Luc would have accompanied her for -the purpose of again soliciting the king in behalf of his son, had not -the extreme weakness and lassitude to which he was reduced made -travelling impracticable. - -At length, Adeline with a heavy heart quitted Theodore, notwithstanding -his entreaties that she would not undertake the journey in her present -weak state, and was accompanied by Clara and La Luc to the inn. The -former parted from her friend with many tears, and much anxiety for her -welfare, but under a hope of soon meeting again. Should a pardon be -granted to Theodore, La Luc designed to fetch Adeline from Paris; but -should this be refused, she was to return with Peter. He bade her adieu -with a father's kindness, which she repaid with a filial affection, and -in her last words conjured him to attend to the recovery of his health: -the languid smile he assumed seemed to express that her solicitude was -vain, and that he thought his health past recovery. - -Thus Adeline quitted the friends so justly dear to her, and so lately -found, for Paris, where she was a stranger, almost without protection, -and compelled to meet a father, who had pursued her with the utmost -cruelty, in a public court of justice. The carriage in leaving Vaceau -passed by the prison; she threw an eager look towards it as she passed; -its heavy black walls, and narrow-grated windows, seemed to frown upon -her hopes--but Theodore was there, and leaning from the window: she -continued to gaze upon it till an abrupt turning in the street concealed -it from her view. She then sunk back in the carriage, and yielding to -the melancholy of her heart, wept in silence. Louis was not disposed to -interrupt it; his thoughts were anxiously employed on his father's -situation, and the travellers proceeded many miles without exchanging a -word. - -At Paris, whither we shall now return, the search after Jean D'Aunoy was -prosecuted without success. The house on the heath, described by Du -Bosse, was found uninhabited, and to the places of his usual resort in -the city, where the officers of the police awaited him, he no longer -came. It even appeared doubtful whether he was living, for he had -absented himself from the houses of his customary rendezvous sometime -before the trial of La Motte; it was therefore certain that his absence -was not occasioned by any thing which had passed in the courts. - -In the solitude of his confinement the Marquis de Montalt had leisure to -reflect on the past, and to repent of his crimes; but reflection and -repentance formed as yet no part of his disposition. He turned with -impatience from recollections which produced only pain, and looked -forward to the future with an endeavour to avert the disgrace and -punishment which he saw impending. The elegance of his manners had so -effectually veiled the depravity of his heart, that he was a favourite -with his sovereign; and on this circumstance he rested his hope of -security. He, however, severely repented that he had indulged the hasty -spirit of revenge which had urged him to the prosecution of La Motte, -and had thus unexpectedly involved him in a situation dangerous--if not -fatal--since if Adeline could not be found he would be concluded guilty -of her death. But the appearance of D'Aunoy was the circumstance he most -dreaded; and to oppose the possibility of this, he employed secret -emissaries to discover his retreat, and to bribe him to his interest. -These were, however as unsuccessful in their research as the officers of -police, and the Marquis at length began to hope that the man was really -dead. - -La Motte meanwhile awaited with trembling impatience the arrival of his -son, when he should be relieved in some degree from his uncertainty -concerning Adeline. On this appearance he rested his only hope of life, -since the evidence against him would lose much of its validity from the -confirmation she would give of the bad character of his prosecutor; and -if the Parliament even condemned La Motte, the clemency of the king -might yet operate in his favour. - -Adeline arrived at Paris after a journey of several days, during which -she was chiefly supported by the delicate attentions of Louis, whom she -pitied and esteemed, though she could not love. She was immediately -visited at the hotel by Madame La Motte: the meeting was affecting on -both sides. A sense of her past conduct excited in the latter an -embarrassment which the delicacy and goodness of Adeline would willingly -have spared her; but the pardon solicited was given with so much -sincerity, that Madame gradually became composed and reassured. This -forgiveness, however, could not have been thus easily granted, had -Adeline believed her former conduct was voluntary; a conviction of the -restraint and terror under which Madame had acted, alone induced her to -excuse the past. In this first meeting they forbore dwelling on -particular subjects; Madame La Motte proposed that Adeline should remove -from the hotel to her lodgings near the Chatelet; and Adeline, for whom -a residence at a public hotel was very improper, gladly accepted the -offer. - -Madame there gave her a circumstantial account of La Motte's situation, -and concluded with saying, that as the sentence of her husband had been -suspended till some certainty could be obtained concerning the late -criminal designs of the Marquis, and as Adeline could confirm the chief -part of La Motte's testimony, it was probable that now she was arrived -the court would proceed immediately. She now learnt the full extent of -her obligation to La Motte; for she was till now ignorant that when he -sent her from the forest he saved her from death. Her horror of the -Marquis, whom she could not bear to consider as her father, and her -gratitude to her deliverer, redoubled, and she became impatient to give -the testimony so necessary to the hopes of her preserver. Madame then -said, she believed it was not too late to gain admittance that night to -the Chatelet; and as she knew how anxiously her husband wished to see -Adeline, she entreated her consent to go thither. Adeline, though much -harassed and fatigued, complied. When Louis returned from M. Nemours, -his father's advocate, whom he had hastened to inform of her arrival, -they all set out for the Chatelet. The view of the prison into which -they were now admitted, so forcibly recalled to Adeline's mind the -situation of Theodore, that she with difficulty supported herself to the -apartment of La Motte. When he saw her, a gleam of joy passed over his -countenance; but again relapsing into despondency, he looked mournfully -at her, and then at Louis, and groaned deeply. Adeline, in whom all -remembrance of his former cruelty was lost in his subsequent kindness, -expressed her thankfulness for the life he had preserved, and her -anxiety to serve him, in warm and repeated terms. But her gratitude -evidently distressed him; instead of reconciling him to himself, it -seemed to awaken a remembrance of the guilty designs he had once -assisted, and to strike the pangs of conscience deeper in his heart. -Endeavouring to conceal his emotions, he entered on the subject of his -present danger, and informed Adeline what testimony would be required of -her on the trial. After above an hour's conversation with La Motte, she -returned to the lodgings of Madame, where, languid and ill, she withdrew -to her chamber, and tried to obliviate her anxieties in sleep. - -The Parliament which conducted the trial re-assembled in a few days -after the arrival of Adeline, and the two remaining witnesses of the -Marquis, on whom he now rested his cause against La Motte, appeared. She -was led trembling into the court, where almost the first object that met -her eyes was the Marquis de Montalt, whom she now beheld with an emotion -entirely new to her, and which was strongly tinctured with horror. When -Du Bosse saw her he immediately swore to her identity; his testimony was -confirmed by her manner; for, on perceiving him she grew pale, and an -universal tremor seized her. Jean D'Aunoy could no where be found, and -La Motte was thus deprived of an evidence which essentially affected his -interest. Adeline, when called upon, gave her little narrative with -clearness and precision; and Peter, who had conveyed her from the abbey, -supported the testimony she offered. The evidence produced was -sufficient to criminate the Marquis of the intention of murder, in the -minds of most people present; but it was not sufficient to affect the -testimony of his two last witnesses, who positively swore to the -commission of the robbery, and to the person of La Motte, on whom -sentence of death was accordingly pronounced. On receiving the sentence -the unhappy criminal fainted, and the compassion of the assembly, whose -feelings had been unusually interested in the decision, was expressed in -a general groan. - -Their attention was quickly called to a new object--it was Jean D'Aunoy, -who now entered the court. But his evidence, if it could ever, indeed, -have been the means of saving La Motte, came too late. He was -reconducted to prison; but Adeline, who, extremely shocked by his -sentence, was much indisposed, received orders to remain in the court -during the examination of D'Aunoy. This man had been at length found in -the prison of a provincial town, where some of his creditors had thrown -him, and from which even the money which the Marquis had remitted to him -for the purpose of satisfying the craving importunities of Du Bosse, had -been insufficient to release him. Meanwhile the revenge of the latter -had been roused against the Marquis by an imaginary neglect, and the -money which was designed to relieve his necessities, was spent by -D'Aunoy in riotous luxury. - -He was confronted with Adeline and with Du Bosse, and ordered to confess -all he knew concerning this mysterious affair, or to undergo the -torture. D'Aunoy, who was ignorant how far the suspicions concerning the -Marquis extended, and who was conscious that his own words might condemn -him, remained for some time obstinately silent; but when the _question_ -was administered, his resolution gave way, and he confessed a crime of -which he had not even been suspected. - -It appeared, that, in the year 1642, D'Aunoy, together with one Jaques -Martigny, and Francis Balliere, had way-laid and seized Henri, Marquis -de Montalt, half-brother to Philippe; and after having robbed him, and -bound his servant to a tree, according to the orders they had received, -they conveyed him to the abbey of St. Clair, in the distant forest of -Fontanville. Here he was confined for some time, till further directions -were received from Philippe de Montalt, the present Marquis, who was -then on his estates in a northern province of France. These orders were -for death, and the unfortunate Henri was assassinated in his chamber in -the third week of his confinement at the abbey. - -On hearing this, Adeline grew faint: she remembered the MS. she had -found, together with the extraordinary circumstances that had attended -the discovery; every nerve thrilled with horror, and, raising her eyes, -she saw the countenance of the Marquis overspread with the livid -paleness of guilt. She endeavoured, however, to arrest her fleeting -spirits while the man proceeded in his confession. - -When the murder was perpetrated, D'Aunoy had returned to his employer, -who gave him the reward agreed upon, and in a few months after delivered -into his hands the infant daughter of the late Marquis, whom he conveyed -to a distant part of the kingdom, where, assuming the name of St. -Pierre, he brought her up as his own child, receiving from the present -Marquis a considerable annuity for his secrecy. - -Adeline, no longer able to struggle with the tumult of emotions that now -rushed upon her heart, uttered a deep sigh and fainted away. She was -carried from the court; and when the confusion occasioned by this -circumstance subsided, Jean D'Aunoy went on. He related, that on the -death of his wife, Adeline was placed in a convent, from whence she was -afterwards removed to another, where the Marquis had destined her to -receive the vows. That her determined rejection of them had occasioned -him to resolve upon her death, and that she had accordingly been removed -to the house on the heath. D'Aunoy added, that by the Marquis's order he -had misled Du Bosse with a false story of her birth. Having, after some -time, discovered that his comrades had deceived him concerning her -death, D'Aunoy separated from them in enmity; but they unanimously -determined to conceal her escape from the Marquis, that they might enjoy -the recompense of their supposed crime. Some months subsequent to this -period, however, D'Aunoy received a letter from the Marquis, charging -him with the truth, and promising him a large reward if he would confess -where he had placed Adeline. In consequence of this letter, he -acknowledged that she had been given into the hands of a stranger; but, -who he was, or where he lived, was not known. - -Upon these depositions Philippe de Montalt was committed to take his -trial for the murder of Henri, his brother; D'Aunoy was thrown into a -dungeon of the Chatelet, and Du Bosse was bound to appear as evidence. - -The feelings of the Marquis, who, in a prosecution stimulated by -revenge, had thus unexpectedly exposed his crimes to the public eye, and -betrayed himself to justice, can only be imagined. The passions which -had tempted him to the commission of a crime so horrid as that of -murder,--and what, if possible, heightened its atrocity, the murder of -one connected with him by the ties of blood, and by habits of even -infantine association--the passions which had stimulated him to so -monstrous a deed, were ambition and the love of pleasure. The first was -more immediately gratified by the title of his brother; the latter, by -the riches which would enable him to indulge his voluptuous -inclinations. - -The late Marquis de Montalt, the father of Adeline, received from his -ancestors a patrimony very inadequate to support the splendour of his -rank; but he had married the heiress of an illustrious family, whose -fortune amply supplied the deficiency of his own. He had the misfortune -to lose her, for she was amiable and beautiful, soon after the birth of -a daughter, and it was then that the present Marquis formed the -diabolical design of destroying his brother. The contrast of their -characters prevented that cordial regard between them which their near -relationship seemed to demand. Henri was benevolent, mild, and -contemplative. In his heart reigned the love of virtue; in his manners -the strictness of justice was tempered, not weakened, by mercy; his mind -was enlarged by science, and adorned by elegant literature. The -character of Philippe has been already delineated in his actions; its -nicer shades were blended with some shining tints; but these served only -to render more striking by contrast the general darkness of the -portrait. - -He had married a lady, who, by the death of her brother, inherited -considerable estates, of which the abbey of St. Clair, and the villa on -the borders of the forest of Fontanville, were the chief. His passion -for magnificence and dissipation, however, soon involved him in -difficulties, and pointed out to him the conveniency of possessing his -brother's wealth. His brother and his infant daughter only stood between -him and his wishes; how he removed the father has been already related; -why he did not employ the same means to secure the child, seems somewhat -surprising, unless we admit that a destiny hung over him on this -occasion, and that she was suffered to live as an instrument to punish -the murderer of her parent. When a retrospect is taken of the -vicissitudes and dangers to which she had been exposed from her earliest -infancy, it appears as if her preservation was the effect of something -more than human policy, and affords a striking instance, that justice, -however long delayed, will overtake the guilty. - -While the late unhappy Marquis was suffering at the abbey, his brother, -who, to avoid suspicion, remained in the north of France, delayed the -execution of his horrid purpose from a timidity natural to a mind not -yet inured to enormous guilt. Before he dared to deliver his final -orders, he waited to know whether the story he contrived to propagate of -his brother's death would veil his crime from suspicion. It succeeded -but too well; for the servant, whose life had been spared that he might -relate the tale, naturally enough concluded that his lord had been -murdered by banditti; and the peasant, who, a few hours after, found the -servant wounded, bleeding, and bound to a tree, and knew also that this -spot was infested by robbers, as naturally believed him, and spread the -report accordingly. - -From this period the Marquis, to whom the abbey of St. Clair belonged in -right of his wife, visited it only twice, and that at distant times, -till, after an interval of several years, he accidentally found La Motte -its inhabitant. He resided at Paris and on his estate in the north, -except that once a year he usually passed a month at his delightful -villa on the borders of the forest. In the busy scenes of the court, and -in the dissipations of pleasure, he tried to lose the remembrance of his -guilt; but there were times when the voice of conscience would be heard, -though it was soon again lost in the tumult of the world. - -It is probable, that on the night of his abrupt departure from the -abbey, the solitary silence and gloom of the hour, in a place which had -been the scene of his former crime, called up the remembrance of his -brother with a force too powerful for fancy, and awakened horrors which -compelled him to quit the polluted spot. If it was so, it is however -certain that the spectres of conscience vanished with the darkness; for -on the following day he returned to the abbey, though, it may be -observed, he never attempted to pass another night there. But though -terror was roused for a transient moment, neither pity nor repentance -succeeded; since, when the discovery of Adeline's birth excited -apprehension for his own life, he did not hesitate to repeat the crime, -and would again have stained his soul with human blood. This discovery -was effected by means of a seal bearing the arms of her mother's family, -which was impressed on the note his servant had found, and had delivered -to him at Caux. It may be remembered, that having read this note, he was -throwing it from him in the fury of jealousy; but, that after examining -it again, it was carefully deposited in his pocket-book. The violent -agitation which a suspicion of this terrible truth occasioned, deprived -him for awhile of all power to act. When he was well enough to write, he -dispatched a letter to D'Aunoy, the purport of which has been already -mentioned. From D'Aunoy he received the confirmation of his fears. -Knowing that his life must pay the forfeiture of his crime, should -Adeline ever obtain a knowledge of her birth, and not daring again to -confide in the secrecy of a man who had once deceived him, he resolved, -after some deliberation, on her death. He immediately set out for the -abbey, and gave those directions concerning her which terror for his own -safety, still more than a desire of retaining her estates, suggested. - -As the history of the seal which revealed the birth of Adeline is rather -remarkable, it may not be amiss to mention, that it was stolen from the -Marquis, together with a gold watch, by Jean D'Aunoy: the watch was soon -disposed of, but the seal had been kept as a pretty trinket by his wife, -and at her death went with Adeline among her clothes to the convent. -Adeline had carefully preserved it, because it had once belonged to the -woman whom she believed to have been her mother. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart. - - -We now return to the course of the narrative, and to Adeline, who was -carried from the court to the lodging of Madame de La Motte. Madame was, -however, at the Chatelet with her husband, suffering all the distress -which the sentence pronounced against him might be supposed to inflict. -The feeble frame of Adeline, so long harassed by grief and fatigue, -almost sunk under the agitation which the discovery of her birth -excited. Her feelings on this occasion were too complex to be analysed. -From an orphan, subsisting on the bounty of others, without family, with -few friends, and pursued by a cruel and powerful enemy, she saw herself -suddenly transformed to the daughter of an illustrious house, and the -heiress of immense wealth. But she learned also that her father had been -murdered--murdered in the prime of his days--murdered by means of his -brother, against whom she must now appear, and in punishing the -destroyer of her parent, doom her uncle to death. - -When she remembered the manuscript so singularly found, and considered -that when she wept to the sufferings it described, her tears had flowed -for those of her father, her emotion cannot easily be imagined. The -circumstances attending the discovery of these papers no longer appeared -to be a work of chance, but of a Power whose designs are great and just. -O, my father! she would exclaim, your last wish is fulfilled--the -pitying heart you wished might trace your sufferings shall avenge them. - -On the return of Madame La Motte, Adeline endeavoured, as usual, to -suppress her own emotions, that she might soothe the affliction of her -friend. She related what had passed in the courts after the departure of -La Motte, and thus excited, even in the sorrowful heart of Madame, a -momentary gleam of satisfaction. Adeline determined to recover, if -possible, the manuscript. On inquiry she learned that La Motte, in the -confusion of his departure, had left it among other things at the abbey. -This circumstance much distressed her, the more so because she believed -its appearance might be of importance on the approaching trial; she -determined, however, if she could recover her rights, to have the -manuscript sought for. - -In the evening Louis joined this mournful party: he came immediately -from his father, whom he left more tranquil than he had been since the -fatal sentence was pronounced. After a silent and melancholy supper they -separated for the night; and Adeline, in the solitude of her chamber, -had leisure to meditate on the discoveries of this eventful day. The -sufferings of her dead father, such as she had read them recorded by his -own hand, pressed most forcibly to her thoughts. The narrative had -formerly so much affected her heart, and interested her imagination, -that her memory now faithfully reflected each particular circumstance -there disclosed. But when she considered that she had been in the very -chamber where her parent had suffered, where even his life had been -sacrificed, and that she had probably seen the very dagger, seen it -stained with rust, the rust of blood! by which he had fallen, the -anguish and horror of her mind defied all control. - -On the following day Adeline received orders to prepare for the -prosecution of the Marquis de Montalt, which was to commence as soon as -the requisite witnesses could be collected. Among these were the abbess -of the convent, who had received her from the hands of D'Aunoy; Madame -La Motte, who was present when Du Bosse compelled her husband to receive -Adeline; and Peter, who had not only been witness to this circumstance, -but who had conveyed her from the abbey that she might escape the -designs of the Marquis. La Motte and Theodore La Luc were incapacitated -by the sentence of the law from appearing on the trial. - -When La Motte was informed of the discovery of Adeline's birth, and that -her father had been murdered at the abbey of St. Clair, he instantly -remembered, and mentioned to his wife, the skeleton he found in the -stone room leading to the subterranean cells. Neither of them doubted, -from the situation in which it lay, hid in a chest in an obscure room -strongly guarded, that La Motte had seen the remains of the late -Marquis. Madame, however, determined not to shock Adeline with the -mention of this circumstance till it should be necessary to declare it -on the trial. - -As the time of this trial drew near, the distress and agitation of -Adeline increased. Though justice demanded the life of the murderer, and -though the tenderness and pity which the idea of her father called -forth, urged her to revenge his death, she could not without horror -consider herself as the instrument of dispensing that justice which -would deprive a fellow-being of existence; and there were times when she -wished the secret of her birth had never been revealed. If this -sensibility was, in her peculiar circumstances, a weakness, it was at -least an amiable one, and as such deserves to be reverenced. - -The accounts she received from Vaceau of the health of M. La Luc did not -contribute to tranquillize her mind. The symptoms described by Clara -seemed to say that he was in the last stage of a consumption, and the -grief of Theodore and herself on this occasion was expressed in her -letters with the lively eloquence so natural to her. Adeline loved and -revered La Luc for his own worth, and for the parental tenderness he had -shown her; but he was still dearer to her as the father of Theodore and -her concern for his declining state was not inferior to that of his -children. It was increased by the reflection that she had probably been -the means of shortening his life; for she too well knew that the -distress occasioned him by the situation in which it had been her -misfortune to involve Theodore, had shattered his frame to its present -infirmity. The same cause also withheld him from seeking in the climate -of Montpellier the relief he had formerly been taught to expect there. -When she looked around on the condition of her friends, her heart was -almost overwhelmed with the prospect; it seemed as if she was destined -to involve all those most dear to her in calamity. With respect to La -Motte, whatever were his vices, and whatever the designs in which he had -formerly engaged against her, she forgot them all in the service he had -finally rendered her; and considered it to be as much her duty, as she -felt it to be her inclination, to intercede in his behalf. This, -however, in her present situation, she could not do with any hope of -success; but if the suit, upon which depended the establishment of her -rank, her fortune, and consequently her influence, should be decided in -her favour, she determined to throw herself at the king's feet, and when -she pleaded the cause of Theodore, ask the life of La Motte. - -A few days preceding that of the trial, Adeline was informed a stranger -desired to speak with her; and on going to the room where he was, she -found M. Verneuil. Her countenance expressed both surprise and -satisfaction at this unexpected meeting, and she inquired, though with -little expectation of an affirmative, if he had heard of M. La Luc. I -have seen him, said M. Verneuil; I am just come from Vaceau: but, I am -sorry I cannot give you a better account of his health; he is greatly -altered since I saw him before. - -Adeline could scarcely refrain from tears at the recollection these -words revived of the calamities which had occasioned this lamented -change. M. Verneuil delivered her a packet from Clara. As he presented -it, he said, besides this introduction to your notice, I have a claim of -a different kind, which I am proud to assert, and which will perhaps -justify the permission I ask of speaking upon your affairs.--Adeline -bowed; and M. Verneuil, with a countenance expressive of the most tender -solicitude, added, that he had heard of the late proceedings of the -Parliament of Paris, and of the discoveries that so intimately concerned -her. I know not, continued he, whether I ought to congratulate or -condole with you on this trying occasion. That I sincerely sympathize in -all that concerns you I hope you will believe, and I cannot deny myself -the pleasure of telling you that I am related, though distantly, to the -late Marchioness your mother--for that she _was your mother_ I cannot -doubt. - -Adeline rose hastily and advanced towards M. Verneuil; surprise and -satisfaction reanimated her features. Do I indeed see a relation? said -she in a sweet and tremulous voice; and one whom I can welcome as a -friend? Tears trembled in her eyes; and she received M. Verneuil's -embrace in silence. It was some time before her emotion would permit her -to speak. - -To Adeline, who from her earliest infancy had been abandoned to -strangers, a forlorn and helpless orphan; who had never till lately -known a relation, and who then found one in the person of an inveterate -enemy; to her this discovery was as delightful as unexpected. But, after -struggling for some time with the various emotions that pressed upon her -heart, she begged of M. Verneuil permission to withdraw till she could -recover composure. He would have taken leave, but she entreated him not -to go. - -The interest which M. Verneuil took in the concerns of La Luc, which was -strengthened by his increasing regard for Clara, had drawn him to -Vaceau, where he was informed of the family and peculiar circumstances -of Adeline. On receiving this intelligence he immediately set out for -Paris, to offer his protection and assistance to his newly-discovered -relation, and to aid, if possible, the cause of Theodore. - -Adeline in a short time returned, and could then bear to converse on the -subject of her family. M. Verneuil offered her his support and -assistance, if they should be found necessary. But I trust, added he, to -the justice of your cause, and hope it will not require any adventitious -aid. To those who remember the late Marchioness, your features bring -sufficient evidence of your birth. As a proof that my judgment in this -instance is not biassed by prejudice, the resemblance struck me when I -was in Savoy, though I knew the Marchioness only by her portrait; and I -believe I mentioned to M. La Luc that you often reminded me of a -deceased relation. You may form some judgment of this yourself, added M. -Verneuil, taking a miniature from his pocket. This was your amiable -mother. - -Adeline's countenance changed; she received the picture eagerly, gazed -on it for a long time in silence, and her eyes filled with tears. It was -not the resemblance she studied; but the countenance--the mild and -beautiful countenance of her parent, whose blue eyes, full of tender -sweetness, seemed bent upon hers, while a soft smile played on her lips; -Adeline pressed the picture to hers, and again gazed in silent reverie. -At length, with a deep sigh, she said. This surely _was_ my mother. Had -she _but_ lived--O, my poor father! you had been spared. This reflection -quite overcame her, and she burst into tears. M. Verneuil did not -interrupt her grief, but took her hand and sat by her without speaking, -till she became more composed. Again kissing the picture, she held it -out to him with a hesitating look. No, said he, it is already with its -true owner. She thanked him with a smile of ineffable sweetness; and -after some conversation on the subject of the approaching trial, on -which occasion she requested M. Verneuil would support her by his -presence, he withdrew, having begged leave to repeat his visit on the -following day. - -Adeline now opened her packet, and saw once more the well known -characters of Theodore: for a moment She felt as if in his presence, and -the conscious blush overspread her cheek. With a trembling hand she -broke the seal, and read the tenderest assurances and solicitudes of his -love. She often paused that she might prolong the sweet emotions which -these assurances awakened; but while tears of tenderness stood trembling -on her eyelids, the bitter recollection of his situation would return, -and they fell in anguish on her bosom. - -He congratulated her, and with peculiar delicacy, on the prospects of -life which were opening to her; said, every thing that might tend to -animate and support her, but avoided dwelling on his own circumstances, -except by expressing his sense of the zeal and kindness of his -commanding officer, and adding that he did not despair of finally -obtaining a pardon. - -This hope, though but faintly expressed, and written evidently for the -purpose of consoling Adeline, did not entirely fail of the desired -effect. She yielded to its enchanting influence, and forgot for awhile -the many subjects of care and anxiety which surrounded her. Theodore -said little of his father's health; what he did say was by no means so -discouraging as the accounts of Clara, who, less anxious to conceal a -truth that must give pain to Adeline, expressed without reserve all her -apprehension and concern. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -...... Heaven is just! -And, when the measure of his crimes is full, -Will bare its red right arm, and launch its lightnings. - -MASON. - - -The day of the trial so anxiously awaited, and on which the fate of so -many persons depended, at length arrived. Adeline, accompanied by M. -Verneuil and Madame La Motte, appeared as the prosecutor of the Marquis -de Montalt; and D'Aunoy, Du Bosse, Louis de La Motte, and several other -persons, as witnesses in her cause. The judges were some of the most -distinguished in France, and the advocates on both sides men of eminent -abilities. On a trial of such importance the court, as may be imagined, -was crowded with persons of distinction, and the spectacle it presented -was strikingly solemn, yet magnificent. - -When she appeared before the tribunal, Adeline's emotion surpassed all -the arts of disguise; but, adding to the natural dignity of her air an -expression of soft timidity, and to her downcast eyes a sweet confusion, -it rendered her an object still more interesting; and she attracted the -universal pity and admiration of the assembly. When she ventured to -raise her eyes, she perceived that the Marquis was not yet in the court; -and while she awaited his appearance in trembling expectation, a -confused murmuring rose in a distant part of the hall. Her spirits now -almost forsook her; the certainty of seeing immediately, and -consciously, the murderer of her father, chilled her with horror, and -she was with difficulty preserved from fainting. A low sound now ran -through the court, and an air of confusion appeared, which was soon -communicated to the tribunal itself. Several of the members arose, some -left the hall, the whole place exhibited a scene of disorder, and a -report at length reached Adeline that the Marquis de Montalt was dying. -A considerable time elapsed in uncertainty: but the confusion continued; -the Marquis did not appear, and at Adeline's request M. Verneuil went in -quest of more positive information. - -He followed a crowd which was hurrying towards the Chatelet, and with -some difficulty gained admittance into the prison; but the porter at the -gate, whom he had bribed for a passport, could give him no certain -information on the subject of his inquiry, and not being at liberty to -quit his post, furnished M. Verneuil with only a vague direction to the -Marquis's apartment. The courts were silent and deserted; but as he -advanced, a distant hum of voices led him on, till, perceiving several -persons running towards a staircase which appeared beyond the archway of -a long passage, he followed thither, and learned that the Marquis was -certainly dying. The staircase was filled with people; he endeavoured to -press through the crowd, and after much struggle and difficulty he -reached the door of an ante-room which communicated with the apartment -where the Marquis lay, and whence several persons now issued. Here he -learned that the object of his inquiry was already dead. M. Verneuil, -however, pressed through the ante-room to the chamber where lay the -Marquis on a bed surrounded by officers of the law, and two notaries, -who appeared to have been taking down depositions. His countenance was -suffused with a black and deadly hue, and impressed with the horrors of -death. M. Verneuil turned away, shocked by the spectacle; and on inquiry -heard that the Marquis had died by poison. - -It appeared that, convinced he had nothing to hope from his trial, he -had taken this method of avoiding an ignominious death. In the last -hours of life, while tortured with the remembrance of his crime, he -resolved to make all the atonement that remained for him; and having -swallowed the potion, he immediately sent for a confessor to take a full -confession of his guilt, and two notaries, and thus establish Adeline -beyond dispute in the rights of her birth: and also bequeathed her a -considerable legacy. - -In consequence of these depositions she was soon after formally -acknowledged as the daughter and heiress of Henri, Marquis de Montalt, -and the rich estates of her father were restored to her. She immediately -threw herself at the feet of the king in behalf of Theodore and of La -Motte. The character of the former, the cause in which he had risked his -life, the occasion of the late Marquis's enmity towards him, were -circumstances so notorious and so forcible, that it is more than -probable the monarch would have granted his pardon to a pleader less -irresistible than was Adeline de Montalt. Theodore La Luc not only -received an ample pardon, but, in consideration of his gallant conduct -towards Adeline, he was soon after raised to a post of considerable rank -in the army. - -For La Motte, who had been condemned for the robbery on full evidence, -and who had been also charged with the crime which had formerly -compelled him to quit Paris, a pardon could not be obtained; but, at the -earnest supplication of Adeline, and in consideration of the service he -had finally rendered her, his sentence was softened from death to -banishment. This indulgence, however, would have availed him little, had -not the noble generosity of Adeline silenced other prosecutions that -were preparing against him, and bestowed on him a sum more than -sufficient to support his family in a foreign country. This kindness -operated so powerfully upon his heart, which had been betrayed through -weakness rather than natural depravity, and awakened so keen a remorse -for the injuries he had once meditated against a benefactress so noble, -that his former habits became odious to him, and his character gradually -recovered the hue which it would probably always have worn had he never -been exposed to the tempting dissipations of Paris. - -The passion which Louis had so long owned for Adeline was raised almost -to adoration by her late conduct; but he now relinquished even the faint -hope which he had hitherto almost unconsciously cherished; and since the -life which was granted to Theodore rendered this sacrifice necessary, he -could not repine. He resolved, however, to seek in absence the -tranquillity he had lost, and to place his future happiness on that of -two persons so deservedly dear to him. - -On the eve of his departure, La Motte and his family took a very -affecting leave of Adeline; he left Paris for England, where it was his -design to settle; and Louis, who was eager to fly from her enchantments, -set out on the same day for his regiment. - -Adeline remained some time at Paris to settle her affairs, where she was -introduced by M. Verneuil to the few and distant relations that remained -of her family. Among these were the Count and Countess D----, and the -Monsieur Amand who had so much engaged her pity and esteem at Nice. The -lady whose death he lamented was of the family of De Montalt; and the -resemblance which he had traced between her features and those of -Adeline, her cousin, was something more than the effect of fancy. The -death of his elder brother had abruptly recalled him from Italy; but -Adeline had the satisfaction to observe, that the heavy melancholy which -formerly oppressed him, had yielded to a sort of placid resignation, and -that his countenance was often enlivened by a transient gleam of -cheerfulness. - -The Count and Countess D----, who were much interested by her goodness -and beauty, invited her to make their hotel her residence while she -remained at Paris. - -Her first care was to have the remains of her parent removed from the -abbey of St. Clair, and deposited in the vault of his ancestors. D'Aunoy -was tried, condemned, and hanged, for the murder. At the place of -execution he had described the spot where the remains of the Marquis -were concealed, which was in the stone room already mentioned belonging -to the abbey. M. Verneuil accompanied the officers appointed for the -search, and attended the ashes of the Marquis to St. Maur, an estate in -one of the northern provinces. There they were deposited with the solemn -funeral pomp becoming his rank; Adeline attended as chief mourner; and -this last duty paid to the memory of her parent, she became more -tranquil and resigned. The MS. that recorded his sufferings had been -found at the abbey, and delivered to her by M. Verneuil, and she -preserved it with the pious enthusiasm so sacred a relique deserved. - -On her return to Paris, Theodore La Luc, who was come from Montpellier, -awaited her arrival. The happiness of this meeting was clouded by the -account he brought of his father, whose extreme danger had alone -withheld him from hastening the moment he obtained his liberty to thank -Adeline for the life she had preserved. She now received him as the -friend to whom she was indebted for her preservation, and as the lover -who deserved and possessed her tenderest affection. The remembrance of -the circumstances under which they had last met, and of their mutual -anguish, rendered more exquisite the happiness of the present moments, -when, no longer oppressed by the horrid prospect of ignominious death -and final separation, they looked forward only to the smiling days that -awaited them, when hand in hand they should tread the flowery scenes of -life. The contrast which memory drew of the past with the present, -frequently drew tears of tenderness and gratitude to their eyes; and the -sweet smile which seemed struggling to dispel from the countenance of -Adeline those gems of sorrow, penetrated the heart of Theodore, and -brought to his recollection a little song which in other circumstances -he had formerly sung to her. He took up a lute that lay on the table, -and touching the dulcet chords, accompanied it with the following -words:-- - - -SONG - -The rose that weeps with morning dew, -And glitters in the sunny ray, -In tears and smiles resembles you, -When Love breaks sorrow's cloud away. - -The dews that bend the blushing flower -Enrich the scent--renew the glow; -So Love's sweet tears exalt his power, -So bliss more brightly shines by woe! - - -Her affection for Theodore had induced Adeline to reject several suitors -whom her goodness, beauty, and wealth, had already attracted, and who, -though infinitely his superiors in point of fortune, were many of them -inferior to him in family, and all of them in merit. - -The various and tumultuous emotions which the late events had called -forth in the bosom of Adeline were now subsided; but the memory of her -father still tinctured her mind with a melancholy that time only could -subdue; and she refused to listen to the supplications of Theodore, till -the period she had prescribed for her mourning should be expired. The -necessity of rejoining his regiment obliged him to leave Paris within -the fortnight after his arrival; but he carried with him assurance of -receiving her hand soon after she should lay aside her sable habit, and -departed therefore with tolerable composure. - -M. La Luc's very precarious state was a source of incessant disquietude -to Adeline, and she determined to accompany M. Verneuil, who was now the -declared lover of Clara, to Montpellier, whither La Luc had immediately -gone on the liberation of his son. For this journey she was preparing, -when she received from her friend a flattering account of his amendment; -and as some further settlement of her affairs required her presence at -Paris, she deferred her design, and M. Verneuil departed alone. - -When Theodore's affairs assumed a more favourable aspect, M. Verneuil -had written to La Luc, and communicated to him the secret of his heart -respecting Clara. La Luc, who admired and esteemed M. Verneuil, and who -was not ignorant of his family connexions, was pleased with the proposed -alliance. Clara thought she had never seen any person whom she was so -much inclined to love; and M. Verneuil received an answer favourable to -his wishes, and which encouraged him to undertake the present journey to -Montpellier. - -The restoration of his happiness and the climate of Montpellier did all -for the health of La Luc that his most anxious friends could wish, and -he was at length so far recovered as to visit Adeline at her estate of -St. Maur. Clara and M. Verneuil accompanied him, and a cessation of -hostilities between France and Spain soon after permitted Theodore to -join this happy party. When La Luc, thus restored to those most dear to -him, looked back on the miseries he had escaped, and forward to the -blessings that awaited him, his heart dilated with emotions of exquisite -joy and gratitude; and his venerable countenance, softened by an -expression of complacent delight, exhibited a perfect picture of happy -age. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:-- - -They would have thought who heard the strain, -They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids -Amidst the festal sounding shades, -To some unwearied minstrel dancing, -While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, -Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round. - -ODE TO THE PASSIONS. - - -Adeline, in the society of friends so beloved, lost the impression of -that melancholy which the fate of her parent had occasioned: she -recovered all her natural vivacity; and when she threw off the mourning -habit which filial piety had required her to assume, she gave her hand -to Theodore. The nuptials, which were celebrated at St. Maur, were -graced by the presence of the Count and Countess D----; and La Luc had -the supreme felicity of confirming on the same day the flattering -destinies of both his children. When the ceremony was over, he blessed -and embraced them all with tears of fatherly affection. I thank thee, O -God! that I have been permitted to see this hour, said he; whenever it -shall please thee to call me hence, I shall depart in peace. - -Long, very long, may you be spared to bless your children! replied -Adeline. Clara kissed her father's hand and wept: Long, very long! she -repeated in a voice scarcely audible. La Luc smiled cheerfully, and -turned the conversation to a subject less affecting. - -But the time now drew nigh when La Luc thought it necessary to return to -the duties of his parish, from which he had so long been absent. Madame -La Luc too, who had attended him during the period of his danger at -Montpellier, and hence returned to Savoy, complained much of the -solitude of her life; and this was with her brother an additional motive -for his speedy departure. Theodore and Adeline, who could not support -the thought of a separation, endeavoured to persuade him to give up his -chateau, and to reside with them in France; but he was held by many ties -to Leloncourt. For many years he had constituted the comfort and -happiness of his parishioners; they revered and loved him as a -father--he regarded them with an affection little short of parental. The -attachment they discovered towards him on his departure was not -forgotten either; it had made a deep impression on his mind, and he -could not bear the thought of forsaking them now that Heaven had -showered on him its abundance. It is sweet to live for them, said he, -and I will also die amongst them. A sentiment also of a more tender -nature,--(and let not the stoic profane it with the name of weakness, or -the man of the world scorn it as unnatural)--a sentiment still more -tender attached him to Leloncourt,--the remains of his wife reposed -there. - -Since La Luc would not reside in France, Theodore and Adeline, to whom -the splendid gaieties that courted them at Paris, were very inferior -temptations to the sweet domestic pleasures and refined society which -Leloncourt would afford, determined to accompany La Luc and Monsieur and -Madame Verneuil abroad. Adeline arranged her affairs so as to render her -residence in France unnecessary; and having bid an affectionate adieu to -the Count and Countess D----, and to M. Amand, who had recovered a -tolerable degree of cheerfulness, she departed with her friends for -Savoy. - -They travelled leisurely, and frequently turned out of their way to view -whatever was worthy of observation. After a long and pleasant journey -they came once more within view of the Swiss mountains, the sight of -which revived a thousand interesting recollections in the mind of -Adeline. She remembered the circumstances and the sensations under which -she had first seen them--when an orphan, flying from persecution to seek -shelter among strangers, and lost to the only person on earth whom she -loved--she remembered this, and the contrast of the present moment -struck with all its force upon her heart. - -The countenance of Clara brightened into smiles of the most animated -delight as she drew near the beloved scenes of her infant pleasures; and -Theodore, often looking from the windows, caught with patriotic -enthusiasm the magnificent and changing scenery which the receding -mountains successively disclosed. - -It was evening when they approached within a few miles of Leloncourt, -and the road winding round the foot of a stupendous crag, presented them -a full view of the lake, and of the peaceful dwelling of La Luc. An -exclamation of joy from the whole party announced the discovery, and the -glance of pleasure was reflected from every eye. The sun's last light -gleamed upon the waters that reposed in "crystal purity" below, mellowed -every feature of the landscape, and touched with purple splendour the -clouds that rolled along the mountain tops. - -La Luc welcomed his family to his happy home, and sent up a silent -thanksgiving that he was permitted thus to return to it. Adeline -continued to gaze upon each well known object; and again reflecting on -the vicissitudes of grief and joy, and the surprising change of fortune -which she had experienced since last she saw them, her heart dilated -with gratitude and complacent delight. She looked at Theodore, whom in -these very scenes she had lamented as lost to her for ever; who, when -found again, was about to be torn from her by an ignominious death; but, -who now sat by her side her secure and happy husband, the pride of his -family and herself; and while the sensibility of her heart flowed in -tears from her eyes, a smile of ineffable tenderness told him all she -felt. He gently pressed her hand, and answered her with a look of love. - -Peter, who now rode up to the carriage with a face fall of joy and of -importance, interrupted a course of sentiment which was become almost -too interesting. Ah! my dear master! cried he, welcome home again. Here -is the village, God bless it! It is worth a million such places as -Paris. Thank St. Jaques, we are all come safe back again. - -This effusion of honest Peter's joy was received and answered with the -kindness it deserved. As they drew near the lake, music sounded over the -water, and they presently saw a large party of the villagers assembled -on a green spot that sloped to the very margin of the waves, and dancing -in all their holiday finery. It was the evening of a festival. The elder -peasants sat under the shade of the trees that crowned this little -eminence, eating milk and fruits, and watching their sons and daughters -frisk it away to the sprightly notes of the tabor and pipe, which was -joined by the softer tones of a mandolin. - -The scene was highly interesting; and what added to its picturesque -beauty was a group of cattle that stood, some on the brink, some half in -the water, and others reposing on the green bank, while several peasant -girls, dressed in the neat simplicity of their country, were dispensing -the milky feast. Peter now rode on first, and a crowd soon collected -round him, who, learning that their beloved master was at hand, went -forth to meet and welcome him. Their warm and honest expressions of joy -diffused an exquisite satisfaction over the heart of the good La Luc, -who met them with the kindness of a father, and could scarcely forbear -shedding tears to this testimony of their attachment. When the younger -part of the peasants heard the news of his arrival, the general joy was -such, that, led by the tabor and pipe, they danced before his carriage -to the chateau, where they again welcomed him and his family with the -enlivening strains of music. At the gate of the chateau they were -received by Madame La Luc,--and a happier party never met. - -As the evening was uncommonly mild and beautiful, supper was spread in -the garden. When the repast was over, Clara, whose heart was all glee, -proposed a dance by moonlight. It will be delicious, said she; the -moonbeams are already dancing on the waters. See what a stream of -radiance they throw across the lake, and how they sparkle round that -little promontory on the left. The freshness of the hour too invites to -dancing. - -They all agreed to the proposal.--And let the good people who have so -heartily welcomed us home be called in too, said La Luc: they shall -_all_ partake our happiness: there is devotion in making others happy, -and gratitude ought to make us devout. Peter, bring more wine, and set -some tables under the trees. Peter flew; and while chairs and tables -were placing, Clara ran for her favourite lute, the lute which had -formerly afforded her such delight, and which Adeline had often touched -with a melancholy expression. Clara's light hand now ran over the -chords, and drew forth tones of tender sweetness, her voice accompanying -the following: - - -AIR - -Now at Moonlight's fairy hoar, -When faintly gleams each dewy steep, -And vale and mountain, lake and bower, -In solitary grandeur sleep; - -When slowly sinks the evening breeze, -That lulls the mind in pensive care, -And Fancy loftier visions sees, -Bid music wake the silent air: - -Bid the merry merry tabor sound, -And with the Fays of lawn or glade -In tripping circlet beat the ground -Under the high trees' trembling shade. - -"Now at Moonlight's fairy hour" -Shall Music breathe her dulcet voice, -And o'er the waves, with magic power, -Call on Echo to rejoice! - - -Peter, who could not move in a sober step, had already spread -refreshments under the trees, and in a short time the lawn was encircled -with peasantry. The rural pipe and tabor were placed, at Clara's -request, under the shade of her beloved acacias on the margin of the -lake; the merry notes of music sounded, Adeline led off the dance, and -the mountains answered only to the strains of mirth and melody. - -The venerable La Luc, as he sat among the elder peasants, surveyed the -scene--his children and people thus assembled round him in one grand -compact of harmony and joy--the frequent tear bedewed his cheek, and he -seemed to taste the fulness of an exalted delight. - -So much was every heart roused to gladness, that the morning dawn began -to peep upon the scene of their festivity, when every cottager returned -to his home, blessing the benevolence of La Luc. - -After passing some weeks with La Luc, M. Verneuil bought a chateau in -the village of Leloncourt; and as it was the only one not already -occupied, Theodore looked out for a residence in the neighbourhood. At -the distance of a few leagues, on the beautiful banks of the lake of -Geneva, where the waters retire into a small bay, he purchased a villa. -The chateau was characterized by an air of simplicity and taste rather -than of magnificence, which, however, was the chief trait in the -surrounding scene. The chateau was almost encircled with woods, which -formed a grand amphitheatre, swept down to the water's edge, and -abounded with wild and romantic walks. Here nature was suffered to sport -in all her beautiful luxuriance, except where, here and there, the hand -of art formed the foliage to admit a view of the blue waters of the -lake, with the white sail that glided by, or of the distant mountains. -In front of the chateau the woods opened to a lawn, and the eye was -suffered to wander over the lake, whose bosom presented an ever-moving -picture, while its varied margin sprinkled with villas, woods, and -towns, and crowned beyond with the snowy and sublime Alps, rising point -behind point in awful confusion, exhibited a scenery of almost -unequalled magnificence. - -Here, contemning the splendour of false happiness, and possessing the -pure and rational delights of love refined into the most tender -friendship, surrounded by the friends so dear to them, and visited by a -select and enlightened society--here, in the very bosom of felicity, -lived Theodore and Adeline La Luc. - -The passion of Louis de La Motte yielded at length to the powers of -absence and necessity. He still loved Adeline, but it was with the -placid tenderness of friendship; and when, at the earnest invitation of -Theodore, he visited the villa, he beheld their happiness with a -satisfaction unalloyed by any emotions of envy. He afterwards married a -lady of some fortune at Geneva; and resigning his commission in the -French service, settled on the borders of the lake, and increased the -social delights of Theodore and Adeline. - -Their former lives afforded an example of trials well endured--and their -present, of virtues greatly rewarded; and this reward they continued to -deserve--for, not to themselves was their happiness contracted, but -diffused to all who came within the sphere of their influence. The -indigent and unhappy rejoiced in their benevolence, the virtuous and -enlightened in their friendship, and their children in parents whose -example impressed upon their hearts, the precepts offered to their -understandings. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF THE FOREST *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i9 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - margin-top:2em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Romance of the Forest, by Ann Ward Radcliffe</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table style='min-width:0; padding:0; margin-left:0; border-collapse:collapse'> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>The Romance of the Forest</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>interspersed with some pieces of poetry.</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Ann Ward Radcliffe</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 05, 2021 [eBook #64701]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Dagny and Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously made available by The British Library.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF THE FOREST ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/forest_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<h1>THE<br /> -<br /> -ROMANCE OF THE FOREST:</h1> - - - -<h5>INTERSPERSED</h5> - -<h4>WITH SOME PIECES OF POETRY.</h4> - - - -<h5>BY THE</h5> - -<h2>AUTHORESS OF "THE MYSTERIES OF UDOLPHO."</h2> - -<h5><i>&c. &c.</i></h5> - - - -<h5>EMBELLISHED</h5> - -<h4>WITH ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.</h4> - - - -<h4>London:</h4> - -<h5>PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY J. LIMBIRD, 143, STRAND,</h5> - -<h5>(<i>Near Somerset House.</i>)</h5> - -<h5>1824.</h5> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4>THE<br /> -ROMANCE OF THE FOREST</h4> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">I am a man,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">That I would set my life on any chance,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">To mend it, or be rid ou't.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -When once sordid interest seizes on the heart, it freezes up the source -of every warm and liberal feeling; it is an enemy alike to virtue and to -taste—<i>this</i> it perverts, and <i>that</i> it annihilates. The -time may come, my friend, when death shall dissolve the sinews of avarice, -and justice be permitted to resume her rights. -</p> - -<p> -Such were the words of the Advocate Nemours to Pierre de la Motte, as -the latter stept at midnight into the carriage which was to bear him far -from Paris, from his creditors and the persecution of the laws. De la -Motte thanked him for this last instance of his kindness; the assistance -he had given him in escape; and, when the carriage drove away, uttered a -sad adieu! The gloom of the hour, and the peculiar emergency of his -circumstances, sunk him in silent reverie. -</p> - -<p> -Whoever has read Gayot de Pitaval, the most faithful of those writers -who record the proceedings in the Parliamentary Courts of Paris during -the seventeenth century, must surely remember the striking story of -Pierre de la Motte and the Marquess Philippe de Montalt: let all such, -therefore, be informed, that the person here introduced to their notice -was that individual Pierre de la Motte. -</p> - -<p> -As Madame de la Motte leaned from the coach window, and gave a last look -to the walls of Paris—Paris, the scene of her former happiness, and -the residence of many dear friends—the fortitude, which had till now -supported her, yielding to the force of grief—Farewell all! sighed -she, this last look and we are separated for ever! Tears followed her -words, and, sinking back, she resigned herself to the stillness of sorrow. -The recollection of former times pressed heavily upon her heart; a few -months before and she was surrounded by friends, fortune, and -consequence; now she was deprived of all, a miserable exile from her -native place, without home, without comfort—almost without hope. It -was not the least of her afflictions that she had been obliged to quit -Paris without bidding adieu to her only son, who was now on duty with his -regiment in Germany; and such had been the precipitancy of this removal, -that had she even known where he was stationed, she had no time to -inform him of it, or of the alteration in his father's circumstances. -</p> - -<p> -Pierre de la Motte was a gentleman, descended from an ancient house of -France. He was a man whose passions often overcame his reason, and, for -a time, silenced his conscience; but though the image of virtue, which -nature had impressed upon his heart, was sometimes obscured by the -passing influence of vice, it was never wholly obliterated. With -strength of mind sufficient to have withstood temptation, he would have -been a good man; as it was, he was always a weak, and sometimes a -vicious member of society; yet his mind was active, and his imagination -vivid, which co-operating with the force of passion, often dazzled his -judgment and subdued principle. Thus he was a man, infirm in purpose and -visionary in virtue:—in a word, his conduct was suggested by feeling, -rather than principle; and his virtue, such as it was, could not stand -the pressure of occasion. -</p> - -<p> -Early in life he had married Constance Valentia, a beautiful and elegant -woman, attached to her family and beloved by them. Her birth was equal, -her fortune superior to his; and their nuptials had been celebrated -under the auspices of an approving and flattering world. Her heart was -devoted to La Motte, and, for some time, she found in him an -affectionate husband; but, allured by the gaieties of Paris, he was soon -devoted to its luxuries, and in a few years his fortune and affection -were equally lost in dissipation. A false pride had still operated -against his interest, and withheld him from honourable retreat while it -was yet in his power: the habits which he had acquired, enchained him to -the scene of his former pleasure; and thus he had continued an expensive -style of life till the means of prolonging it were exhausted. He at -length awoke from this lethargy of security; but it was only to plunge -into new error, and to attempt schemes for the reparation of his -fortune, which served to sink him deeper in destruction. The consequence -of a transaction, in which he thus engaged, now drove him, with the -small wreck of his property, into dangerous and ignominious exile. -</p> - -<p> -It was his design to pass into one of the southern provinces, and there -seek, near the borders of the kingdom, an asylum in some obscure -village. His family consisted of a wife and two faithful domestics, a -man and woman, who had followed the fortune of their master. -</p> - -<p> -The night was dark and tempestuous, and at about the distance of three -leagues from Paris, Peter, who now acted as postillion, having driven -for some time over a wild heath where many ways crossed, stopped, and -acquainted De la Motte with his perplexity. The sudden stopping of the -carriage roused the latter from his reverie, and filled the whole party -with the terror of pursuit; he was unable to supply the necessary -direction, and the extreme darkness made it dangerous to proceed without -one. During this period of distress, a light was perceived at some -distance, and after much doubt and hesitation, La Motte, in the hope of -obtaining assistance, alighted and advanced towards it; he proceeded -slowly, from the fear of unknown pits. The light issued from the window -of a small and ancient house, which stood alone on the heath, at the -distance of half a mile. -</p> - -<p> -Having reached the door, he stopped for some moments, listening in -apprehensive anxiety—no sound was heard but that of the wind, which -swept in hollow gusts over the waste. At length he ventured to knock, -and having waited for some time, during which he indistinctly heard -several voices in conversation, some one within inquired what he wanted? -La Motte answered, that he was a traveller who had lost his way, and -desired to be directed to the nearest town. That, said the person, is -seven miles off, and the road bad enough, even if you could see it; if -you only want a bed, you may have it here, and had better stay. -</p> - -<p> -The "pitiless pelting" of the storm, which at this time beat with -increasing fury upon La Motte, inclined him to give up the attempt of -proceeding further till daylight; but, desirous of seeing the person -with whom he conversed, before he ventured to expose his family by -calling up the carriage, he asked to be admitted. The door was now -opened by a tall figure with a light, who invited La Motte to enter. He -followed the man through a passage into a room almost unfurnished, in -one corner of which a bed was spread upon the floor. The forlorn and -desolate aspect of this apartment made La Motte shrink involuntarily, -and he was turning to go out when the man suddenly pushed him back, and -he heard the door locked upon him; his heart failed, yet he made a -desperate, though vain, effort to force the door, and called loudly for -release. No answer was returned; but he distinguished the voices of men -in the room above, and, not doubting but their intention was to rob and -murder him, his agitation, at first, overcame his reason. By the light -of some almost-expiring embers, he perceived a window, but the hope -which this discovery revived was quickly lost, when he found the -aperture guarded by strong iron bars. Such preparation for security -surprised him, and confirmed his worst apprehensions. Alone, -unarmed—beyond the chance of assistance, he saw himself in the power -of people whose trade was apparently rapine!—murder their -means!—After revolving every possibility of escape, he endeavoured to -await the event with fortitude; but La Motte could boast of no such virtue. -</p> - -<p> -The voices had ceased, and all remained still for a quarter of an hour, -when, between the pauses of the wind, he thought he distinguished the -sobs and moaning of a female; he listened attentively, and became -confirmed in his conjecture; it was too evidently the accent of -distress. At this conviction the remains of his courage forsook him, and -a terrible surmise darted, with the rapidity of lightning, across his -brain. It was probable that his carriage had been discovered by the -people of the house, who, with a design of plunder, had secured his -servant, and brought hither Madame de la Motte. He was the more inclined -to believe this, by the stillness which had for some time reigned in the -house, previous to the sounds he now heard. Or it was possible that the -inhabitants were not robbers, but persons to whom he had been betrayed -by his friend or servant, and who were appointed to deliver him into the -hands of justice. Yet he hardly dared to doubt the integrity of his -friend, who had been intrusted with the secret of his flight and the -plan of his route, and had procured him the carriage in which he had -escaped. Such depravity, exclaimed La Motte, cannot surely exist in -human nature; much less in the heart of Nemours! -</p> - -<p> -This ejaculation was interrupted by a noise in the passage leading to -the room: it approached—the door was unlocked—and the man who -had admitted La Motte into the house entered, leading, or rather forcibly -dragging along, a beautiful girl, who appeared to be about eighteen. Her -features were bathed in tears, and she seemed to suffer the utmost -distress. The man fastened the lock and put the key in his pocket. He -then advanced to La Motte, who had before observed other persons in the -passage, and pointing a pistol to his breast, You are wholly in our -power, said he, no assistance can reach you: if you wish to save your -life, swear that you will convey this girl where I may never see her -more; or rather consent to take her with you, for your oath I would not -believe, and I can take care you shall not find me again.—Answer -quickly, you have no time to lose. -</p> - -<p> -He now seized the trembling hand of the girl, who shrunk aghast with -terror, and hurried her towards La Motte, whom surprise still kept -silent. She sunk at his feet, and with supplicating eyes, that streamed -with tears, implored him to have pity on her. Notwithstanding his -present agitation, he found it impossible to contemplate the beauty and -distress of the object before him with indifference. Her youth, her -apparent innocence—the artless energy of her manner forcibly assailed -his heart, and he was going to speak, when the ruffian, who mistook the -silence of astonishment for that of hesitation, prevented him, I have a -horse ready to take you from hence, said he, and I will direct you over -the heath. If you return within an hour, you die: after then, you are at -liberty to come here when you please. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte, without answering, raised the lovely girl from the floor, and -was so much relieved from his own apprehensions, that he had leisure to -attempt dissipating hers. Let us be gone, said the ruffian, and have no -more of this nonsense; you may think yourself well off it's no worse. -I'll go and get the horse ready. -</p> - -<p> -The last words roused La Motte, and perplexed him with new fears; he -dreaded to discover his carriage, lest its appearance might tempt the -banditti to plunder; and to depart on horseback with this man might -reduce a consequence yet more to be dreaded, Madame la Motte, wearied -with apprehension, would, probably, send for her husband to the house, -when all the former danger would be incurred, with the additional evil -of being separated from his family, and the chance of being detected by -the emissaries of justice in endeavouring to recover them. As these -reflections passed over his mind in tumultuous rapidity, a noise was -again heard in the passage, an uproar and scuffle ensued, and in the -same moment he could distinguish the voice of his servant, who had been -sent by Madame La Motte in search of him. Being now determined to -disclose what could not long be concealed, he exclaimed aloud, that a -horse was unnecessary, that he had a carriage at some distance, which -would convey them from the heath, the man who was seized being his -servant. -</p> - -<p> -The ruffian, speaking through the door, bade him be patient a while and -he should hear more from him. La Motte now turned his eyes upon his -unfortunate companion, who, pale and exhausted, leaned for support -against the wall. Her features, which were delicately beautiful, had -gained from distress an expression of captivating sweetness: she had -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">An eye</span><br /> -<span class="i0">As when the blue sky trembles through a cloud</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Of purest white.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -A habit of gray camlet, with short slashed sleeves, showed, but did not -adorn, her figure: it was thrown open at the bosom, upon which part of -her hair had fallen in disorder, while the light veil hastily thrown on, -had, in her confusion, been suffered to fall back. Every moment of -further observation heightened the surprise of La Motte, and interested -him more warmly in her favour. Such elegance and apparent refinement, -contrasted with the desolation of the house, and the savage manners of -its inhabitants, seemed to him like a romance of imagination, rather -than an occurrence of real life. He endeavoured to comfort her, and his -sense of compassion was too sincere to be misunderstood. Her terror -gradually subsided into gratitude and grief. Ah, Sir, said she, Heaven -has sent you to my relief, and will surely reward you for your -protection: I have no friend in the world, if do not find one in you. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte assured her of his kindness, when he was interrupted by the -entrance of the ruffian. He desired to be conducted to his family. All -in good time, replied the latter; I have taken care of one of them, and -will of you, please St. Peter; so be comforted. These <i>comfortable</i> -words renewed the terror of La Motte, who now earnestly begged to know -if his family were safe. O! as for that matter they are safe enough, and -you will be with them presently; but don't stand <i>parlying</i> here all -night. Do you choose to go or stay? you know the conditions. They now -bound the eyes of La Motte and of the young lady, whom terror had -hitherto kept silent, and then placing them on two horses, a man mounted -behind each, and they immediately galloped off. They had proceeded in -this way near half an hour, when La Motte entreated to know whither he -was going? You will know that by and by, said the ruffian, so be at -peace. Finding interrogatories useless, La Motte resumed silence till -the horses stopped. His conductor then hallooed, and being answered by -voices at some distance, in a few moments the sound of carriage wheels -was heard, and, presently after, the words of a man directing Peter -which way to drive. As the carriage approached, La Motte called, and, to -his inexpressible joy, was answered by his wife. -</p> - -<p> -You are now beyond the borders of the heath, and may go which way you -will, said the ruffian; if you return within an hour, you will be -welcomed by a brace of bullets. This was a very unnecessary caution to -La Motte, whom they now released. The young stranger sighed deeply, as -she entered the carriage; and the ruffian, having bestowed upon Peter -some directions and more threats, waited to see him drive off. They did -not wait long. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure01.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -La Motte immediately gave a short relation of what passed at the house, -including an account of the manner in which the young stranger had been -introduced to him. During this narrative, her deep convulsive sighs -frequently drew the attention of Madame La Motte, whose compassion -became gradually interested in her behalf, and who now endeavoured to -tranquillize her spirits. The unhappy girl answered her kindness in -artless and simple expressions, and then relapsed into tears and -silence. Madame forbore for the present to ask any questions that might -lead to a discovery of her connexions, or seem to require an explanation -of the late adventure, which now furnishing her with a new subject of -reflection, the sense of her own misfortunes pressed less heavily upon -her mind. The distress of La Motte was even for a while suspended; he -ruminated on the late scene, and it appeared like a vision, or one of -those improbable fictions that sometimes are exhibited in a romance: he -could reduce it to no principles of probability, nor render it -comprehensible by any endeavour to analyze it. The present charge, and -the chance of future trouble brought upon him by this adventure, -occasioned some dissatisfaction; but the beauty and seeming innocence of -Adeline united with the pleadings of humanity in her favor, and he -determined to protect her. -</p> - -<p> -The tumult of emotions which had passed in the bosom of Adeline began -now to subside; terror was softened into anxiety, and despair into -grief. The sympathy so evident in the manners of her companions, -particularly in those of Madame La Motte, soothed her heart, and -encouraged her to hope for better days. -</p> - -<p> -Dismally and silently the night passed on, for the minds of the -travellers were too much occupied by their several sufferings to admit -of conversation. -</p> - -<p> -The dawn, so anxiously watched for, at length appeared, and introduced -the strangers more fully to each other. Adeline derived comfort from the -looks of Madame La Motte, who gazed frequently and attentively at her, -and thought she had seldom seen a countenance so interesting, or a form -so striking. The languor of sorrow threw a melancholy grace upon her -features, that appealed immediately to the heart; and there was a -penetrating sweetness in her blue eyes, which indicated an intelligent -and amiable mind. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now looked anxiously from the coach window, that he might judge -of their situation, and observe whether he was followed. The obscurity -of the dawn confined his views, but no person appeared. The sun at -length tinted the eastern clouds and the tops of the highest hills, and -soon after burst in full splendour on the scene. The terrors of La Motte -began to subside, and the griefs of Adeline to soften. They entered upon -a lane confined by high banks and overarched by trees, on whose branches -appeared the first green buds of spring glittering with dews. The fresh -breeze of the morning animated the spirits of Adeline, whose mind was -delicately sensible to the beauties of nature. As she viewed the flowery -luxuriance of the turf, and the tender green of the trees, or caught, -between the opening banks, a glimpse of the varied landscape, rich with -wood, and fading into blue and distant mountains, her heart expanded in -momentary joy. With Adeline the charms of external nature were -heightened by those of novelty: she had seldom seen the grandeur of an -extensive prospect, or the magnificence of a wide horizon—and not -often the picturesque beauties of more confined scenery. Her mind had not -lost by long oppression that elastic energy, which resists calamity; else, -however, susceptible might have been her original taste, the beauties of -nature would no longer have charmed her thus easily even to temporary -repose. -</p> - -<p> -The road, at length, wound down the side of a hill, and La Motte, again -looking anxiously from the window, saw before him an open champaign -country, through which the road, wholly unsheltered from observation, -extended almost in a direct line. The danger of these circumstances -alarmed him, for his flight might, without difficulty, be traced for -many leagues from the hills he was now descending. Of the first peasant -that passed, he inquired for a road among the hills, but heard of none. -La Motte now sunk into his former terrors. Madame, notwithstanding her -own apprehensions, endeavoured to reassure him; but finding her efforts -ineffectual, she also retired to the contemplation of her misfortunes. -Often, as they went on, did La Motte look back upon the country they had -passed, and often did imagination suggest to him the sounds of distant -pursuit. -</p> - -<p> -The travellers stopped to breakfast in a village, where the road was at -length obscured by woods, and La Motte's spirits again revived. Adeline -appeared more tranquil than she had yet been, and La Motte now asked for -an explanation of the scene he had witnessed on the preceding night. The -inquiry renewed all her distress, and with tears she entreated for the -present to be spared on the subject. La Motte pressed it no farther, but -he observed that for the greater part of the day she seemed to remember -it in melancholy and dejection. They now travelled among the hills, and -were, therefore, in less danger of observation; but La Motte avoided the -great towns, and stopped in obscure ones no longer than to refresh the -horses. About two hours after noon, the road wound into a deep valley, -watered by a rivulet and overhung with wood. La Motte called to Peter, -and ordered him to drive to a thickly embowered spot, that appeared on -the left. Here he alighted with his family; and Peter having spread the -provisions on the turf, they seated themselves and partook of a repast, -which, in other circumstances, would have been thought delicious. -Adeline endeavoured to smile, but the languor of grief was now -heightened by indisposition. The violent agitation of mind and fatigue -of body which she had suffered for the last twenty-four hours, had -overpowed her strength, and when La Motte led her back to the carriage, -her whole frame trembled with illness. But she uttered no complaint, -and, having long observed the dejection of her companions, she made a -feeble effort to enliven them. -</p> - -<p> -They continued to travel throughout the day without any accident or -interruption, and about three hours after sunset arrived at Monville, a -small town where La Motte determined to pass the night. Repose was, -indeed, necessary to the whole party, whose pale and haggard looks, as -they alighted from the carriage, were but too obvious to pass unobserved -by the people of the inn. As soon as beds could be prepared, Adeline -withdrew to her chamber, accompanied by Madame La Motte, whose concern -for the fair stranger made her exert every effort to soothe and console -her. Adeline wept in silence, and taking the hand of Madame, pressed it -to her bosom. These were not merely tears of grief—they were mingled -with those which flow from the grateful heart, when, unexpectedly, it -meets with sympathy. Madame La Motte understood them. After some -momentary silence, she renewed her assurances of kindness, and entreated -Adeline to confide in her friendship; but she carefully avoided any -mention of the subject which had before so much affected her. Adeline at -length found words to express her sense of this goodness, which she did -in a manner so natural and sincere, that Madame, finding herself much -affected, took leave of her for the night. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning, La Motte rose at an early hour, impatient to be gone. -Every thing was prepared for his departure, and the breakfast had been -waiting some time, but Adeline did not appear. Madame La Motte went to -her chamber, and found her sunk in a disturbed slumber. Her breathing -was short and irregular—she frequently started, or sighed, and -sometimes she muttered an incoherent sentence. While Madame gazed with -concern upon her languid countenance, she awoke, and, looking up, gave -her hand to Madame La Motte, who found it burning with fever. She had -passed a restless night, and, as she now attempted to rise, her head, -which beat with intense pain, grew giddy, her strength failed, and she -sunk back. -</p> - -<p> -Madame was much alarmed, being at once convinced that it was impossible -she could travel, and that a delay might prove fatal to her husband. She -went to inform him of the truth, and his distress may be more easily -imagined than described. He saw all the inconvenience and danger of -delay, yet he could not so far divest himself of humanity as to abandon -Adeline to the care, or rather to the neglect, of strangers. He sent -immediately for a physician, who pronounced her to be in a high fever, -and said a removal in her present state must be fatal. La Motte now -determined to wait the event, and endeavour to calm the transports of -terror which at times assailed him. In the mean while he took such -precautions as his situation admitted of, passing the greater part of -the day out of the village, in a spot from whence he had a view of the -road for some distance; yet to be exposed to destruction by the illness -of a girl whom he did not know, and who had actually been forced upon -him, was a misfortune to which La Motte had not philosophy enough to -submit with composure. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline's fever continued to increase during the whole day, and at -night, when the physician took his leave, he told La Motte the event -would very soon be decided. La Motte received this intelligence with -real concern. The beauty and innocence of Adeline had overcome the -disadvantageous circumstances under which she had been introduced to -him, and he now gave less consideration to the inconvenience she might -hereafter occasion him, than to the hope of her recovery. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte watched over her with tender anxiety, and observed with -admiration her patient sweetness and mild resignation. Adeline amply -repaid her, though she thought she could not.—Young as I am, she -would say, and deserted by those upon whom I have a claim for protection, I -can remember no connexion to make me regret life so much, as that I -hoped to form with you. If I live, my conduct will best express my sense -of your goodness;—words are but feeble testimonies. -</p> - -<p> -The sweetness of her manners so much attracted Madame La Motte, that she -watched the crisis of her disorder with a solicitude which precluded -every other interest. Adeline passed a very disturbed night, and, when -the physician appeared in the morning, he gave orders that she should be -indulged with whatever she liked, and answered the inquiries of La Motte -with a frankness that left him nothing to hope. -</p> - -<p> -In the mean time, his patient, after drinking profusely of some mild -liquids, fell asleep, in which she continued for several hours, and so -profound was her repose, that her breath alone gave sign of existence. -She awoke free from fever, and with no other disorder than weakness, -which in a few days she overcame so well as to be able to set out with -La Motte for B——, a village out of the great road, which he -thought it prudent to quit. There they passed the following night, and -early the next morning commenced their journey upon a wild and woody tract -of country. They stopped about noon at a solitary village, where they took -refreshments, and obtained directions for passing the vast forest of -Fontanville, upon the borders of which they now were. La Motte wished at -first to take a guide, but he apprehended more evil from the discovery -he might make of his route, than he hoped for benefit from assistance in -the wilds of this uncultivated tract. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now designed to pass on to Lyons, where he could either seek -concealment in its neighbourhood, or embark on the Rhone for Geneva, -should the emergency of his circumstances hereafter require him to leave -France. It was about twelve o'clock at noon, and he was desirous to -hasten forward, that he might pass the forest of Fontanville, and reach -the town on its opposite borders, before night-fall. Having deposited a -fresh stock of provisions in the carriage, and received such directions -as were necessary concerning the roads, they again set forward, and in a -short time entered upon the forest. It was now the latter end of April, -and the weather was remarkably temperate and fine. The balmy freshness -of the air, which breathed the first pure essence of vegetation; and the -gentle warmth of the sun, whose beams vivified every hue of nature, and -opened every floweret of spring, revived Adeline and inspired her with -life and health. As she inhaled the breeze, her strength seemed to -return, and as her eyes wandered through the romantic glades that opened -into the forest, her heart was gladdened with complacent delight: but -when from these objects she turned her regard upon Monsieur and Madame -La Motte, to whose tender attentions she owed her life, and in whose -looks she now read esteem and kindness, her bosom glowed with sweet -affections, and she experienced a force of gratitude which might be -called sublime. -</p> - -<p> -For the remainder of the day they continued to travel, without seeing a -hut or meeting a human being. It was now near sunset, and the prospect -being closed on all sides by the forest, La Motte began to have -apprehensions that his servant had mistaken the way. The road, if a road -it could be called, which afforded only a slight track upon the grass, -was sometimes over-run by luxuriant vegetation, and sometimes obscured -by the deep shades, and Peter at length stopped uncertain of the way. La -Motte, who dreaded being benighted in a scene so wild and solitary as -this forest, and whose apprehensions of banditti were very sanguine, -ordered him to proceed at any rate, and, if he found no track, to -endeavour to gain a more open part of the forest. With these orders -Peter again set forwards; but having proceeded some way, and his views -being still confined by woody glades and forest walks, he began to -despair of extricating himself, and stopped for further orders. The sun -was now set; but as La Motte looked anxiously from the window, he -observed upon the vivid glow of the western horizon some dark towers -rising from among the trees at a little distance, and ordered Peter to -drive towards them.—If they belong to a monastery, said he, we may -probably gain admittance for the night. -</p> - -<p> -The carriage drove along under the shade of "melancholy boughs," through -which the evening twilight, which yet coloured the air, diffused a -solemnity that vibrated in thrilling sensations upon the hearts of the -travellers. Expectation kept them silent. The present scene recalled to -Adeline a remembrance of the late terrific circumstances, and her mind -responded but too easily to the apprehension of new misfortunes. La -Motte alighted at the foot of a green knoll, where the trees again -opening to light, permitted a nearer though imperfect view of the -edifice. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">..........how these antique towers</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And vacant courts chill the suspended soul!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Till expectation wears the face of fear:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And fear, half ready to become devotion,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Mutters a kind of mental orison</span><br /> -<span class="i0">It knows not wherefore! What a kind of being</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Is circumstance!</span><br /> -<span class="i10">HORACE WALPOLE.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -He approached, and perceived the Gothic remains of an abbey: it stood on -a kind of rude lawn, overshadowed by high and spreading trees which -seemed coeval with the building, and diffused a romantic gloom around. -The greater part of the pile appeared to be sinking into ruins, and that -which had withstood the ravages of time, showed the remaining features -of the fabric more awful in decay. The lofty battlements, thickly -enwreathed with ivy, were half demolished, and become the residence of -birds of prey. Huge fragments of the eastern tower, which was almost -demolished, lay scattered amid the high grass, that waved slowly to the -breeze. "The thistle shook its lonely head; the moss whistled to the -wind." A Gothic gate, richly ornamented with fret-work, which opened -into the main body of the edifice, but which was now obstructed with -brush-wood, remained entire. Above the vast and magnificent portal of -this gate arose a window of the same order, whose pointed arches still -exhibited fragments of stained glass, once the pride of monkish -devotion. La Motte, thinking it possible it might yet shelter some human -being, advanced to the gate and lifted a massy knocker. The hollow -sounds rung through the emptiness of the place. After waiting a few -minutes, he forced back the gate, which was heavy with iron work and -creaked harshly on its hinges. -</p> - -<p> -He entered what appeared to have been the chapel of the abbey, where the -hymn of devotion had once been raised, and the tear of penitence had -once been shed; sounds, which could now only be recalled by -imagination—tears of penitence, which had been long since fixed in -fate. La Motte paused a moment, for he felt a sensation of sublimity -rising into terror—a suspension of mingled astonishment and awe! He -surveyed the vastness of the place, and as he contemplated its ruins, -fancy bore him back to past ages.—And these walls, said he, where -once superstition lurked, and austerity anticipated an earthly purgatory, -now tremble over the mortal remains of the beings who reared them! -</p> - -<p> -The deepening gloom now reminded La Motte that he had no time to lose; -but curiosity prompted him to explore further, and he obeyed the -impulse. As he walked over the broken pavement, the sound of his steps -ran in echoes through the place, and seemed like the mysterious accents -of the dead reproving the sacrilegious mortal who thus dared to disturb -their precincts. -</p> - -<p> -From this chapel he passed into the nave of the great church, of which -one window, more perfect than the rest, opened upon a long vista of the -forest, through which was seen the rich colouring of evening, melting by -imperceptible gradations into the solemn gray of upper air. Dark hills, -whose outline appeared distinct upon the vivid glow of the horizon, -closed the perspective. Several of the pillars, which had once supported -the roof, remained the proud effigies of sinking greatness, and seemed -to nod at every murmur of the blast over the fragments of those that had -fallen a little before them. La Motte sighed. The comparison between -himself and the gradation of decay which these columns exhibited, was -but too obvious and affecting. A few years, said he, and I shall become -like the mortals on whose relicks I now gaze, and, like them too, I may -be the subject of meditation to a succeeding generation, which shall -totter but a little while over the object they contemplate ere they also -sink into the dust. -</p> - -<p> -Retiring from the scene, he walked through the cloisters, till a door, -which communicated with the lofty part of the building, attracted his -curiosity. He opened this, and perceived across the foot of the -staircase another door;—but now, partly checked by fear, and partly -by the recollection of the surprise his family might feel in his absence, -he returned with hasty steps to his carriage, having wasted some of the -precious moments of twilight and gained no information. -</p> - -<p> -Some slight answer to Madame La Motte's inquiries, and a general -direction to Peter to drive carefully on and look for a road, -was all that his anxiety would permit him to utter. The night shade -fell thick around, which, deepened by the gloom of the forest, -soon rendered it dangerous to proceed. Peter stopped; but La Motte, -persisting in his first determination, ordered him to go on. Peter -ventured to remonstrate, Madame La Motte entreated, but La Motte -reproved—commanded, and at length repented; for the hind wheel rising -upon the stump of an old tree, which the darkness had prevented Peter -from observing, the carriage was in an instant overturned. -</p> - -<p> -The party, as may be supposed, were much terrified, but no one was -materially hurt; and having disengaged themselves from their perilous -situation, La Motte and Peter endeavoured to raise the carriage. The -extent of this misfortune was now discovered, for they perceived that -the wheel was broke. Their distress was reasonably great, for not only -was the coach disabled from proceeding, but it could not even afford a -shelter from the cold dews of the night, it being impossible to preserve -it in an upright situation. After a few moments' silence, La Motte -proposed that they should return to the ruins which they had just -quitted, which lay at a very short distance, and pass the night in the -most habitable part of them: that, when morning dawned, Peter should -take one of the coach horses, and endeavour to find a road and a town, -from whence assistance could be procured for repairing the carriage. -This proposal was opposed by Madame La Motte, who shuddered at the idea -of passing so many hours of darkness in a place so forlorn as the -monastery. Terrors, which she neither endeavoured to examine or combat, -overcame her, and she told La Motte she had rather remain exposed to the -unwholesome dews of night, than encounter the desolation of the ruins. -La Motte had at first felt an equal reluctance to return to this spot; -but having subdued his own feelings, he resolved not to yield to those -of his wife. -</p> - -<p> -The horses being now disengaged from the carriage, the party moved -towards the edifice. As they proceeded, Peter, who followed them, struck -a light, and they entered the ruins by the flame of sticks which he had -collected. The partial gleams thrown across the fabric seemed to make -its desolation more solemn, while the obscurity of the greater part of -the pile heightened its sublimity, and led fancy on to scenes of horror. -Adeline, who had hitherto remained in silence, now uttered an -exclamation of mingled admiration and fear. A kind of pleasing dread -thrilled her bosom, and filled all her soul. Tears started into her -eyes:—she wished yet feared to go on;—she hung upon the arm of -La Motte, and looked at him with a sort of hesitating interrogation. -</p> - -<p> -He opened the door of the great hall, and they entered: its extent was -lost in gloom.—Let us stay here, said Madame de La Motte, I will go -no further. La Motte pointed to the broken roof, and was proceeding, when -he was interrupted by an uncommon noise, which passed along the hall. -They were all silent—it was the silence of terror. Madame La Motte -spoke first. Let us quit this spot, said she, any evil is preferable to -the feeling which now oppresses me. Let us retire instantly. The -stillness had for some time remained undisturbed, and La Motte, ashamed -of the fear he had involuntarily betrayed, now thought it necessary to -affect a boldness which he did not feel. He therefore opposed ridicule -to the terror of Madame, and insisted upon proceeding. Thus compelled to -acquiesce, she traversed the hall with trembling steps. They came to a -narrow passage, and Peter's sticks being nearly exhausted, they awaited -here, while he went in search of more. -</p> - -<p> -The almost expiring light flashed faintly upon the walls of the passage, -showing the recess more horrible. Across the hall, the greater part of -which was concealed in shadow, the feeble ray spread a tremulous gleam, -exhibiting the chasm in the roof, while many nameless objects were seen -imperfectly through the dusk. Adeline with a smile inquired of La Motte -if he believed in spirits. The question was ill-timed; for the present -scene impressed its terrors upon La Motte, and, in spite of endeavour, -he felt a superstitious dread stealing upon him. He was now, perhaps, -standing over the ashes of the dead. If spirits were ever permitted to -revisit the earth, this seemed the hour and the place most suitable for -their appearance. La Motte remaining silent, Adeline said, Were I -inclined to superstition—she was interrupted by a return of the noise -which had been lately heard. It sounded down the passage, at whose -entrance they stood, and sunk gradually away. Every heart palpitated, -and they remained listening in silence. A new subject of apprehension -seized La Motte:—the noise might proceed from banditti, and he -hesitated whether it would be safe to proceed. Peter now came with the -light: Madame refused to enter the passage—La Motte was not much -inclined to it; but Peter, in whom curiosity was more prevalent than -fear, readily offered his services. La Motte, after some hesitation, -suffered him to go, while he awaited at the entrance the result of the -inquiry. The extent of the passage soon concealed Peter from view, and -the echoes of his footsteps were lost in a sound which rushed along the -avenue, and became fainter and fainter till it sunk into silence. La -Motte now called aloud to Peter, but no answer was returned; at length, -they heard the sound of a distant footstep, and Peter soon after -appeared, breathless, and pale with fear. -</p> - -<p> -When he came within hearing of La Motte, he called out, An please your -honour, I've done for them, I believe, but I've had a hard bout. I -thought I was fighting with the devil.—What are you speaking of? said -La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -They were nothing but owls and rooks after all, continued Peter; but the -light brought them all about my ears, and they made such a confounded -clapping with their wings, that I thought at first I had been beset with -a legion of devils. But I have driven them all out, master, and you have -nothing to fear now. -</p> - -<p> -The latter part of the sentence, intimating a suspicion of his courage, -La Motte, could have dispensed with, and to retrieve in some degree his -reputation, he made a point of proceeding through the passage. They now -moved on with alacrity, for, as Peter said, they had nothing to fear. -</p> - -<p> -The passage led into a large area, on one side of which, over a range of -cloisters, appeared the west tower, and a lofty part of the edifice; the -other side was open to the woods. La Motte led the way to a door of the -tower, which he now perceived was the same he had formerly entered; but -he found some difficulty in advancing, for the area was overgrown with -brambles and nettles, and the light which Peter carried afforded only an -uncertain gleam. When he unclosed the door, the dismal aspect of the -place revived the apprehensions of Madame La Motte, and extorted from -Adeline an inquiry whither they were going. Peter held up the light to -show the narrow staircase that wound round the tower; but La Motte, -observing the second door, drew back the rusty bolts, and entered a -spacious apartment, which, from its style and condition, was evidently -of a much later date than the other part of the structure: though -desolate and forlorn, it was very little impaired by time; the walls -were damp, but not decayed; and the glass was yet firm in the windows. -</p> - -<p> -They passed on to a suit of apartments resembling the first they had -seen, and expressed their surprise at the incongruous appearance of this -part of the edifice with the mouldering walls they had left behind. -These apartments conducted them to a winding passage, that received -light and air through narrow cavities placed high in the wall; and was -at length closed by a door barred with iron, which being with some -difficulty opened, they entered a vaulted room. La Motte surveyed it -with a scrutinizing eye, and endeavoured to conjecture for what purpose -it had been guarded by a door of such strength; but he saw little within -to assist his curiosity. The room appeared to have been built in modern -times upon a Gothic plan. Adeline approached a large window that formed -a kind of recess raised by one step over the level of the floor; she -observed to La Motte that the whole floor was inlaid with Mosaic work; -which drew from him a remark, that the style of this apartment was not -strictly Gothic. He passed on to a door which appeared on the opposite -side of the apartment, and, unlocking it, found himself in the great -ball by which he had entered the fabric. -</p> - -<p> -He now perceived, what the gloom had before concealed, a spiral -staircase which led to a gallery above, and which, from its present -condition, seemed to have been built with the more modern part of the -fabric, though this also affected the Gothic mode of architecture: La -Motte had little doubt that these stairs led to apartments corresponding -with those he had passed below, and hesitated whether to explore them; -but the entreaties of Madame, who was much fatigued, prevailed with him -to defer all further examination. After some deliberation in which of -the rooms they should pass the night, they determined to return to that -which opened from the tower. -</p> - -<p> -A fire was kindled on a hearth, which it is probable had not for many -years before afforded the warmth of hospitality; and Peter having spread -the provision he had brought from the coach, La Motte and his family, -encircled round the fire, partook of a repast which hunger and fatigue -made delicious. Apprehension gradually gave way to confidence, for they -now found themselves in something like a human habitation, and they had -leisure to laugh at their late terrors; but, as the blasts shook the -doors, Adeline often started, and threw a fearful glance around. They -continued to laugh and talk cheerfully for a time; yet their merriment -was transient, if not affected; for a sense of their peculiar and -distressed circumstances pressed upon their recollection, and sunk each -individual into languor and pensive silence. Adeline felt the -forlornness of her condition with energy; she reflected upon the past -with astonishment, and anticipated the future with fear. She found -herself wholly dependent upon strangers, with no other claim than what -distress demands from the common sympathy of kindred beings; sighs -swelled her heart, and the frequent tear started to her eye; but she -checked it, ere it betrayed on her check the sorrow which she thought it -would be ungrateful to reveal. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte at length broke this meditative silence, by directing the fire -to be renewed for the night, and the door to be secured: this seemed a -necessary precaution, even in this solitude, and was effected by means -of large stones piled against it, for other fastening there was none. It -had frequently occurred to La Motte, that this apparently forsaken -edifice might be a place of refuge to banditti. Here was solitude to -conceal them; and a wild and extensive forest to assist their schemes of -rapine, and to perplex with its labyrinths those who might be bold -enough to attempt pursuit. These apprehensions, however, he hid within -his own bosom, saving his companions from a share of the uneasiness they -occasioned. Peter was ordered to watch at the door; and having given the -fire a rousing stir, our desolate party drew round it, and sought in -sleep a short oblivion of care. -</p> - -<p> -The night passed on without disturbance. Adeline slept, but uneasy -dreams fleeted before her fancy, and she awoke at an early hour: the -recollection of her sorrows arose upon her mind, and yielding to their -pressure, her tears flowed silently and fast. That she might indulge -them without restraint, she went to a window that looked upon an open -part of the forest: all was gloom and silence; she stood for some time -viewing the shadowy scene. -</p> - -<p> -The first tender tints of morning now appeared on the verge of the -horizon, stealing upon the darkness;—so pure, so fine, so ethereal! -it seemed as if heaven was opening to the view. The dark mists were seen to -roll off to the west, as the tints of light grew stronger, deepening the -obscurity of that part of the hemisphere, and involving the features of -the country below; meanwhile, in the east, the hues became more vivid, -darting a trembling lustre far around, till a ruddy glow, which fired -all that part of the heavens, announced the rising sun. At first, a -small line of inconceivable splendour emerged on the horizon, which -quickly expanding, the sun appeared in all his glory, unveiling the -whole face of nature, vivifying every colour of the landscape, and -sprinkling the dewy earth with glittering light. The low and gentle -responses of birds, awakened by the morning ray, now broke the silence -of the hour; their soft warblings rising by degrees till they swelled -the chorus of universal gladness. Adeline's heart swelled too with -gratitude and adoration. -</p> - -<p> -The scene before her soothed her mind, and exalted her thoughts to the -great Author of Nature; she uttered an involuntary prayer: Father of -good, who made this glorious scene! I resign myself to thy hands: thou -wilt support me under my present sorrows, and to protect me from future -evil. -</p> - -<p> -Thus confiding in the benevolence of God, she wiped the tears from her -eyes, while the sweet union of conscience and reflection rewarded her -trust; and her mind, losing the feelings which had lately oppressed it, -became tranquil and composed. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte awoke soon after, and Peter prepared to set out on his -expedition. As he mounted his horse. An' please you, master, said he, I -think we had as good look no further for a habitation till better times -turn up; for nobody will think of looking for us here; and when one sees -the place by daylight, it's none so bad, but what a little patching up -would make it comfortable enough. La Motte made no reply, but he thought -of Peter's words. During the intervals of the night, when anxiety had -kept him waking, the same idea had occurred to him; concealment was his -only security, and this place afforded it. The desolation of the spot -was repulsive to his wishes; but he had only a choice of evils—a -forest with liberty was not a bad home for one who had too much reason to -expect a prison. As he walked through the apartments, and examined their -condition more attentively, he perceived they might easily be made -habitable; and now surveying them under the cheerfulness of morning, his -design strengthened; and he mused upon the means of accomplishing it, -which nothing seemed so much to obstruct as the apparent difficulty of -procuring food. -</p> - -<p> -He communicated his thoughts to Madame La Motte, who felt repugnance to -the scheme. La Motte, however, seldom consulted his wife till he had -determined how to act; and he had already resolved to be guided in this -affair by the report of Peter. If he could discover a town in the -neighbourhood of the forest, where provisions and other necessaries -could be procured, he would seek no further for a place of rest. -</p> - -<p> -In the mean time he spent the anxious interval of Peter's absence in -examining the ruin, and walking over the environs; they were sweetly -romantic, and the luxuriant woods with which they abounded, seemed to -sequester this spot from the rest of the world. Frequently a natural -vista would yield a view of the country, terminated by hills, which -retiring in distance faded into the blue horizon. A stream, various and -musical in its course, wound at the foot of the lawn on which stood the -abbey; here it silently glided beneath the shades, feeding the flowers -that bloomed on its banks, and diffusing dewy freshness around; there it -spread in broad expanse to day, reflecting the sylvan scene, and the -wild deer that tasted its waves. La Motte observed every where a -profusion of game; the pheasants scarcely flew from his approach, and -the deer gazed mildly at him as he passed. They were strangers to man! -</p> - -<p> -On his return to the abbey, La Motte ascended the stairs that led to the -tower. About half way up, a door appeared in the wall; it yielded, -without resistance, to his hand; but a sudden noise within, accompanied -by a cloud of dust, made him step back and close the door. After waiting -a few minutes, he again opened it, and perceived a large room of the -more modern building. The remains of tapestry hung in tatters upon the -walls, which were become the residence of birds of prey, whose sudden -flight on the opening of the door had brought down a quantity of dust, -and occasioned the noise. The windows were shattered, and almost without -glass; but he was surprised to observe some remains of furniture; -chairs, whose fashion and condition bore the date of their antiquity; a -broken table, and an iron grate almost consumed by rust. -</p> - -<p> -On the opposite side of the room was a door which led to another -apartment, proportioned like the first, but hung with arras somewhat -less tattered. In one corner stood a small bedstead, and a few shattered -chairs were placed round the walls. La Motte gazed with a mixture of -wonder and curiosity. 'Tis strange, said he, that these rooms, and these -alone, should bear the marks of inhabitation; perhaps, some wretched -wanderer like myself, may have here sought refuge from a persecuting -world; and here, perhaps, laid down the load of existence; perhaps, too, -I have followed his footsteps, but to mingle my dust with his! He turned -suddenly, and was about to quit the room, when he perceived a small door -near the bed; it opened into a closet, which was lighted by one small -window, and was in the same condition as the apartments he had passed, -except that it was destitute even of the remains of furniture. As he -walked over the floor, he thought he felt one part of it shake beneath -his steps, and, examining, found a trap-door. Curiosity prompted him to -explore further, and with some difficulty he opened it. It disclosed a -staircase which terminated in darkness. La Motte descended a few steps, -but was unwilling to trust the abyss; and, after wondering for what -purpose it was so secretly constructed, he closed the trap, and quitted -this suit of apartments. -</p> - -<p> -The stairs in the tower above were so much decayed, that he did not -attempt to ascend them: he returned to the hall, and by the spiral -staircase which he had observed the evening before, reached the gallery, -and found another suit of apartments entirely furnished, very much like -those below. -</p> - -<p> -He renewed with Madame La Motte his former conversation respecting the -abbey, and she exerted all her endeavours to dissuade him from his -purpose, acknowledging the solitary security of the spot, but pleading -that other places might be found equally well adapted for concealment -and more for comfort. This La Motte doubted: besides, the forest -abounded with game, which would, at once, afford him amusement and food, -a circumstance, considering his small stock of money, by no means to be -overlooked; and he had suffered his mind to dwell so much upon the -scheme, that it was become a favourite one. Adeline listened in anxiety -to the discourse, and waited the issue of Peter's report. -</p> - -<p> -The morning passed but Peter did not return. Our solitary party took -their dinner of the provision they had fortunately brought with them, -and afterwards walked forth into the woods. Adeline, who never suffered -any good to pass unnoticed because it came attended with evil, forgot -for a while the desolation of the abbey in the beauty of the adjacent -scenery. The pleasantness of the shades soothed her heart, and the -varied features of the landscape amused her fancy; she almost thought -she could be contented to live here. Already she began to feel an -interest in the concerns of her companions, and for Madame La Motte she -felt more; it was the warm emotion of gratitude and affection. -</p> - -<p> -The afternoon wore away, and they returned to the abbey. Peter was still -absent, and his absence now began to excite surprise and apprehension. -The approach of darkness also threw a gloom upon the hopes of the -wanderers: another night must be passed under the same forlorn -circumstances as the preceding one! and, what was still worse, with a -very scanty stock of provisions. The fortitude of Madame La Motte now -entirely forsook her, and she wept bitterly. Adeline's heart was as -mournful as Madame's, but she rallied her drooping spirits, and gave the -first instance of her kindness by endeavouring to revive those of her -friend. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte was restless and uneasy, and, leaving the abbey, he walked -alone the way which Peter had taken. He had not gone far, when he -perceived him between the trees, leading his horse.—What news, Peter? -hallooed La Motte. Peter came on, panting for breath, and said not a -word, till La Motte repeated the question in a tone of somewhat more -authority. Ah, bless you, master! said he, when he had taken breath to -answer, I am glad to see you; I thought I should never have got back -again: I've met with a world of misfortunes. -</p> - -<p> -Well, you may relate them hereafter; let me hear whether you have -discovered— -</p> - -<p> -Discovered? interrupted Peter, yes, I am discovered with a vengeance! if -your honour will look at my arms, you'll see how I am discovered. -</p> - -<p> -Discoloured! I suppose you mean, said La Motte. But how came you in this -condition! -</p> - -<p> -Why I tell you how it was, Sir; your honour knows I learnt a smack of -boxing of that Englishman that used to come with his master to our -house. -</p> - -<p> -Well, well—tell me where you have been. -</p> - -<p> -I scarcely know myself, master; I've been where I got a sound drubbing, -but then it was in your business, and so I don't mind. But if ever I -meet with that rascal again!— -</p> - -<p> -You seem to like your first drubbing so well, that you want another, and -unless you speak more to the purpose, you shall soon have one. -</p> - -<p> -Peter was now frightened into method, and endeavoured to proceed: When I -left the old abbey, said he, I followed the way you directed, and -turning to the right of that grove of trees yonder, I looked this way -and that to see if I could see a house or a cottage, or even a man, but -not a <i>soul</i> of them was to be seen, and so I jogged on near the value -of a league, I warrant, and then I came to a track; Oh! oh! says I, we -have you now; this will do—paths can't be made without feet. However, -I was out in my reckoning, for the devil a bit of a <i>soul</i> could I -see, and after following the track this way and that way, for the third -of a league, I lost it, and had to find out another. -</p> - -<p> -Is it impossible for you to speak to the point? said La Motte; omit -these foolish particulars, and tell whether you have succeeded. -</p> - -<p> -Well, then, master, to be short, for that's the nearest way after all, I -wandered a long while at random, I did not know where, all through a -forest like this, and I took special care to note how the trees stood, -that I might find my way back. At last I came to another path, and was -sure I should find something now, though I had found nothing before, for -I could not be mistaken twice; so, peeping between the trees, I spied a -cottage, and I gave my horse a lash that sounded through the forest, and -I was at the door in a minute. They told me there was a town about half -a league off, and bade me follow the track and it would bring me -there,—so it did; and my horse, I believe, smelt the corn in the -manger by the rate he went at. I inquired for a wheel-wright, and was told -there was but one in the place, and he could not be found. I waited and -waited, for I knew it was in vain to think of returning without doing my -business. The man at last came home from the country, and I told him how -long I had waited; for, says I, I knew it was in vain to return without -my business. -</p> - -<p> -Do be less tedious, said La Motte, if it is in thy nature. -</p> - -<p> -It is in my nature, answered Peter, and if it was more in my nature your -honour should have it all. Would you think it, Sir, the fellow had the -impudence to ask a louis-d'or for mending the coach-wheel! I believe in -my conscience he saw I was in a hurry and could not do without him. A -louis-d'or! says I, my master shall give no such price, he sha'n't be -imposed upon by no such rascal as you. Whereupon, the fellow looked -glum, and gave me a douse o'the chops: with this, I up with my fist and -gave him another, and should have beat him presently, if another man had -not come in, and then I was obliged to give up. -</p> - -<p> -And so you are returned as wise as you went? -</p> - -<p> -Why, master, I hope I have too much spirit to submit to a rascal, or let -you submit, to one either: besides, I have bought some nails to try if I -can't mend the wheel myself—I had always a hand at carpentry. -</p> - -<p> -Well, I commend your zeal in my cause, but on this occasion it was -rather ill-timed. And what have you got in that basket? -</p> - -<p> -Why, master, I bethought me that we could not get away from this place -till the carriage was ready to draw us, and in the mean time, says I, -nobody can live without victuals, so I'll e'en lay out the little money -I have and take a basket with me. -</p> - -<p> -That's the only wise thing you have done yet, and this, indeed, redeems -your blunders. -</p> - -<p> -Why now, master, it does my heart good to hear you speak; I knew I was -doing for the best all the while: but I've had a hard job to find my way -back; and here's another piece of ill luck, for the horse has got a -thorn in his foot. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte made inquiries concerning the town, and found it was capable of -supplying him with provision, and what little furniture was necessary to -render the abbey habitable. This intelligence almost settled his plans, -and he ordered Peter to return on the following morning and make -inquiries concerning the abbey. If the answers were favourable to his -wishes, he commissioned him to buy a cart and load it with some -furniture, and some materials necessary for repairing the modern -apartments. Peter stared: What, does your honour mean to live here? -</p> - -<p> -Why, suppose I do? -</p> - -<p> -Why, then your honour has made a wise determination, according to my -hint; for your honour knows I said— -</p> - -<p> -Well, Peter, it is not necessary to repeat what you said; perhaps I had -determined on the subject before. -</p> - -<p> -Egad, master, you're in the right, and I'm glad of it, for I believe we -shall not quickly be disturbed here, except by the rooks and owls. Yes, -yes—I warrant I'll make it a place fit for a king; and as for the -town, one may get any thing, I'm sure of that; though they think no more -about this place than they do about India or England, or any of those -places. -</p> - -<p> -They now reached the abbey; where Peter was received with great joy: but -the hopes of his mistress and Adeline were repressed, when they learned -that he returned without having executed his commission, and heard his -account of the town. La Motte's orders to Peter were heard with almost -equal concern by Madame and Adeline; but the latter concealed her -uneasiness, and used all her efforts to overcome that of her friend. The -sweetness of her behaviour, and the air of satisfaction she assumed, -sensibly affected Madame, and discovered to her a source of comfort -which she had hitherto overlooked. The affectionate attentions of her -young friend promised to console her for the want of other society, and -her conversation to enliven the hours which might otherwise be passed in -painful regret. -</p> - -<p> -The observations and general behaviour of Adeline already bespoke a good -understanding and an amiable heart; but she had yet more—she had -genius. She was now in her nineteenth year; her figure of the middling -size, and turned to the most exquisite proportion; her hair was dark -auburn, her eyes blue, and whether they sparkled with intelligence, or -melted with tenderness, they were equally attractive: her form had the -airy lightness of a nymph, and when she smiled, her countenance might -have been drawn for the younger sister of Hebe: the captivations of her -beauty were heightened by the grace and simplicity of her manners, and -confirmed by the intrinsic value of a heart. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">That might be shrined in chrystal,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And have all its movements scann'd.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Annette now kindled the fire for the night: Peter's basket was opened, -and supper prepared. Madame La Motte was still pensive and -silent.—There is scarcely any condition so bad, said Adeline, but we -may one time or the other wish we had not quitted it. Honest Peter, when -he was bewildered in the forest, or had two enemies to encounter instead -of one, confesses he wished himself at the abbey. And I am certain, -there is no situation so destitute, but comfort may be extracted from -it. The blaze of this fire shines yet more cheerfully from the -contrasted dreariness of the place; and this plentiful repast is made -yet more delicious from the temporary want we have suffered. Let us -enjoy the good and forget the evil. -</p> - -<p> -You speak, my dear, replied Madame La Motte, like one whose spirits have -not been often depressed by misfortune (Adeline sighed), and whose hopes -are therefore vigorous. Long suffering, said La Motte, has subdued in -our minds that elastic energy which repels the pressure of evil and -dances to the bound of joy. But I speak in raphsody, though only from -the remembrance of such a time. I once, like you, Adeline, could extract -comfort from most situations. -</p> - -<p> -And may now, my dear Sir, said Adeline. Still believe it possible, and -you will find it is so. -</p> - -<p> -The illusion is gone—I can no longer deceive myself. -</p> - -<p> -Pardon me, Sir, if I say, it is now only you deceive yourself, by -suffering the cloud of sorrow to tinge every object you look upon. -</p> - -<p> -It may be so, said La Motte, but let us leave the subject. -</p> - -<p> -After supper, the doors were secured, as before, for the night, and the -wanderers resigned themselves to repose. -</p> - -<p> -On the following morning, Peter again set out for the little town of -Auboine, and the hours of his absence were again spent by Madame La -Motte and Adeline in much anxiety and some hope, for the intelligence he -might bring concerning the abbey might yet release them from the plans -of La Motte. Towards the close of the day he was descried coming slowly -on; and the cart, which accompanied him, too certainly confirmed their -fears. He brought materials for repairing the place, and some furniture. -</p> - -<p> -Of the abbey he gave an account, of which the following is the -substance:—It belonged, together with a large part of the adjacent -forest, to a nobleman, who now resided with his family on a remote -estate. He inherited it, in right of his wife, from his father-in-law, -who had caused the more modern apartments to be erected, and had resided -in them some part of every year, for the purpose of shooting and -hunting. It was reported, that some person was, soon after it came to -the present possessor, brought secretly to the abbey and confined in -these apartments; who, or what he was, had never been conjectured, and -what became of him nobody knew. The report died gradually away, and many -persons entirely disbelieved the whole of it. But however this affair -might be, certain it was, the present owner had visited the abbey only -two summers since his succeeding to it; and the furniture after some -time, was removed. -</p> - -<p> -This circumstance had at first excited surprise, and various reports -rose in consequence, but it was difficult to know what ought to be -believed. Among the rest, it was said that strange appearances had been -observed at the abbey, and uncommon noises heard; and though this report -had been ridiculed by sensible persons as the idle superstition of -ignorance, it had fastened so strongly upon the minds of the common -people, that for the last seventeen years none of the peasantry had -ventured to approach the spot. The abbey was now, therefore, abandoned -to decay. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte ruminated upon this account. At first it called up unpleasant -ideas, but they were soon dismissed, and considerations more interesting -to his welfare took place: he congratulated himself that he had now -found a spot where he was not likely to be either discovered or -disturbed; yet it could not escape him that there was a strange -coincidence between one part of Peter's narrative, and the condition of -the chambers that opened from the tower above stairs. The remains of -furniture, of which the other apartments were void—the solitary -bed—the number and connexion of the rooms, were circumstances that -united to confirm his opinion. This, however, he concealed in his own -breast, for he already perceived that Peter's account had not assisted -in reconciling his family to the necessity of dwelling at the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -But they had only to submit in silence, and whatever disagreeable -apprehension might intrude upon them, they now appeared willing to -suppress the expression of it. Peter, indeed, was exempt from any evil -of this kind; he knew no fear, and his mind was now wholly occupied with -his approaching business. Madame La Motte, with a placid kind of -despair, endeavoured to reconcile herself to that which no effort of -understanding could teach her to avoid, and which an indulgence in -lamentation could only make more intolerable. Indeed, though a sense of -the immediate inconveniences to be endured at the abbey had made her -oppose the scheme of living there, she did not really know how their -situation could be improved by removal: yet her thoughts often wandered -towards Paris, and reflected the retrospect of past times, with the -images of weeping friends left, perhaps, for ever. The affectionate -endearments of her only son, whom, from the danger of his situation, and -the obscurity of hers, she might reasonably fear never to see again, -arose upon her memory and overcame her fortitude. Why—why was I -reserved for this hour? would she say, and what will be my years to -come? -</p> - -<p> -Adeline had no retrospect of past delight to give emphasis to present -calamity—no weeping friends—no dear regretted objects to point -the edge of sorrow, and throw a sickly hue upon her future prospects: she -knew not yet the pangs of disappointed hope, or the acuter sting of -self-accusation; she had no misery but what patience could assuage, or -fortitude overcome. -</p> - -<p> -At the dawn of the following day Peter arose to his labour: he proceeded -with alacrity, and in a few days two of the lower apartments were so -much altered for the better that La Motte began to exult, and his family -to perceive that their situation would not be so miserable as they had -imagined. The furniture Peter had already brought was disposed in these -rooms, one of which was the vaulted apartment. Madame La Motte furnished -this as a sitting-room, preferring it for its large Gothic window, that -descended almost to the floor, admitting a prospect of the lawn, and the -picturesque scenery of the surrounding woods. -</p> - -<p> -Peter having returned to Auboine for a further supply, all the lower -apartments were in a few weeks not only habitable, but comfortable. -These, however, being insufficient for the accommodation of the family, -a room above stairs was prepared for Adeline: it was the chamber that -opened immediately from the tower, and she preferred it to those beyond, -because it was less distant from the family, and the windows fronting an -avenue of the forest afforded a more extensive prospect. The tapestry, -that was decayed, and hung loosely from the walls, was now nailed up, -and made to look less desolate; and though the room had still a solemn -aspect, from its spaciousness and the narrowness of the windows, it was -not uncomfortable. -</p> - -<p> -The first night that Adeline retired hither, she slept little: the -solitary air of the place affected her spirits; the more so, perhaps, -because she had, with friendly consideration, endeavoured to support -them in the presence of Madame La Motte. She remembered the narrative of -Peter, several circumstances of which had impressed her imagination in -spite of her reason, and she found it difficult wholly to subdue -apprehension. At one time, terror so strongly seized her mind, that she -had even opened the door with an intention of calling Madame La Motte; -but, listening for a moment on the stairs of the tower, every thing -seemed still: at length, she heard the voice of La Motte speaking -cheerfully, and the absurdity of her fears struck her forcibly; she -blushed that she had for a moment submitted to them, and returned to her -chamber wondering at herself. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Are not these woods</span><br /> -<span class="i0">More free from peril than the envious court?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">The season's difference, as the icy fang</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And churlish chiding of the winter's wind.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">SHAKSPEARE.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -La Motte arranged his little plan of living. His mornings were usually -spent in shooting or fishing, and the dinner, thus provided by his -industry, he relished with a keener appetite than had ever attended him -at the luxurious tables of Paris. The afternoons he passed with his -family: sometimes he would select a book from the few he had brought -with him, and endeavoured to fix his attention to the words his lips -repeated:—but his mind suffered little abstraction from its own -cares, and the sentiment he pronounced left no trace behind it. Sometimes -he conversed, but oftener sat in gloomy silence, musing upon the past, or -anticipating the future. -</p> - -<p> -At these moments, Adeline, with a sweetness almost irresistible, -endeavoured to enliven his spirits, and to withdraw him from himself. -Seldom she succeeded; but when she did, the grateful looks of Madame La -Motte, and the benevolent feelings of her own bosom, realized the -cheerfulness she had at first only assumed. Adeline's mind had the happy -art, or, perhaps, it were more just to say, the happy nature, of -accommodating itself to her situation. Her present condition, though -forlorn, was not devoid of comfort, and this comfort was confirmed by -her virtues. So much she won upon the affections of her protectors, that -Madame La Motte loved her as her child, and La Motte himself, though a -man little susceptible of tenderness, could not be insensible to her -solicitudes. Whenever he relaxed from the sullenness of misery, it was -at the influence of Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Peter regularly brought a weekly supply of provisions from Auboine, and, -on those occasions, always quitted the town by a route contrary to that -leading to the abbey. Several weeks having passed without molestation, -La Motte dismissed all apprehension of pursuit, and at length became -tolerably reconciled to the complexion of his circumstances. -</p> - -<p> -As habit and effort strengthened the fortitude of Madame La Motte, the -features of misfortune appeared to soften. The forest, which at first -seemed to her a frightful solitude, had lost its terrific aspect; and -that edifice, whose half demolished walls and gloomy desolation had -struck her mind with the force of melancholy and dismay, was now beheld -as a domestic asylum, and a safe refuge from the storms of power. -</p> - -<p> -She was a sensible and highly accomplished woman, and it became her -chief delight to form the rising graces of Adeline, who had, as has been -already shown, a sweetness of disposition, which made her quick to repay -instruction with improvement, and indulgence with love. Never was -Adeline so pleased as when she anticipated her wishes, and never so -diligent as when she was employed in her business. The little affairs of -the household she overlooked and managed with such admirable exactness, -that Madame La Motte had neither anxiety nor care concerning them. And -Adeline formed for herself in this barren situation, many amusements -that occasionally banished the remembrance of her misfortunes. La -Motte's books were her chief consolation. With one of these she would -frequently ramble into the forest, where the river, winding through a -glade, diffused coolness, and with its murmuring accents invited repose: -there she would seat herself, and, resigned to the illusions of the -page, pass many hours in oblivion of sorrow. -</p> - -<p> -Here too, when her mind was tranquillized by the surrounding scenery, -she wooed the gentle muse, and indulged in ideal happiness. The delight -of these moments she commemorated in the following address: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">TO THE VISIONS OF FANCY.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear, wild illusions of creative mind!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Whose varying hues arise to Fancy's art,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And by her magic force are swift combined</span><br /> -<span class="i2">In forms that please, and scenes that touch the</span><br /> -<span class="i4">heart:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Oh! whether at her voice ye soft assume</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The pensive grace of sorrow drooping low;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Or rise sublime on terror's lofty plume,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And shake the soul with wildly thrilling woe;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Or, sweetly bright, your gayer tints ye spread,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Bid scenes of pleasures steal upon my view,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Love wave his purple pinions o'er my head,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And wake the tender thought to passion true.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">O! still——ye shadowy forms! attend my lonely hours,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Still chase my real cares with your illusive powers!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Madame La Motte had frequently expressed curiosity concerning the events -of Adeline's life, and by what circumstances she had been thrown into a -situation so perilous and mysterious as that in which La Motte had found -her. Adeline had given a brief account of the manner in which she had -been brought thither, but had always with tears entreated to be spared -for that time from a particular relation of her history. Her spirits -were not then equal to retrospection; but now that they were soothed by -quiet, and strengthened by confidence, she one day gave Madame La Motte -the following narration. -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -I am the only child, said Adeline, Of Louis de St. Pierre, a chevalier -of reputable family, but of small fortune, who for many years resided at -Paris. Of my mother I have a faint remembrance: I lost her when I was -only seven years old, and this was my first misfortune. At her death, my -father gave up housekeeping, boarded me in a convent, and quitted Paris. -Thus was I, at this early period of my life, abandoned to strangers. My -father came sometimes to Paris; he then visited me, and I well remember -the grief I used to feel when he bade me farewell. On these occasions, -which wrung my heart with grief, he appeared unmoved; so that I often -thought he had little tenderness for me. But he was my father, and the -only person to whom I could look up for protection and love. -</p> - -<p> -In this convent I continued till I was twelve years old. A thousand -times I had entreated my father to take me home; but at first, motives -of prudence, and afterwards of avarice, prevented him. I was now removed -from this convent, and placed in another, where I learned my father -intended I should take the veil. I will not attempt to express my -surprise and grief on this occasion. Too long I had been immured in the -walls of a cloister, and too much had I seen of the sullen misery of its -votaries, not to feel horror and disgust at the prospect of being added -to their number. -</p> - -<p> -The Lady Abbess was a woman of rigid decorum and severe devotion: exact -in the observance of every detail of form, and never forgave an offence -against ceremony. It was her method, when she wanted to make converts to -her order, to denounce and terrify, rather than to persuade and allure. -Hers were the arts of cunning practised upon fear, not those of -sophistication upon reason. She employed numberless stratagems to gain -me to her purpose, and they all wore the complexion of her character. -But in the life to which she would have devoted me, I saw too many forms -of real terror, to be overcome by the influence of her ideal host, and -was resolute in rejecting the veil. Here I passed several years of -miserable resistance against cruelty and superstition. My father I -seldom saw; when I did, I entreated him to alter my destination; but he -objected that his fortune was insufficient to support me in the world, -and at length denounced vengeance on my head if I persisted in -disobedience. -</p> - -<p> -You, my dear Madam, can form little idea of the wretchedness of my -situation, condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and imprisonment -of the most dreadful kind, or to the vengeance of a father, from -whom I had no appeal. My resolution relaxed—for some time -I paused upon the choice of evils—but at length the horrors of the -monastic life rose so fully to my view, that fortitude gave -way before them. Excluded from the cheerful intercourse of -society—from the pleasant view of nature—almost from the light -of day—condemned to silence—rigid formality—abstinence -and penance—condemned to forgo the delights of a world which -imagination painted in the gayest and most alluring colours, and whose -hues were, perhaps, not the less captivating because they were only -ideal—such was the sate to which I was destined. Again my -resolution was invigorated: my father's cruelty subdued tenderness, and -roused indignation. Since he can forget, said I, the affection of a -parent, and condemn his child without remorse to wretchedness and -despair—the bond of filial and parental duty no longer subsists -between us—he has himself dissolved it, and I will yet struggle -for liberty and life. -</p> - -<p> -Finding me unmoved by menace, the Lady Abbess had now recourse to more -subtle measures: she condescended to smile, and even to flatter; but -hers was the distorted smile of cunning, not the gracious emblem of -kindness; it provoked disgust, instead of inspiring affection. She -painted the character of a vestal in the most beautiful tints of -art—its holy innocence—its mild dignity—its sublime -devotion. I sighed as she spoke. This she regarded as a favourable symptom, -and proceeded on her picture with more animation. She described the -serenity of a monastic life—its security from the seductive charms, -restless passions, and sorrowful vicissitudes of the world—the -rapturous delights of religion, and the sweet reciprocal affection of the -sisterhood. -</p> - -<p> -So highly she finished the piece, that the lurking lines of cunning -would, to an inexperienced eye, have escaped detection. Mine was too -sorrowfully informed. Too often had I witnessed the secret tear and -bursting sigh of vain regret, the sullen pinings of discontent, and the -mute anguish of despair. My silence and my manner assured her of my -incredulity, and it was with difficulty that she preserved a decent -composure. -</p> - -<p> -My father, as may be imagined, was highly incensed at my perseverance, -which he called obstinacy; but, what will not be so easily believed, he -soon after relented, and appointed a day to take me from the convent. O! -judge of my feelings when I received this intelligence. The joy it -occasioned awakened all my gratitude; I forgot the former cruelty of my -father, and that the present indulgence was less the effect of his -kindness than of my resolution. I wept that I could not indulge his -every wish. -</p> - -<p> -What days of blissful expectation were those that preceded my departure! -The world, from which I had been hitherto secluded—the world, in -which my fancy had been so often delighted to roam—whose paths -were strewn with fadeless roses—whose every scene smiled in beauty -and invited to delight—where all the people were good, and all the -good happy—Ah! <i>then</i> that world was bursting upon my view. -Let me catch the rapturous remembrance before it vanish! It is like the -passing lights of autumn, that gleam for a moment on a hill, and then -leave it to darkness. I counted the days and hours that withheld me from -this fairy land. It was in the convent only that people were deceitful -and cruel; it was there only that misery dwelt. I was quitting it all! -How I pitied the poor nuns that were to be left behind! I would have -given half that world I prized so much, had it been mine, to have taken -them out with me. -</p> - -<p> -The long wished for day at last arrived. My father came, and for a -moment my joy was lost in the sorrow of bidding farewell to my poor -companions, for whom I had never felt such warmth of kindness as at this -instant. I was soon beyond the gates of the convent. I looked around me, -and viewed the vast vault of heaven no longer bounded by monastic walls, -and the green earth extended in hill and dale to the round verge of the -horizon! My heart danced with delight, tears swelled in my eyes, and for -some moments I was unable to speak. My thoughts rose to heaven in -sentiments of gratitude to the Giver of all good! -</p> - -<p> -At length I returned to my father: Dear Sir, said I, how I thank you for -my deliverance, and how I wish I could do every thing to oblige you! -</p> - -<p> -Return, then, to your convent, said he in a harsh accent. I shuddered: -his look and manner jarred the tone of my feelings; they struck discord -upon my heart! which had before responded only to harmony. The ardour of -joy was in a moment repressed, and every object around me was saddened -with the gloom of disappointment. It was not that I suspected my father -would take me back to the convent; but that his feelings seemed so very -dissonant to the joy and gratitude which I had but a moment before felt -and expressed to him.—Pardon, Madam, a relation of these trivial -circumstances; the strong vicissitudes of feeling which they impressed -upon my heart, make me think them important, when they are, perhaps, -only disgusting. -</p> - -<p> -No, my dear, said Madame La Motte, they are interesting to me; they -illustrate little traits of character, which I love to observe. You are -worthy of all my regards, and from this moment I give my tenderest pity -to your misfortunes, and my affection to your goodness. -</p> - -<p> -These words melted the heart of Adeline; she kissed the hand which -Madame held out, and remained a few minutes silent. At length she said, -May I deserve this goodness! and may I ever be thankful to God, who, in -giving me such a friend, has raised me to comfort and hope! -</p> - -<p> -My father's house was situated a few leagues on the other side of Paris, -and in our way to it we passed through that city. What a novel scene! -Where were now the solemn faces, the demure manners I had been -accustomed to see in the convent? Every countenance was here animated, -either by business or pleasure; every step was airy, and every smile was -gay. All the people appeared like friends; they looked and smiled at me; -I smiled again, and wished to have told them how pleased I was. How -delightful, said I, to live surrounded by friends! -</p> - -<p> -What crowded streets! what magnificent hotels! what splendid equipages! -I scarcely observed that the streets were narrow, or the way dangerous. -What bustle, what tumult, what delight! I could never be sufficiently -thankful that I was removed from the convent. Again I was going to -express my gratitude to my father, but his looks forbad me, and I was -silent. I am too diffuse; even the faint forms which memory reflects of -passed delight are grateful to the heart. The shadow of pleasure is -still gazed upon with a melancholy enjoyment, though the substance is -fled beyond our reach. -</p> - -<p> -Having quitted Paris, which I left with many sighs, and gazed upon till -the towers of every church dissolved in distance from my view, we -entered upon a gloomy and unfrequented road. It was evening when we -reached a wild heath; I looked round in search of a human dwelling, but -could find none; and not a human being was to be seen. I experienced -something of what I used to feel in the convent; my heart had not been -so sad since I left it. Of my father, who still sat in silence, I -inquired if we were near home; he answered in the affirmative. Night -came on, however, before we reached the place of our destination; it was -a lone house on the waste; but I need not describe it to you, Madam. -When the carriage stopped, two men appeared at the door, and assisted us -to alight: so gloomy were their countenances, and so few their words, I -almost fancied myself again in the convent; certain it is, I had not -seen such melancholy faces since I quitted it. Is this a part of the -world I have so fondly contemplated? said I. -</p> - -<p> -The interior appearance of the house was desolate and mean; I was -surprised that my father had chosen such a place for his habitation, and -also that no woman was to be seen; but I knew that inquiry would only -produce a reproof, and was therefore silent. At supper, the two men I -had before seen sat down with us; they said little, but seemed to -observe me much. I was confused and displeased; which my father -noticing, frowned at them with a look which convinced me he meant more -than I comprehended. When the cloth was drawn, my father took my hand -and conducted me to the door of my chamber; having set down the candle, -and wished me good night, he left me to my own solitary thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -How different were they from those I had indulged a few hours before! -then expectation, hope, delight, danced before me; now melancholy and -disappointment chilled the ardour of my mind, and discoloured my future -prospect. The appearance of every thing around conduced to depress me. -On the floor lay a small bed without curtains or hangings; two old -chairs and a table were all the remaining furniture in the room. I went -to the window, with an intention of looking out upon the surrounding -scene, and found it was grated. I was shocked at this circumstance, and -comparing it with the lonely situation and the strange appearance of the -house, together with the countenances and behaviour of the men who had -supped with us, I was lost in a labyrinth of conjecture. -</p> - -<p> -At length I lay down to sleep; but the anxiety of my mind prevented -repose; gloomy unpleasing images flitted before my fancy, and I fell -into a sort of waking dream: I thought that I was in a lonely forest -with my father; his looks were severe, and his gestures menacing: he -upbraided me for leaving the convent, and while he spoke, drew from his -pocket a mirror, which he held before my face; I looked in it and saw, -(my blood now thrills as I repeat it) I saw myself wounded, and bleeding -profusely. Then I thought myself in the house again; and suddenly heard -these words, in accents so distinct, that for some time after I awoke I -could scarcely believe them ideal, Depart this house, destruction hovers -here. -</p> - -<p> -I was awakened by a footstep on the stairs; it was my father retiring to -his chamber; the lateness of the hour surprised me, for it was past -midnight. -</p> - -<p> -On the following morning, the party of the preceding evening assembled -at breakfast, and were as gloomy and silent as before. The table was -spread by a boy of my father's; but the cook and the housemaid, whatever -they might be, were invisible. -</p> - -<p> -The next morning I was surprised, on attempting to leave my chamber, to -find the door locked; I waited a considerable time before I ventured to -call; when I did, no answer was returned; I then went to the window, and -called more loudly, but my own voice was still the only sound I heard. -Near an hour I passed in a state of surprise and terror not to be -described: at length I heard a person coming up stairs, and I renewed -the call; I was answered, that my father had that morning set off for -Paris, whence he would return in a few days; in the meanwhile he had -ordered me to be confined in my chamber. On my expressing surprise and -apprehension at this circumstance, I was assured I had nothing to fear, -and that I should live as well as if I was at liberty. -</p> - -<p> -The latter part of this speech seemed to contain an odd kind of comfort; -I made little reply, but submitted to necessity. Once more I was -abandoned to sorrowful reflection: what a day was the one I now passed! -alone, and agitated with grief and apprehension. I endeavoured to -conjecture the cause of this harsh treatment; and at length concluded it -was designed by my father, as a punishment for my former disobedience. -But why abandon me to the power of strangers, to men, whose countenances -bore the stamp of villainy so strongly as to impress even my -inexperienced mind with terror! Surmise involved me only deeper in -perplexity, yet I found it impossible to forbear pursuing the subject; -and the day was divided between lamentation and conjecture. Night at -length came, and such a night! Darkness brought new terrors: I looked -round the chamber for some means of fastening my door on the inside, but -could perceive none; at last I contrived to place the back of a chair in -an oblique direction, so as to render it secure. -</p> - -<p> -I had scarcely done this, and lain down upon my bed in my clothes, not -to sleep, but to watch, when I heard a rap at the door of the house, -which was opened and shut so quickly, that the person who had knocked, -seemed only to deliver a letter or message. Soon after, I heard voices -at intervals in a room below stairs, sometimes speaking very low, and -sometimes rising all together, as if in dispute. Something more -excusable than curiosity made me endeavour to distinguish what was said, -but in vain; now and then a word or two reached me, and once I heard my -name repeated, but no more. -</p> - -<p> -Thus passed the hours till midnight, when all became still. I had lain -for some time in a state between fear and hope, when I heard the lock of -my door gently moved backward and forward; I started up and listened; -for a moment it was still, then the noise returned, and I heard a -whispering without; my spirits died away, but I was yet sensible. -Presently an effort was made at the door, as if to force it; I shrieked -aloud, and immediately heard the voices of the men I had seen at my -father's table: they called loudly for the door to be opened, and on my -returning no answer, uttered dreadful execrations. I had just strength -sufficient to move to the window, in the desperate hope of escaping -thence; but my feeble efforts could not even shake the bars. O! how can -I recollect these moments of horror, and be sufficiently thankful that I -am now in safety and comfort! -</p> - -<p> -They remained some time at the door, then they quitted it, and went down -stairs. How my heart revived at every step of their departure! I fell -upon my knees, thanked God that he had preserved me this time, and -implored his further protection. I was rising from this short prayer, -when suddenly I heard a noise in a different part of the room, and on -looking round, I perceived the door of a small closet open, and two men -enter the chamber. -</p> - -<p> -They seized me, and I sunk senseless in their arms; how long I remained -in this condition I know not; but on reviving, I perceived myself again -alone, and heard several voices from below stairs. I had presence of -mind to run to the door of the closet, my only chance of escape; but it -was locked! I then recollected it was possible that the ruffians might -have forgot to turn the key of the chamber door, which was held by the -chair; but here, also, I was disappointed. I clasped my hands in an -agony of despair, and stood for some time immoveable. -</p> - -<p> -A violent noise from below roused me, and soon after I heard people -ascending the stairs: I now gave myself up for lost. The steps -approached, the door of the closet was again unlocked. I stood calmly, -and again saw the men enter the chamber; I neither spoke, nor resisted: -the faculties of my soul were wrought up beyond the power of feeling; as -a violent blow on the body stuns for awhile the sense of pain. They led -me down stairs; the door of a room below was thrown open, and I beheld a -stranger; it was then that my senses returned; I shrieked and resisted, -but was forced along. It is unnecessary to say that this stranger was -Monsieur La Motte, or to add, that I shall for ever bless him as my -deliverer. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline ceased to speak; Madame La Motte remained silent. There were -some circumstances in Adeline's narrative, which raised all her -curiosity. She asked if Adeline believed her father to be a party in -this mysterious affair. Adeline, though it was impossible to doubt that -he had been principally and materially concerned in some part of it, -thought, or said she thought, he was innocent of any intention against -her life. Yet, what motive, said Madame La Motte, could there be for a -degree of cruelty so apparently unprofitable?—Here the inquiry ended; -and Adeline confessed she had pursued it till her mind shrunk from all -further research. -</p> - -<p> -The sympathy which such uncommon misfortune excited, Madame La Motte now -expressed without reserve, and this expression of it strengthened the -tie of mutual friendship. Adeline felt her spirits relieved by the -disclosure she had made to Madame La Motte; and the latter acknowledged -the value of the confidence, by an increase of affectionate attentions. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">...... My May of life</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">MACBETH.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Full oft, unknowing and unknown,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">He wore his endless noons alone,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Amid th' autumnal wood:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Oft was he wont in hasty fit,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Abrupt the social board to quit.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">WHARTON.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -La Motte had now passed above a month in this seclusion; and his wife -had the pleasure to see him recover tranquillity and even cheerfulness. -In this pleasure Adeline warmly participated; and she might justly have -congratulated herself as one cause of his restoration; her cheerfulness -and delicate attention had effected what Madame La Motte's greater -anxiety had failed to accomplish. La Motte did not seem regardless of -her amiable disposition, and sometimes thanked her in a manner more -earnest than was usual with him. She, in her turn, considered him as her -only protector and now felt towards him the affection of a daughter. -</p> - -<p> -The time she had spent in this peaceful retirement had softened the -remembrance of past events, and restored her mind to its natural tone: -and when memory brought back to her view the former short and romantic -expectations of happiness, though she gave a sigh to the rapturous -illusion, she less lamented the disappointment, than rejoiced in her -present security and comfort. -</p> - -<p> -But the satisfaction which La Motte's cheerfulness diffused around him -was of short continuance; he became suddenly gloomy and reserved; the -society of his family was no longer grateful to him; and he would spend -whole hours in the most secluded parts of the forest, devoted to -melancholy and secret grief. He did not, as formerly, indulge the humour -of his sadness, without restraint, in the presence of others; he now -evidently endeavoured to conceal it, and affected a cheerfulness that -was too artificial to escape detection. -</p> - -<p> -His servant Peter, either impelled by curiosity or kindness, sometimes -followed him unseen, into the forest. He observed him frequently retire -to one particular spot, in a remote part, which having gained, he always -disappeared, before Peter, who was obliged to follow at a distance, -could exactly notice where. All his endeavours, now prompted by wonder -and invigorated by disappointment, were unsuccessful, and he was at -length compelled to endure the tortures of unsatisfied curiosity. -</p> - -<p> -This change in the manners and habits of her husband was too conspicuous -to pass unobserved by Madame La Motte, who endeavoured, by all the -stratagems which affection could suggest, or female invention supply, to -win him to her confidence. He seemed insensible to the influence of the -first, and withstood the wiles of the latter. Finding all her efforts -insufficient to dissipate the glooms which overhung his mind, or to -penetrate their secret cause, she desisted from further attempt, and -endeavoured to submit to this mysterious distress. -</p> - -<p> -Week after week elapsed, and the same unknown cause sealed the lips and -corroded the heart of La Motte. The place of his visitation in the -forest had not been traced. Peter had frequently examined round the spot -where his master disappeared, but had never discovered any recess which -could be supposed to conceal him. The astonishment of the servant was at -length raised to an insupportable degree, and he communicated to his -mistress the subject of it. -</p> - -<p> -The emotion which this information excited, she disguised from Peter, -and reproved him for the means he had taken to gratify his curiosity. -But she revolved this circumstance in her thoughts, and comparing it -with the late alteration in his temper, her uneasiness was renewed, and -her perplexity considerably increased. After much consideration, being -unable to assign any other motive for his conduct, she began to -attribute it to the influence of illicit passion; and her heart, which -now out-ran her judgment, confirmed the supposition, and roused all the -torturing pangs of jealousy. -</p> - -<p> -Comparatively speaking, she had never known affliction till now: she had -abandoned her dearest friends and connexions—had relinquished the -gaieties, the luxuries, and almost the necessaries of life;—fled with -her family into exile, an exile the most dreary and comfortless; -experiencing the evils of reality, and those of apprehension, united: -all these she had patiently endured, supported by the affection of him -for whose sake she suffered. Though that affection, indeed, had for some -time appeared to be abated, she had borne its decrease with fortitude; -but the last stroke of calamity, hitherto withheld, now came with -irresistible force—the love, of which she lamented the loss, she now -believed was transferred to another. -</p> - -<p> -The operation of strong passion confuses the powers of reason, and warps -them to its own particular direction. Her usual degree of judgment, -unopposed by the influence of her heart, would probably have pointed out -to Madame La Motte some circumstances upon the subject of her distress, -equivocal, if not contradictory to her suspicions. No such circumstances -appeared to her, and she did not long hesitate to decide, that Adeline -was the object of her husband's attachment. Her beauty out of the -question, who else, indeed, could it be in a spot thus secluded from the -world? -</p> - -<p> -The same cause destroyed, almost at the same moment, her only remaining -comfort; and when she wept that she could no longer look for happiness -in the affection of La Motte, she wept also, that she could no longer -seek solace in the friendship of Adeline. She had too great an esteem -for her, to doubt, at first, the integrity of her conduct; but, in spite -of reason, her heart no longer expanded to her with its usual warmth of -kindness. She shrunk from her confidence; and as the secret broodings of -jealousy cherished her suspicions, she became less kind to her, even in -manner. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, observing the change, at first attributed it to accident, and -afterwards to a temporary displeasure arising from some little -inadvertency in her conduct. She, therefore, increased her assiduities; -but perceiving, contrary to all expectation, that her efforts to please -failed of their usual consequence, and that the reserve of Madame's -manner rather increased than abated, she became seriously uneasy, and -resolved to seek an explanation. This Madame La Motte as sedulously -avoided, and was for some time able to prevent. Adeline, however, too -much interested in the event to yield to delicate scruples, pressed the -subject so closely, that Madame, at first agitated and confused, at -length invented some idle excuse, and laughed off the affair. -</p> - -<p> -She now saw the necessity of subduing all appearance of reserve towards -Adeline; and though her art could not conquer the prejudices of passion, -it taught her to assume, with tolerable success, the aspect of kindness. -Adeline was deceived, and was again at peace. Indeed, confidence in the -sincerity and goodness of others was her weakness. But the pangs of -stifled jealousy struck deeper to the heart of Madame La Motte, and she -resolved, at all events, to obtain some certainty upon the subject of -her suspicions. -</p> - -<p> -She now condescended to a meanness which she had before despised, and -ordered Peter to watch the steps of his master, in order to discover, if -possible, the place of his visitation! So much did passion win upon her -judgment, by time and indulgence, that she sometimes ventured even to -doubt the integrity of Adeline, and afterwards proceeded to believe it -possible that the object of La Motte's rambles might be an assignation -with her. What suggested this conjecture was, that Adeline frequently -took long walks alone in the forest, and sometimes was absent from the -abbey for many hours. This circumstance, which Madame La Motte had at -first attributed to Adeline's fondness for the picturesque beauties of -nature, now operated forcibly upon her imagination, and she could view -it in no other light, than as affording an opportunity for secret -conversation with her husband. -</p> - -<p> -Peter obeyed the orders of his mistress with alacrity, for they were -warmly seconded by his own curiosity. All his endeavours were, however, -fruitless; he never dared to follow La Motte near enough to observe the -place of his last retreat. Her impatience thus heightened by delay, and -her passion stimulated by difficulty, Madame La Motte now resolved to -apply to her husband for an explanation of his conduct. -</p> - -<p> -After some consideration concerning the manner most likely to succeed -with him, she went to La Motte; but when she entered the room where he -sat, forgetting all her concerted address, she fell at his feet, and was -for some moments lost in tears. Surprised at her attitude and distress, -he inquired the occasion of it, and was answered, that it was caused by -his own conduct. My conduct! What part of it, pray? inquired he. -</p> - -<p> -Your reserve, your secret sorrow, and frequent absence from the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -Is it then so wonderful, that a man who has lost almost every thing -should sometimes lament his misfortunes? or so criminal to attempt -concealing his grief, that he must be blamed for it by those whom he -would save from the pain of sharing it? -</p> - -<p> -Having uttered these words, he quitted the room, leaving Madame La Motte -lost in surprise, but somewhat relieved from the pressure of her former -suspicions. Still however, she pursued Adeline with an eye of scrutiny; -and the mask of kindness would sometimes fall off, and discover the -features of distrust. Adeline, without exactly knowing why, felt less at -ease and less happy in her presence than formerly; her spirits drooped, -and she would often, when alone, weep at the forlornness of her -condition. Formerly, her remembrance of past sufferings was lost in the -friendship of Madame La Motte; now, though her behaviour was too guarded -to betray any striking instances of unkindness, there was something in -her manner which chilled the hopes of Adeline, unable as she was to -analyze it. But a circumstance which soon occurred, suspended for a -while the jealousy of Madame La Motte, and roused her husband from his -state of gloomy stupefaction. -</p> - -<p> -Peter, having been one day to Auboine for the weekly supply of -provisions, returned with intelligence that awakened in La Motte new -apprehension and anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -Oh, Sir! I have heard something that has astonished me, as well it may, -cried Peter, and so it will you when you come to know it. As I was -standing in the blacksmith's shop, while the smith was driving a nail -into the horse's shoe (by the by, the horse lost it in an odd way, I'll -tell you, Sir, how it was)— -</p> - -<p> -Nay, prithee leave it till another time, and go on with your story. -</p> - -<p> -Why then, Sir, as I was standing in the blacksmith's shop, comes in a -man with a pipe in his mouth, and a large pouch of tobacco in his -hand— -</p> - -<p> -Well—what has the pipe to do with the story? -</p> - -<p> -Nay, Sir, you put me out; I can't go on, unless you let me tell it my -own way. As I was saying—with a pipe in his mouth—I think I was -there your honour! -</p> - -<p> -Yes, yes. -</p> - -<p> -He sets himself down on the bench, and, taking the pipe from his mouth, -says to the blacksmith—Neighbour, do you know any body of the Name of -La Motte hereabouts!—Bless your honour, I turned all of a cold sweat -in a minute!—Is not your honour well! shall I fetch you any thing? -</p> - -<p> -No—but be short in your narrative. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte! La Motte! said the blacksmith, I think I've heard the -name.—Have you? said I, you're cunning then, for there's no such -person hereabouts, to my knowledge. -</p> - -<p> -Fool!—why did you say that? -</p> - -<p> -Because I did not want them to know your honour was here; and if I had -not managed very cleverly, they would have found me out. There is no -such person hereabouts, to my knowledge, says I.—Indeed! says the -blacksmith, you know more of the neighbourhood than I do then.—Aye, -says the man with the pipe, that's very true. How came you to know so -much of the neighbourhood? I came here twenty-six years ago, come next -St. Michael, and you know more than I do. How came you to know so much? -</p> - -<p> -With that he put his pipe in his mouth, and gave a whiff full in my -face. Lord! your honour, I trembled from head to foot. Nay, as for that -matter says I, I don't know more than other people, but I'm sure I never -heard of such a man as that.—Pray, says the blacksmith, staring me -full in the face, an't you the man that was inquiring some time since about -St. Clair's abbey?—Well, what of that? says I, what does that -prove?—Why they say somebody lives in the abbey now, said the man, -turning to the other; and, for aught I know, it may be this same La -Motte.—Aye, or for aught I know either, says the man with the pipe, -getting up from the bench, and you know more of this than you'll own. I'll -lay my life on't, this Monsieur La Motte lives at the abbey.—Aye, -says I, you are out there, for he does not live at the abbey now. -</p> - -<p> -Confound your folly! cried La Motte; but be quick—how did the matter -end? -</p> - -<p> -My master does not live there now, said I.—Oh! oh! said the man -with the pipe; he is your master then? And pray how long has he left the -abbey—and where does he live now?—Hold, said I, not so -fast—I know when to speak and when to hold my tongue—but who -has been inquiring for him? -</p> - -<p> -What! he expected somebody to inquire for him? says the man.—No, says -I, he did not, but if he did, what does that prove?—that argues -nothing. With that he looked at the blacksmith, and they went out of the -shop together, leaving my horse's shoe undone. But I never minded that, -for the moment they were gone, I mounted and rode away as fast as I -could. But in my fright, your honour, I forgot to take the round about -way, and so came straight home. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte, extremely shocked at Peter's intelligence, made no other reply -than by cursing his folly, and immediately went in search of Madame, who -was walking with Adeline on the banks of the river. La Motte was too -much agitated to soften his information by preface. We are discovered! -said he, the king's officers have been inquiring for me at Auboine, and -Peter has blundered upon my ruin. He then informed her of what Peter had -related, and bade her prepare to quit the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -But whither can we fly? said Madame La Motte, scarcely able to support -herself. Any where! said he: to stay here is certain destruction. We -must take refuge in Switzerland, I think. If any part of France would -have concealed me, surely it had been this! -</p> - -<p> -Alas, how are we persecuted! rejoined Madame. This spot is scarcely made -comfortable, before we are obliged to leave it, and go we know not -whither. -</p> - -<p> -I wish we may not yet know whither, replied La Motte, that is the least -evil that threatens us. Let us escape a prison, and I care not whither -we go. But return to the abbey immediately, and pack up what moveables -you can.—A flood of tears came to the relief of Madame La Motte, and -she hung upon Adeline's arm, silent and trembling. Adeline, though she -had no comfort to bestow, endeavoured to command her feelings and appear -composed. Come, said La Motte, we waste time; let us lament hereafter, -but at present prepare for flight; exert a little of that fortitude -which is so necessary for our preservation. Adeline does not weep, yet -her state is as wretched as your own, for I know not how long I shall be -able to protect her. -</p> - -<p> -Notwithstanding her terror, this reproof touched the pride of Madame La -Motte, who dried her tears, but disdained to reply, and looked at -Adeline with a strong expression of displeasure. As they moved silently -toward the abbey, Adeline asked La Motte if he was sure they were the -king's officers who inquired for him. I cannot doubt it, he replied, who -else could possibly inquire for me? Besides, the behaviour of the man, -who mentioned my name, puts the matter beyond a question. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps not, said Madame La Motte: let us wait till morning ere we set -off. We may then find it will be unnecessary to go. -</p> - -<p> -We may, indeed; the king's officers would probably by that time have -told us as much. La Motte went to give orders to Peter. Set off in an -hour! said Peter, Lord bless you, master! only consider the coach wheel; -it would take me a day at least to mend it, for your honour knows I -never mended one in my life. -</p> - -<p> -This was a circumstance which La Motte had entirely overlooked. When -they settled at the abbey, Peter had at first been too busy in repairing -the apartments, to remember the carriage; and afterwards, believing it -would not quickly be wanted, he had neglected to do it. La Motte's -temper now entirely forsook him, and with many execrations he ordered -Peter to go to work immediately: but on searching for the materials -formerly bought, they were no where to be found; and Peter at length -remembered, though he was prudent enough to conceal this circumstance, -that he had used the nails in repairing the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -It was now, therefore, impossible to quit the forest that night, and La -Motte had only to consider the most probable plan of concealment, should -the officers of justice visit the ruin before the morning; a -circumstance which the thoughtlessness of Peter, in returning from -Auboine by the straight way, made not unlikely. -</p> - -<p> -At first, indeed, it occurred to him, that, though his family could not -be removed, he might himself take one of the horses, and escape from the -forest before night. But he thought there would still be some danger of -detection in the towns through which he must pass, and he could not well -bear the idea of leaving his family unprotected, without knowing when he -could return to them, or whither he could direct them to follow him. La -Motte was not a man of very vigorous resolution, and he was, perhaps, -rather more willing to suffer in company than alone. -</p> - -<p> -After much consideration, he recollected the trap-door of the closet -belonging to the chambers above. It was invisible to the eye and -whatever might be its direction, it would securely shelter <i>him</i>, at -least, from discovery. Having deliberated further upon the subject he -determined to explore the recess to which the stairs led, and thought it -possible that for a short time his whole family might be concealed -within it. There was little time between the suggestion of the plan and -the execution of his purpose, for darkness was spreading around, and in -every murmur of the wind he thought he heard the voices of his enemies. -</p> - -<p> -He called for a light, and ascended alone to the chamber. When he came -to the closet, it was some time before he could find the trap-door, so -exactly did it correspond with the boards of the floor. At length, he -found and raised it. The chill damps of long confined air rushed from -the aperture, and he stood for a moment to let them pass, ere he -descended. As he stood looking down the abyss, he recollected the report -which Peter had brought concerning the abbey, and it gave him an uneasy -sensation. But this soon yielded to more pressing interests. -</p> - -<p> -The stairs were steep, and in many places trembled beneath his weight. -Having continued to descend for some time, his feet touched the ground, -and he found himself in a narrow passage; but as he turned to pursue it, -the damp vapours curled round him and extinguished the light. He called -aloud for Peter, but could make nobody hear, and after some time he -endeavoured to find his way up the stairs. In this, with difficulty, he -succeeded, and passing the chambers with cautious steps descended the -tower. -</p> - -<p> -The security which the place he had just quitted seemed to promise, was -of too much importance to be slightly rejected, and he determined -immediately to make another experiment with the light:—having now -fixed it in a lantern, he descended a second time to the passage. The -current of vapours occasioned by the opening of the trap-door was abated, -and the fresh air thence admitted had begun to circulate: La Motte passed -on unmolested. -</p> - -<p> -The passage was of considerable length, and led him to a door which was -fastened. He placed the lantern at some distance, to avoid the current -of air, and applied his strength to the door. It shook under his hands, -but did not yield. Upon examining it more closely, he perceived the wood -round the lock was decayed, probably by the damps, and this encouraged -him to proceed. After some time it gave way to his effort, and he found -himself in a square stone room. -</p> - -<p> -He stood for some time to survey it. The walls, which were dripping with -unwholesome dews, were entirely bare, and afforded not even a window. A -small iron grate alone admitted the air. At the further end, near a low -recess, was another door. La Motte went towards it, and, as he passed, -looked into the recess. Upon the ground within it stood a large chest, -which he went forward to examine; and, lifting the lid, he saw the -remains of a human skeleton. Horror struck upon his heart, and he -involuntarily stepped back. During a pause of some moments, his first -emotion subsided. That thrilling curiosity, which objects of terror -often excite in the human mind, impelled him to take a second view of -this dismal spectacle. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte stood motionless as he gazed; the object before him seemed to -confirm the report that some person had formerly been murdered in the -abbey. At length he closed the chest, and advanced to the second door, -which also was fastened, but the key was in the lock. He turned it with -difficulty, and then found the door was held by two strong bolts. Having -undrawn these, it disclosed a flight of steps, which he descended. They -terminated in a chain of low vaults, or rather cells, that, from the -manner of their construction and present condition, seemed to be coeval -with the most ancient parts of the abbey. La Motte, in his then -depressed state of mind, thought them the burial places of the monks, -who formerly inhabited the pile above; but they were more calculated for -places of penance for the living, than of rest for the dead. -</p> - -<p> -Having reached the extremity of these cells, the way was again closed by -a door. La Motte now hesitated whether he should attempt to proceed any -further. The present spot seemed to afford the security he sought. Here -he might pass the night unmolested by apprehension of discovery; and it -was most probable, that if the officers arrived in the night, and found -the abbey vacated, they would quit it before morning, or, at least, -before he could have any occasion to emerge from concealment. These -considerations restored his mind to a state of greater composure. His -only immediate care was to bring his family, as soon as possible, to -this place of security, lest the officers should come unawares upon -them; and while he stood thus musing, he blamed himself for delay. -</p> - -<p> -But an irresistible desire of knowing to what this door led, arrested -his steps, and he turned to open it. The door, however, was fastened; -and as he attempted to force it, he suddenly thought he heard a noice -above. It now occurred to him that the officers might already have -arrived, and he quitted the cells with precipitation, intending to -listen at the trap-door. -</p> - -<p> -There, said he, I may wait in security, and perhaps hear something of -what passes. My family will not be known, or at least not hurt, and -their uneasiness on my account they must learn to endure. -</p> - -<p> -These were the arguments of La Motte, in which, it must be owned, -selfish prudence was more conspicuous than tender anxiety for his wife. -He had by this time reached the bottom of the stairs, when, on looking -up, he perceived the trap-door was left open; and ascending in haste to -close it, he heard footsteps advancing through the chambers above. -Before he could descend entirely out of sight, he again looked up, and -perceived through the aperture the face of a man looking down, upon him. -Master, cried Peter.—La Motte was somewhat relieved at the sound of -his voice, though angry that he had occasioned, him so much terror. -</p> - -<p> -What brings you here, and what is the matter below? -</p> - -<p> -Nothing, Sir, nothing's the matter, only my mistress sent me to see -after your honour. -</p> - -<p> -There's nobody there then? said La Motte, setting his foot upon the -step. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, Sir, there is my mistress and Mademoiselle Adeline, and— -</p> - -<p> -Well—well—said La Motte briskly, go your ways, I am coming. -</p> - -<p> -He informed Madame La Motte where he had been, and of his intention of -secreting himself, and deliberated upon the means of convincing the -officers, should they arrive, that he had quitted the abbey. For this -purpose he ordered all the moveable furniture to be conveyed to the -cells below. La Motte himself assisted in this business, and every hand -was employed for dispatch. In a very short time the habitable part of -the fabric was left almost as desolate as he had found it. He then bade -Peter take the horses to a distance from the abbey and turn them loose. -After further consideration, he thought it might contribute to mislead -them, if he placed in some conspicuous part of the fabric an -inscription, signifying his condition, and mentioning the date of his -departure from the abbey. Over the door of the tower which led to the -habitable part of the structure, he therefore cut the following lines: -</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>O ye! whom misfortune may lead to this spot,<br /> -Learn that there are others as miserable as yourselves.</p> - -<p>P——L—M——a wretched exile, sought within -these walls a refuge from persecution on the 27th of April, 1658, and -quitted them on the 12th of July in the same year, in search of a more -convenient asylum.</p> -</blockquote> - -<p> -After engraving these words with a knife, the small stock of provisions -remaining from the week's supply (for Peter, in his fright, had returned -unloaded from his last journey) was put into a basket; and La Motte -having assembled his family, they all ascended the stairs of the tower, -and passed through the chambers to the closet. Peter went first with a -light, and with some difficulty found the trap-door. Madame La Motte -shuddered as she surveyed the gloomy abyss; but they were all silent. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now took the light and led the way; Madame followed, and then -Adeline. These old monks loved good wine as well as other people, said -Peter, who brought up the rear; I warrant your honour, now, this was -their cellar; I smell the casks already. -</p> - -<p> -Peace, said La Motte, reserve your jokes for a proper occasion. -</p> - -<p> -There is no harm in loving good wine, as your honour knows. -</p> - -<p> -Have done with this buffoonery, said La Motte in a tone more -authoritative, and go first. Peter obeyed. -</p> - -<p> -They came to the vaulted room. The dismal spectacle he had seen here, -deterred La Motte from passing a night in this chamber; and the -furniture had, by his own order, been conveyed to the cells below. He -was anxious that his family should not perceive the skeleton; an object -which would probably excite a degree of horror not to be overcome during -their stay. La Motte now passed the chest in haste; and Madame La Motte -and Adeline were too much engrossed by their own thoughts, to give -minute attention to external circumstances. -</p> - -<p> -When they reached the cells, Madame La Motte wept at the necessity which -condemned her to a spot so dismal. Alas, said she, are we indeed thus -reduced! The apartments above formerly appeared to me a deplorable -habitation; but they are a palace compared to these. -</p> - -<p> -True, my dear, said La Motte, and let the remembrance of what you once -thought them soothe your discontent now; these cells are also a palace -compared to the Bicêtre, or the Bastille, and to the terrors of further -punishment which would accompany them: let the apprehension of the -greater evil teach you to endure the less: I am contented if we find -here the refuge I seek. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte was silent, and Adeline, forgetting her late unkindness, -endeavoured as much as she could to console her; while her heart was -sinking with the misfortunes which she could not but anticipate, she -appeared composed, and even cheerful. She attended Madame La Motte with -the most watchful solicitude, and felt so thankful that La Motte was now -secreted within this recess, that she almost lost her perception of its -glooms and inconveniences. -</p> - -<p> -This she artlessly expressed to him, who could not be insensible to the -tenderness it discovered. Madame La Motte was also sensible of it, and -it renewed a painful sensation. The effusions of gratitude she mistook -for those of tenderness. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte returned frequently to the trap-door to listen if any body was -in the abbey; but no sound disturbed the stillness of night: at length -they sat down to supper; the repast was a melancholy one. If the -officers do not come hither to-night, said Madame La Motte, sighing, -suppose, my dear, Peter returns to Auboine to-morrow? He may there learn -something more of this affair; or, at least, he might procure a carriage -to convey us hence. -</p> - -<p> -To be sure he might, said La Motte peevishly, and people to attend it -also. Peter would be an excellent person to show the officers the way to -the abbey, and to inform them of what they might else be in doubt about, -my concealment here. -</p> - -<p> -How cruel is this irony! replied Madame La Motte. I proposed only what I -thought would be for our mutual good; my judgment was, perhaps, wrong, -but my intention was certainly right. Tears swelled into her eyes as she -spoke these words. Adeline wished to relieve her; but delicacy kept her -silent. La Motte observed the effect of his speech, and something like -remorse touched his heart. He approached, and taking her hand, You must -allow for the perturbation of my mind, said he, I did not mean to -afflict you thus. The idea of sending Peter to Auboine, where he has -already done so much harm by his blunders, teased me, and I could not -let it pass unnoticed. No, my dear, our only chance of safety is to -remain where we are while our provisions last. If the officers do not -come here to-night, they probably will to-morrow, or, perhaps, the next -day. When they have searched the abbey, without finding me, they will -depart; we may then emerge from this recess, and take measures for -removing to a distant country. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte acknowledged the justice of his words; and her mind -being relieved by the little apology he had made, she became tolerably -cheerful. Supper being ended, La Motte stationed the faithful though -simple Peter at the foot of the steps that ascended to the closet, there -to keep watch during the night. Having done this, he returned to the -lower cells, where he had left his little family. The beds were spread; -and having mournfully bidden each other good night, they lay down, and -implored rest. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline's thoughts were too busy to suffer her to repose, and when she -believed her companions were sunk in slumbers, she indulged the sorrow -which reflection brought. She also looked forward to the future with the -most mournful apprehension. Should La Motte be seized, what was to -become of her. She would then be a wanderer in the wide world; without -friends to protect, or money to support her. The prospect was -gloomy—was terrible! She surveyed it, and shuddered! The distresses -too of Monsieur and Madame La Motte, whom she loved with the most lively -affection, formed no inconsiderable part of hers. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes she looked back to her father; but in him she only saw an -enemy from whom she must fly: this remembrance heightened her sorrow; -yet it was not the recollection of the suffering he had occasioned her, -by which she was so much afflicted, as by the sense of his unkindness: -she wept bitterly. At length, with that artless piety which innocence -only knows, she addressed the Supreme Being, and resigned herself to his -care. Her mind then gradually became peaceful and reassured, and soon -after she sunk to repose. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<h4>A SURPRISE—AN ADVENTURE—A<br /> -MYSTERY.</h4> - -<p> -The night passed without any alarm; Peter had remained upon his post, -and heard nothing that prevented his sleeping. La Motte heard him, long -before he saw him, most musically snoring; though it must be owned there -was more of the bass than of any other part of the gamut in his -performance. He was soon roused by the <i>bravura</i> of La Motte, whose -notes sounded discord to his ears, and destroyed the torpor of his -tranquillity. -</p> - -<p> -God bless you, master! what's the matter? cried Peter, waking, are they -come? -</p> - -<p> -Yes, for aught you care, they might be come. Did I place you here to -sleep, sirrah? Bless you, master, returned Peter, sleep is the only -comfort to be had here; I'm sure I would not deny it to a dog in such a -place as this. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte sternly questioned him concerning any noise he might have heard -in the night; and Peter full as solemnly protested he had heard none; an -assertion which was strictly true, for he had enjoyed the comfort of -being asleep the whole time. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte ascended to the trap-door and listened attentively. No sounds -were heard, and as he ventured to lift it, the full light of the sun -burst upon his sight, the morning being now far advanced: he walked -softly along the chambers, and looked through a window—no person was -to be seen. Encouraged by this apparent security, he ventured down the -stairs of the tower, and entered the first apartment. He was proceeding -towards the second, when suddenly recollecting himself, he first peeped -through the crevice of the door, which stood half open. He looked, and -distinctly saw a person sitting near the window, upon which his arm -rested. -</p> - -<p> -The discovery so much shocked him, that for a moment he lost all -presence of mind, and was utterly unable to move from the spot. The -person, whose back was towards him, arose, and turned his head: La Motte -now recovered himself, and quitting the apartment as quickly and at the -same time as silently as possible, ascended to the closet. He raised the -trap-door, but, before he closed it, heard the footsteps of a person -entering the outward chamber. Bolts or other fastening to the trap there -was none; and his security depended solely upon the exact correspondence -of the boards. The outer door of the stone room had no means of defence, -and the fastenings of the inner one were on the wrong side to afford -security even till some means of escape could be found. -</p> - -<p> -When he reached this room he paused, and heard distinctly persons -walking in the closet above. While he was listening, he heard a voice -call him by name, and he instantly fled to the cells below, expecting -every moment to hear the trap lifted and the footsteps of pursuit; but -he was fled beyond the reach of hearing either. Having thrown himself on -the ground at the furthest extremity of the vaults, he lay for some time -breathless with agitation. Madame La Motte and Adeline, in the utmost -terror, inquired what had happened. It was some time before he could -speak; when he did, it was almost unnecessary, for the distant noises -which sounded from above, informed his family of a part of the truth. -</p> - -<p> -The sounds did not seem to approach; but Madame La Motte, unable to -command her terror, shrieked aloud: this redoubled the distress of La -Motte. You have already destroyed me, cried he; that shriek has informed -them where I am. He traversed the cells with clasped hands and quick -steps. Adeline stood pale and still as death, supporting Madame La -Motte, whom with difficulty she prevented from fainting. O! Dupras! -Dupras! you are already avenged! said he in a voice that seemed to burst -from his heart: there was a pause of silence. But why should I deceive -myself with a hope of escaping? he resumed; why do I wait here for their -coming? Let me rather end those torturing pangs by throwing myself into -their hands at once. -</p> - -<p> -As he spoke, he moved towards the door; but the distress of Madame La -Motte arrested his steps. Stay, said she, for my sake, stay; do not -leave me thus, nor throw yourself voluntarily into destruction! -</p> - -<p> -Surely, Sir, said Adeline, you are too precipitate; this despair is -useless, as it is ill-founded. We hear no person approaching; if the -officers had discovered the trap-door, they would certainly have been -here before now. The words of Adeline stilled the tumult of his mind: -the agitation of terror subsided; and reason beamed a feeble ray upon -his hopes. He listened attentively; and perceiving that all was silent, -advanced with caution to the stone room, and thence to the foot of the -stairs that led to the trap-door. It was closed: no sound was heard -above. -</p> - -<p> -He watched a long time, and the silence continuing, his hopes -strengthened; and at length he began to believe that the officers had -quitted the abbey; the day, however, was spent in anxious watchfulness. -He did not dare to unclose the trap-door; and he frequently thought he -heard distant noises. It was evident, however, that the secret of the -closet had escaped discovery; and on this circumstance he justly founded -his security. The following night was passed, like the day, in trembling -hope and incessant watching. -</p> - -<p> -But the necessities of hunger now threatened them. The provisions, which -had been distributed with the nicest economy, were nearly exhausted, and -the most deplorable consequences might be expected from their remaining -longer in concealment. Thus circumstanced, La Motte deliberated upon the -most prudent method of proceeding. There appeared no other alternative, -than to send Peter to Auboine, the only town from which he could return -within the time prescribed by their necessities. There was game, indeed, -in the forest; but Peter could neither handle a gun nor use a fishing -rod to any advantage. -</p> - -<p> -It was therefore agreed he should go to Auboine for a supply of -provisions, and at the same time bring materials for mending the -coach-wheel, that they might have some ready conveyance from the forest. -La Motte forbade Peter to ask any questions concerning the people who -had inquired for him, or take any methods for discovering whether they -had quitted the country, lest his blunders should again betray him. He -ordered him to be entirely silent as to these subjects, and to finish -his business and leave the place with all possible dispatch. -</p> - -<p> -A difficulty yet remained to be overcome—Who should first venture -abroad into the abbey, to learn whether it was vacated by the officers -of justice? La Motte considered that if he was again seen, he should be -effectually betrayed; which would not be so certain if one of his family -was observed, for they were all unknown to the officers. It was -necessary, however, that the person he sent should have courage enough -to go through with the inquiry, and wit enough to conduct it with -caution. Peter, perhaps, had the first; but was certainly destitute of -the last. Annette had neither. La Motte looked at his wife, and asked -her if, for his sake, she dared to venture. Her heart shrunk from the -proposal, yet she was unwilling to refuse, or appear indifferent upon a -point so essential to the safety of her husband. Adeline observed in her -countenance the agitation of her mind, and, surmounting the fears which -had hitherto kept her silent, she offered herself to go. -</p> - -<p> -They will be less likely to offend me, said she, than a man—Shame -would not suffer La Motte to accept her offer; and Madame, touched with the -magnanimity of her conduct, felt a momentary renewal of all her former -kindness. Adeline pressed her proposal so warmly, and seemed so much in -earnest, that La Motte began to hesitate. You, Sir, said she, once -preserved me from the most imminent danger, and your kindness has since -protected me: do not refuse me the satisfaction of deserving your -goodness by a grateful return of it. Let me go into the abbey; and if, -by so doing, I should preserve you from evil, I shall be sufficiently -rewarded for what little danger I may incur, for my pleasure will be at -least equal to yours. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte could scarcely refrain from tears as Adeline spoke; and -La Motte sighing deeply, said, Well, be it so; go, Adeline, and from -this moment consider me as your debtor. Adeline staid not to reply, but -taking a light, quitted the cells. La Motte following to raise the -trap-door, and cautioning her to look, if possible, into every apartment -before she entered it. If you <i>should</i> be seen, said he, you must -account for your appearance so as not to discover me. Your own presence -of mind may assist you, I cannot—God bless you! -</p> - -<p> -When she was gone, Madame La Motte's admiration of her conduct began to -yield to other emotions. Distrust gradually undermined kindness, and -jealousy raised suspicions. It must be a sentiment more powerful than -gratitude, thought she, that could teach Adeline to subdue her fears. -What, but love, could influence her to a conduct so generous! Madame La -Motte, when she found it impossible to account for Adeline's conduct -without alleging some interested motives for it, however her suspicions -might agree with the practice of the world, had surely forgotten how -much she once admired the purity and disinterestedness of her young -friend. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, mean while, ascended to the chambers: the cheerful beams of the -sun played once more upon her sight, and reanimated her spirits; she -walked lightly through the apartments, nor stopped till she came to the -stairs of the tower. Here she stood for some time, but no sounds met her -ear, save the sighing of the wind among the trees, and at length she -descended. She passed the apartments below without seeing any person, -and the little furniture that remained seemed to stand exactly as she -had left it. She now ventured to look out from the tower: the only -animate objects that appeared were the deer quietly grazing under the -shade of the woods. Her favourite little fawn distinguished Adeline, and -came bounding towards her with strong marks of joy. She was somewhat -alarmed lest the animal, being observed, should betray her, and walked -swiftly away through the cloisters. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure02.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -She opened the door that lead to the great hall of the abbey, but the -passage was so gloomy and dark that she feared to enter it, and started -back. It was necessary, however, that she should examine further, -particularly on the opposite side of the ruin, of which she had hitherto -had no view: but her fears returned when she recollected how far it -would lead her from her only place of refuge, and how difficult it would -be to retreat. She hesitated what to do; but when she recollected her -obligations to La Motte, and considered this as perhaps her only -opportunity of doing him a service, she determined to proceed. -</p> - -<p> -As these thoughts passed rapidly over her mind, she raised her innocent -looks to heaven, and breathed a silent prayer. With trembling steps she -proceeded over fragments of the ruin, looking anxiously around, and -often starting as the breeze rustled among the trees, mistaking it for -the whisperings of men. She came to the lawn which fronted the fabric, -but no person was to be seen, and her spirits revived. The great door of -the hall she now endeavoured to open; but suddenly remembering that it -was fastened by La Motte's orders, she proceeded to the north end of the -abbey, and, having surveyed the prospect around as far as the thick -foliage of the trees would permit, without perceiving any person, she -turned her steps to the tower from which she had issued. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was now light of heart, and returned with impatience to inform -La Motte of his security. In the cloisters she was again met by her -little favourite, and stopped for a moment to caress it. The fawn seemed -sensible to the sound of her voice, and discovered new joy; but while -she spoke, it suddenly started from her hand, and looking up, she -perceived the door of the passage, leading to the great hall, open, and -a man in the habit of a soldier issue forth. -</p> - -<p> -With the swiftness of an arrow she fled along the cloisters, nor once -ventured to look back; but a voice called to her to stop, and she heard -steps advancing quick in pursuit. Before she could reach the tower, her -breath failed her, and she leaned against a pillar of the ruin, pale and -exhausted. The man came up, and gazing at her with a strong expression -of surprise and curiosity, he assumed a gentle manner, assured her she -had nothing to fear, and inquired if she belonged to La Motte. Observing -that she still looked terrified and remained silent, he repeated his -assurances and his question. -</p> - -<p> -I know that he is concealed within the ruin, said the stranger; the -occasion of his concealment I also know; but it is of the utmost -importance I should see him, and he will then be convinced he has -nothing to fear from me. Adeline trembled so excessively, that it was -with difficulty she could support herself—she hesitated, and knew not -what to reply. Her manner seemed to confirm the suspicions of the -stranger, and her consciousness of this increased her embarrassment: he -took advantage of it to press her further. Adeline at length, replied -that La Motte had some time since resided at the abbey. And does still. -Madam, said the stranger; lead me to where he may be found—I must see -him, and— -</p> - -<p> -Never, Sir, replied Adeline; and I solemnly assure you it will be in -vain to search for him. -</p> - -<p> -That I must try, resumed he, since you, Madam, will not assist me. I -have already followed him to some chambers above, where I suddenly lost -him; thereabouts he must be concealed, and it's plain therefore they -afford some secret passage. -</p> - -<p> -Without waiting Adeline's reply, he sprung to the door of the tower. She -now thought it would betray a consciousness of the truth of his -conjecture to follow him, and resolved to remain below. But upon further -consideration, it occurred to her that he might steal silently into the -closet, and possibly surprise La Motte at the door of the trap. She -therefore hastened after him, that her voice might prevent the danger -she apprehended. He was already in the second chamber when she overtook -him: she immediately began to speak aloud. -</p> - -<p> -This room he searched with the most scrupulous care; but finding no -private door, or other outlet, he proceeded to the closet: then it was -that it required all her fortitude to conceal her agitation. He -continued the search. Within these chambers I know he is concealed, said -he, though hitherto I have not been able to discover how. It was hither -I followed a man, whom I believe to be him, and he could not escape -without a passage; I shall not quit the place till I have found it. -</p> - -<p> -He examined the walls and the boards, but without discovering the -division of the floor, which indeed so exactly corresponded, that La -Motte himself had not perceived it by the eye, but by the trembling of -the floor beneath his feet. Here is some mystery, said the stranger, -which I cannot comprehend, and perhaps never shall. He was turning to -quit the closet, when, who can paint the distress of Adeline, upon -seeing the trap-door gently raised, and La Motte himself appeared! Hah! -cried the stranger, advancing eagerly to him. La Motte sprang forward, -and they were locked in each other's arms. -</p> - -<p> -The astonishment of Adeline, for a moment, surpassed even her former -distress; but a remembrance darted across her mind, which explained the -present scene, and before La Motte could exclaim My son! she knew the -stranger as such. Peter, who stood at the foot of the stairs, and heard -what passed above, flew to acquaint his mistress with the joyful -discovery, and in a few moments she was folded in the embrace of her -son. This spot, so lately the mansion of despair, seemed metamorphosed -into the palace of pleasure, and the walls echoed only to the accents of -joy and congratulation. -</p> - -<p> -The joy of Peter on this occasion was beyond expression: he acted a perfect -pantomime—he capered about, clasped his hands—ran to his young -master—shook him by the hand, in spite of the frowns of La Motte; ran -every where, without knowing for what, and gave no rational answer to -any thing that was said to him. -</p> - -<p> -After their first emotions were subsided, La Motte, as if suddenly -recollecting himself, resumed his wanted solemnity: I am to blame, said -he, thus to give way to joy, when I am still, perhaps surrounded by -danger. Let us secure a retreat while it is yet in our power, continued -he; in a few hours the king's officers may search for me again. -</p> - -<p> -Louis comprehended his father's words, and immediately relieved his -apprehensions by the following relation:— -</p> - -<p> -A letter from Monsieur Nemours, containing an account of your flight -from Paris, reached me at Peronne, where I was then upon duty with my -regiment. He mentioned that you were gone towards the south of France, -but as he had not since heard from you, he was ignorant of the place of -your refuge. It was about this time that I was dispatched into Flanders; -and being unable to obtain further intelligence of you, I passed some -weeks of very painful solicitude. At the conclusion of the campaign I -obtained leave of absence, and immediately set out for Paris, hoping to -learn from Nemours where you had found an asylum. -</p> - -<p> -Of this, however, he was equally ignorant with myself. He informed me -that you had once before written to him from D——, upon your -second day's journey from Paris, under an assumed name, as had been -agreed upon; and that you then said the fear of discovery would prevent -your hazarding another letter. He therefore remained ignorant of your -abode, but said he had no doubt you had continued your journey to the -southward. Upon this slender information I quitted Paris in search of -you, and proceeded immediately to V——, where my inquiries -concerning your further progress were successful as far as -M——. There they told me you had staid some time, on account -of the illness of a young lady; a circumstance which perplexed me much, -as I could not imagine what young lady would accompany you. I proceeded, -however, to L——; but there all traces of you seemed to be -lost. As I sat musing at the window of the inn, I observed some -scribbling on the glass, and the curiosity of idleness prompted me to -read it. I thought I knew the characters, and the lines I read confirmed -my conjectures, for I remembered to have heard you often repeat them. -</p> - -<p> -Here I renewed my inquiries concerning your route, and at length I made -the people of the inn recollect you, and traced you as far as Auboine. -There I again lost you, till upon my return from a fruitless inquiry in -the neighbourhood, the landlord of the little inn where I lodged, told -me he believed he had heard news of you, and immediately recounted what -had happened at a blacksmith's shop a few hours before. -</p> - -<p> -His description of Peter was so exact, that I had not a doubt it was you -who inhabited the abbey; and as I knew your necessity for concealment, -Peter's denial did not shake my confidence. The next morning, with the -assistance of my landlord, I found my way hither, and having searched -every visible part of the fabric, I began to credit Peter's assertion: -your appearance, however, destroyed this fear, by proving that the place -was still inhabited, for you disappeared so instantaneously that I was -not certain it was you whom I had seen. I continued seeking you till -near the close of day, and till then scarcely quitted the chambers -whence you had disappeared. I called on you repeatedly, believing that -my voice might convince you of your mistake. At length I retired to pass -the night at a cottage near the border of the forest. -</p> - -<p> -I came early this morning to renew my inquiries, and hoped that, -believing yourself safe, you would emerge from concealment. But how was -I disappointed to find the abbey as silent and solitary as I had left it -the preceding evening! I was returning once more from the great hall, -when the voice of this young lady caught my ear, and effected the -discovery I had so anxiously sought. -</p> - -<p> -This little narrative entirely dissipated the late apprehensions of La -Motte; but he now dreaded that the inquiries of his son, and his own -obvious desire of concealment, might excite a curiosity amongst the -people of Auboine, and lead to a discovery of his true circumstances. -However, for the present he determined to dismiss all painful thoughts, -and endeavour to enjoy the comfort which the presence of his son had -brought him. The furniture was removed to a more habitable part of the -abbey, and the cells were again abandoned to their own glooms. -</p> - -<p> -The arrival of her son seemed to have animated Madame La Motte with new -life, and all her afflictions were, for the present, absorbed in joy. -She often gazed silently on him with a mother's fondness, and her -partiality heightened every improvement which time had wrought in his -person and manner. He was now in his twenty-third year; his person was -manly and his air military; his manners were unaffected and graceful, -rather than dignified; and though his features were irregular, they -composed a countenance which, having seen it once, you would seek it -again. -</p> - -<p> -She made eager inquiries after the friends she had left at Paris, and -learned that within the few months of her absence some had died and -others quitted the place. La Motte also learned that a very strenuous -search for him had been prosecuted at Paris; and, though this -intelligence was only what he had before expected, it shocked him so -much, that he now declared it would be expedient to remove to a distant -country. Louis did not scruple to say that he thought he would be as -safe at the abbey as at any other place; and repeated what Nemours had -said, that the king's officers had been unable to trace any part of his -route from Paris. -</p> - -<p> -Besides, resumed Louis, this abbey is protected by a supernatural power, -and none of the country people dare approach it. -</p> - -<p> -Please you, my young master, said Peter, who was waiting in the room, we -were frightened enough the first night we came here, and I myself, God -forgive me! thought the place was inhabited by devils, but they were -only owls, and such like, after all. -</p> - -<p> -Your opinion was not asked, said La Motte, learn to be silent. -</p> - -<p> -Peter was abashed. When he had quitted the room, La Motte asked his son -with seeming carelessness, what were the reports circulated by the -country people? O! Sir, replies Louis, I cannot recollect half of them: -I remember, however, they said that, many years ago, a person (but -nobody had ever seen him, so we may judge how far the report ought to be -credited)—a person was privately brought to this abbey, and confined -in some part of it, and that there was strong reasons to believe he came -unfairly to his end. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte sighed. They further said, continued Louis, that the spectre of -the deceased had ever since watched nightly among the ruins: and to make -the story more wonderful, for the marvellous is the delight of the -vulgar, they added, that there was a certain part of the ruin from -whence no person that had dared to explore it, had ever returned. Thus -people, who have few objects of real interest to engage their thoughts, -conjure up for themselves imaginary ones. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte sat musing. And what were the reasons, said he, at length -awaking from his reverie, they pretended to assign for believing the -person confined here was murdered? -</p> - -<p> -They did not use a term so positive as that, replied Louis. -</p> - -<p> -True, said La Motte, recollecting himself, they only said he came -unfairly to his end. -</p> - -<p> -That is a nice distinction, said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Why I could not well comprehend what these reasons were, resumed Louis; -the people indeed say, that the person who was brought here, was never -known to depart; but I do not find it certain that he ever arrived: that -there was strange privacy and mystery observed, while he was here, and -that the abbey has never since been inhabited by its owner. There seems, -however, to be nothing in all this that deserves to be remembered.—La -Motte raised his head, as if to reply, when the entrance of Madame -turned the discourse upon a new subject, and it was not resumed that -day. -</p> - -<p> -Peter was now dispatched for provisions, while La Motte and Louis -retired to consider how far it was safe for them to continue at the -abbey. La Motte, notwithstanding the assurances lately given him, could -not but think that Peter's blunders and his son's inquiries might lead -to a discovery of his residence. He revolved this in his mind for some -time; but at length a thought struck him, that the latter of these -circumstances might considerably contribute to his security. If you, -said he to Louis, return to the inn at Auboine, from whence you were -directed here, and without seeming to intend giving intelligence, <i>do</i> -give the landlord an account of your having found the abbey uninhabited, -and then add, that you had discovered the residence of the person you -sought in some distant town, it would suppress any reports that may at -present exist, and prevent the belief of any in future. And if, after -all this, you can trust yourself for presence of mind and command of -countenance, so far as to describe some dreadful apparition, I think -these circumstances, together with the distance of the abbey and the -intricacies of the forest, could entitle me to consider this place as my -castle. -</p> - -<p> -Louis agreed to all that his father had proposed, and on the following -day executed his commission with such success, that the tranquillity of -the abbey might be then said to have been entirely restored. -</p> - -<p> -Thus ended this adventure, the only one that had occurred to disturb the -family during their residence in the forest. Adeline, removed from the -apprehension of those evils with which the late situation of La Motte -had threatened her, and from the depression which her interest in his -occasioned her, now experienced a more than usual complacency of mind. -She thought, too, that she observed in Madame La Motte a renewal of her -former kindness; and this circumstance awakened all her gratitude, and -imparted to her a pleasure as lively as it was innocent. The -satisfaction with which the presence of her son inspired Madame La -Motte, Adeline mistook for kindness to herself, and she exerted her -whole attention in an endeavour to become worthy of it. -</p> - -<p> -But the joy which his unexpected arrival had given to La Motte quickly -began to evaporate, and the gloom of despondency again settled on his -countenance. He returned frequently to his haunt in the forest—the -same mysterious sadness tinctured his manner, and revived the anxiety of -Madame La Motte, who was resolved to acquaint her son with this subject -of distress, and solicit his assistance to penetrate its source. -</p> - -<p> -Her jealousy of Adeline, however, she could not communicate, though it -again tormented her, and taught her to misconstrue with wonderful -ingenuity every look and word of La Motte, and often to mistake the -artless expressions of Adeline's gratitude and regard for those of -warmer tenderness. Adeline had formerly accustomed herself to long walks -in the forest, and the design Madame had formed of watching her steps, -had been frustrated by the late circumstances, and was now entirely -overcome by her sense of its difficulty and danger. To employ Peter in -the affair, would be to acquaint him with her fears; and to follow her -herself, would most probably betray her scheme, by making Adeline aware -of her jealousy. Being thus restrained by pride and delicacy, she was -obliged to endure the pangs of uncertainty concerning the greatest part -of her suspicions. -</p> - -<p> -To Louis, however, she related the mysterious change in his father's -temper. He listened to her account with very earnest attention, and the -surprise and concern impressed upon his countenance spoke how much his -heart was interested. He was, however, involved in equal perplexity with -herself upon this subject, and readily undertook to observe the motions -of La Motte, believing his interference likely to be of equal service, -both to his father and his mother. He saw, in some degree, the -suspicions of his mother; but as he thought she wished to disguise her -feelings, he suffered her to believe that she succeeded. -</p> - -<p> -He now inquired concerning Adeline; and listened to her little history, -of which his mother gave a brief relation, with great apparent interest. -So much pity did he express for her condition, and so much indignation -at the unnatural conduct of her father, that the apprehensions which -Madame La Motte began to form, of his having discovered her jealousy, -yielded to those of a different kind. She perceived that the beauty of -Adeline had already fascinated his imagination, and she feared that her -amiable manners would soon impress his heart. Had her first fondness for -Adeline continued, she would still have looked with displeasure upon -their attachment, as an obstacle to the promotion and the fortune she -hoped to see one day enjoyed by her son. On these she rested all her -future hopes of prosperity, and regarded the matrimonial alliance which -he might form as the only means of extricating his family from their -present difficulties. She therefore touched lightly upon Adeline's -merit, joined coolly with Louis, in compassionating her misfortunes, and -with her censure of the father's conduct mixed an implied suspicion of -that of Adeline's. The means she employed to repress the passions of her -son had a contrary effect. The indifference which she repressed towards -Adeline, increased his pity for her destitute condition; and the -tenderness with which she affected to judge the father, heightened his -honest indignation at his character. -</p> - -<p> -As he quitted Madame La Motte, he saw his father cross the lawn and -enter the deep shade of the forest on the left. He judged this to be a -good opportunity of commencing his plan, and quitting the abbey, slowly -followed at a distance. La Motte continued to walk straight forward, and -seemed so deeply wrapt in thought, that he looked neither to the right -nor left, and scarcely lifted his head from the ground. Louis had -followed him near half a mile, when he saw him suddenly strike into an -avenue of the forest, which took a different direction from the way he -had hitherto gone. He quickened his steps that he might not lose sight -of him, but, having reached the avenue, found the trees so thickly -interwoven that La Motte was already hid from his view. -</p> - -<p> -He continued, however, to pursue the way before him: it conducted him -through the most gloomy part of the forest he had yet seen, till at -length it terminated in an obscure recess, over-arched with high trees, -whose interwoven branches secluded the direct rays of the sun, and -admitted only a sort of solemn twilight. Louis looked around in search -of La Motte, but he was no where to be seen. While he stood surveying -the place, and considering what further should be done, he observed, -through the gloom, an object at some distance, but the deep shadow that -fell around prevented his distinguishing what it was. -</p> - -<p> -In advancing, he perceived the ruins of a small building, which, from -the traces that remained, appeared to have been a tomb. As he gazed upon -it, Here, said he, are probably deposited the ashes of some ancient -monk, once an inhabitant of the abbey; perhaps, of the founder, who, -after having spent a life of abstinence and prayer, sought in heaven the -reward of his forbearance upon earth. Peace be to his soul! but did he -think a life of mere negative virtue deserved an eternal reward? -Mistaken man! reason, had you trusted to its dictates, would have -informed you, that the active virtues, the adherence to the golden rule, -Do as you would be done unto, could alone deserve the favour of a Deity -whose glory is benevolence. -</p> - -<p> -He remained with his eyes fixed upon the spot, and presently saw a -figure arise under the arch of the sepulchre. It started, as if on -perceiving him, and immediately disappeared. Louis, though unused to -fear, felt at that moment an uneasy sensation, but it almost immediately -struck him that this was La Motte himself. He advanced to the ruin and -called him. No answer was returned; and he repeated the call, but all -was yet still as the grave. He then went up to the archway and -endeavoured to examine the place where he had disappeared, but the -shadowy obscurity rendered the attempt fruitless. He observed, however, -a little to the right, an entrance to the ruin, and advanced some steps -down a kind of dark passage, when, recollecting that this place might be -the haunt of banditti, his danger alarmed him, and he retreated with -precipitation. -</p> - -<p> -He walked towards the abbey by the way he came; and finding no person -followed him, and believing himself again in safety, his former surmise -returned, and he thought it was La Motte he had seen. He mused upon this -strange possibility, and endeavoured to assign a reason for so -mysterious a conduct, but in vain. Notwithstanding this, his belief of -it strengthened, and he entered the abbey under as full a conviction as -the circumstances would admit of, that it was his father who had -appeared in the sepulchre. On entering what was now used as a parlour, -he was much surprised to find him quietly seated there with Madame La -Motte and Adeline, and conversing as if he had been returned some time. -</p> - -<p> -He took the first opportunity of acquainting his mother with his late -adventure, and of inquiring how long La Motte had been returned before -him; when, learning that it was near half an hour, his surprise -increased, and he knew not what to conclude. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile, a perception of the growing partiality of Louis co-operated -with the canker of suspicion to destroy in Madame La Motte that -affection which pity and esteem had formerly excited for Adeline. Her -unkindness was now too obvious to escape the notice of her to whom it -was directed, and, being noticed, it occasioned an anguish which Adeline -found it very difficult to endure. With the warmth and candour of youth, -she sought an explanation of this change of behaviour, and an -opportunity of exculpating herself from any intention of provoking it. -But this Madame La Motte artfully evaded; while at the same time she -threw out hints that involved Adeline in deeper perplexity, and served -to make her present affliction more intolerable. -</p> - -<p> -I have lost that affection, she would say, which was my all. It was my -only comfort—yet I have lost it—and this without even knowing -my offence. But I am thankful that I have not merited unkindness, and, -though she has abandoned <i>me</i>, I shall always love <i>her</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Thus distressed, she would frequently leave the parlour, and, retiring -to her chamber, would yield to a despondency which she had never known -till now. -</p> - -<p> -One morning, being unable to sleep, she arose at a very early hour. The -faint light of day now trembled through the clouds, and gradually -spreading from the horizon, announced the rising sun. Every feature of -the landscape was slowly unveiled, moist with the dews of night and -brightening with the dawn, till at length the sun appeared and shed the -full flood of day. The beauty of the hour invited her to walk, and she -went forth into the forest to taste the sweets of morning. The carols of -new-waked birds saluted her as she passed, and the fresh gale came -scented with the breath of flowers, whose tints glowed more vivid -through the dew drops that hung on their leaves. -</p> - -<p> -She wandered on without noticing the distance, and, following the -windings of the river, came to a dewy glade, whose woods, sweeping down -to the very edge of the water, formed a scene so sweetly romantic, that -she sealed herself at the foot of a tree, to contemplate its beauty. -These images insensibly soothed her sorrow, and inspired her with that -soft and pleasing melancholy so dear to the feeling mind. For some time -she sat lost in a reverie, while the flowers that grew on the banks -beside her seemed to smile in new life, and drew from her a comparison -with her own condition. She mused and sighed, and then, in a voice whose -charming melody was modulated by the tenderness of her heart, she sung -the following words: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">SONNET,</span><br /> -<span class="i6"><i>TO THE LILY.</i></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soft silken flower! that in the dewy vale</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Unfold'st thy modest beauties to the morn,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And breath'st thy fragrance on her wandering gale,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">O'er earth's green hills and shadowy valley borne.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When day has closed his dazzling eye,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And dying gales sink soft away;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">When eve steals down the western sky,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And mountains, woods, and vales decay.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy tender cups, that graceful swell,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Droop sad beneath her chilly dew;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Thy odours seek their silken cell,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And twilight veils their languid hue.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But soon fair flower! the morn shall rise,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And rear again thy pensive head;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Again unveil thy snowy dyes,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Again thy velvet foliage spread.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet child of Spring! like thee, in sorrow's shade,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Full oft I mourn in tears, and droop forlorn:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And O! like thine, may light <i>my</i> glooms pervade,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And Sorrow fly before Joy's living morn!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -A distant echo lengthened out her tones, and she sat listening to the -soft response, till repeating the last stanza of the sonnet she was -answered by a voice almost as tender, and less distant. She looked round -in surprise, and saw a young man in a hunter's dress leaning against a -tree, and gazing on her with that deep attention which marks an -enraptured mind. -</p> - -<p> -A thousand apprehensions shot athwart her busy thought; and she now -first remembered her distance from the abbey. She rose in haste to be -gone, when the stranger respectfully advanced; but, observing her timid -looks and retiring steps, he paused. She pursued her way towards the -abbey; and though many reasons made her anxious to know whether she was -followed, delicacy forbade her to look back. When she reached the abbey, -finding the family was not yet assembled to breakfast, she retired to -her chamber, where her whole thoughts were employed in conjectures -concerning the stranger. Believing that she was interested on this point -no further than as it concerned the safety of La Motte, she indulged -without scruple the remembrance of that dignified air and manner which -so much distinguished the youth she had seen. After revolving the -circumstance more deeply, she believed it impossible that a person of -his appearance should be engaged in a stratagem to betray a -fellow-creature; and though she was destitute of a single circumstance -that might assist her surmises of who he was, or what was his business -in an unfrequented forest, she rejected, unconsciously, every suspicion -injurious to his character. Upon further deliberation, therefore, she -resolved not to mention this little circumstance to La Motte; well -knowing, that though his danger might be imaginary, his apprehensions -would be real, and would renew all the sufferings and perplexity from -which he was but just released. She resolved, however, to refrain, for -some time walking in the forest. -</p> - -<p> -When she came down to breakfast, she observed Madame La Motte to be more -than usually reserved. La Motte entered the room soon after her, and -made some trifling observations on the weather; and, having endeavoured -to support an effort at cheerfulness, sunk into his usual melancholy. -Adeline watched the countenance of Madame with anxiety; and when there -appeared in it a gleam of kindness, it was as sunshine to her soul: but -she very seldom suffered Adeline thus to flatter herself. Her -conversation was restrained, and often pointed at something more than -could be understood. The entrance of Louis was a very seasonable relief -to Adeline, who almost feared to trust her voice with a sentence, lest -its trembling accents should betray her uneasiness. -</p> - -<p> -This charming morning drew you early from your chamber? said Louis, -addressing Adeline. You had, no doubt, a pleasant companion too? said -Madame La Motte, a solitary walk is seldom agreeable. -</p> - -<p> -I was alone, Madam, replied Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed! your own thoughts must be highly pleasing then. -</p> - -<p> -Alas! returned Adeline, a tear spite of her efforts starting to her eye, -there are now few subjects of pleasure left for them. -</p> - -<p> -That is very surprising, pursued Madame La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -Is it, indeed, surprising, Madam, for those who have lost their last -friend to be unhappy? -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte's conscience acknowledged the rebuke, and she blushed. -</p> - -<p> -Well, resumed she, after a short pause, that is not your situation, -Adeline, looking earnestly at La Motte. Adeline, whose innocence -protected her from suspicion, did not regard this circumstance; but, -smiling through her tears, said, she rejoiced to hear her say so. During -this conversation, La Motte had remained absorbed in his own thoughts; -and Louis, unable to guess at what it pointed, looked alternately at his -mother and Adeline for an explanation. The latter he regarded with an -expression so full of tender compassion, that it revealed at once to -Madame La Motte the sentiments of his soul; and she immediately replied -to the last words of Adeline with a very serious air: A friend is only -estimable when our conduct deserves one; the friendship that survives -the merit of its object is a disgrace, instead of an honour, to both -parties. -</p> - -<p> -The manner and emphasis with which she delivered these words, again -alarmed Adeline, who mildly said, she hoped she should never deserve -such censure. Madame was silent; but Adeline was so much shocked by what -had already passed, that tears sprung from her eyes, and she hid her -face with her handkerchief. -</p> - -<p> -Louis now rose with some emotion; and La Motte, roused from his reverie, -inquired what was the matter: but before he could receive an answer he -seemed to have forgotten that he had asked the question. Adeline may -give you her own account, said Madame La Motte. I have not deserved -this, said Adeline rising; but since my presence is displeasing, I will -retire. -</p> - -<p> -She moved towards the door; when Louis, who was pacing the room in -apparent agitation, gently took her hand, saying, Here is some unhappy -mistake—and would have led her to the seat: but her spirits were too -much depressed to endure longer restraint; and, withdrawing her hand, -Suffer me to go, said she; if there is any mistake, I am unable to -explain it. Saying this, she quitted the room. Louis followed her with -his eyes to the door; when turning to his mother, Surely, Madam, said -he, you are to blame: my life on it she deserves your warmest -tenderness. -</p> - -<p> -You are very eloquent in her cause, Sir, said Madame, may I presume to -ask what interested you thus in her favour. -</p> - -<p> -Her own amiable manners, rejoined Louis, which no one can observe -without esteeming them. -</p> - -<p> -But you may presume too much on your own observations; it is possible -these amiable manners may deceive you. -</p> - -<p> -Your pardon Madam; I may, without presumption, affirm they cannot -deceive me. -</p> - -<p> -You have, no doubt, good reasons for this assertion, and I perceive, by -your admiration of this artless <i>innocence</i>, she has succeeded in her -design of entrapping your heart. -</p> - -<p> -Without designing it, she has won my admiration, which would not have -been the case, had she been capable of the conduct you mention. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte was going to reply, but was prevented by her husband, -who, again roused from his reverie, inquired into the cause of dispute. -Away with this ridiculous behaviour, said he in a voice of displeasure; -Adeline has omitted some household duty, I suppose; and an offence so -heinous deserves severe punishment, no doubt: but let me be no more -disturbed with your petty quarrels; if you must be tyrannical, Madam, -indulge your humour in private. -</p> - -<p> -Saying this, he abruptly quitted the room; and Louis immediately -following, Madame was left to her own unpleasant reflections. Her -ill-humour proceeded from the usual cause. She had heard of Adeline's -walk; and La Motte having gone forth into the forest at an early hour, -her imagination, heated by the broodings of jealousy, suggested that -they had appointed a meeting. This was confirmed to her by the entrance -of Adeline, quickly followed by La Motte; and her perceptions thus -jaundiced by passion, neither the presence of her son, nor her usual -attention to good manners, had been able to restrain her emotions. The -behaviour of Adeline in the late scene she considered as a refined piece -of art, and the indifference of La Motte as affected. So true is it -that: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">...... Trifles, light as air,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong</span><br /> -<span class="i0">As proofs of Holy Writ;</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -and so ingenious was she 'to twist the true cause the wrong way.' -</p> - -<p> -Adeline had retired to her chamber to weep. When her first agitations -were subsided, she took an ample view of her conduct; and perceiving -nothing of which she could accuse herself, she became more satisfied, -deriving her best comfort from the integrity of her intentions. In the -moment of accusation, innocence may sometimes be oppressed with the -punishment due only to guilt; but reflection dissolves the illusion of -terror, and brings to the aching bosom the consolations of virtue. -</p> - -<p> -When La Motte quitted the room, he had gone into the forest; which Louis -observing, he followed and joined him, with an intention of touching -upon the subject of his melancholy. It is a fine morning, Sir, said -Louis; if you will give me leave, I will walk with you. La Motte, though -dissatisfied, did not object; and after they had proceeded some way, he -changed the course of his walk, striking into a path contrary to that -which Louis had observed him take on the foregoing day. -</p> - -<p> -Louis remarked that the avenue they had quitted was more shady, and -therefore more pleasant. La Motte not seeming to notice this remark, It -leads to a singular spot, continued he, which I discovered yesterday. La -Motte raised his head: Louis proceeded to describe the tomb, and the -adventure he had met with. During this relation, La Motte regarded him -with attention, while his own countenance suffered various changes. When -he had concluded, You were very daring, said La Motte, to examine that -place, particularly when you ventured down the passage: I would advise -you to be more cautious how you penetrate the depths of this forest. I -myself have not ventured beyond a certain boundary and am therefore -uninformed what inhabitants it may harbour. Your account has alarmed me, -continued he; for if banditti are in the neighbourhood, I am not safe -from their depredations:—'tis true, I have but little to lose, except -my life. -</p> - -<p> -And the lives of your family, rejoined Louis.—Of course, said La -Motte. -</p> - -<p> -It would be well to have more certainty upon that head, rejoined Louis; -I am considering how we may obtain it. -</p> - -<p> -'Tis useless to consider that, said La Motte; the inquiry itself brings -danger with it; your life would perhaps be paid for the indulgence of -your curiosity; our only chance of safety is by endeavouring to remain -undiscovered. Let us move towards the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -Louis knew not what to think, but said no more upon the subject. La -Motte soon after relapsed into a fit of musing; and his son now took -occasion to lament that depression of spirits which he had lately -observed in him. Rather lament the cause of it, said La Motte with a -sigh. That I do most sincerely, whatever it may be. May I venture to -inquire, Sir, what is this cause? -</p> - -<p> -Are then my misfortunes so little known to you, rejoined La Motte, as to -make that question necessary? Am I not driven from my home, from my -friends, and almost from my country? And shall it be asked why I am -afflicted? Louis felt the justice of this reproof, and was a moment -silent. That you are afflicted, Sir, does not excite my surprise, -resumed he; it would indeed be strange, were you not. -</p> - -<p> -What then does excite your surprise? -</p> - -<p> -The air of cheerfulness you wore when I first came hither. -</p> - -<p> -You lately lamented that I was afflicted, said La Motte, and now seem -not very well pleased that I once was cheerful. What is the meaning of -this? -</p> - -<p> -You much mistake me, said his son; nothing could give me so much -satisfaction as to see that cheerfulness renewed; the same cause of -sorrow existed at that time, yet you was then cheerful. -</p> - -<p> -That I was then cheerful, said La Motte, you might, without flattery, -have attributed to yourself; your presence revived me, and I was -relieved at the same time from a load of apprehensions. -</p> - -<p> -Why then, as the same cause exists, are you not still cheerful? -</p> - -<p> -And why do you not recollect that it is your father you thus speak to? -</p> - -<p> -I do, Sir, and nothing but anxiety for my father could have urged me -thus far: it is with inexpressible concern I perceive you have some -secret cause of uneasiness; reveal it, Sir, to those who claim a share -in all your affliction, and suffer them, by participation to soften its -severity. Louis looked up, and observed the countenance of his father -pale as death: his lips trembled while he spoke. Your penetration, -however, you may rely upon it, has, in the present instance, deceived -you: I have no subject of distress, but what you are already acquainted -with, and I desire this conversation may never be renewed. -</p> - -<p> -If it is your desire, of course I obey, said Louis; but, pardon me, Sir, -if— -</p> - -<p> -I will <i>not</i> pardon you, Sir, interrupted La Motte; let the discourse -end here. Saying this, he quickened his steps; and Louis, not daring to -pursue, walked quietly on till he reached the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline passed the greatest part of the day alone in her chamber, where, -having examined her conduct, she endeavoured to fortify her heart -against the unmerited displeasure of Madame La Motte. This was a task -more difficult than that of self-acquittance. She loved her, and had -relied on her friendship, which, notwithstanding the conduct of Madame, -still appeared valuable to her. It was true, she had not deserved to -lose it; but Madame was so averse to explanation, that there was little -probability of recovering it, however ill-founded might be the cause of -her dislike. At length she reasoned, or rather perhaps persuaded herself -into tolerable composure; for to resign a real good with contentment is -less an effort of reason than of temper. -</p> - -<p> -For many hours she busied herself upon a piece of work which she had -undertaken for Madame La Motte; and this she did without the least -intention of conciliating her favour, but because she felt there was -something in thus repaying unkindness, which was suitable to her own -temper, her sentiments, and her pride. Self-love <i>may</i> be the centre -round which the human affections move; for whatever motive conduces to -self-gratification may be resolved into self-love; yet some of these -affections are in their nature so refined, that though we cannot deny -their origin, they almost deserve the name of virtue. Of this species -was that of Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -In this employment, and in reading, Adeline passed as much of the day as -possible. From books, indeed, she had constantly derived her chief -information and amusement: those belonging to La Motte were few, but -well chosen; and Adeline could find pleasure in reading them more than -once. When her mind was discomposed by the behaviour of Madame La Motte, -or by a retrospection of her early misfortunes, a book was the opiate -that lulled it to repose. La Motte had several of the best English -poets, a language which Adeline had learned in the convent; their -beauties, therefore, she was capable of tasting, and they often inspired -her with enthusiastic delight. -</p> - -<p> -At the decline of day she quitted her chamber to enjoy the sweet evening -hour, but strayed no further than an avenue near the abbey, which -fronted the west. She read a little; but finding it impossible any -longer to abstract her attention from the scene around; she closed the -book, and yielded to the sweet complacent melancholy which the hour -inspired. The air was still; the sun sinking below the distant hill, -spread a purple glow over the landscape, and touched the forest glades -with softer light. A dewy freshness was diffused upon the air. As the -sun descended, the dusk came silently on, and the scene assumed a solemn -grandeur. As she mused, she recollected and repeated the following -stanzas: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">NIGHT.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now Evening fades! her pensive step retires,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And Night leads on the dews and shadowy hours:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Her awful pomp of planetary fires,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And all her train of visionary powers.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>These</i> paint with fleeting shapes the dream of sleep,</span><br /> -<span class="i2"><i>These</i> swell the waking soul with pleasing dread;</span><br /> -<span class="i0"><i>These</i> through the glooms in forms terrific sweep,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And rouse the thrilling horrors of the dead!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Queen of the solemn thought—mysterious Night!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Whose step is darkness, and whose voice is fear!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Thy shades I welcome with severe delight,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And hail thy hollow gales, that sigh so drear!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When wrapt in clouds, and riding in the blast,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Thou roll'st the storm along the sounding shore,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I love to watch the whelming billows cast</span><br /> -<span class="i2">On rocks below, and listen to the roar.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy milder terrors, Night, I frequent woo</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Thy silent lightnings, and thy meteors' glare,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Thy northern fires, bright with ensanguine hue,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That light in heaven's high vault the fervid air.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But chief I love thee, when thy hold car</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sheds through the fleecy clouds a trembling gleam,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And shows the misty mountain from afar,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The nearer forest, and the valley's stream:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And nameless objects in the vale below,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That, floating dimly to the musing eye,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Assume, at Fancy's touch, fantastic show,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And raise her sweet romantic visions high.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then let me stand amidst thy glooms profound,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">On some wide woody steep, and hear the breeze</span><br /> -<span class="i0">That swells in mournful melody around,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And faintly dies upon the distant trees.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What melancholy charm steals o'er the mind!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">What hallow'd tears the rising rapture greet!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While many a viewless spirit in the wind</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sighs to the lonely hour in accents sweet!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! who the dear illusions pleased would yield,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Which Fancy wakes from silence and from shades,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">For all the sober forms of Truth reveal'd,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">For all the scenes that Day's bright eye pervades!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -On her return to the abbey she was joined by Louis, who, after some -conversation, said, I am much grieved by the scene to which I was -witness this morning, and have longed for an opportunity of telling you -so. My mother's behaviour is too mysterious to be accounted for, but it -is not difficult to perceive she labours under some mistake. What I have -to request is, that whenever I can be of service to you, you will -command me. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline thanked him for this friendly offer, which she felt more -sensibly than she chose to express. I am unconscious, said she, of any -offence that may have deserved Madame La Motte's displeasure, and am -therefore totally unable to account for it. I have repeatedly sought an -explanation, which she has as anxiously avoided; it is better, -therefore, to press the subject no farther. At the same time, Sir, -suffer me to assure you, I have a just sense of your goodness. Louis -sighed, and was silent. At length, I wish you would permit me, resumed -he, to speak with my mother upon this subject; I am sure I could -convince her of her error. -</p> - -<p> -By no means, replied Adeline: Madame La Motte's displeasure has given me -inexpressible concern; but to compel her to an explanation, would only -increase this displeasure, instead of removing it. Let me beg of you not -to attempt it. -</p> - -<p> -I submit to your judgment, said Louis, but, for once, it is with -reluctance. I should esteem myself most happy if I could be of service -to you. He spoke this with an accent so tender, that Adeline, for the -first time, perceived the sentiments of his heart. A mind more fraught -with vanity than hers would have taught her long ago to regard the -attentions of Louis as the result of something more than well-bred -gallantry. She did not appear to notice his last words, but remained -silent, and involuntarily quickened her pace. Louis said no more, but -seemed sunk in thought; and this silence remained uninterrupted till -they entered the abbey. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">Hence, horrible shadow!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Unreal mockery, hence!</span><br /> -<span class="i10">MACBETH.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Near a month elapsed without any remarkable occurrence: the melancholy -of La Motte suffered little abatement; and the behaviour of Madame to -Adeline, though somewhat softened, was still far from kind. Louis by -numberless little attentions testified his growing affection for -Adeline, who continued to treat them as passing civilities. -</p> - -<p> -It happened, one stormy night, as they were preparing for rest, that -they were alarmed by the trampling of horses near the abbey. The sound -of several voices succeeded, and a loud knocking at the great gate of -the hall soon after confirmed the alarm. La Motte had little doubt that -the officers of justice had at length discovered his retreat, and the -perturbation of fear almost confounded his senses: he, however, ordered -the lights to be extinguished, and a profound silence to be observed, -unwilling to neglect even the slightest possibility of security. There -was a chance, he thought, that the persons might suppose the place -uninhabited, and believe they had mistaken the object of their search. -His orders were scarcely obeyed, when the knocking was renewed, and with -increased violence. La Motte now repaired to a small grated window in -the portal of the gate, that he might observe the number and appearance -of the strangers. -</p> - -<p> -The darkness of the night baffled his purpose, he could only perceive a -group of men on horseback; but listening attentively, he distinguished -part of their discourse. Several of the men contended that they had -mistaken the place; till a person, who, from his authoritative voice, -appeared to be their leader, affirmed that the lights had issued from -this spot, and he was positive there were persons within. Having said -this, he again knocked loudly at the gate, and was answered only by -hollow echoes. La Motte's heart trembled at the sound, and he was unable -to move. -</p> - -<p> -After waiting some time, the strangers seemed as if in consultation; but -their discourse was conducted in such a low tone of voice, that La Motte -was unable to distinguish its purport. They withdrew from the gate, as -if to depart; but he presently thought he heard them amongst the trees -on the other side of the fabric, and soon became convinced they had not -left the abbey. A few minutes held La Motte in a state of torturing -suspense; he quitted the grate, where Louis now stationed himself, for -that part of the edifice which overlooked the spot where he supposed -them to be waiting. -</p> - -<p> -The storm was now loud, and the hollow blasts which rushed among the -trees prevented his distinguishing any other sound. Once, in the pauses -of the wind, he thought he heard distinct voices; but he was not long -left to conjecture, for the renewed knocking at the gate again appalled -him; and regardless of the terrors of Madame La Motte and Adeline, he -ran to try his last chance of concealment by means of the trap-door. -</p> - -<p> -Soon after, the violence of the assailants seeming to increase with -every gust of the tempest, the gate, which was old and decayed, burst -from its hinges, and admitted them to the hall. At the moment of their -entrance, a scream from Madame La Motte, who stood at the door of an -adjoining apartment, confirmed the suspicions of the principal stranger, -who continued to advance as fast as the darkness would permit him. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline had fainted, and Madame La Motte was calling loudly for -assistance, when Peter entered with lights, and discovered the hall -filled with men, and his young mistress senseless upon the floor. A -chevalier now advanced, and, soliciting pardon of Madame for the -rudeness of his conduct, was attempting an apology, when, perceiving -Adeline, he hastened to raise her from the ground; but Louis, who now -returned, caught her in his arms, and desired the stranger not to -interfere. -</p> - -<p> -The person to whom he spoke this, wore the star of one of the first -orders in France, and had an air of dignity which declared him to be of -superior rank. He appeared to be about forty, but perhaps the spirit and -fire of his countenance made the impression of time upon his features -less perceptible. His softened aspect and insinuating manners, while, -regardless of himself, he seemed attentive only to the condition of -Adeline, gradually dissipated the apprehensions of Madame La Motte, and -subdued the sudden resentment of Louis. Upon Adeline, who was yet -insensible, he gazed with an eager admiration, which seemed to absorb -all the faculties of his mind. She was indeed an object not to be -contemplated with indifference. -</p> - -<p> -Her beauty, touched with the languid delicacy of illness, gained from -sentiment what it lost in bloom. The negligence of her dress, loosened -for the purpose of freer respiration, discovered those glowing charms, -which her auburn tresses, that fell in profusion over her bosom, shaded, -but could not conceal. -</p> - -<p> -There now entered another stranger, a young chevalier, who having spoke -hastily to the elder, joined the general group that surrounded Adeline. -He was of a person in which elegance was happily blended with strength, -and had a countenance animated, but not haughty; noble, yet expressive -of peculiar sweetness. What rendered it at present more interesting, was -the compassion, he seemed to feel for Adeline, who now revived and saw -him, the first object that met her eyes, bending over her in silent -anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -On perceiving him, a blush of quick surprise passed over her cheek, for -she knew him to be the stranger she had seen in the forest. Her -countenance instantly changed to the paleness of terror when she -observed the room crowded with people. Louis now supported her into -another apartment, where the two chevaliers, who followed her, again -apologized for the alarm they had occasioned. The elder, turning to -Madame La Motte, said, You are, no doubt, Madam, ignorant that I am the -proprietor of this abbey. She started. Be not alarmed, Madam, you are -safe and welcome. This ruinous spot has been long abandoned by me, and -if it has afforded you a shelter I am happy. Madame La Motte expressed -her gratitude for this condescension, and Louis declared his sense of -the politeness of the Marquis de Montalt, for that was the name of the -noble stranger. -</p> - -<p> -My chief residence, said the Marquis, is in a distant province, but I -have a chateau near the borders of the forest, and in returning from an -excursion I have been benighted and lost my way. A light which gleamed -through the trees attracted me hither; and such was the darkness -without, that I did not know it proceeded from the abbey till I came to -the door. The noble deportment of the strangers, the splendour of their -apparel, and above all, this speech dissipated every remaining doubt of -Madame's, and she was giving orders for refreshments to be set before -them, when La Motte, who had listened, and was now convinced he had -nothing to fear, entered the apartment. -</p> - -<p> -He advanced towards the Marquis with a complacent air; but as he would -have spoke, the words of welcome faltered on his lips, his limbs -trembled, and a ghastly paleness overspread his countenance. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis was little less agitated, and in the first moment of -surprise put his hand upon his sword; but recollecting himself, he -withdrew it, and endeavoured to obtain a command of features. A pause of -agonizing silence ensued. La Motte made some motion towards the door, -but his agitated frame refused to support him, and he sunk into a chair, -silent and exhausted. The horror of his countenance, together with his -whole behaviour, excited the utmost surprise in Madame, whose eyes -inquired of the Marquis more than he thought proper to answer: his look -increased instead of explaining the mystery, and expressed a mixture of -emotions which she could not analyze. Meanwhile she endeavoured to -soothe and revive her husband; but he repressed her efforts, and, -averting his face, covered it with his hands. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis seeming to recover his presence of mind, stepped to the door -of the hall where his people were assembled, when La Motte, starting -from his seat with a frantic air, called on him to return. The Marquis -looked back and stopped: but still hesitating whether to proceed, the -supplications of Adeline, who was now returned, added to those of La -Motte, determined him, and he sat down. I request of you, my Lord, said -La Motte, that we may converse for a few moments by ourselves. -</p> - -<p> -The request is bold, and the indulgence perhaps dangerous, said the -Marquis: it is more also than I will grant. You can have nothing to say -with which your family are not acquainted—speak your purpose and be -brief. La Motte's complexion varied to every sentence of this speech. -Impossible, my Lord, said he; my lips shall close for ever, ere they -pronounced before another human being the words reserved for you alone. -I entreat—I supplicate of you a few moments' private discourse. As he -pronounced these words, tears swelled into his eyes; and the Marquis, -softened by his distress, consented, though with evident emotion and -reluctance, to his request. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte took a light and led the Marquis to a small room in a remote -part of the edifice, where they remained near an hour. Madame, alarmed -by the length of their absence, went in quest of them: as she drew near, -a curiosity in such circumstances perhaps not unjustifiable, prompted -her to listen. La Motte just then exclaimed—The phrensy of -despair!—some words followed, delivered in a low tone, which she -could not understand. I have suffered more than I can express, continued -he; the same image has pursued me in my midnight dream and in my daily -wanderings. There is no punishment, short of death, which I would not -have endured to regain the state of mind with which I entered this -forest. I again address myself to your compassion. -</p> - -<p> -A loud gust of wind that burst along the passage where Madame La Motte -stood, overpowered his voice and that of the Marquis, who spoke in -reply: but she soon after distinguished these words,—To-morrow, my -Lord, if you return to these ruins, I will lead you to the spot. -</p> - -<p> -That is scarcely necessary, and may be dangerous, said the Marquis. From -you, my Lord, I can excuse these doubts, resumed La Motte; but I will -swear whatever you shall propose. Yes, continued he, whatever may be the -consequence, I will swear to submit to your decree! The rising tempest -again drowned the sound of their voices, and Madame La Motte vainly -endeavoured to hear those words upon which probably hung the explanation -of this mysterious conduct. They now moved towards the door, and she -retreated with precipitation to the apartment where she had left Adeline -with Louis and the young chevalier. -</p> - -<p> -Hither the Marquis and La Motte soon followed, the first haughty and -cool, the latter somewhat more composed than before, though the -impression of horror was not yet faded from his countenance. The Marquis -passed on to the hall where his retinue awaited; the storm was not yet -subsided, but he seemed impatient to be gone, and ordered his people to -be in readiness. La Motte observed a sullen silence, frequently pacing -the room with hasty steps, and sometimes lost in reverie. Meanwhile the -Marquis, seating himself by Adeline, directed to her his whole -attention, except when sudden fits of absence came over his mind and -suspended him in silence: at these times the young chevalier addressed -Adeline, who with diffidence and some agitation shrunk from the -observance of both. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis had been near two hours at the abbey, and the tempest still -continuing, Madame La Motte offered him a bed. A look from her husband -made her tremble for the consequence. Her offer was however politely -declined, the Marquis being evidently as impatient to be gone, as his -tenant appeared distressed by his presence. He often returned to the -hall, and from the gates raised a look of impatience to the clouds. -Nothing was to be seen through the darkness of night—nothing heard -but the howlings of the storm. -</p> - -<p> -The morning dawned before he departed. As he was preparing to leave the -abbey, La Motte again drew him aside, and held him for a few moments in -close conversation. His impassioned gestures, which Madame La Motte -observed from a remote part of the room, added to her curiosity a degree -of wild apprehension, derived from the obscurity of the subject. Her -endeavour to distinguish the corresponding words was baffled by the low -voice in which they were uttered. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis and his retinue at length departed; and La Motte, having -himself fastened the gates, silently and dejectedly withdrew to his -chamber. The moment they were alone, Madame seized the opportunity of -entreating her husband to explain the scene she had witnessed. Ask me no -questions, said La Motte sternly, for I will answer none. I have already -forbidden your speaking to me on this subject. -</p> - -<p> -What subject? said his wife. La Motte seemed to recollect himself—No -matter—I was mistaken—I thought you had repeated these -questions before. -</p> - -<p> -Ah! said Madame La Motte, it is then as I suspected; your former -melancholy and the distress of this night have the same cause. -</p> - -<p> -And why should you either suspect or inquire? Am I always to be -persecuted with conjectures? -</p> - -<p> -Pardon me, I meant not to persecute you; but my anxiety for your welfare -will not suffer me to rest under this dreadful uncertainty. Let me claim -the privilege of a wife, and share the affliction which oppresses you. -Deny me not.—La Motte interrupted her, Whatever may be the cause of -the emotions which you have witnessed, I swear that I will not now reveal -it. A time may come when I shall no longer judge concealment necessary; -till then be silent, and desist from importunity; above all, forbear to -remark to any one what you may have seen uncommon in me, bury your -surmise in your own bosom, as you would avoid my curse and my -destruction. The determined air with which he spoke this, while his -countenance was overspread with a livid hue, made his wife shudder; and -she forbore all reply. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte retired to bed, but not to rest. She ruminated on the -past occurrence; and her surprise and curiosity concerning the words and -behaviour of her husband were but more strongly stimulated by -reflection. One truth, however, appeared: she could not doubt but the -mysterious conduct of La Motte, which had for so many months oppressed -her with anxiety, and the late scene with the Marquis, originated from -the same cause. This belief, which seemed to prove how unjustly she had -suspected Adeline, brought with it a pang of self-accusation. She looked -forward to the morrow, which would lead the Marquis again to the abbey, -with impatience. Wearied nature at length resumed her rights, and -yielded a short oblivion of care. -</p> - -<p> -At a late hour the next day the family assembled to breakfast. Each -individual of the party appeared silent and abstracted; but very -different was the aspect of their features, and still more the -complexion of their thoughts. La Motte seemed agitated by impatient -fear, yet the sullenness of despair overspread his countenance; a -certain wildness in his eye at times expressed the sudden start of -horror, and again his features would sink into the gloom of despondency. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte seemed harassed with anxiety; she watched every turn of -her husband's countenance, and impatiently awaited the arrival of the -Marquis. Louis was composed and thoughtful. Adeline seemed to feel her -full share of uneasiness; she had observed the behaviour of La Motte the -preceding night with much surprise, and the happy confidence she had -hitherto reposed in him was shaken. She feared also, lest the exigency -of his circumstances should precipitate him again into the world, and -that he would be either unable or unwilling to afford her a shelter -beneath his roof. -</p> - -<p> -During breakfast La Motte frequently rose to the window, from whence he -cast many an anxious look. His wife understood too well the cause of his -impatience, and endeavoured to repress her own. In these intervals Louis -attempted by whispers to obtain some information from his father; but La -Motte always returned to the table, where the presence of Adeline -prevented further discourse. -</p> - -<p> -After breakfast, as he walked upon the lawn, Louis would have joined -him, but La Motte peremptorily declared he intended to be alone; and -soon after, the Marquis having not yet arrived, proceeded to a greater -distance from the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline retired into their usual working room with Madame La Motte, who -affected an air of cheerfulness and even of kindness. Feeling the -necessity of offering some reason for the striking agitation of La -Motte, and of preventing the surprise which the unexpected appearance of -the Marquis would occasion Adeline, if she was left to connect it with -his behaviour of the preceding night, she mentioned that the Marquis and -La Motte had long been known to each other, and that this unexpected -meeting, after an absence of many years, and under circumstances so -altered and humiliating on the part of the latter, had occasioned him -much painful emotion. This had been heightened by a consciousness that -the Marquis had formerly misinterpreted some circumstances in his -conduct towards him, which had caused a suspension of their intimacy. -</p> - -<p> -This account did not bring conviction to the mind of Adeline, for it -seemed inadequate to the degree of emotion which the Marquis and La -Motte had mutually betrayed. Her surprise was excited, and her curiosity -awakened by the words, which were meant to delude them both. But she -forbore to express her thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -Madame proceeding with her plan, said, the Marquis was now expected, and -she hoped whatever differences remained would be perfectly adjusted. -Adeline blushed, and endeavouring to reply, her lips faltered. Conscious -of this agitation, and of the observance of Madame La Motte, her -confusion increased, and her endeavours to suppress served only to -heighten it. Still she tried to renew the discourse, and still she found -it impossible to collect her thoughts. Shocked lest Madame should -apprehend the sentiment which had till this moment been concealed almost -from herself, her colour fled, she fixed her eyes on the ground, and for -some time found it difficult to respire. Madame La Motte inquired if she -was ill; when Adeline, glad of the excuse, withdrew to the indulgence of -her own thoughts, which were now wholly engrossed by the expectation of -seeing again the young chevalier who had accompanied the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -As she looked from her room, she saw the Marquis on horseback, with -several attendants, advancing at a distance, and she hastened to apprize -Madame La Motte of his approach. In a short time, he arrived at the -gates, and Madame and Louis went out to receive him, La Motte being not -yet returned. He entered the hall, followed by the young chevalier, and -accosting Madame with a sort of stately politeness, inquired for La -Motte, whom Louis now went to seek. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis remained for a few minutes silent, and then asked of Madame -La Motte how her fair daughter did? Madame understood it was Adeline he -meant; and having answered his inquiry, and slightly said that she was -not related to them, Adeline, upon some indication of the Marquis's -wish, was sent for. She entered the room with a modest blush and a timid -air, which seemed to engage all his attention. His compliments she -received with a sweet grace; but when the young chevalier approached, -the warmth of his manner rendered hers involuntarily more reserved, and -she scarcely dared to raise her eyes from the ground, lest they should -encounter his. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now entered and apologized for his absence, which the Marquis -noticed only by a slight inclination of his head, expressing at the same -time by his looks both distrust and pride. They immediately quitted the -abbey together, and the Marquis beckoned his attendants to follow at a -distance. La Motte forbad his son to accompany him, but Louis observed -he took the way into the thickest part of the forest. He was lost in a -chaos of conjecture concerning this affair, but curiosity and anxiety -for his father induced him to follow at some distance. -</p> - -<p> -In the mean time the young stranger, whom the Marquis addressed by the -name of Theodore, remained at the abbey with Madame La Motte and -Adeline. The former, with all her address, could scarcely conceal her -agitation during this interval. She moved involuntary to the door -whenever she heard a footstep, and several times she went to the hall -door, in order to look into the forest, but as often returned, checked -by disappointment; no person appeared. Theodore seemed to address as -much of his attention to Adeline as politeness would allow him to -withdraw from Madame La Motte. His manners so gentle, yet dignified, -insensibly subdued her timidity, and banished her reserve. Her -conversation no longer suffered a painful constraint, but gradually -disclosed the beauties of her mind, and seemed to produce a mutual -confidence. A similarity of sentiment soon appeared; and Theodore, by -the impatient pleasure which animated his countenance, seemed frequently -to anticipate the thought of Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -To them the absence of the Marquis was short, though long to Madame La -Motte, whose countenance brightened when she heard the trampling of -horses at the gate. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis appeared but for a moment, and passed on with La Motte to a -private room, where they remained for some time in conference; -immediately after which he departed. Theodore took leave of -Adeline—who, as well as La Motte and Madame, attended them to the -gates—with an expression of tender regret, and often, as he went, -looked back upon the abbey, till the intervening branches entirely -excluded it from his view. -</p> - -<p> -The transient glow of pleasure diffused over the cheek of Adeline -disappeared with the young stranger, and she sighed as she turned -into the hall. The image of Theodore pursued her to her chamber; -she recollected with exactness every particular of his late -conversation—his sentiments so congenial with her own—his -manners so engaging—his countenance so animated—so ingenious -and so noble, in which manly dignity was blended with the sweetness of -benevolence; these, and every other grace, she recollected, and a soft -melancholy stole upon her heart. I shall see him no more, said she. A -sigh that followed, told her more of her heart than she wished to know. -She blushed, and sighed again; and then suddenly recollecting herself, -she endeavoured to divert her thoughts to a different subject. La -Motte's connection with the Marquis for sometime engaged her attention; -but, unable to develop the mystery that attended it, she sought a refuge -from her own reflections in the more pleasing ones to be derived from -books. -</p> - -<p> -During this time, Louis, shocked and surprised at the extreme distress -which his father had manifested upon the first appearance of the -Marquis, addressed him upon the subject. He had no doubt that the -Marquis was intimately concerned in the event which made it necessary -for La Motte to leave Paris, and he spoke his thoughts without disguise, -lamenting at the same time the unlucky chance, which had brought him to -seek refuge in a place, of all others, the least capable of affording -it—the estate of his enemy. La Motte did not contradict this opinion -of his son's, and joined in lamenting the evil fate which had conducted him -thither. -</p> - -<p> -The term of Louis's absence from his regiment was now nearly expired, -and he took occasion to express his sorrow that he must soon be obliged -to leave his father in circumstances so dangerous as the present. I -should leave you, Sir, with less pain, continued he, was I sure I knew -the full extent of your misfortunes; at present I am left to conjecture -evils which perhaps do not exist. Relieve me, Sir, from this state of -painful uncertainty, and suffer me to prove myself worthy of your -confidence. -</p> - -<p> -I have already answered you on this subject, said La Motte, and forbad -you to renew it: I am now obliged to tell you, I care not how soon you -depart, if I am to be subjected to these inquiries. La Motte walked -abruptly away, and left his son to doubt and concern. -</p> - -<p> -The arrival of the Marquis had dissipated the jealous fears of Madame La -Motte, and she awoke to a sense of her cruelty towards Adeline. When she -considered her orphan state—the uniform affection which had appeared -in her behaviour—the mildness and patience with which she had borne -her injurious treatment, she was shocked, and took an early opportunity of -renewing her former kindness. But she could not explain this seeming -inconsistency of conduct, without betraying her late suspicions, which -she now blushed to remember, nor could she apologize for her former -behaviour, without giving this explanation. -</p> - -<p> -She contented herself, therefore, with expressing in her manner the -regard which was thus revived. Adeline was at first surprised, but she -felt too much pleasure at the change to be scrupulous in inquiring its -cause. -</p> - -<p> -But notwithstanding the satisfaction which Adeline received from the -revival of Madame La Motte's kindness, her thoughts frequently recurred -to the peculiar and forlorn circumstances of her condition. She could -not help feeling less confidence than she had formerly done in the -friendship of Madame La Motte, whose character now appeared less amiable -than her imagination had represented it, and seemed strongly tinctured -with caprice. Her thoughts often dwelt upon the strange introduction of -the Marquis at the abbey, and on the mutual emotions and apparent -dislike of La Motte and himself; and under these circumstances, it -equally excited her surprise that La Motte should choose, and that the -Marquis should permit him, to remain in his territory. -</p> - -<p> -Her mind returned the oftener, perhaps, to this subject, because it was -connected with Theodore; but it returned unconscious of the idea which -attracted it. She attributed the interest she felt in the affair to her -anxiety for the welfare of La Motte, and for her own future destination, -which was now so deeply involved in his. Sometimes, indeed, she caught -herself busy in conjecture as to the degree of relationship in which -Theodore stood to the Marquis; but she immediately checked her thoughts, -and severely blamed herself for having suffered them to stray to an -object which she perceived was too dangerous to her peace. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Present fears</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Are less than horrible imaginings.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -A few days after the occurrence related in the preceding chapter, as -Adeline was alone in her chamber, she was roused from a reverie by a -trampling of horses near the gate; and on looking from the casement she -saw the Marquis de Montalt enter the abbey. This circumstance surprised -her, and an emotion, whose cause she did not trouble herself to inquire -for, made her instantly retreat from the window. The same cause, -however, led her thither again as hastily; but the object of her search -did not appear, and she was in no haste to retire. -</p> - -<p> -As she stood musing and disappointed, the Marquis came out with La -Motte, and immediately looking up, saw Adeline and bowed. She returned -his compliment respectfully, and withdrew from the window, vexed at -having been seen there. They went into the forest, but the Marquis's -attendants did not, as before, follow them thither. When they returned, -which was not till after a considerable time, the Marquis immediately -mounted his horse and rode away. -</p> - -<p> -For the remainder of the day La Motte appeared gloomy and silent, and -was frequently lost in thought. Adeline observed him with particular -attention and concern: she perceived that he was always more melancholy -after an interview with the Marquis, and was now surprised to hear that -the latter had appointed to dine the next day at the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -When La Motte mentioned this, he added some high eulogiums on the -character of the Marquis, and particularly praised his generosity and -nobleness of soul. At this instant, Adeline recollected the anecdotes -she had formerly heard concerning the abbey, and they threw a shadow -over the brightness of that excellence which La Motte now celebrated. -The account, however, did not appear to deserve much credit; a part of -it, as far as a negative will admit of demonstration, having been -already proved false; for it had been reported that the abbey was -haunted, and no supernatural appearance had ever been observed by the -present inhabitants. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, however, ventured to inquire whether it was the present Marquis -of whom those injurious reports had been raised? La Motte answered her -with a smile of ridicule: Stories of ghosts and hobgoblins have always -been admired and cherished by the vulgar, said he: I am inclined to rely -upon my own experience, at least as much as upon the accounts of these -peasants; if you have seen any thing to corroborate these accounts, pray -inform me of it, that I may establish my faith. -</p> - -<p> -You mistake me, Sir, said she, it was not concerning supernatural agency -that I would inquire; I alluded to a different part of the report, which -hinted that some person had been confined here by order of the Marquis, -who was said to have died unfairly; this was alleged as a reason for the -Marquis's having abandoned the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -All the mere coinage of idleness, said La Motte; a romantic tale to -excite wonder: to see the Marquis is alone sufficient to refute this; -and if we credit half the number of those stories that spring from the -same source, we prove ourselves little superior to the simpletons who -invent them. Your good sense, Adeline, I think, will teach you the merit -of disbelief. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline blushed and was silent; but La Motte's defence of the Marquis -appeared much warmer and more diffuse than was consistent with his own -disposition, or required by the occasion: his former conversation with -Louis occurred to her, and she was the more surprised at what passed at -present. -</p> - -<p> -She looked forward to the morrow with a mixture of pain and pleasure: -the expectation of seeing again the young chevalier occupying her -thoughts, and agitating them with a various emotion:—now she feared -his presence, and now she doubted whether he would come. At length she -observed this, and blushed to find how much he engaged her attention. -The morrow arrived—the Marquis came—but he came alone; and the -sunshine of Adeline's mind was clouded, though she was able to wear her -usual air of cheerfulness. The Marquis was polite, affable, and -attentive: to manners the most easy and elegant, was added the last -refinement of polished life. His conversation was lively, amusing, -sometimes even witty, and discovered great knowledge of the world; or, -what is often mistaken for it, an acquaintance with the higher circles, -and with the topics of the day. -</p> - -<p> -Here La Motte was also qualified to converse with him, and they entered -into a discussion of the characters and manners of the age with great -spirit and some humour. Madame La Motte had not seen her husband so -cheerful since they left Paris, and sometimes she could almost fancy she -was there. Adeline listened, till the cheerfulness which she had at -first only assumed became real. The address of the Marquis was so -insinuating and affable, that her reserve insensibly gave way before it, -and her natural vivacity resumed its long-lost empire. -</p> - -<p> -At parting, the Marquis told La Motte he rejoiced at having found so -agreeable a neighbour. La Motte bowed. I shall sometimes visit you, -continued he, and I lament that I cannot at present invite Madame La -Motte and her fair friend to my chateau; but it is undergoing some -repairs, which make it but an uncomfortable residence. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure03.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The vivacity of La Motte disappeared with his guest, and he soon -relapsed into fits of silence and abstraction. The Marquis is a very -agreeable man, said Madame La Motte. Very agreeable, replied he. And -seems to have an excellent heart, she resumed. An excellent one, said La -Motte. -</p> - -<p> -You seem discomposed, my dear; what has disturbed you? -</p> - -<p> -Not in the least—I was only thinking, that with such agreeable -talents and such an excellent heart, it was a pity the Marquis -should— -</p> - -<p> -What? my dear, said Madame with impatience. That the Marquis -should—should suffer this abbey to fall into ruins, replied La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -Is that all? said Madame with disappointment.—That is all, upon my -honour, said La Motte, and left the room. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline's spirits, no longer supported by the animated conversation of -the Marquis, sunk into languor, and when he departed she walked -pensively into the forest. She followed a little romantic path that -wound along the margin of the stream and was overhung with deep shades. -The tranquillity of the scenes which autumn now touched with her -sweetest tints, softened her mind to a tender kind of melancholy; and -she suffered a tear, which she knew not wherefore had stolen into her -eye, to tremble there unchecked. She came to a little lonely recess -formed by high trees; the wind sighed mournfully among the branches, and -as it waved their lofty heads scattered their leaves to the ground. She -seated herself on a bank beneath, and indulged the melancholy -reflections that pressed on her mind. -</p> - -<p> -O! could I dive into futurity and behold the events which await me! said -she; I should perhaps, by constant contemplation, be enabled to meet -them with fortitude. An orphan in this wide world—thrown upon the -friendship of strangers for comfort, and upon their bounty for the very -means of existence, what but evil have I to expect? Alas, my father! how -could you thus abandon your child—how leave her to the storms of -life—to sink, perhaps, beneath them? alas, I have no friend! -</p> - -<p> -She was interrupted by a rustling among the fallen leaves; she turned -her head, and perceiving the Marquis's young friend, arose to depart. -Pardon this intrusion, said he, your voice attracted me hither, and your -words detained me: my offence, however, brings with it its own -punishment; having learned your sorrows—how can I help feeling them -myself? would that my sympathy or my suffering could rescue you from -them!—He hesitated.—Would that I could deserve the title of -your friend, and be thought worthy of it by yourself! -</p> - -<p> -The confusion of Adeline's thoughts could scarcely permit her to reply; -she trembled, and gently withdrew her hand, which he had taken while he -spoke. You have perhaps heard, Sir, more than is true: I am indeed not -happy; but a moment of dejection has made me unjust, and I am less -unfortunate than I have represented. When I said I had no friend, I was -ungrateful to the kindness of Monsieur and Madame La Motte, who have -been more than friends—have been as parents to me. -</p> - -<p> -If so, I honour them, cried Theodore with warmth; and if I did not feel -it to be presumption, I would ask why you are unhappy?—But—he -paused. Adeline, raising her eyes, saw him gazing upon her with intense and -eager anxiety, and her looks were again fixed upon the ground. I have -pained you, said Theodore, by an improper request. Can you forgive me, -and also when I add, that it was an interest in your welfare which urged -my inquiry? -</p> - -<p> -Forgiveness, Sir, it is unnecessary to ask; I am certainly obliged by -the compassion you express. But the evening is cold, if you please we -will walk towards the abbey. As they moved on, Theodore was for some -time silent. At length, It was but lately that I solicited your pardon, -said he, and I shall now perhaps have need of it again; but you will do -me the justice to believe that I have a strong and indeed a pressing -reason to inquire how nearly you are related to Monsieur La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -We are not at all related, said Adeline; but the service he has done me -I can never repay, and I hope my gratitude will teach me never to forget -it. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed! said Theodore, surprised: and may I ask how long you have known -him? -</p> - -<p> -Rather, Sir, let me ask why these questions should be necessary. -</p> - -<p> -You are just, said he, with an air of self-condemnation, my conduct has -deserved this reproof; I should have been more explicit. He looked as if -his mind was labouring with something which he was unwilling to express. -But you know not how delicately I am circumstanced, continued he; yet I -will aver that my questions are prompted by the tenderest interest in -your happiness—and even by my fears for your safety. Adeline started. -I fear you are deceived, said he, I fear there's danger near you. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline stopped, and looking earnestly at him, begged he would explain -himself. She suspected that some mischief threatened La Motte; and -Theodore continuing silent, she repeated her request. If La Motte is -concerned in this danger, said she, let me entreat you to acquaint him -with it immediately; he has but too many misfortunes to apprehend. -</p> - -<p> -Excellent Adeline! cried Theodore, that heart must be adamant that would -injure you. How shall I hint what I fear is too true, and how forbear to -warn you of your danger without—He was interrupted by a step among -the trees, and presently after saw La Motte cross into the path they were -in. Adeline felt confused at being thus seen with the chevalier, and was -hastening to join La Motte; but Theodore detained her, and entreated a -moment's attention. There is now no time to explain myself, said he; yet -what I would say is of the utmost consequence to <i>yourself</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Promise, therefore, to meet me in some part of the forest at about this -time to-morrow evening; you will then, I hope, be convinced that my -conduct is directed neither by common circumstances nor common regard. -Adeline shuddered at the idea of making an appointment; she hesitated, -and at length entreated Theodore not to delay till to-morrow an -explanation which appeared to be so important, but to follow La Motte -and inform him of his danger immediately. It is not with La Motte I -would speak, replied Theodore; I know of no danger that threatens -him—but he approaches, be quick, lovely Adeline, and promise to meet -me. -</p> - -<p> -I do promise, said Adeline, with a faltering voice; I will come to the -spot where you found me this evening, an hour earlier to-morrow. Saying -this, she withdrew her trembling hand, which Theodore had pressed to his -lips in token of acknowledgement, and he immediately disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now approached Adeline, who, fearing that he had seen Theodore, -was in some confusion. Whither is Louis gone so fast? said La Motte. She -rejoiced to find his mistake, and suffered him to remain in it. They -walked pensively towards the abbey, where Adeline, too much occupied by -her own thoughts to bear company, retired to her chamber. She ruminated -upon the words of Theodore; and the more she considered them, the more -she was perplexed. Sometimes she blamed herself for having made an -appointment, doubting whether he had not solicited it for the purpose of -pleading a passion; and now delicacy checked this thought, and made her -vexed that she had presumed upon having inspired one. She recollected -the serious earnestness of his voice and manner when he entreated her to -meet him; and as they convinced her of the importance of the subject, -she shuddered at a danger which she could not comprehend, looking -forward to the morrow with anxious impatience. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes too a remembrance of the tender interest he had expressed for -her welfare, and of his correspondent look and air, would steal across -her memory, awakening a pleasing emotion and a latent hope that she was -not indifferent to him. From reflections like these she was roused by a -summons to supper:—the repast was a melancholy one, it being the last -evening of Louis's stay at the abbey. Adeline, who esteemed him, -regretted his departure, while his eyes were often bent on her with a -look which seemed to express that he was about to leave the object of -his affection. She endeavoured by her cheerfulness to reanimate the -whole party, and especially Madame La Motte, who frequently shed tears. -We shall soon meet again, said Adeline, I trust in happier -circumstances. La Motte sighed. The countenance of Louis brightened at -her words. Do you wish it? said he with peculiar emphasis. Most -certainly I do, she replied: can you doubt my regard for my best -friends? -</p> - -<p> -I cannot doubt any thing that is good of you, said he. -</p> - -<p> -You forget you have left Paris, said La Motte to his son, while a faint -smile crossed his face; such a compliment would there be in character -with the place—in these solitary woods it is quite <i>outre</i>. -</p> - -<p> -The language of admiration is not always that of compliment, Sir, said -Louis. Adeline, willing to change the discourse, asked to what part of -France he was going. He replied that his regiment was now at Peronne, -and he should go immediately thither. After some mention of indifferent -subjects, the family withdrew for the night to their several chambers. -</p> - -<p> -The approaching departure of her son occupied the thoughts of Madame La -Motte, and she appeared at breakfast with eyes swollen with weeping. The -pale countenance of Louis seemed to indicate that he had rested no -better than his mother. When breakfast was over, Adeline retired for a -while, that she might not interrupt by her presence their last -conversation. As she walked on the lawn before the abbey, she returned -in thought to the occurrence of yesterday evening, and her impatience -for the appointed interview increased. She was soon joined by Louis. It -was unkind of you to leave us, said he, in the last moments of my stay. -Could I hope that you would sometimes remember me when I am far away, I -should depart with less sorrow. He then expressed his concern at leaving -her: and though he had hitherto armed himself with resolution to forbear -a direct avowal of an attachment, which must be fruitless, his heart now -yielded to the force of passion, and he told what Adeline every moment -feared to hear. -</p> - -<p> -This declaration, said Adeline, endeavouring to overcome the agitation -it excited, gives me inexpressible concern. -</p> - -<p> -O, say not so! interrupted Louis, but give me some slender hope to -support me in the miseries of absence. Say that you do not hate -me—Say— -</p> - -<p> -That I do most readily say, replied Adeline in a tremulous voice; -if it will give you pleasure to be assured of my esteem and -friendship—receive this assurance:—as the son of my best -benefactors, you are entitled to—— -</p> - -<p> -Name not benefits, said Louis, your merits outrun them all: and suffer -me to hope for a sentiment less cool than that of friendship, as well as -to believe that I do not owe your approbation of me to the actions of -others. I have long borne my passion in silence, because I foresaw the -difficulties that would attend it; nay, I have even dared to endeavour -to overcome it: I have dared to believe it possible—forgive the -supposition, that I could forget you—and—— -</p> - -<p> -You distress me, interrupted Adeline; this is a conversation which I -ought not to hear. I am above disguise, and therefore assure you that, -though your virtues will always command my esteem, you have nothing to -hope from my love. Were it even otherwise, our circumstances would -effectually decide for us. If you are really my friend, you will rejoice -that I am spared this struggle between affection and prudence. Let me -hope, also, that time will teach you to reduce love within the limits of -friendship. -</p> - -<p> -Never, cried Louis vehemently: were this possible, my passion would be -unworthy of its object. While he spoke, Adeline's favourite fawn came -bounding towards her. This circumstance affected Louis even to tears. -This little animal, said he, after a short pause, first conducted me to -you: it was witness to that happy moment when I first saw you surrounded -by attractions too powerful for my heart; that moment is now fresh in my -memory, and the creature comes even to witness this sad one of my -departure. Grief interrupted his utterance. -</p> - -<p> -When he recovered his voice, he said, Adeline! when you look upon your -little favourite and caress it, remember the unhappy Louis, who will -then be far—far from you. Do not deny me the poor consolation of -believing this! -</p> - -<p> -I shall not require such a monitor to remind me of you, said Adeline -with a smile; your excellent parents and your own merits have sufficient -claim upon my remembrance. Could I see your natural good sense resume -its influence over passion, my satisfaction would equal my esteem for -you. -</p> - -<p> -Do not hope it, said Louis, nor will I wish it; for passion here is -virtue. As he spoke he saw La Motte turning round an angle of the abbey. -The moments are precious, said he, I am interrupted. O! Adeline, -farewell! and say that you will sometimes think of me. -</p> - -<p> -Farewell, said Adeline, who was affected by his distress—farewell! -and peace attend you. I will think of you with the affection of a -sister.—He sighed deeply and pressed her hand; when La Motte, winding -round another projection of the ruin, again appeared. Adeline left them -together, and withdrew to her chamber, oppressed by the scene. Louis's -passion and her esteem were too sincere not to inspire her with a strong -degree of pity for his unhappy attachment. She remained in her chamber -till he had quitted the abbey, unwilling to subject him or herself to -the pain of a formal parting. -</p> - -<p> -As evening and the hour of appointment drew nigh, Adeline's impatience -increased; yet when the time arrived, her resolution failed, and she -faltered from her purpose. There was something of indelicacy and -dissimulation in an <i>appointed</i> interview on her part, that shocked -her. She recollected the tenderness of Theodore's manner, and several -little circumstances which seemed to indicate that his heart was not -unconcerned in the event. Again she was inclined to doubt whether he had -not obtained her consent to this meeting upon some groundless suspicion; -and she almost determined not to go: yet it was possible Theodore's -assertion might be sincere, and her danger real; the chance of this made -her delicate scruples appear ridiculous; she wondered that she had for a -moment suffered them to weigh against so serious an interest, and -blaming herself for the delay they had occasioned, hastened to the place -of appointment. -</p> - -<p> -The little path which led to this spot, was silent and solitary, and -when she reached the recess Theodore had not arrived. A transient pride -made her unwilling he should find that she was more punctual to his -appointment than himself; and she turned from the recess into a track -which wound among the trees to the right. Having walked some way without -seeing any person or hearing a footstep, she returned; but he was not -come, and she again left the place. A second time she came back, and -Theodore was still absent. Recollecting the time at which she had -quitted the abbey, she grew uneasy, and calculated that the hour -appointed was now much exceeded. She was offended and perplexed; but she -seated herself on the turf, and was resolved to wait the event. After -remaining here till the fall of twilight in fruitless expectation, her -pride became more alarmed; she feared that he had discovered something -of the partiality he had inspired; and believing that he now treated her -with purposed neglect, she quitted the place with disgust and -self-accusation. -</p> - -<p> -When these emotions subsided, and reason resumed its influence, she -blushed for what she termed this childish effervescence of self-love. -She recollected, as if for the first time, these words of Theodore: I -fear you are deceived, and that some danger is near you. Her judgment -now acquitted the offender, and she saw only the friend. The import of -these words, whose truth she no longer doubted, again alarmed her. Why -did he trouble himself to come from the chateau, on purpose to hint her -danger, if he did not wish to preserve her? And if he wished to preserve -her, what but necessity could have withheld him from the appointment? -</p> - -<p> -These reflections decided her at once. She resolved to repair on the -following day at the same hour to the recess, whither the interest which -she believed him to take in her fate would no doubt conduct him in the -hope of meeting her. That some evil hovered over her she could not -disbelieve, but what it might be she was unable to guess. Monsieur and -Madame La Motte were her friends, and who else, removed as she now -thought herself, beyond the reach of her father, could injure her? But -why did Theodore say she was deceived? She found it impossible to -extricate herself from the labyrinth of conjecture, but endeavoured to -command her anxiety till the following evening. In the mean time she -engaged herself in efforts to amuse Madame La Motte, who required some -relief after the departure of her son. -</p> - -<p> -Thus oppressed by her own cares and interested by those of Madame La -Motte, Adeline retired to rest. She soon lost her recollection: but it -was only to fall into harassed slumbers, such as but too often haunt the -couch of the unhappy. At length her perturbed fancy suggested the -following dream. -</p> - -<p> -She thought she was in a large old chamber belonging to the abbey, more -ancient and desolate, though in part furnished, than any she had yet -seen. It was strongly barricadoed, yet no person appeared. While she -stood musing and surveying the apartment, she heard a low voice call -her; and looking towards the place whence it came, she perceived by the -dim light of a lamp a figure stretched on a bed that lay on the floor. -The Voice called again; and approaching the bed, she distinctly saw the -features of a man who appeared to be dying. A ghastly paleness -overspread his countenance, yet there was an expression of mildness and -dignity in it, which strongly interested her. -</p> - -<p> -While she looked on him his features changed, and seemed convulsed in -the agonies of death. The spectacle shocked her, and she started back; -but he suddenly stretched forth his hand, and seizing hers, grasped it -with violence: she struggled in terror to disengage herself; and again -looking on his face, saw a man who appeared to be about thirty, with the -same features, but in full health, and of a most benign countenance. He -smiled tenderly upon her, and moved his lips as if to speak, when the -floor of the chamber suddenly opened and he sunk from her view. The -effort she made to save herself from following awoke her.—This dream -had so strongly impressed her fancy, that it was some time before she -could overcome the terror it occasioned, or even be perfectly convinced -she was in her own apartment. At length, however, she composed herself -to sleep; again she fell into a dream. -</p> - -<p> -She thought she was bewildered in some winding passages of the abbey; -that it was almost dark, and that she wandered about a considerable time -without being able to find a door. Suddenly she heard a bell toll from -above, and soon after a confusion of distant voices. She redoubled her -efforts to extricate herself. Presently all was still; and at length -wearied with the search, she sat down on a step that crossed the -passage. She had not been long here when she saw a light glimmer at a -distance on the walls; but a turn in the passage, which was very long, -prevented her seeing from what it proceeded. It continued to glimmer -faintly for some time and then grew stronger, when she saw a man enter -the passage habited in a long black cloak like those usually worn by -attendants at funerals, and bearing a torch. He called to her to follow -him, and led her through a long passage to the foot of a staircase. Here -she feared to proceed, and was running back, when the man suddenly -turned to pursue her, and with the terror which this occasioned she -awoke. -</p> - -<p> -Shocked by these visions, and more so by their seeming connection, which -now struck her, she endeavoured to continue awake, lest their terrific -images should again haunt her mind: after some time, however, her -harassed spirits again sunk into slumber, though not to repose. -</p> - -<p> -She now thought herself in a large old gallery, and saw at one end of it -a chamber door standing a little open and a light within: she went -towards it, and perceived the man she had before seen, standing at the -door and beckoning her towards him. With the inconsistency so common in -dreams, she no longer endeavoured to avoid him, but advancing, followed -him into a suit of very ancient apartments hung with black and lighted -up as if for a funeral. Still he led her on, till she found herself in -the same chamber she remembered to have seen in her former dream: a -coffin covered with a pall stood at the further end of the room; some -lights and several persons surrounded it, who appeared to be in great -distress. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly she thought these persons were all gone, and that she was left -alone; that she went up to the coffin, and while she gazed upon it, she -heard a voice speak, as if from within, but saw nobody. The man she had -before seen, soon after stood by the coffin, and lifting the pall, she -saw beneath it a dead person, whom she thought to be the dying chevalier -she had seen in her former dream; his features were sunk in death, but -they were yet serene. While she looked at him, a stream of blood gushed -from his side, and descending to the floor the whole chamber was -overflowed; at the same time some words were uttered in a voice she -heard before; but the horror of the scene so entirely overcame her, that -she started and awoke. -</p> - -<p> -When she had recovered her recollection, she raised herself in the bed, -to be convinced it was a dream she had witnessed; and the agitation of -her spirits was so great, that she feared to be alone, and almost -determined to call Annette. The features of the deceased person, and the -chamber where he lay, were strongly impressed upon her memory, and she -still thought she heard the voice and saw the countenance which her -dream represented. The longer she considered these dreams, the more she -was surprised; they were so very terrible, returned so often, and seemed -to be so connected with each other, that she could scarcely think them -accidental; yet why they should be supernatural, she could not tell. She -slept no more that night. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">...... When these prodigies</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,</span><br /> -<span class="i0"><i>These are their reasons; they are natural</i>;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">For I believe they are portentous things.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">JULIUS CÆSAR.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -When Adeline appeared at breakfast, her harassed and languid countenance -struck Madame La Motte, who inquired if she was ill. Adeline, forcing a -smile upon her features, said she had not rested well, for that she had -had very disturbed dreams: she was about to describe them, but a strong -and involuntary impulse prevented her. At the same time La Motte -ridiculed her concern so unmercifully, that she was almost ashamed to -have mentioned it, and tried to overcome the remembrance of its cause. -</p> - -<p> -After breakfast, she endeavoured to employ her thoughts by conversing -with Madame La Motte; but they were really engaged by the incidents of -the last two days, the circumstance of her dreams, and her conjectures -concerning the information to be communicated to her by Theodore. They -had thus sat for some time, when a sound of voices arose from the great -gate of the abbey; and on going to the casement, Adeline saw the Marquis -and his attendants on the lawn below. The portal of the abbey concealed -several people from her view, and among these it was possible might be -Theodore, who had not yet appeared: she continued to look for him with -great anxiety, till the Marquis entered the hall with La Motte and some -other persons, soon after which Madame went to receive him, and Adeline -retired to her own apartment. -</p> - -<p> -A message from La Motte, however, soon called her to join the party, -where she vainly hoped to find Theodore. The Marquis arose as she -approached, and, having paid her some general compliments, the -conversation took a very lively turn. Adeline, finding it impossible to -counterfeit cheerfulness while her heart was sinking with anxiety and -disappointment, took little part in it: Theodore was not once named. She -would have asked concerning him, had it been possible to inquire with -propriety; but she was obliged to content herself with hoping, first, -that he would arrive before dinner, and then before the departure of the -Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -Thus the day passed in expectation and disappointment. The evening was -now approaching, and she was condemned to remain in the presence of the -Marquis, apparently listening to a conversation which, in truth, she -scarcely heard, while the opportunity was perhaps escaping that would -decide her fate. She was suddenly relieved from this state of torture, -and thrown into one, if possible, still more distressing. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis inquired for Louis, and being informed of his departure, -mentioned that Theodore Peyrou had that morning set out for his regiment -in a distant province. He lamented the loss he should sustain by his -absence; and expressed some very flattering praise of his talents. The -shock of this intelligence overpowered the long-agitated spirits of -Adeline: the blood forsook her cheeks, and a sudden faintness came over -her, from which she recovered only to a consciousness of having -discovered her emotion, and the danger of relapsing into a second fit. -</p> - -<p> -She retired to her chamber, where being once more alone, her oppressed -heart found relief from tears, in which she freely indulged. Ideas -crowded so fast upon her mind, that it was long ere she could arrange -them so as to produce any thing like reasoning. She endeavoured to -account for the abrupt departure of Theodore. Is it possible, said she, -that he should take an interest in my welfare, and yet leave me exposed -to the full force of a danger which he himself foresaw? Or am I to -believe that he has trifled with my simplicity for an idle frolic, and -has now left me to the wondering apprehension he has raised? Impossible! -a countenance so noble, and a manner so amiable, could never disguise a -heart capable of forming so despicable a design. No!—whatever is -reserved for me, let me not relinquish the pleasure of believing that he -is worthy of my esteem. -</p> - -<p> -She was awakened from thoughts like these by a peal of distant thunder, -and now perceived that the gloominess of evening was deepened by the -coming storm; it rolled onward, and soon after the lightning began to -flash along the chamber. Adeline was superior to the affectation of -fear, and was not apt to be terrified; but she now felt it unpleasant to -be alone, and hoping that the Marquis might have left the abby, she went -down to the sitting-room: but the threatening aspect of the heavens had -hitherto detained him, and now the evening tempest made him rejoice that -he had not quitted a shelter. The storm continued, and night came on. La -Motte pressed his guest to take a bed at the abbey, and he at length -consented; a circumstance which threw Madame La Motte into some -perplexity as to the accommodation to be afforded him. After some time -she arranged the affair to her satisfaction; resigning her own apartment -to the Marquis, and that of Louis to two of his superior attendants; -Adeline, it was further settled, should give up her room to Monsieur and -Madame La Motte, and to remove to an inner chamber, where a small bed, -usually occupied by Annette, was placed for her. -</p> - -<p> -At supper the Marquis was less gay than usual; he frequently addressed -Adeline, and his look and manner seemed to express the tender interest -which her indisposition, for she still appeared pale and languid, had -excited. Adeline, as usual, made an effort to forget her anxiety and -appear happy: but the veil of assumed cheerfulness was too thin to -conceal the features of sorrow; and her feeble smiles only added a -peculiar softness to her air. The Marquis conversed with her on a -variety of subjects, and displayed an elegant mind. The observations of -Adeline, which, when called upon, she gave with reluctant modesty, in -words at once simple and forceful, seemed to excite his admiration, -which he sometimes betrayed by an inadvertent expression. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline retired early to her room, which adjoined on one side to Madame -La Motte's, and on the other to the closet formerly mentioned. It was -spacious and lofty, and what little furniture it contained was falling -to decay; but perhaps the present tone of her spirits might contribute -more than these circumstances to give that air of melancholy which -seemed to reign in it. She was unwilling to go to bed, lest the dreams -that had lately pursued her should return; and determined to sit up till -she found herself oppressed by sleep, when it was probable her rest -would be profound. She placed the light on a small table, and taking a -book, continued to read for above an hour, till her mind refused any -longer to abstract itself from its own cares, and she sat for some time -leaning pensively on her arm. -</p> - -<p> -The wind was high, and as it whistled through the desolate apartment, -and shook the feeble doors, she often started, and sometimes even -thought she heard sighs between the pauses of the gust; but she checked -these illusions, which the hour of the night and her own melancholy -imagination conspired to raise. As she sat musing, her eyes fixed on the -opposite wall, she perceived the arras, with which the room was hung, -wave backwards and forwards; she continued to observe it for some -minutes, and then rose to examine it further. It was moved by the wind; -and she blushed at the momentary fear it had excited; but she observed -that the tapestry was more strongly agitated in one particular place -than elsewhere, and a noise that seemed something more than that of the -wind issued thence. The old bedstead, which La Motte had found in this -apartment, had been removed to accommodate Adeline, and it was behind -the place where this had stood, that the wind seemed to rush with -particular force: curiosity prompted her to examine still further; she -felt about the tapestry, and perceiving the wall behind shake under her -hand, she lifted the arras, and discovered a small door, whose loosened -hinges admitted the wind, and occasioned the noise she had heard. -</p> - -<p> -The door was held only by a bolt, having undrawn which, and brought the -light, she descended by a few steps into another chamber; she instantly -remembered her dreams. The chamber was not much like that in which she -had seen the dying chevalier, and afterwards the bier; but it gave her a -confused remembrance of one through which she had passed. Holding up the -light to examine it more fully, she was convinced by its structure that -it was part of the ancient foundation. A shattered casement, placed high -from the floor, seemed to be the only opening to admit light. She -observed a door on the opposite side of the apartment; and after some -moments of hesitation gained courage, and determined to pursue the -inquiry. A mystery seems to hang over these chambers, said she, which it -is perhaps my lot to develop; I will at least see to what that door -leads. -</p> - -<p> -She stepped forward, and having unclosed it, proceeded with faltering -steps along a suite of apartments, resembling the first in style and -condition, and terminating in one exactly like that where her dream had -represented the dying person; the remembrance struck so forcibly upon -her imagination, that she was in danger of fainting; and looking round -the room, almost expected to see the phantom of her dream. -</p> - -<p> -Unable to quit the place, she sat down on some old lumber to recover -herself, while her spirits were nearly overcome by a superstitious -dread, such as she had never felt before. She wondered to what part of -the abbey these chambers belonged, and that they had so long escaped -detection. The casements were all too high to afford any information -from without. When she was sufficiently composed to consider the -direction of the rooms and the situation of the abbey, there appeared -not a doubt that they formed an interior part of the original building. -</p> - -<p> -As these reflections passed over her mind, a sudden gleam of moonlight -fell upon some object without the casement. Being now sufficiently -composed to wish to pursue the inquiry, and believing this object might -afford her some means of learning the situation of these rooms, she -combated her remaining terrors; and in order to distinguish it more -clearly, removed the light to an outer chamber; but before she could -return, a heavy cloud was driven over the face of the moon, and all -without was perfectly dark; she stood for some moments waiting a -returning gleam, but the obscurity continued. As she went softly back -for the light, her foot stumbled over something on the floor; and while -she stooped to examine it, the moon again shone, so that she could -distinguish through the casement, the eastern towers of the abbey. This -discovery confirmed her former conjectures concerning the interior -situation of these apartments. The obscurity of the place prevented her -discovering what it was that had impeded her steps, but having brought -the light forward, she perceived on the floor an old dagger: with a -trembling hand she took it up, and upon a closer view perceived that it -was spotted and stained with rust. -</p> - -<p> -Shocked and surprised, she looked round the room for some object that -might confirm or destroy the dreadful suspicion which now rushed upon -her mind; but she saw only a great chair with broken arms, that stood in -one corner of the room, and a table in a condition equally shattered, -except that in another part lay a confused heap of things, which -appeared to be old lumber. She went up to it, and perceived a broken -bedstead, with some decayed remnants of furniture, covered with dust and -cobwebs, and which seemed indeed as if they had not been moved for many -years. Desirous, however, of examining further, she attempted to raise -what appeared to have been part of the bedstead; but it slipped from her -hand, and, rolling to the floor, brought with it some of the remaining -lumber. Adeline started aside and saved herself; and when the noise it -made had ceased, she heard a small rustling sound, and as she was about -to leave the chamber, saw something falling gently among the lumber. -</p> - -<p> -It was a small roll of paper, tied with a string, and covered with dust. -Adeline took it up, and on opening it perceived a hand writing. She -attempted to read it, but the part of the manuscript she looked at was -so much obliterated, that she found this difficult, though what few -words were legible impressed her with curiosity and terror, and induced -her to return with it immediately to her chamber. -</p> - -<p> -Having reached her own room, she fastened the private door, and let the -arras fall over it as before. It was now midnight. The stillness of the -hour, interrupted only at intervals by the hollow sighings of the blast, -heightened the solemnity of Adeline's feelings. She wished she was not -alone, and before she proceeded to look into the manuscript, listened -whether Madame La Motte was yet in her chamber:—not the least sound -was heard, and she gently opened the door. The profound silence within -almost convinced her that no person was there; but willing to be further -satisfied, she brought the light and found the room empty. The lateness -of the hour made her wonder that Madame La Motte was not in her chamber, -and she proceeded to the top of the tower stairs, to hearken if any -person was stirring. -</p> - -<p> -She heard the sound of voices from below, and, amongst the rest, that of -La Motte speaking in his usual tone. Being now satisfied that all was -well, she turned towards her room, when she heard the Marquis pronounce -her name with very unusual emphasis. She paused. I adore her, pursued -he, and by Heaven—He was interrupted by La Motte, my Lord, remember -your promise. -</p> - -<p> -I do, replied the Marquis, and I will abide by it. But we trifle. -To-morrow I will declare myself, and I shall then know both what to hope -and how to act. Adeline trembled so excessively, that she could scarcely -support herself: she wished to return to her chamber; yet she was too -much interested in the words she had heard, not to be anxious to have -them more fully explained. There was an interval of silence, after which -they conversed in a lower tone. Adeline remembered the hints of -Theodore, and determined, if possible, to be relieved from the terrible -suspense she now suffered. She stole softly down a few steps, that she -might catch the accents of the speakers, but they were so low that she -could only now and then distinguish a few words. Her father, say you? -said the Marquis. Yes, my Lord, her father. I am well informed of what I -say. Adeline shuddered at the mention of her father, a new terror seized -her, and with increasing eagerness she endeavoured to distinguish their -words, but for some time found this to be impossible. Here is no time to -be lost, said the Marquis, to-morrow then.—She heard La Motte rise, -and believing it was to leave the room, she hurried up the steps, and -having reached her chamber, sunk almost lifeless in a chair. -</p> - -<p> -It was her father only of whom she thought. She doubted not that he had -pursued and discovered her retreat; and though this conduct appeared -very inconsistent with his former behaviour in abandoning her to -strangers, her fears suggested that it would terminate in some new -cruelty. She did not hesitate to pronounce this the danger of which -Theodore had warned her; but it was impossible to surmise how he had -gained his knowledge of it, or how he had become sufficiently acquainted -with her story, except through La Motte, her apparent friend and -protector, whom she was thus, though unwillingly, led to suspect of -treachery. Why, indeed, should La Motte conceal from her only his -knowledge of her father's intention, unless he designed to deliver her -into his hands? Yet it was long ere she could bring herself to believe -this conclusion possible. To discover depravity in those whom we have -loved, is one of the most exquisite tortures to a virtuous mind, and the -conviction is often rejected before it is finally admitted. -</p> - -<p> -The words of Theodore, which told her he was fearful she was deceived, -confirmed this most painful apprehension of La Motte, with another yet -more distressing, that Madame La Motte was also united against her. This -thought, for a moment, subdued terror and left her only grief; she wept -bitterly. Is this human nature? cried she. Am I doomed to find every -body deceitful? An unexpected discovery of vice in those whom we have -admired, inclines us to extend our censure of the individual to the -species; we henceforth contemn appearances, and too hastily conclude -that no person is to be trusted. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline determined to throw herself at the feet of La Motte on the -following morning, and implore his pity and protection. Her mind was now -too much agitated by her own interests to permit her to examine the -manuscripts, and she sat musing in her chair till she heard the steps of -Madame La Motte, when she retired to bed. La Motte soon after came up to -his chamber; and Adeline, the mild, persecuted Adeline, who had now -passed two days of torturing anxiety, and one night of terrific visions, -endeavoured to compose her mind to sleep. In the present state of her -spirits she quickly caught alarm, and she had scarcely fallen into a -slumber when she was roused by a loud and uncommon noise. She listened, -and thought the sound came from the apartments below, but in a few -minutes there was a hasty knocking at the door of La Motte's chamber. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte, who had just fallen asleep, was not easily to be roused; but -the knocking increased with such violence, that Adeline, extremely -terrified, arose and went to the door that opened from her chamber into -his, with a design to call him. She was stopped by the voice of the -Marquis, which she now clearly distinguished at the door. He called to -La Motte to rise immediately; and Madame La Motte endeavoured at the -same time to rouse her husband, who at length awoke in much alarm, and -soon after joining the Marquis, they went down stairs together. Adeline -now dressed herself, as well as her trembling hands would permit, and -went into the adjoining chamber, where she found Madame La Motte -extremely surprised and terrified. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis in the mean time told La Motte, with great agitation, that -he recollected having appointed some persons to meet him upon business -of importance early in the morning, and it was therefore necessary for -him to set off for his chateau immediately. As he said this, and desired -that his servants might be called, La Motte could not help observing the -ashy paleness of his countenance, or expressing some apprehension that -his Lordship was ill. The Marquis assured him he was perfectly well, but -desired that he might set out immediately. Peter was now ordered to call -the other servants, and the Marquis having refused to take any -refreshment, bade La Motte a hasty adieu, and as soon as his people were -ready left the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte returned to his chamber, musing on the abrupt departure of his -guest, whose emotion appeared much too strong to proceed from the cause -assigned. He appeased the anxiety of Madame La Motte, and at the same -time excited her surprise by acquainting her with the occasion of the -late disturbance. Adeline, who had retired from the chamber on the -approach of La Motte, looked out from her window on hearing the -trampling of horses. It was the Marquis and his people, who just then -passed at a little distance. Unable to distinguish who the persons were, -she was alarmed at observing such a party about the abbey at that hour, -and calling to inform La Motte of the circumstance, was made acquainted -with what had passed. -</p> - -<p> -At length she retired to her bed, and her slumbers were this night -undisturbed by dreams. -</p> - -<p> -When she arose in the morning, she observed La Motte walking alone in -the avenue below, and she hastened to seize the opportunity which now -offered of pleading her cause. She approached him with faltering steps, -while the paleness and timidity of her countenance discovered the -disorder of her mind. Her first words, without entering upon any -explanation, implored his compassion. La Motte stopped, and looking -earnestly in her face, inquired whether any part of his conduct towards -her merited the suspicion which her request implied. Adeline for a -moment blushed that she had doubted his integrity, but the words she had -overheard returned to her memory. -</p> - -<p> -Your behaviour, Sir, said she, I acknowledge to have been kind and -generous, beyond what I had a right to expect, but—and she paused. -She knew not how to mention what she blushed to believe. La Motte continued -to gaze on her in silent expectation, and at length desired her to -proceed and explain her meaning. She entreated that he would protect her -from her father. La Motte looked surprised and confused. Your father! -said he. Yes, Sir, replied Adeline; I am not ignorant that he has -discovered my retreat: I have every thing to dread from a parent who has -treated me with such cruelty as you was witness of; and I again implore -that you will save me from his hands. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte stood fixed in thought, and Adeline continued her endeavours to -interest his pity. What reason have you to suppose, or rather how have -you learned, that your father pursues you? The question confused -Adeline, who blushed to acknowledge that she had overheard his -discourse, and disdained to invent or utter a falsity: at length she -confessed the truth. The countenance of La Motte instantly changed to a -savage fierceness, and, sharply rebuking her for a conduct to which she -had been rather tempted by chance than prompted by design, he inquired -what she had overheard that could so much alarm her. She faithfully -repeated the substance of the incoherent sentences that had met her -ear;—while she spoke, he regarded her with a fixed attention. And was -this all you heard? Is it from these few words that you draw such a -positive conclusion? Examine them, and you will find they do not justify -it. -</p> - -<p> -She now perceived, what the fervour of her fears had not permitted her -to observe before, that the words, unconnectedly as she heard them, -imported little, and that her imagination had filled up the void in the -sentences, so as to suggest the evil apprehended. Notwithstanding this, -her fears were little abated. Your apprehensions are, doubtless, now -removed, resumed La Motte; but to give you a proof of the sincerity -which you have ventured to question, I will tell you they were just. You -seem alarmed, and with reason. Your father has discovered your -residence, and has already demanded you. It is true, that from a motive -of compassion I have refused to resign you, but I have neither authority -to withhold nor means to defend you. When he comes to enforce his -demand, you will perceive this. Prepare yourself, therefore, for the -evil, which you see is inevitable. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline for some time could speak only by her tears. At length, with a -fortitude which despair had roused, she said, I resign myself to the -will of Heaven! La Motte gazed on her in silence, and a strong emotion -appeared in his countenance. He forbore, however, to renew the -discourse, and withdrew to the abbey, leaving Adeline in the avenue, -absorbed in grief. -</p> - -<p> -A summons to breakfast hastened her to the parlour, where she passed the -morning in conversation with Madame La Motte, to whom she told all her -apprehensions, and expressed all her sorrow. Pity and superficial -consolation were all that Madame La Motte could offer, though apparently -much affected by Adeline's discourse. Thus the hours passed heavily -away, while the anxiety of Adeline continued to increase, and the moment -of her fate seemed fast approaching. Dinner was scarcely over, when -Adeline was surprised to see the Marquis arrive. He entered the room -with his usual ease, and apologizing for the disturbance he had -occasioned on the preceding night, repeated what he had before told La -Motte. -</p> - -<p> -The remembrance of the conversation she had overheard at first gave -Adeline some confusion, and withdrew her mind from a sense of the evils -to be apprehended from her father. The Marquis, who was, as usual, -attentive to Adeline, seemed affected by her apparent indisposition, and -expressed much concern for that dejection of spirits which, -notwithstanding every effort, her manner betrayed. When Madame La Motte -withdrew, Adeline would have followed her; but the Marquis entreated a -few moments' attention, and led her back to her seat. La Motte -immediately disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline knew too well what would be the purport of the Marquis's -discourse, and his words soon increased the confusion which her fears -had occasioned. While he was declaring the ardour of his passion in such -terms as but too often make vehemence pass for sincerity, Adeline, to -whom this declaration, if honourable, was distressing, and if -dishonourable, was shocking, interrupted him and thanked him for the -offer of a distinction which, with a modest but determined air, she said -she must refuse. She rose to withdraw. Stay, too lovely Adeline! said -he, and if compassion for my sufferings will not interest you in my -favour, allow a consideration of your own dangers to do so. Monsieur La -Motte has informed me of your misfortunes, and of the evil that now -threatens you; accept from me the protection which he cannot afford. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline continued to move towards the door, when the Marquis threw -himself at her feet, and seizing her hand, impressed it with kisses. She -struggled to disengage herself. Hear me, charming Adeline! hear me, -cried the Marquis; I exist but for you. Listen to my entreaties, and my -fortune shall be yours. Do not drive me to despair by ill-judged rigour, -or, because— -</p> - -<p> -My Lord, interrupted Adeline with an air of ineffable dignity, and still -affecting to believe his proposal honourable, I am sensible of the -generosity of your conduct, and also flattered by the distinction you -offer me; I will therefore say something more than is necessary to a bare -expression of the denial which I must continue to give. <i>I can not</i> -bestow my heart. <i>You can not</i> obtain more than my esteem, to which, -indeed, nothing can so much contribute as a forbearance from any similar -offers in future. -</p> - -<p> -She again attempted to go, but the Marquis prevented her; and, after -some hesitation, again urged his suit, though in terms that would no -longer allow her to misunderstand him. Tears swelled into her eyes, but -she endeavoured to check them; and with a look in which grief and -indignation seemed to struggle for pre-eminence, she said, My Lord, this -is unworthy of reply; let me pass. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment he was awed by the dignity of her manner, and he threw -himself at her feet to implore forgiveness. But she waved her hand in -silence, and hurried from the room. When she reached her chamber she -locked the door, and, sinking into a chair, yielded to the sorrow that -pressed at her heart. And it was not the least of her sorrow to suspect -that La Motte was unworthy of her confidence; for it was almost -impossible that he could be ignorant of the real designs of the Marquis. -Madame La Motte, she believed, was imposed upon by a specious pretence -of honourable attachment; and thus was she spared the pang which a doubt -of her integrity would have added. -</p> - -<p> -She threw a trembling glance upon the prospect around her. On one side -was her father, whose cruelty had already been but too plainly -manifested; and on the other, the Marquis pursuing her with insult and -vicious passion. She resolved to acquaint Madame La Motte with the -purport of the late conversation; and, in the hope of her protection and -sympathy, she wiped away her tears, and was leaving the room just as -Madame La Motte entered it. While Adeline related what had passed, her -friend wept, and appeared to suffer great agitation. She endeavoured to -comfort her, and promised to use her influence in persuading La Motte to -prohibit the addressee of the Marquis. You know, my dear, added Madame, -that our present circumstances oblige us to preserve terms with the -Marquis, and you will therefore suffer as little resentment to appear in -your manner towards him as possible; conduct yourself with your usual -ease in his presence, and I doubt not this affair will pass over without -subjecting you to further solicitation. -</p> - -<p> -Ah, Madam! said Adeline, how hard is the task you assign me! I entreat -you that I may never more be subjected to the humiliation of being in -his presence,—that, whenever he visits the abbey, I may be suffered -to remain in my chamber. -</p> - -<p> -This, said Madame La Motte, I would most readily consent to, would our -situation permit it. But you well know our asylum in this abbey depends -upon the good-will of the Marquis, which we must not wantonly lose; and -surely such a conduct as you propose would endanger this. Let us use -milder measures, and we shall preserve his friendship without subjecting -you to any serious evil. Appear with your usual complaisance: the task -is not so difficult as you imagine. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline sighed. I obey you, Madam, said she; it is my duty to do so: but -I may be pardoned for saying—it is with extreme reluctance. Madame La -Motte promised to go immediately to her husband; and Adeline departed, -though not convinced of her safety, yet somewhat more at ease. -</p> - -<p> -She soon after saw the Marquis depart; and as there now appeared to be -no obstacle to the return of Madame La Motte, she expected her with -extreme impatience. After thus waiting near an hour in her chamber, she -was at length summoned to the parlour, and there found Monsieur La Motte -alone. He arose upon her entrance, and for some minutes paced the room -in silence. He then seated himself, and addressed her: What you have -mentioned to Madame La Motte, said he, would give me much concern, did I -consider the behaviour of the Marquis in a light so serious as she does. -I know that young ladies are apt to misconstrue the unmeaning gallantry -of fashionable manners; and you, Adeline, can never be too cautious in -distinguishing between a levity of this kind and a more serious address. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was surprised and offended that La Motte should think so lightly -both of her understanding and disposition as his speech implied. Is it -possible, Sir, said she, that you have been apprized of the Marquis's -conduct? -</p> - -<p> -It is very possible, and very certain, replied La Motte with some -asperity; and very possible, also, that I may see this affair with a -judgment less discoloured by prejudice than you do. But, however, I -shall not dispute this point; I shall only request that, since you are -acquainted with the emergency of my circumstances, you will conform to -them, and not, by an ill-timed resentment, expose me to the enmity of -the Marquis. He is now my friend, and it is necessary to my safety that -he should continue such; but if I suffer any part of my family to treat -him with rudeness, I must expect to see him my enemy. You may surely -treat him with complaisance. Adeline thought the term <i>rudeness</i> a -harsh one as La Motte applied it, but she forbore from any expression of -displeasure. I could have wished, Sir, said she, for the privilege of -retiring whenever the Marquis appeared; but since you believe this -conduct would affect your interest, I ought to submit. -</p> - -<p> -This prudence and good-will delights me, said La Motte; and since you -wish to serve me, know that you cannot more effectually do it than by -treating the Marquis as a friend. The word <i>friend</i>, as it stood -connected with the Marquis, sounded dissonantly to Adeline's ear; she -hesitated, and looked at La Motte. As <i>your</i> friend, Sir, said she, I -will endeavour to—treat him as mine, she would have said, but she -found it impossible to finish the sentence. She entreated his protection -from the power of her father. -</p> - -<p> -What protection I can afford is yours, said La Motte; but you know how -destitute I am both of the right and the means of resisting him, and -also how much I require protection myself. Since he has discovered your -retreat, he is probably not ignorant of the circumstances which detain -me here; and if I oppose him, he may betray me to the officers of the -law, as the surest method of obtaining possession of you. We are -encompassed with dangers, continued La Motte; would I could see any -method of extricating ourselves! -</p> - -<p> -Quit this abbey, said Adeline, and seek an asylum in Switzerland or -Germany; you will then be freed from further obligation to the Marquis, -and from the persecution you dread. Pardon me for thus offering advice, -which is certainly in some degree prompted by a sense of my own safety, -but which, at the same time, seems to afford the only means of ensuring -yours. -</p> - -<p> -Your plan is reasonable, said La Motte, had I money to execute it. As it -is, I must be contented to remain here as little known as possible, and -defend myself by making those who know me my friends. Chiefly I must -endeavour to preserve the favour of the Marquis: he may do much, should -your father even pursue desperate measures. But why do I talk thus? your -father may ere this have commenced these measures, and the effects of -his vengeance may now be hanging over my head. My regard for you, -Adeline, has exposed me to this; had I resigned you to his will, I -should have remained secure. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was so much affected by this instance of La Motte's kindness, -which she could not doubt, that she was unable to express her sense of -it. When she could speak, she uttered her gratitude in the most lively -terms.—Are you sincere in these expressions? said La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -Is it possible I can be less than sincere? replied Adeline, weeping at -the idea of ingratitude.—Sentiments are easily pronounced, said La -Motte, though they may have no connection with the heart; I believe them -to be sincere so far only as they influence our actions. -</p> - -<p> -What mean you, Sir? said Adeline with surprise. -</p> - -<p> -I mean to inquire whether, if an opportunity should ever offer of thus -proving your gratitude, you would adhere to your sentiments? -</p> - -<p> -Name one that I shall refuse, said Adeline with energy. -</p> - -<p> -If, for instance, the Marquis should hereafter avow a serious passion -for you, and offer you his hand, would no petty resentment, no lurking -prepossession for some more happy lover prompt you to refuse it? -</p> - -<p> -Adeline blushed, and fixed her eyes on the ground. You have, indeed, -Sir, named the only means I should reject of evincing my sincerity. The -Marquis I can never love, nor, to speak sincerely, ever esteem. I -confess the peace of one's whole life is too much to sacrifice even to -gratitude.—La Motte looked displeased. 'Tis as I thought, said he; -these delicate sentiments make a fine appearance in speech, and render -the person who utters them infinitely amiable; but bring them to the -test of action, and they dissolve into air, leaving only the wreck of -vanity behind. -</p> - -<p> -This unjust sarcasm brought tears to her eyes. Since your safety, Sir, -depends upon my conduct, said she, resign me to my father: I am willing -to return to him, since my stay here must involve you in new misfortune: -let me not prove myself unworthy of the protection I have hitherto -experienced, by preferring my own welfare to yours. When I am gone, you -will have no reason to apprehend the Marquis's displeasure, which you -may probably incur if I stay here; for I feel it impossible that I could -even consent to receive his addresses, however honourable were his -views. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte seemed hurt and alarmed. This must not be, said he; let us not -harass ourselves by stating <i>possible</i> evils, and then, to avoid them, -fly to those which are <i>certain</i>. No, Adeline, though you are ready to -sacrifice yourself to my safety, I will not suffer you to do so;—I -will not yield you to your father but upon compulsion. Be satisfied, -therefore, upon this point. The only return I ask, is a civil deportment -towards the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -I will endeavour to obey you, Sir, said Adeline.—Madame La Motte now -entered the room, and this conversation ceased. Adeline passed the -evening in melancholy thoughts, and retired as soon as possible to her -chamber, eager to seek in sleep a refuge from sorrow. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">Full many a melancholy night</span><br /> -<span class="i3">He watch'd the slow return of light,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And sought the powers of sleep;</span><br /> -<span class="i3">To spread a momentary calm</span><br /> -<span class="i3">O'er his sad couch, and in the balm</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to steep.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">WARTON.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -The MS. found by Adeline the preceding night had several times occurred -to her recollection in the course of the day; but she had then been -either too much interested by the events of the moment, or too -apprehensive of interruption, to attempt a perusal of it. She now took -it from the drawer in which it had been deposited, and, intending only -to look cursorily over the few first pages, sat down with it by her -bed-side. -</p> - -<p> -She opened it with an eagerness of inquiry which the discoloured and -almost obliterated ink but slowly gratified. The first words on the page -were entirely lost, but those that appeared to commence the narrative -were as follows: -</p> - -<p> -O! ye, whoever ye are, whom chance or misfortune may hereafter conduct -to this spot—to you I speak—to you reveal the story of my -wrongs, and ask you to avenge them. Vain hope! yet it imparts some comfort -to believe it possible that what I now write may one day meet the eye of a -fellow-creature; that the words which tell my sufferings may one day -draw pity from the feeling heart. -</p> - -<p> -Yet stay your tears—your pity now is useless: lone since have the -pangs of misery ceased; the voice of complaining is passed away. It is -weakness to wish for compassion which cannot be felt till I shall sink -in the repose of death, and taste, I hope, the happiness of eternity! -</p> - -<p> -Know, then, that on the night of the twelfth of October, in the year -1642, I was arrested on the road to Caux,—and on the very spot where -a column is erected to the memory of the immortal Henry,—by four -ruffians, who, after disabling my servant, bore me through wilds and -woods to this abbey. Their demeanour was not that of common banditti, -and I soon perceived they were employed by a superior power to -perpetrate some dreadful purpose. Entreaties and bribes were vainly -offered them to discover their employer and abandon their design; they -would not reveal even the least circumstance of their intentions. -</p> - -<p> -But when, after a long journey, they arrived at this edifice, their base -employer was at once revealed, and his horrid scheme but too well -understood. What a moment was that! All the thunders of heaven seemed -launched at this defenceless head! O! fortitude! nerve my heart -to—— -</p> - -<p> -Adeline's light was now expiring in the socket, and the paleness of the -ink, so feebly shone upon, baffled her efforts to discriminate the -letters: it was impossible to procure a light from below, without -discovering that she was yet up; a circumstance which would excite -surprise, and lead to explanations such as she did not wish to enter -upon. Thus compelled to suspend the inquiry, which so many attendant -circumstances had rendered awfully interesting, she retired to her -humble bed. -</p> - -<p> -What she had read of the MS. awakened a dreadful interest in the fate of -the writer, and called up terrific images to her mind. In these -apartments!—said she; and she shuddered and closed her eyes. At -length she heard Madame La Motte enter her chamber, and the phantoms of -fear beginning to dissipate, left her to repose. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning she was awakened by Madame La Motte, and found to her -disappointment that she had slept so much beyond her usual time as to be -unable to renew the perusal of the MS.—La Motte appeared uncommonly -gloomy, and Madame wore an air of melancholy, which Adeline attributed -to the concern she felt for her. Breakfast was scarcely over, when the -sound of horses' feet announced the arrival of a stranger; and Adeline -from the oriel recess of the hall saw the Marquis alight. She retreated -with precipitation, and, forgetting the request of La Motte, was -hastening to her chamber: but the Marquis was already in the hall; and -seeing her leaving it, turned to La Motte with a look of inquiry. La -Motte called her back, and by a frown too intelligent reminded her of -her promise. She summoned all her spirits to her aid, but advanced, -notwithstanding, in visible emotion; while the Marquis addressed her as -usual, the same easy gaiety playing upon his countenance and directing -his manner. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was surprised and shocked at this careless confidence; which, -however, by awakening her pride, communicated to her an air of dignity -that abashed him. He spoke with hesitation, and frequently appeared -abstracted from the subject of discourse. At length arising, he begged -Adeline would favour him with a few moments' conversation. Monsieur and -Madame La Motte were now leaving the room, when Adeline, turning to the -Marquis, told him she would not hear any conversation except in the -presence of her friends. But she said it in vain, for they were gone; -and La Motte, as he withdrew, expressed by his looks how much an attempt -to follow would displease him. -</p> - -<p> -She sat for some time in silence and trembling expectation. I am -sensible, said the Marquis at length, that the conduct to which the -ardour of my passion lately betrayed me, has injured me in your opinion, -and that you will not easily restore me to your esteem; but I trust the -offer which I now make you, both of my <i>title</i> and fortune, will -sufficiently prove the sincerity of my attachment, and atone for the -transgression which love only prompted. -</p> - -<p> -After this specimen of common-place verbosity, which the Marquis seemed -to consider as a prelude to triumph, he attempted to impress a kiss upon -the hand of Adeline, who, withdrawing it hastily, said, You are already, -my Lord, acquainted with my sentiments upon this subject, and it is -almost unnecessary for me now to repeat that I cannot accept the honour -you offer me. -</p> - -<p> -Explain yourself, lovely Adeline! I am ignorant that till now I ever -made you this offer. -</p> - -<p> -Most true, Sir, said Adeline; and you do well to remind me of this, -since, after having heard your former proposal, I cannot listen for a -moment to any other. She rose to quit the room. Stay, Madam, said the -Marquis, with a look in which offended pride struggled to conceal -itself; do not suffer an extravagant resentment to operate against your -true interests; recollect the dangers that surround you, and consider -the value of an offer which may afford you at least an honourable -asylum. -</p> - -<p> -My misfortunes, my Lord, whatever they are, I have never obtruded upon -you; you will, therefore, excuse my observing, that your present mention -of them conveys a much greater appearance of insult than compassion. The -Marquis, though with evident confusion, was going to reply; but Adeline -would not be detained, and retired to her chamber. Destitute as she was, -her heart revolted from the proposal of the Marquis, and she determined -never to accept it. To her dislike of his general disposition, and the -aversion excited by his late offer, was added, indeed, the influence of -a prior attachment, and of a remembrance which she found it impossible -to erase from her heart. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis staid to dine, and in consideration of La Motte, Adeline -appeared at table, where the former gazed upon her with such frequent -and silent earnestness, that her distress became insupportable; and when -the cloth was drawn, she instantly retired. Madame La Motte soon -followed, and it was not till evening that she had an opportunity of -returning to the MS. When Monsieur and Madame La Motte were in their -chamber, and all was still, she drew forth the narrative, and trimming -her lamp, sat down to read as follows: -</p> - -<p> -The ruffians unbound me from my horse, and led me through the hall up -the spiral staircase of the abbey: resistance was useless; but I looked -around in the hope of seeing some person less obdurate than the men who -brought me hither; some one who might be sensible to pity, and capable -at least of civil treatment. I looked in vain; no person appeared: and -this circumstance confirmed my worst apprehensions. The secrecy of the -business foretold a horrible conclusion. Having passed some chambers, -they stopped in one hung with old tapestry. I inquired why we did not go -on, and was told I should soon know. -</p> - -<p> -At that moment I expected to see the instrument of death uplifted, and -silently recommended myself to God. But death was not then designed for -me; they raised the arras, and discovered a door, which they then -opened. Seizing my arms, they led me through a suite of dismal chambers -beyond. Having reached the furthest of these, they again stopped: the -horrid gloom of the place seemed congenial to murder, and inspired -deadly thoughts. Again I looked round for the instrument of destruction, -and again I was respited. I supplicated to know what was designed me; it -was now unnecessary to ask who was the author of the design. They were -silent to my question, but at length told me this chamber was my prison. -Having said this, and set down a jug of water, they left the room, and I -heard the door barred upon me. -</p> - -<p> -O sound of despair! O moment of unutterable anguish! The pang of death -itself is surely not superior to that I then suffered. Shut out from day, -from friends, from life—for <i>such I must foretell it</i>—in -the prime of my years, in the height of my transgressions, and left to -imagine horrors more terrible than any, perhaps, which certainty could -give—I sink beneath the— -</p> - -<p> -Here several pages of the manuscript were decayed with damp, and totally -illegible. With much difficulty Adeline made out the following lines: -</p> - -<p> -Three days have now passed in solitude and silence: the horrors of death -are ever before my eyes, let me endeavour to prepare for the dreadful -change! When I awake in the morning I think I shall not live to see -another night; and when night returns, that I must never more unclose my -eyes on morning. Why am I brought hither—why confined thus -rigorously—but for death! Yet what action of my life has deserved -this at the hand of a fellow-creature?—Of—— -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -O my children! O friends far distant! I shall never see you -more—never more receive the parting look of kindness—never -bestow a parting blessing!—Ye know not my wretched -state—alas! ye cannot know it by human means. Ye believe me happy, -or ye would fly to my relief. I know that what I now write cannot avail -me, yet there is comfort in pouring forth my griefs; and I bless that -man, less savage than his fellows, who has supplied me these means of -recording them. Alas! he knows full well, that from this indulgence he -has nothing to fear. My pen can call no friends to succour me, nor -reveal my danger ere it is too late. O! ye, who may hereafter read what -I now write, give a tear to my sufferings: I have wept often for the -distresses of my fellow-creatures! -</p> - -<p> -Adeline paused. Here the wretched writer appealed directly to her heart; -he spoke in the energy of truth, and, by a strong illusion of fancy, it -seemed as if his past suffering were at this moment present. She was for -some time unable to proceed, and sat in musing sorrow. In these very -apartments, said she, this poor sufferer was confined—here -he—Adeline started, and thought she heard a sound; but the -stillness of the night was undisturbed.—In these very chambers, -said she, these lines were written—these lines, from which he then -derived a comfort in believing they would hereafter be read by some -pitying eye: this time is now come. Your miseries, O injured being! are -lamented where they were endured. <i>Here</i>, where you suffered, I -weep for your sufferings! -</p> - -<p> -Her imagination was now strongly impressed, and to her distempered -senses the suggestions of a bewildered mind appeared with the force of -reality. Again she started and listened, and thought she heard <i>Here</i> -distinctly repeated by a whisper immediately behind her. The terror of -the thought, however, was but momentary, she knew it could not be; -convinced that her fancy had deceived her, she took up the MS. and again -began to read. -</p> - -<p> -For what am I reserved? Why this delay? If I am to die—why not -quickly? Three weeks have I now passed within these walls, during which -time no look of pity has softened my afflictions; no voice, save my own, -has met my ear. The countenances of the ruffians who attend me are stern -and inflexible, and their silence is obstinate. This stillness is dreadful! -O! ye, who have known what it is to live in the depths of solitude, who -have passed your dreary days without one sound to cheer you; ye, and ye -only, can tell what now I feel; and ye may know how much I would endure -to hear the accents of a human voice. -</p> - -<p> -O dire extremity! O state of living death! What dreadful stillness! All -around me is dead; and do I really exist, or am I but a statue? Is this a -vision? Are these things real? Alas, I am bewildered!—this death-like -and perpetual silence—this dismal chamber—the dread of further -sufferings have disturbed my fancy. O for some friendly breast to lay my -weary head on! some cordial accents to revive my soul! -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -I write by stealth. He who furnished me with the means, I fear, has -suffered for some symptoms of pity he may have discovered for me; I have -not seen him for several days: perhaps he is inclined to help me, and -for that reason is forbid to come. O that hope! but how vain! Never more -must I quit these walls while life remains. Another day is gone, and yet -I live; at this time to-morrow night my sufferings may be sealed in -death. I will continue my journal nightly, till the hand that writes -shall be stopped by death: when the journal ceases, the reader will know -I am no more. Perhaps these are the last lines I shall ever write. -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -Adeline paused, while her tears fell fast. Unhappy man! she exclaimed: -and was here no pitying soul to save thee! Great God! thy ways are -wonderful! While she sat musing, her fancy, which now wandered in the -regions of terror, gradually subdued reason. There was a glass before -her upon the table, and she feared to raise her looks towards it, lest -some other face than her own should meet her eyes: other dreadful ideas -and strange images of fantastic thought now crossed her mind. -</p> - -<p> -A hollow sigh seemed to pass near her. Holy Virgin, protect me! cried -she, and threw a fearful glance round the room;—this is surely -something more than fancy. Her fears so far overcame her, that she was -several times upon the point of calling up a part of the family; but, -unwillingness to disturb them, and a dread of ridicule, withheld her. -She was also afraid to move, and almost to breathe. As she listened to -the wind, that murmured at the casement of her lonely chamber, she again -thought she heard a sigh. Her imagination refused any longer the control -of reason, and, turning her eyes, a figure, whose exact form she could -not distinguish, appeared to pass along an obscure part of the chamber: -a dreadful chillness came over her, and she sat fixed in her chair. At -length a deep sigh somewhat relieved her oppressed spirits, and her -senses seemed to return. -</p> - -<p> -All remaining quiet, after some time she began to question whether her -fancy had not deceived her, and she so far conquered her terror as to -desist from calling Madame La Motte: her mind was, however, so much -disturbed, that she did not venture to trust herself that night again -with the MS.; but having spent some time in prayer, and in endeavouring -to compose her spirits, she retired to bed. -</p> - -<p> -When she awoke in the morning, the cheerful sun-beams played upon the -casements, and dispelled the illusions of darkness: her mind soothed and -invigorated by sleep, rejected the mystic and turbulent promptings of -imagination. She arose refreshed and thankful; but upon going down to -breakfast, this transient gleam of peace fled upon the appearance of the -Marquis, whose frequent visits at the abbey, after what had passed, not -only displeased, but alarmed her. She saw that he was determined to -persevere in addressing her: and the boldness and insensibility of this -conduct, while it excited her indignation, increased her disgust. In -pity to La Motte, she endeavoured to conceal these emotions, though she -now thought that he required too much from her complaisance, and began -seriously to consider how she might avoid the necessity of continuing -it. The Marquis behaved to her with the most respectful attention; but -Adeline was silent and reserved, and seized the first opportunity of -withdrawing. -</p> - -<p> -As she passed up the spiral staircase, Peter entered the hall below, and -seeing Adeline, he stopped and looked earnestly at her: she did not -observe him, but he called her softly, and she then saw him make a -signal, as if he had something to communicate. In the next instant, La -Motte opened the door of the vaulted room, and Peter hastily -disappeared. She proceeded to her chamber, ruminating upon this signal, -and the cautious manner in which Peter had given it. -</p> - -<p> -But her thoughts soon returned to their wonted subjects. Three days were -now passed, and she heard no intelligence of her father; she began to -hope that he had relented from the violent measures hinted at by La -Motte, and that he meant to pursue a milder plan: but when she -considered his character, this appeared improbable, and she relapsed -into her former fears. Her residence at the abbey was now become -painful, from the perseverance of the Marquis and the conduct which La -Motte obliged her to adopt; yet she could not think without dread of -quitting it to return to her father. -</p> - -<p> -The image of Theodore often intruded upon her busy thoughts, and brought -with it a pang which his strange departure occasioned. She had a -confused notion that his fate was somehow connected with her own; and -her struggles to prevent the remembrance of him served only to show how -much her heart was his. -</p> - -<p> -To divert her thoughts from these subjects, and gratify the curiosity so -strongly excited on the preceding night, she now took up the MS. but was -hindered from opening it by the entrance of Madame La Motte, who came to -tell her the Marquis was gone. They passed their morning together in -work and general conversation; La Motte not appearing till dinner, when -he said little, and Adeline less. She asked him, however, if he had -heard from her father? I have not heard from him, said La Motte; but -there is good reason, as I am informed by the Marquis, to believe he is -not far off. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was shocked, yet she was able to reply with becoming firmness. I -have already, Sir, involved you too much in my distress, and now see -that resistance will destroy you, without serving me; I am therefore -contented to return to my father, and thus spare you further calamity. -</p> - -<p> -This is a rash determination, replied La Motte; and if you pursue it, I -fear you will severely repent. I speak to you as a friend, Adeline, and -desire you will endeavour to listen to me without prejudice. The -Marquis, I find, has offered you his hand. I know not which circumstance -most excites my surprise, that a man of his rank and consequence should -solicit a marriage with a person without fortune or ostensible -connexions, or that a person so circumstanced should even for a moment -reject the advantages just offered her. You weep, Adeline; let me hope -that you are convinced of the absurdity of this conduct, and will no -longer trifle with your good fortune. The kindness I have shown you must -convince you of my regard, and that I have no motive for offering you -this advice but your advantage. It is necessary, however, to say, that -should your father not insist upon your removal, I know not how long my -circumstances may enable me to afford even the humble pittance you -receive here. Still you are silent. -</p> - -<p> -The anguish which this speech excited, suppressed her utterance, and she -continued to weep. At length she said, Suffer me, Sir, to go back to my -father; I should indeed make an ill return for the kindness you mention, -could I wish to stay after what you now tell me; and to accept the -Marquis, I feel to be impossible. The remembrance of Theodore arose to -her mind, and she wept aloud. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte sat for some time musing. Strange infatuation! said he; is it -possible that you can persist in this heroism of romance, and prefer a -father so inhuman as yours, to the Marquis de Montalt! a destiny so full -of danger, to a life of splendour and delight! -</p> - -<p> -Pardon me, said Adeline; a marriage with the Marquis would be splendid, -but never happy. His character excites my aversion, and I entreat, Sir, -that he may no more be mentioned. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sound</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Reverbs no hollowness.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">LEAR.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -The conversation related in the last chapter was interrupted by the -entrance of Peter, who, as he left the room, looked significantly at -Adeline, and almost beckoned. She was anxious to know what he meant, and -soon after went into the hall, where she found him loitering. The moment -he saw her, he made a sign of silence, and beckoned her into the recess. -Well, Peter, what is it you would say? said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Hush, Ma'mselle; for heaven's sake speak lower; if we should be -overheard, we are all blown up.—Adeline begged him to explain what he -meant Yes, Ma'mselle, that is what I have wanted all day long: I have -watched and watched for an opportunity, and looked and looked till I was -afraid my master himself would see me; but all would not do, you would -not understand. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline entreated he would be quick. Yes Ma'm, but I'm so afraid we -shall be seen; but I would do much to serve such a good young lady, for -I could not bear to think of what threatened you, without telling you of -it. -</p> - -<p> -For God's sake, said Adeline, speak quickly, or we shall be interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -Well then;—but you must first promise by the Holy Virgin never to say -it was I that told you; my master would— -</p> - -<p> -I do, I do, said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Well, then—on Monday evening as I—hark! did not I hear a step? -do, Ma'mselle, just step this way to the cloisters: I would not for the -world we should be seen: I'll go out at the hall door, and you can go -through the passage. I would not for the world we should be -seen.—Adeline was much alarmed by Peter's words, and hurried to the -cloisters. He quickly appeared, and, looking cautiously round, resumed -his discourse. As I was saying, Ma'mselle, Monday night, when the -Marquis slept here, you know he sat up very late, and I can guess, -perhaps, the reason of that. Strange things came out, but it is not my -business to tell all I think. -</p> - -<p> -Pray do speak to the purpose, said Adeline impatiently; what is this -danger which you say threatens me? Be quick, or we shall be observed. -</p> - -<p> -Danger enough, Ma'mselle, replied Peter, if you knew all; and when you -do, what will it signify? for you can't help yourself. But that's -neither here nor there; I was resolved to tell you, though I may repent -it. -</p> - -<p> -Or rather, you are resolved not to tell me, said Adeline; for you have -made no progress towards it. But what do you mean? You was speaking of -the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -Hush, Ma'am, not so loud. The Marquis, as I said, sat up very late, and -my master sat up with him. One of his men went to bed in the oak room, -and the other staid to undress his lord. So as we were sitting together. -Lord have mercy! it made my hair stand on end! I tremble yet. So as we -were sitting together—but as sure as I live, yonder is my master: I -caught a glimpse of him between the trees; if he sees me it is all over -with us. I'll tell you another time. So saying, he hurried into the -abbey, leaving Adeline in a state of alarm, curiosity, and vexation. She -walked out into the forest ruminating upon Peter's words, and -endeavouring to guess to what they alluded: there Madame La Motte joined -her, and they conversed on various topics till they reached the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline watched in vain through that day for an opportunity of speaking -with Peter. While he waited at supper, she occasionally observed his -countenance with great anxiety, hoping it might afford her some degree -of intelligence on the subject of her fears. When she retired, Madame La -Motte accompanied her to her chamber, and continued to converse with her -for a considerable time, so that she had no means of obtaining an -interview with Peter.—Madame La Motte appeared to labour under some -great affliction; and when Adeline, noticing this, entreated to know the -cause of her dejection, tears started into her eyes, and she abruptly -left the room. -</p> - -<p> -This behaviour of Madame La Motte concurred with Peter's discourse to -alarm Adeline, who sat pensively upon her bed, giving up to reflection, -till she was roused by the sound of a clock, which stood in the room -below, and which now struck twelve. She was preparing for rest, when she -recollected the MS. and was unable to conclude the night without reading -it. The first words she could distinguish were the following: -</p> - -<p> -Again I return to this poor consolation—again I have been permitted -to see another day. It is now midnight! My solitary lamp burns beside me; -the time is awful, but to me the silence of noon is as the silence of -midnight; a deeper gloom is all in which they differ. The still, -unvarying hours are numbered only by my sufferings; Great God! when -shall I be released: -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -But whence this strange confinement? I have never injured him. If death -is designed me, why this delay; and for what but death am I brought -hither? This abbey—alas!—Here the MS. was again illegible, and -for several pages Adeline could only make out disjointed sentences. -</p> - -<p> -O bitter draught! when, when shall I have rest? O my friends! will none -of ye fly to aid me; will none of ye avenge my sufferings? Ah! when it -is too late—when I am gone for ever, ye will endeavour to avenge -them. -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -Once more is night returned to me. Another day has passed in solitude -and misery. I have climbed to the casement, thinking the view of nature -would refresh my soul, and somewhat enable me to support these -afflictions. Alas! even this small comfort is denied me, the windows -open towards other parts of this abbey, and admit only a portion of that -day which I must never more fully behold. Last night! last night! O -scene of horror! -</p> - -<p> -Adeline shuddered. She feared to read the coming sentence, yet curiosity -prompted her to proceed. Still she paused: an unaccountable dread came -over her. Some horrid deed has been done here, said she; the reports of -the peasants are true: murder has been committed. The idea thrilled her -with horror. She recollected the dagger which had impeded her steps in -the secret chamber, and this circumstance served to confirm her most -terrible conjectures. She wished to examine it, but it lay in one of -these chambers, and she feared to go in quest of it. -</p> - -<p> -Wretched, wretched victim! she exclaimed, could no friend rescue thee -from destruction! O that I had been near! Yet what could I have done to -save thee? Alas! nothing. I forget that even now, perhaps, I am, like -thee, abandoned to dangers from which I have no friend to succour me. -Too surely I guess the author of thy miseries! She stopped, and thought -she heard a sigh, such as on the preceding night had passed along the -chamber. Her blood was chilled, and she sat motionless. The lonely -situation of her room, remote from the rest of the family, (for she was -now in her old apartment, from which Madame La Motte had removed,) who -were almost beyond call, struck so forcibly upon her imagination, that -she with difficulty preserved herself from fainting. She sat for a -considerable time, and all was still. When she was somewhat recovered, -her first design was to alarm the family; but further reflection again -withheld her. -</p> - -<p> -She endeavoured to compose her spirits, and addressed a short prayer to -that Being, who had hitherto protected her in every danger. While she -was thus employed, her mind gradually became elevated and reassured; a -sublime complacency filled her heart, and she sat down once more to -pursue the narrative. -</p> - -<p> -Several lines that immediately followed, were obliterated.— -</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *<br /> -* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</p> - -<p> -He had told me I should not be permitted to live long, not more than -three days, and bade me choose whether I would die by poison or the -sword. O the agonies of that moment! Great God! thou seest my -sufferings! I often viewed, with a momentary hope of escaping, the high -grated windows of my prison—all things within the compass of -possibility I was resolved to try, and with an eager desperation I -climbed towards the casements, but my foot slipped, and falling back to -the floor, I was stunned by the blow. On recovering, the first sounds I -heard, were the steps of a person entering my prison. A recollection of -the past returned, and deplorable was my condition. I shuddered at what -was to come. The same man approached; he looked at me at first with -pity, but his countenance soon recovered its natural ferocity. Yet he -did not then come to execute the purposes of his employer: I am reserved -to another day—Great God, thy will be done! -</p> - -<p> -Adeline could not go on. All the circumstances that seemed to -corroborate the fate of this unhappy man, crowded upon her mind the reports -concerning the abbey—the dreams which had forerun her discovery -of the private apartments—the singular manner in which she had found -the MS—and the apparition, which she now believed she had really -seen. She blamed herself for not having yet mentioned the discovery of the -manuscript and chambers to La Motte, and resolved to delay the -disclosure no longer than the following morning. The immediate cares -that had occupied her mind, and a fear of losing the manuscript before -she had read it, had hitherto kept her silent. -</p> - -<p> -Such a combination of circumstances, she believed, could only be -produced by some supernatural power, operating for the retribution of -the guilty. These reflections filled her mind with a degree of awe, -which the loneliness of the large old chamber in which she sat, and the -hour of the night, soon heightened into terror. She had never been -superstitious, but circumstances so uncommon had hitherto conspired in -this affair, that she could not believe them accidental. Her -imagination, wrought upon by these reflections, again became sensible to -every impression; she feared to look round, lest she should again see -some dreadful phantom, and she almost fancied she heard voices swell in -the storm which now shook the fabric. -</p> - -<p> -Still she tried to command her feelings so as to avoid disturbing the -family; but they became so painful, that even the dread of La Motte's -ridicule had hardly power to prevent her quitting the chamber. Her mind -was now in such a state, that she found it impossible to pursue the -story in the MS. though, to avoid the tortures of suspense, she had -attempted it. She laid it down again, and tried to argue herself into -composure. What have I to fear? said she; I am at least innocent, and I -shall not be punished for the crime of another. -</p> - -<p> -The violent gust of wind that now rushed through the whole suite of -apartments, shook the door that led from her late bedchamber to the -private rooms so forcibly, that Adeline, unable to remain longer in -doubt, ran to see from whence the noise issued. The arras which -concealed the door was violently agitated, and she stood for a moment -observing it in indescribable terror; till believing it was swayed by -the wind, she made a sudden effort to overcome her feelings, and was -stooping to raise it. At that instant she thought she heard a voice. She -stopped and listened, but every thing was still; yet apprehension so far -overcame her, that she had no power either to examine or to leave the -chamber. -</p> - -<p> -In a few moments the voice returned: she was now convinced she had not -been deceived, for, though low, she heard it distinctly, and was almost -sure it repeated her own name. So much was her fancy affected, that she -even thought it was the same voice she had heard in her dreams. This -conviction entirely subdued the small remains of her courage, and -sinking into a chair she lost all recollection. -</p> - -<p> -How long she remained in this state she knew not; but when she -recovered, she exerted all her strength, and reached the winding -staircase, where she called aloud. No one heard her; and she hastened, -as fast as her feebleness would permit, to the chamber of Madame La -Motte. She tapped gently at the door, and was answered by Madame, who -was alarmed at being awakened at so unusual an hour, and believed that -some danger threatened her husband. When she understood that it was -Adeline, and that she was unwell, she quickly came to her relief. The -terror that was yet visible in Adeline's countenance excited her -inquiries, and the occasion of it was explained to her. -</p> - -<p> -Madame was so much discomposed by the relation, that she called La Motte -from his bed, who, more angry at being disturbed than interested for the -agitation he witnessed, reproved Adeline for suffering her fancies to -overcome her reason. She now mentioned the discovery she had made of the -inner chamber and the manuscript, circumstances which roused the -attention of La Motte so much, that he desired to see the MS. and -resolved to go immediately to the apartments described by Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose; but La -Motte, with whom opposition had always an effect contrary to the one -designed, and who wished to throw further ridicule upon the terrors of -Adeline, persisted in his intention. He called to Peter to attend with a -light, and insisted that Madame La Motte and Adeline should accompany -him. Madame La Motte desired to be excused, and Adeline at first -declared she could not go; but he would be obeyed. -</p> - -<p> -They ascended the tower, and entered the first chambers together, for -each of the party was reluctant to be the last; in the second chamber -all was quiet and in order. Adeline presented the MS. and pointed to the -arras which concealed the door. La Motte lifted the arras, and opened -the door; but Madame La Motte and Adeline entreated to go no -further—again he called to them to follow. All was quiet in the first -chamber: he expressed his surprise that the rooms should so long have -remained undiscovered, and was proceeding to the second, but suddenly -stopped. We will defer our examination till to-morrow, said he, the -damps of these apartments are unwholesome at any time; but they strike -one more sensibly at night. I am chilled. Peter, remember to throw open -the windows early in the morning, that the air may circulate. -</p> - -<p> -Lord bless your honour, said Peter, don't you see I can't reach them; -besides, I don't believe they are made to open; see what strong iron -bars there are; the room looks for all the world like a prison: I -suppose this is the place the people meant, when they said nobody that -had been in ever came out. La Motte, who during this speech had been -looking attentively at the high windows, which if he had seen them at -first he had certainly not observed, now interrupted the eloquence of -Peter, and bade him carry the light before them. They all willingly -quitted these chambers, and returned to the room below, where a fire was -lighted, and the party remained together for some time. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte for reasons best known to himself, attempted to ridicule the -discovery and fears of Adeline, till she with a seriousness that checked -him, entreated he would desist. He was silent; and soon after, Adeline, -encouraged by the return of daylight, ventured to her chamber, and for -some hours experienced the blessing of undisturbed repose. -</p> - -<p> -On the following day, Adeline's first care was to obtain an interview -with Peter, whom she had some hopes of seeing as she went downstairs: -he, however, did not appear; and she proceeded to the sitting-room, -where she found La Motte apparently much disturbed. Adeline asked him if -he had looked at the MS. I have run my eye over it, said he, but it is -so much obscured by time that it can scarcely be deciphered. It appears -to exhibit a strange romantic story; and I do not wonder that after you -had suffered its terrors to impress your imagination, you fancied you -saw spectres and heard wondrous noises. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline thought La Motte did not choose to be convinced, and she -therefore forbore reply. During breakfast she often looked at Peter (who -waited) with anxious inquiry; and from his countenance was still more -assured that he had something of importance to communicate. In the hope -of some conversation with him, she left the room as soon as possible, -and repaired to her favourite avenue, where she had not long remained -when he appeared. -</p> - -<p> -God bless you! Ma'mselle, said he, I'm sorry I frighted you so last -night. -</p> - -<p> -Frighted me, said Adeline; how was you concerned in that? -</p> - -<p> -He then informed her that when he thought Monsieur and Madame La Motte -were asleep, he had stolen to her chamber door, with an intention of -giving her the sequel of what he had begun in the morning; that he had -called several times as loudly as he dared; but receiving no answer, he -believed she was asleep, or did not choose to speak with him, and he had -therefore left the door. This account of the voice she had heard, -relieved Adeline's spirits; she was even surprised that she did not know -it, till remembering the perturbation of her mind for some time -preceding, this surprise disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -She entreated Peter to be brief in explaining the danger with which she -was threatened. If you'll let me go on my own way, Ma'am, you'll soon -know it; but if you hurry me, and ask me questions here and there, out -of their places, I don't know what I am saying. -</p> - -<p> -Be it so, said Adeline; only, remember that we may be observed. -</p> - -<p> -Yes. Ma'mselle, I'm as much afraid of that as you are, for I believe I -should be almost as ill off; however, that is neither here nor there, -but I'm sure if you stay in this old abbey another night it will be -worse for you; for, as I said before, I know all about it. -</p> - -<p> -What mean you, Peter? -</p> - -<p> -Why, about this scheme that's going on. -</p> - -<p> -What then, is my father——?—Your father! interrupted -Peter; Lord bless you, that is all fudge, to frighten you: your father, -<i>nor nobody</i> else has ever sent after you; I dare say he knows no -more of you than the Pope does—not he. Adeline looked displeased. -You trifle, said she; if you have any thing to tell, say it quickly; I -am in haste. -</p> - -<p> -Bless you, young lady, I meant no harm, I hope you're not angry; but I'm -sure you can't deny that your father is cruel. But as I was saying, the -Marquis de Montalt likes you; and he and my master (Peter looked round) -have been laying their heads together about you. Adeline turned pale; -she comprehended a part of the truth, and eagerly entreated him to -proceed. -</p> - -<p> -They have been laying their heads together about you. This is what -Jaques the Marquis's man tells me: Says he, Peter, you little know what -is going on: I could tell all if I chose it; but it is not for those who -are trusted to tell again. I warrant now your master is close enough -with you. Upon which I was piqued, and resolved to make him believe I -could be trusted as well as he. Perhaps not says I; perhaps I know as -much as you, though I do not choose to brag on't; and I winked.—Do -you so? says he, then you are closer than I thought for. She is a fine -girl, says he,—meaning you Ma'mselle; but she is nothing but a -poor foundling after all, so it does not much signify. I had a mind to -know further what he meant—so I did not knock him down. By seeming -to know as much as he, I at last made him discover all; and he told -me—but you look pale, Ma'mselle, are you ill? -</p> - -<p> -No, said Adeline in a tremulous accent, and scarcely able to support -herself; pray proceed. -</p> - -<p> -And he told me that the Marquis had been courting you a good while, but -you would not listen to him, and had even pretended he would marry you, -and all would not do. As for marriage, says I, I suppose she knows the -Marchioness is alive; and I'm sure she is not one for his turn upon -other terms. -</p> - -<p> -The Marchioness is really living then! said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -O yes, Ma'mselle! we all know that, and I thought you had known it -too.—We shall see that, replies Jaques; at least, I believe that our -master will outwit her.—I stared; I could not help it.—Aye, -says he, you know your master has agreed to give her up to my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -Good God! what will become of me? exclaimed Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Aye, Ma'mselle, I am sorry for you; but hear me out. When Jaques said -this, I quite forgot myself: I'll never believe it, said I, I'll never -believe my master would be guilty of such a base action; he'll not give -her up, or I'm no Christian.—Oh! said, Jaques, for that matter, I -thought you'd known all, else I should not have said a word about it. -However, you may soon satisfy yourself by going to the parlour door, as -I have done; they're in consultation about it now, I dare say. -</p> - -<p> -You need not repeat any more of this conversation, said Adeline; but -tell me the result of what you heard from the parlour. -</p> - -<p> -Why, Ma'mselle, when he said this, I took him at his word, and went to -the door, where, sure enough, I heard my master and the Marquis talking -about you. They said a great deal which I could make nothing of; but, at -last, I heard the Marquis say, You know the terms; on these terms only will -I consent to bury the past in ob—ob—oblivion——that -was the word. Monsieur La Motte then told the Marquis, if he would return -to the abbey upon such a night, meaning this very night, Ma'mselle, every -thing should be prepared according to his wishes;—Adeline shall then -be yours, my Lord, said he—you are already acquainted with her -chamber. -</p> - -<p> -At these words Adeline clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven -in silent despair.—Peter went on. When I heard this, I could not -doubt what Jaques had said.—Well, said he, what do you think of it -now?—Why, that my master's a rascal, says I.—It's well you -don't think mine one too, says he.—Why, as for that matter, says -I——Adeline, interrupting him, inquired if he had heard any -thing further. Just then, said Peter, we heard Madame La Motte come out -from another room, and so we made haste back to the kitchen. -</p> - -<p> -She was not present at this conversation then? said Adeline. No, -Ma'mselle; but my master has told her of it, I warrant. Adeline was -almost as much shocked by this apparent perfidy of Madame La Motte, as -by a knowledge of the destruction that threatened her. After musing a -few moments in extreme agitation, Peter, said she, you have a good -heart, and feel a just indignation at your master's treachery—will -you assist me to escape? -</p> - -<p> -Ah, Ma'mselle! said he, how can I assist you? besides, where can we go? -I have no friends about here, no more than yourself. -</p> - -<p> -O! replied Adeline in extreme emotion, we fly from enemies; strangers -may prove friends: assist me but to escape from this forest, and you -will claim my eternal gratitude; I have no fears beyond it. -</p> - -<p> -Why as for this forest, replied Peter, I am weary of it myself; though -when we first came I thought it would be fine living here, at least, I -thought it was very different from any life I had ever lived before. But -these ghosts that haunt the abbey—I am no more a coward than other -men, but I don't like them; and then there is so many strange reports -abroad; and my master—I thought I could have served him to the end of -the world, but now I care not how soon I leave him, for his behaviour to -you, Ma'mselle. -</p> - -<p> -You consent then to assist me in escaping? said Adeline with eagerness. -</p> - -<p> -Why as to that, Ma'mselle, I would willingly, if I knew where to go. To -be sure I have a sister lives in Savoy, but that is a great way off; and -I have saved a little money out of my wages, but that won't carry us -such a long journey. -</p> - -<p> -Regard not that, said Adeline; if I was once beyond this forest, I would -then endeavour to take care of myself, and repay you for your kindness. -</p> - -<p> -O! as for that, Madam——Well, well, Peter, let us consider -how we may escape. This night—say you this night—the Marquis -is to return? Yes, Ma'mselle, to-night about dark. I have just thought -of a scheme:—my master's horses are grazing in the forest; we may -take one of them, and send it back from the first stage: but how shall -we avoid being seen? besides if we go off in the daylight, he will soon -pursue and overtake us; and if you stay till night, the Marquis will be -come, and then there is no chance. If they miss us both at the same time -too, they'll guess how it is, and set off directly. Could not you -contrive to go first, and wait for me till the hurly-burly's over? Then, -while they're searching in the place under ground for you, I can slip -away, and we should be out of their reach before they thought of -pursuing us. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure04.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Adeline agreed to the truth of all this, and was somewhat surprised at -Peter's sagacity. She inquired if he knew of any place in the -neighbourhood of the abbey, where she could remain concealed, till he -came with a horse. Why yes, Madam, there is a place, now I think of it, -where you may be safe enough, for nobody goes near; but they say it's -haunted, and perhaps you would not like to go there. Adeline, -remembering the last night, was somewhat startled at this intelligence; -but a sense of her present danger pressed again upon her mind, and -overcame every other apprehension. Where is this place? said she; if it -will conceal me, I shall not hesitate to go. -</p> - -<p> -It is an old tomb that stands in the thickest part of the forest, about -a quarter of a mile off the nearest way and almost a mile the other. -When my master used to hide himself so much in the forest, I have -followed him somewhere thereabouts, but I did not find out the tomb till -t'other day. However, that's neither here nor there; if you dare venture -to it, Ma'mselle, I'll show you the nearest way. So saying he pointed to -a winding path on the right. Adeline, having looked round without -perceiving any person near, directed Peter to lead her to the tomb: they -pursued the path, till turning into a gloomy romantic part of the -forest, almost impervious to the rays of the sun, they came to the spot -whither Louis had formerly traced his father. -</p> - -<p> -The stillness and solemnity of the scene struck awe upon the heart of -Adeline, who paused and surveyed it for some time in silence. At length -Peter led her into the interior part of the ruin, to which they -descended by several steps. Some old abbot, said he, was formerly buried -here, as the Marquis's people say; and it's like enough that he belonged -to the abbey yonder. But I don't see why he should take it in his head -to walk; <i>he</i> was not murdered, surely! -</p> - -<p> -I hope not, said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -That's more than can be said for all that lies buried at the abbey though, -and——Adeline interrupted him: Hark! surely I hear a noise, -said she; Heaven protect us from discovery! They listened, but all was -still; and they went on. Peter opened a low door, and they entered upon -a dark passage, frequently obstructed by loose fragments of stone, and -along which they moved with caution. Whither are we going? said -Adeline.—I scarcely know myself, said Peter, for I never was so far -before, but the place seems quiet enough. Something obstructed his way; -it was a door which yielded to his hand, and discovered a kind of cell -obscurely seen by the twilight admitted through a grate above. A partial -gleam shot athwart the place, leaving the greatest part of it in shadow. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline sighed as she surveyed it. This is a frightful spot, said she: -but if it will afford me a shelter, it is a palace. Remember, Peter, -that my peace and honour depend upon your faithfulness; be both discreet -and resolute. In the dusk of the evening, I can pass from the abbey with -least danger of being observed, and in this cell I will wait your -arrival. As soon as Monsieur and Madame La Motte are engaged in -searching the vaults, you will bring here a horse; three knocks upon the -tomb shall inform me of your arrival. For Heaven's sake be cautious, and -be punctual! -</p> - -<p> -I will, Ma'mselle, let come what may. -</p> - -<p> -They re-ascended to the forest; and Adeline fearful of observation, -directed Peter, to run first to the abbey, and invent some excuse for -his absence, if he had been missed. When she was again alone, she -yielded to a flood of tears, and indulged the excess of her distress. -She saw herself without friends, without relations, destitute, forlorn, -and abandoned to the worst of evils; betrayed by the very persons to -whose comfort she had so long administered, whom she had loved as her -protectors, and revered as her parents! These reflections touched her -heart with the most afflicting sensations, and the sense of her -immediate danger was for a while absorbed in the grief occasioned by a -discovery of such guilt in others. -</p> - -<p> -At length she roused all her fortitude, and turning towards the abbey -endeavoured to await with patience the hour of evening, and to sustain -an appearance of composure in the presence of Monsieur and Madame La -Motte. For the present she wished to avoid seeing either of them, -doubting her ability to disguise her emotions: having reached the abbey, -she therefore passed on to her chamber. Here she endeavoured to direct -her attention to indifferent subjects, but in vain; the danger of her -situation, and the severe disappointment she had received in the -character of those whom she had so much esteemed and even loved, pressed -hard upon her thoughts. To a generous mind few circumstances are more -afflicting than a discovery of perfidy in those whom we have trusted, -even though it may fail of any absolute inconvenience to ourselves. The -behaviour of Madame La Motte in thus, by concealment, conspiring to her -destruction, particularly shocked her. -</p> - -<p> -How has my imagination deceived me! said she; what a picture did it draw -of the goodness of the world! And must I then believe that every body is -cruel and deceitful? No—let me still be deceived, and still suffer, -rather than be condemned to a state of such wretched suspicion. She now -endeavoured to extenuate the conduct of Madame La Motte, by attributing -it to a fear of her husband. She dares not oppose his will, said she, -else she would warn me of my danger, and assist me to escape from it. -No—I will never believe her capable of conspiring my ruin; terror -alone keeps her silent. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was somewhat comforted by this thought. The benevolence of her -heart taught her, in this instance to sophisticate. She perceived not, -that by ascribing the conduct of Madame La Motte to terror, she only -softened the degree of her guilt, imputing it to a motive less depraved -but not less selfish. She remained in her chamber till summoned to -dinner, when, drying her tears, she descended with faltering steps and a -palpitating heart to the parlour. When she saw La Motte, in spite of all -her efforts she trembled and grew pale; she could not behold even with -apparent indifference the man who she knew had destined her to -destruction. He observed her emotion, and inquiring if she was ill, she -saw the danger to which her agitation exposed her. Fearful lest La Motte -should suspect its true cause, she rallied all her spirits, and with a -look of complacency answered she was well. -</p> - -<p> -During dinner she preserved a degree of composure that effectually -concealed the varied anguish of her heart. When she looked at La Motte, -terror and indignation were her predominant feelings; but when she -regarded Madame La Motte, it was otherwise: gratitude for her former -tenderness had long been confirmed into affection, and her heart now -swelled with the bitterness of grief and disappointment. Madame La Motte -appeared depressed and said little. La Motte seemed anxious to prevent -thought, by assuming a fictitious and unnatural gaiety: he laughed and -talked, and threw off frequent bumpers of wine: it was the mirth of -desperation. Madame became alarmed, and would have restrained him; but -he persisted in his libations to Bacchus till reflection seemed to be -almost overcome. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte, fearful that in the carelessness of the present moment -he might betray himself, withdrew with Adeline to another room. Adeline -recollected the happy hours she once passed with her, when confidence -banished reserve, and sympathy and esteem dictated the sentiments of -friendship: now those hours were gone for ever; she could no longer -unbosom her griefs to Madame La Motte, no longer even esteem her. Yet, -notwithstanding all the danger to which she was exposed by the criminal -silence of the latter, she could not converse with her, consciously for -the last time, without feeling a degree of sorrow which wisdom may call -weakness, but to which benevolence will allow a softer name. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Motte in her conversation appeared to labour under an almost -equal oppression with Adeline: her thoughts were abstracted from the -subject of discourse, and there were long and frequent intervals of -silence. Adeline more than once caught her gazing with a look of -tenderness upon her, and saw her eyes fill with tears. By this -circumstance she was so much affected, that she was several times upon -the point of throwing herself at her feet, and imploring her pity and -protection. Cooler reflection showed her the extravagance and danger of -this conduct: she suppressed her emotions, but they at length compelled -her to withdraw from the presence of Madame La Motte. -</p> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou! to whom the world unknown</span><br /> -<span class="i0">With all its shadowy shapes is shown;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Who seest appall'd th' unreal scene,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While fancy lifts the veil between;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I see, I see thee near!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I know thy hurry'd step, thy haggard eye</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly!</span><br /> -<span class="i10">COLLINS.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Adeline anxiously watched from her chamber window the sun set behind the -distant hills, and the time of her departure draw nigh: it set with -uncommon splendour, and threw a fiery gleam athwart the woods and upon -some scattered fragments of the ruins, which she could not gaze upon -with indifference. Never, probably, again shall I see the sun sink below -those hills, said she, or illumine this scene! Where shall I be when -next it sets—where this time to-morrow? sunk perhaps in misery! She -wept at the thought. A few hours, resumed Adeline, and the Marquis will -arrive—a few hours, and this abbey will be a scene of confusion and -tumult: every eye will be in search of me, every recess will be -explored. These reflections inspired her with new terror, and increased -her impatience to be gone. -</p> - -<p> -Twilight gradually came on, and she now thought it sufficiently dark to -venture forth: but before she went, she kneeled down and addressed -herself to Heaven. She implored support and protection, and committed -herself to the care of the God of mercies. Having done this, she quitted -her chamber, and passed with cautious steps down the winding staircase. -No person appeared, and she proceeded through the door of the tower into -the forest. She looked around; the gloom of the evening obscured every -object. -</p> - -<p> -With a trembling heart she sought the path pointed out by Peter, which -led to the tomb: having found it, she passed along forlorn and -terrified. Often did she start as the breeze shook the light leaves of -the trees, or as the bat flitted by gamboling in the twilight; and -often, as she looked back towards the abbey, thought she distinguished -amid the deepening gloom the figures of men. Having proceeded some way, -she suddenly heard the feet of horses, and soon after a sound of voices, -among which she distinguished that of the Marquis; they seemed to come -from the quarter she was approaching, and evidently advanced. Terror for -some minutes arrested her steps; she stood in a state of dreadful -hesitation: to proceed was to run into the hands of the Marquis; to -return was to fall into the power of La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -After remaining for some time uncertain whither to fly, the sounds -suddenly took a different direction, and wheeled towards the abbey. -Adeline had a short cessation of terror; she now understood that the -Marquis had passed this spot only in his way to the abbey, and she -hastened to secrete herself in the ruin. At length, after much -difficulty, she reached it, the deep shades almost concealing it from -her search. She paused at the entrance, awed by the solemnity that -reigned within, and the utter darkness of the place; at length she -determined to watch without till Peter should arrive. If any person -approaches, said she, I can hear them before they can see me, and I can -then secrete myself in the cell. -</p> - -<p> -She leaned against a fragment of the tomb in trembling expectation, and -as she listened, no sound broke the silence of the hour. The state of -her mind can only be imagined by considering that upon the present time -turned the crisis of her fate. They have now, thought she, discovered my -flight; even now they are seeking me in every part of the abbey. I hear -their dreadful voices call me; I see their eager looks. The power of -imagination almost overcame her. While she yet looked around, she saw -lights moving at a distance; sometimes they glimmered between the trees, -and sometimes they totally disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -They seemed to be in a direction with the abbey; and she now remembered -that in the morning she had seen a part of the fabric through an opening -in the forest. She had therefore no doubt that the lights she saw -proceeded from people in search of her: who, she feared, not finding her -at the abbey, might direct their steps towards the tomb. Her place of -refuge now seemed too near her enemies to be safe, and she would have -fled to a more distant part of the forest, but recollected that Peter -would not know where to find her. -</p> - -<p> -While these thoughts passed over her mind, she heard distant voices in -the wind, and was hastening to conceal herself in the cell, when she -observed the lights suddenly disappear. All was soon after hushed in -silence and darkness, yet she endeavoured to find the way to the cell. -She remembered the situation of the outward door and of the passage, and -having passed these, she unclosed the door of the cell. Within it was -utterly dark. She trembled violently, but entered; and having felt about -the walls, at length seated herself on a projection of stone. -</p> - -<p> -She here again addressed herself to Heaven, and endeavoured to -reanimate her spirits till Peter should arrive. Above half an hour -elapsed in this gloomy recess, and no sound foretold his approach. Her -spirits sunk; she feared some part of their plan was discovered or -interrupted, and that he was detained by La Motte. This conviction -operated sometimes so strongly upon her fears, as to urge her to quit -the cell alone, and seek in flight her only chance of escape. -</p> - -<p> -While this design was fluctuating in her mind, she distinguished through -the grate above a clattering of hoofs. The noise approached, and at -length stopped at the tomb. In the succeeding moment she heard three -strokes of a whip; her heart beat, and for some moments her agitation -was such, that she made no effort to quit the cell. The strokes were -repeated: she now roused her spirits, and stepping forward, ascended to -the forest. She called Peter; for the deep gloom would not permit her to -distinguish either man or horse. She was quickly answered, Hush! -Ma'mselle, our voices will betray us. -</p> - -<p> -They mounted and rode off as fast as the darkness would permit. -Adeline's heart revived at every step they took. She inquired what had -passed at the abbey, and how he had contrived to get away. Speak softly, -Ma'mselle; you'll know all by and by, but I can't tell you now. He had -scarcely spoke ere they saw lights move along at a distance; and coming -now to a more open part of the forest, he set off on a full gallop, and -continued the pace till the horse could hold it no longer. They looked -back, and no lights appearing, Adeline's terror subsided. She inquired -again what had passed at the abbey when her flight was discovered. You -may speak without fear of being heard, said she, we are gone beyond -their reach, I hope. -</p> - -<p> -Why, Ma'mselle, said he, you had not been gone long before the Marquis -arrived, and Monsieur La Motte then found out you was fled. Upon this a -great rout there was, and he talked a great deal with the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -Speak louder, said Adeline, I cannot hear you. -</p> - -<p> -I will, Ma'mselle— -</p> - -<p> -Oh! heavens! interrupted Adeline, What voice is this? It is not Peter's. -For God's sake tell me who you are, and whither I am going? -</p> - -<p> -You'll know that soon enough, young lady, answered the stranger, for it -was indeed not Peter; I am taking you where my master ordered. Adeline, -not doubting he was the Marquis's servant, attempted to leap to the -ground; but the man, dismounting, bound her to the horse. One feeble ray -of hope at length beamed upon her mind; she endeavoured to soften the -man to pity, and pleaded with all the genuine eloquence of distress; but -he understood his interest too well to yield even for a moment to the -compassion which, in spite of himself, her artless supplication -inspired. -</p> - -<p> -She now resigned herself to despair, and in passive silence submitted to -her fate. They continued thus to travel, till a storm of rain -accompanied by thunder and lightning drove them to the covert of a thick -grove. The man believed this a safe situation, and Adeline was now too -careless of life to attempt convincing him of his error. The storm was -violent and long, but as soon as it abated they set off on full gallop; -and having continued to travel for about two hours, they came to the -borders of the forest, and soon after to a high lonely wall, which -Adeline could just distinguish by the moonlight, which now streamed -through the parting clouds. -</p> - -<p> -Here they stopped: the man dismounted, and having opened a small door in -the wall, he unbound Adeline, who shrieked, though involuntarily and in -vain, as he took her from the horse. The door opened upon a narrow -passage, dimly lighted by a lamp, which hung at the further end. He led -her on; they came to another door; it opened, and disclosed a -magnificent saloon splendidly illuminated, and fitted up in the most -airy and elegant taste. -</p> - -<p> -The walls were painted in fresco, representing scenes from Ovid, and -hung above with silk, drawn up in festoons, and richly fringed. The -sofas were of a silk to suit the hangings. From the centre of the -ceiling, which exhibited a scene from the Armida of Tasso, descended a -silver lamp of Etruscan form; it diffused a blaze of light that, -reflected from large pier glasses, completely illuminated the saloon. -Busts of Horace, Ovid, Anacreon, Tibullus, and Petronius Arbiter, -adorned the recesses, and stands of flowers placed in Etruscan vases -breathed the most delicious perfume. In the middle of the apartment -stood a small table spread with a collation of fruits, ices, and -liqueurs. No person appeared. The whole seemed the works of enchantment, -and rather resembled the palace of a fairy than any thing of human -conformation. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was astonished, and inquired where she was; but the man refused -to answer her questions; and having desired her to take some -refreshment, left her. She walked to the windows, from which a gleam of -moonlight discovered to her an extensive garden, where groves and lawns, -and water glittering in the moonbeam, composed a scenery of varied and -romantic beauty. What can this mean! said she: Is this a charm to lure -me to destruction? She endeavoured, with a hope of escaping, to open the -windows, but they were all fastened; she next attempted several doors, -and found them also secured. -</p> - -<p> -Perceiving all chance of escape was removed, she remained for some time -given up to sorrow and reflection; but was at length drawn from her -reverie by the notes of soft music, breathing such dulcet and entrancing -sounds as suspended grief and awaked the soul to tenderness and pensive -pleasure. Adeline listened in surprise, and insensibly became soothed -and interested; a tender melancholy stole upon her heart, and subdued -every harsher feeling: but the moment the strain ceased, the enchantment -dissolved, and she returned to a sense of her situation. -</p> - -<p> -Again the music sounded—music such as charmeth sleep—and again -she gradually yielded to its sweet magic. A female voice, accompanied by a -lute, a hautboy, and a few other instruments, now gradually swelled into -a tone so exquisite as raised attention into ecstasy. It sunk by -degrees, and touched a few simple notes with pathetic softness, when the -measure was suddenly changed, and in a gay and airy melody Adeline -distinguished the following words: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">SONG.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Life's a varied, bright illusion,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Joy and sorrow—light and shade;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Turn from sorrow's dark suffusion,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Catch the pleasures ere they fade.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fancy paints with hues unreal,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Smile of bliss, and sorrow's mood;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">If they both are but ideal,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Why reject the seeming good?</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hence! no more! 'tis Wisdom calls ye,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Bids ye court Time's present aid;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">The future trust not—Hope enthralls ye,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">"Catch the pleasures ere they fade."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -The music ceased; but the sounds still vibrated on her imagination, and -she was sunk in the pleasing languor they had inspired, when the door -opened, and the Marquis de Montalt appeared. He approached the sofa -where Adeline sat, and addressed her, but she heard not his voice—she -had fainted. He endeavoured to recover her, and at length succeeded; but -when she unclosed her eyes, and again beheld him, she relapsed into a -state of insensibility; and having in vain tried various methods to -restore her, he was obliged to call assistance. Two young women entered; -and when she began to revive, he left them to prepare her for his -reappearance. When Adeline perceived that the Marquis was gone, and that -she was in the care of women, her spirits gradually returned; she looked -at her attendants, and was surprised to see so much elegance and beauty. -</p> - -<p> -Some endeavour she made to interest their pity; but they seemed wholly -insensible to her distress, and began to talk of the Marquis in terms of -the highest admiration. They assured her it would be her own fault if -she was not happy, and advised her to appear so in his presence. It was -with the utmost difficulty that Adeline forbore to express the disdain -which was rising to her lips, and that she listened to their discourse -in silence. But she saw the inconvenience and fruitlessness of -opposition, and she commanded her feelings. -</p> - -<p> -They were thus proceeding in their praises of the Marquis, when he -himself appeared; and waving his hand, they immediately quitted the -apartment. Adeline beheld him with a kind of mute despair while he -approached and took her hand, which she hastily withdrew; and turning -from him with a look of unutterable distress, burst into tears. He was -for some time silent, and appeared softened by her anguish: but again -approaching and addressing her in a gentle voice, he entreated her -pardon for the step which despair, and, as he called it, love had -prompted. She was too much absorbed in grief to reply, till he solicited -a return of his love; when her sorrow yielded to indignation, and she -reproached him with his conduct. He pleaded that he had long loved and -sought her upon honourable terms, and his offer of those terms he began -to repeat; but raising his eyes towards Adeline, he saw in her looks the -contempt which he was conscious he deserved. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment he was confused, and seemed to understand both that his -plan was discovered and his person despised; but soon resuming his usual -command of feature, he again pressed his suit, and solicited her love. -A little reflection showed Adeline the danger of exasperating his pride -by an avowal of the contempt which his pretended offer of marriage -excited; and she thought it not improper, upon an occasion in which the -honour and peace of her life was concerned, to yield somewhat to the -policy of dissimulation. She saw that her only chance of escaping his -designs depended upon delaying them, and she now wished him to believe -her ignorant that the Marchioness was living, and that his offers were -delusive. -</p> - -<p> -He observed her pause; and in the eagerness to turn her -hesitation to his advantage, renewed his proposal with increased -vehemence—To-morrow shall unite us, lovely Adeline; to-morrow you -shall consent to become the Marchioness de Montalt. You will then return -my love and—— -</p> - -<p> -You must first deserve my esteem, my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -I will—I do deserve it. Are you not now in my power, and do I not -forbear to take advantage of your situation? Do I not make you the most -honourable proposals?—Adeline shuddered: If you wish I should esteem -you, my Lord, endeavour, if possible, to make me forget by what means I -came into your power; if your views are indeed honourable, prove them so -by releasing me from my confinement. -</p> - -<p> -Can you then wish, lovely Adeline, to fly from him who adores you? -replied the Marquis with a studied air of tenderness. Why will you exact -so severe a proof of my disinterestedness, a disinterestedness which is -not consistent with love? No, charming Adeline! let me at least have the -pleasure of beholding you till the bonds of the church shall remove -every obstacle to my love. To-morrow—— -</p> - -<p> -Adeline saw the danger to which she was now exposed, and interrupted -him. <i>Deserve</i> my esteem, Sir, and then you will <i>obtain</i> it: as -a first step towards which, liberate me from a confinement that obliges me -to look on you only with terror and aversion. How can I believe your -professions of love, while you show that you have no interest in my -happiness?—Thus did Adeline, to whom the arts and the practice of -dissimulation were hitherto equally unknown, condescend to make use of -them in disguising her indignation and contempt. But though these arts -were adopted only for the purpose of self-preservation, she used them -with reluctance, and almost with abhorrence; for her mind was habitually -impregnated with the love of virtue, in thought, word, and action; and -while her end in using them was certainly good, she scarcely thought -that end could justify the means. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis persisted in his sophistry. Can you doubt the reality of -that love, which to obtain you has urged me to risk your displeasure? -But have I not consulted your happiness, even in the very conduct which -you condemn? I have removed you from a solitary and desolate ruin to a -gay and splendid villa, where every luxury is at your command, and where -every person shall be obedient to your wishes. -</p> - -<p> -My first wish is to go hence, said Adeline; I entreat, I conjure you, my -Lord, no longer to detain me. I am a friendless and wretched orphan, -exposed to many evils, and I fear abandoned to misfortune: I do not wish -to be rude; but allow me to say, that no misery can exceed that I shall -feel in remaining here, or indeed in being any where pursued by the -offers you make me. Adeline had now forgot her policy: tears prevented -her from proceeding, and she turned away her face to hide her emotion. -</p> - -<p> -By Heaven! Adeline, you do me wrong, said the Marquis, rising from his -seat and seizing her hand; I love, I adore you; yet you doubt my -passion, and are insensible to my vows. Every pleasure possible to be -enjoyed within these walls you shall partake,—but beyond them you -shall not go. She disengaged her hand, and in silent anguish walked to a -distant part of the saloon: deep sighs burst from her heart, and almost -fainting she leaned on a window-frame for support. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis followed her: Why thus obstinately persist in refusing to be -happy? said he: recollect the proposal I have made you, and accept it -while it is yet in your power. To-morrow a priest shall join our -hands—Surely, being, as you are, in my power, it must be your -interest to consent to this? Adeline could answer only by tears; she -despaired of softening his heart to pity, and feared to exasperate his -pride by disdain. He now led her, and she suffered him, to a seat near the -banquet, at which he pressed her to partake of a variety of -confectionaries, particularly of some liqueurs of which he himself drank -freely: Adeline accepted only of a peach. -</p> - -<p> -And now the Marquis, who interrupted her silence into a secret -compliance with his proposal, resumed all his gaiety and spirit, while -the long and ardent regards he bestowed on Adeline overcame her with -confusion and indignation. In the midst of the banquet, soft music again -sounded the most tender and impassioned airs; but its effect on Adeline -was now lost, her mind being too much embarrassed and distressed by the -presence of the Marquis to admit even the soothings of harmony. A song -was now heard, written with that sort of impotent art by which some -voluptuous poets believe they can at once conceal and recommend the -principles of vice. Adeline received it with contempt and displeasure; -and the Marquis perceiving its effect, presently made a sign for another -composition, which, adding the force of poetry to the charms of music, -might withdraw her mind from the present scene, and enchant it in sweet -delirium. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">SONG OF A SPIRIT.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the sightless air I dwell,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">On the sloping sun-beams play;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Delve the cavern's inmost cell,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Where never yet did daylight stray.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dive beneath the green sea waves,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And gambol in the briny deeps;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Skim every shore that Neptune laves,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">From Lapland's plains to India's steeps.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft I mount with rapid force</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Above the wide earth's shadowy zone;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Follow the day-star's flaming course</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Through realms of space to thought unknown:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And listen oft celestial sounds</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That swell the air unheard of men,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">As I watch my nightly rounds</span><br /> -<span class="i2">O'er woody steep and silent glen.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the shade of waving trees,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">On the green bank of fountain clear,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">At pensive eve I sit at ease,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">While dying music murmurs near.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And oft on point of airy clift,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That hangs upon the western main,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I watch the gay tints passing swift,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And twilight veil the liquid plain.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then, when the breeze has sunk away,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And ocean scarce is heard to lave,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">For me the sea-nymphs softly play</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Their dulcet shells beneath the wave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Their dulcet shells! I hear them now,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Slow swells the strain upon mine ear</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Now faintly falls—now warbles low,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Till rapture melts into a tear.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The ray that silvers o'er the dew,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And trembles through the leafy shade,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And tints the scene with softer hue,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Calls me to rove the lonely glade;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or hie me to some ruin'd tower,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Faintly shewn by moonlight gleam,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Where the lone wanderer owns my power</span><br /> -<span class="i2">In shadows dire that substance seem.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And pausing silence makes more dread;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">In music breathing from below</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sad, solemn strains, that wake the dead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unseen I move—unknown am fear'd!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Fancy's wildest dreams I weave;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And oft by bards my voice is heard</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To die along the gales of eve.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -When the voice ceased, a mournful strain, played with exquisite -expression, sounded from a distant horn; sometimes the notes floated on -the air in soft undulations—now they swelled into full and sweeping -melody, and now died faintly into silence, when again they rose and -trembled in sounds so sweetly tender, as drew tears from Adeline, and -exclamations of rapture from the Marquis: he threw his arm round her, -and would have pressed her towards him; but she liberated herself from -his embrace, and with a look, on which was impressed the firm dignity of -virtue, yet touched with sorrow, she awed him to forbearance. Conscious -of a superiority which he was ashamed to acknowledge, and endeavouring -to despise the influence which he could not resist, he stood for a -moment the slave of virtue, though the votary of vice. Soon, however, he -recovered his confidence, and began to plead his love; when Adeline, no -longer animated by the spirit she had lately shown, and sinking beneath -the languor and fatigue which the various and violent agitations of her -mind produced, entreated he would leave her to repose. -</p> - -<p> -The paleness of her countenance and the tremulous tone of her voice were -too expressive to be misunderstood; and the Marquis, bidding her -remember to-morrow, with some hesitation withdrew. The moment she was -alone she yielded to the bursting anguish of her heart; and was so -absorbed in grief, that it was some time before she perceived she was in -the presence of the young women who had lately attended her, and had -entered the saloon soon after the Marquis quitted it; they came to -conduct her to her chamber. She followed them for some time in silence, -till, prompted by desperation, she again endeavoured to awaken their -compassion: but again the praises of the Marquis were repeated: and -perceiving that all attempts to interest them in her favour were in vain -she dismissed them. She secured the door through which they had -departed, and then, in the languid hope of discovering some means of -escape, she surveyed her chamber. The airy elegance with which it was -fitted up, and the luxurious accommodations with which it abounded, -seemed designed to fascinate the imagination and to seduce the heart. -The hangings were of straw-coloured silk, adorned with a variety of -landscapes and historical paintings, the subjects of which partook of -the voluptuous character of the owner; the chimney-piece, of Parian -marble, was ornamented with several reposing figures from the antique. -The bed was of silk, the colour of the hangings, richly fringed with -purple and silver, and the head made in form of a canopy. The steps -which were placed near the bed to assist in ascending it, were supported -by cupids apparently of solid silver. China vases filled with perfume -stood in several of the recesses, upon stands of the same structure as -the toilet, which was magnificent, and ornamented with a variety of -trinkets. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline threw a transient look upon these various objects, and proceeded -to examine the windows, which descended to the floor and opened into -balconies towards the garden she had seen from the saloon. They were now -fastened, and her efforts to move them were ineffectual: at length she -gave up the attempt. A door next attracted her notice, which she found -was not fastened; it opened upon a dressing-closet, to which she -descended by a few steps: two windows appeared, she hastened towards -them; one refused to yield, but her heart beat with sudden joy when the -other opened to her touch. -</p> - -<p> -In the transport of the moment, she forgot that its distance from the -ground might yet deny the escape she meditated. She returned to lock the -door of the closet, to prevent a surprise, which, however, was -unnecessary, that of the bed-room being already secured. She now looked -out from the window; the garden lay before her, and she perceived that -the window, which descended to the floor, was so near the ground, that -she might jump from it with ease: almost in the same moment she -perceived this, she sprang forward and alighted safely in an extensive -garden, resembling more an English pleasure ground, than a series of -French parterres. -</p> - -<p> -Thence she had little doubt of escaping, either by some broken fence, or -low part of the wall; she tripped lightly along, for hope played round -her heart. The clouds of the late storm were now dispersed, and the -moonlight, which slept on the lawns and spangled the flowerets yet heavy -with rain drops, afforded her a distinct view of the surrounding -scenery; she followed the direction of the high wall that adjoined the -chateau, till it was concealed from her sight by a thick wilderness, so -entangled with boughs and obscured by darkness, that she feared to -enter, and turned aside into a walk on the right; it conducted her to -the margin of a lake overhung with lofty trees. -</p> - -<p> -The moonbeams dancing upon the waters, that with gentle undulation -played along the shore, exhibited a scene of tranquil beauty, which -would have soothed a heart less agitated than was that of Adeline: she -sighed as she transiently surveyed it, and passed hastily on in search -of the garden wall, from which she had now strayed a considerable way. -After wandering for some time through alleys and over lawns, without -meeting with any thing like a boundary to the grounds, she again found -herself at the lake, and now traversed its border with the footsteps of -despair:—tears rolled down her cheeks. The scene around exhibited -only images of peace and delight; every object seemed to repose; not a -breath waved the foliage, not a sound stole through the air: it was in her -bosom only that tumult and distress prevailed. She still pursued the -windings of the shore, till an opening in the woods conducted her up a -gentle ascent: the path now wound along the side of a hill where the -gloom was so deep, that it was with some difficulty she found her way: -suddenly, however, the avenue opened to a lofty grove, and she perceived -a light issue from a recess at some distance. -</p> - -<p> -She paused, and her first impulse was to retreat; but listening, and -hearing no sound, a faint hope beamed upon her mind, that the person to -whom the light belonged, might be won to favour her escape. She -advanced, with trembling and cautious steps, towards the recess, that -she might secretly observe the person, before she ventured to enter it. -Her emotion increased as she approached; and, having reached the bower, -she beheld, through an open window, the Marquis reclining on a sofa, -near which stood a table, covered with fruit and wine. He was alone, and -his countenance was flushed with drinking. -</p> - -<p> -While she gazed, fixed to the spot by terror, he looked up towards the -casement; the light gleamed full upon her face, but she stayed not to -learn whether he had observed her, for, with the swiftness of sound, she -left the place and ran, without knowing whether she was pursued. Having -gone a considerable way, fatigue at length compelled her to stop, and -she threw herself upon the turf, almost fainting with fear and languor. -She knew, if the Marquis detected her in an attempt to escape, he would, -probably, burst the bounds which she had hitherto prescribed to himself, -and that she had the most dreadful evils to expect. The palpitations of -terror were so strong, that she could with difficulty breathe. -</p> - -<p> -She watched and listened in trembling expectation, but no form met her -eye, no sound her ear; in this state she remained a considerable time. -She wept, and the tears she shed relieved her oppressed heart. O my -father! said she, why did you abandon your child? If you knew the -dangers to which you have exposed her, you would, surely, pity and -relieve her. Alas! shall I never find a friend! am I destined still to -trust and be deceived?—Peter too, could he be treacherous? She wept -again, and then returned to a sense of her present danger, and to a -consideration of the means of escaping it—but no means appeared. -</p> - -<p> -To her imagination the grounds were boundless; she had wandered from -lawn to lawn, and from grove to grove, without perceiving any -termination to the place; the garden-wall she could not find, but she -resolved neither to return to the chateau, nor to relinquish her search. -As she was rising to depart, she perceived a shadow move along at some -distance: she stood still to observe it. It slowly advanced and then -disappeared; but presently she saw a person emerge from the gloom, and -approach the spot where she stood. She had no doubt that the Marquis had -observed her, and she ran with all possible speed to the shade of some -woods on the left. Footsteps pursued her, and she heard her name -repeated, while she in vain endeavoured to quicken her pace. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly the sound of pursuit turned, and sunk away in a different -direction: she paused to take breath; she looked around, and no person -appeared. She now proceeded slowly along the avenue, and had almost -reached its termination, when she saw the same figure emerge from the -woods and dart across the avenue: it instantly pursued her and -approached. A voice called her, but she was gone beyond its reach, for -she had sunk senseless upon the ground: it was long before she revived: -when she did, she found herself in the arms of a stranger, and made an -effort to disengage herself. -</p> - -<p> -Fear nothing, lovely Adeline, said he, fear nothing: you are in the arms -of a friend, who will encounter any hazard for your sake; who will -protect you with his life. He pressed her gently to his heart. Have you -then forgot me? continued he. She looked earnestly at him, and was now -convinced that it was Theodore who spoke. Joy was her first emotion; -but, recollecting his former abrupt departure, at a time so critical to -her safety and that he was the friend of the Marquis, a thousand mingled -sensations struggled in her breast, and overwhelmed her with mistrust, -apprehension, and disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore raised her from the ground, and while he yet supported her, let -us fly from this place, said he; a carriage waits to receive us; it -shall go wherever you direct, and convey you to your friends. This last -sentence touched her heart: Alas, I have no friends! said she, nor do I -know whither to go. Theodore gently pressed her hand between his, and, -in a voice of the softest compassion, said, <i>My</i> friends then shall be -yours; suffer me to lead you to them. But I am in agony while you remain -in this place; let us hasten to quit it. Adeline was going to reply, -when voices were heard among the trees, and Theodore, supporting her -with his arm, hurried her along the avenue; they continued their flight -till Adeline, panting for breath, could go no further. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure05.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Having paused a while, and heard no footsteps in pursuit, they renewed -their course: Theodore knew that they were now not far from the garden -wall; but he was also aware, that in the intermediate space several -paths wound from remote parts of the grounds into the walk he was to -pass, from whence the Marquis's people might issue and intercept him. -He, however, concealed his apprehensions from Adeline, and endeavoured -to soothe and support her spirits. -</p> - -<p> -At length they reached the wall, and Theodore was leading her towards a -low part of it, near which stood the carriage, when again they heard -voices in the air. Adeline's spirits and strength were nearly exhausted, -but she made a last effort to proceed and she now saw the ladder at some -distance by which Theodore had descended to the garden. Exert yourself -yet a little longer, said he, and you will be in safety. He held the -ladder while she ascended; the top of the wall was broad and level, and -Adeline, having reached it, remained there till Theodore followed and -drew the ladder to the other side. -</p> - -<p> -When they had descended, the carriage appeared in waiting, but without -the driver. Theodore feared to call, lest his voice should betray him; -he, therefore, put Adeline into the carriage, and went in search of the -postillion, whom he found asleep under a tree at some distance: having -awakened him, they returned to the vehicle, which soon drove furiously -away. Adeline did not yet dare to believe herself safe; but, after -proceeding a considerable time without interruption, joy burst upon her -heart, and she thanked her deliverer in terms of the warmest gratitude. -The sympathy expressed in the tone of his voice and manner, proved that -his happiness, on this occasion, almost equalled her own. -</p> - -<p> -As reflection gradually stole upon her mind, anxiety superseded joy: in -the tumult of the late moments, she thought only of escape; but the -circumstances of her present situation now appeared to her, and she -became silent and pensive: she had no friends to whom she could fly, and -was going with a young chevalier, almost a stranger to her, she knew not -whither. She remembered how often she had been deceived and betrayed -where she trusted most, and her spirits sunk: she remembered also the -former attention which Theodore had shown her, and dreaded lest his -conduct might be prompted by a selfish passion. She saw this to be -possible, but she disdained to believe it probable, and felt that -nothing could give her greater pain than to doubt the integrity of -Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -He interrupted her reverie, by recurring to her late situation at the -abbey. You would be much surprised, said he, and, I fear, offended that -I did not attend my appointment at the abbey, after the alarming hints -I had given you in our last interview. That circumstance has, perhaps, -injured me in your esteem, if, indeed, I was ever so happy as to possess -it: but my designs were overruled by those of the Marquis de Montalt; -and I think I may venture to assert, that my distress upon this occasion -was, at least, equal to your apprehensions. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline said, she had been much alarmed by the hints he had given her, -and by his failing to afford further information concerning the subject -of her danger; and—She checked the sentence that hung upon her lips, -for she perceived that she was unwarily betraying the interest he held -in her heart. There were a few moments of silence, and neither party -seemed perfectly at ease. Theodore, at length, renewed the conversation: -Suffer me to acquaint you, said he, with the circumstances that withheld -me from the interview I solicited; I am anxious to exculpate myself. -Without waiting her reply, he proceeded to inform her, that the Marquis -had, by some inexplicable means, learned or suspected the subject of -their last conversation, and, perceiving his designs were in danger of -being counteracted, had taken effectual means to prevent her obtaining -further intelligence of them. Adeline immediately recollected that -Theodore and herself had been seen in the forest by La Motte, who had, -no doubt, suspected their growing intimacy, and had taken care to inform -the Marquis how likely he was to find a rival in his friend. -</p> - -<p> -On the day following that on which I last saw you, said Theodore, the -Marquis, who is my colonel, commanded me to prepare to attend my -regiment, and appointed the following morning for my journey. This -sudden order gave me some surprise, but I was not long in doubt -concerning the motive for it: a servant of the Marquis, who had been -long attached to me, entered my room soon after I had left his lord, and -expressing concern at my abrupt departure, dropped some hints respecting -it, which excited my surprise. I inquired further, and was confirmed in -the suspicions I had for some time entertained of the Marquis's designs -upon you. -</p> - -<p> -Jaques further informed me, that our late interview had been noticed and -communicated to the Marquis. His information had been obtained from a -fellow-servant, and it alarmed me so much, that I engaged him to send me -intelligence from time to time, concerning the proceedings of the -Marquis. I now looked forward to the evening which would bring me again -to your presence with increased impatience: but the ingenuity of the -Marquis effectually counteracted my endeavours and wishes; he had made -an engagement to pass the day at the villa of a nobleman some leagues -distant, and, notwithstanding all the excuses I could offer, I was -obliged to attend him. Thus compelled to obey, I passed a day of more -agitation and anxiety than I had ever before experienced. It was -midnight before we returned to the Marquis's chateau. I arose early in -the morning to commence my journey, and resolved to seek an interview -with you before I left the province. -</p> - -<p> -When I entered the breakfast room, I was much surprised to find the -Marquis there already, who, commending the beauty of the morning, -declared his intention of accompanying me as far as Chineau. Thus -unexpectedly deprived of my last hope, my countenance, I believe, -expressed what I felt, for the scrutinizing eye of the Marquis instantly -changed from seeming carelessness to displeasure. The distance from -Chineau to the abbey was at least twelve leagues; yet I had once some -intention of returning from thence, when the Marquis should leave me, -till I recollected the very remote chance there would even then be of -seeing you alone, and also, that if I was observed by La Motte, it would -awaken all his suspicions, and caution him against any future plan I -might see it expedient to attempt; I therefore proceeded to join my -regiment. -</p> - -<p> -Jaques sent me frequent accounts of the operations of the Marquis; but -his manner of relating them was so very confused, that they only served -to perplex and distress me. His last letter, however, alarmed me so -much, that my residence in quarters became intolerable; and, as I found -it impossible to obtain leave of absence, I secretly left the regiment, -and concealed myself in a cottage about a mile from the chateau, that I -might obtain the earliest intelligence of the Marquis's plans. Jaques -brought me daily information, and, at last, an account of the horrible -plot which was laid for the following night. -</p> - -<p> -I saw little probability of warning you of your danger. If I ventured -near the abbey, La Motte might discover me, and frustrate every attempt -on my part to save you; yet I determined to encounter this risk for the -chance of seeing you, and towards evening I was preparing to set out for -the forest, when Jaques arrived, and informed me that you was to be -brought to the chateau. My plan was thus rendered less difficult. I -learned also, that the Marquis, by means of those refinements in luxury, -with which he is but too well acquainted, designed, now that his -apprehension of losing you was no more, to seduce you to his wishes, and -impose upon you by a fictitious marriage. Having obtained information -concerning the situation of the room allotted you, I ordered a chaise to -be in waiting, and with a design of scaling your window, and conducting -you thence, I entered the garden at midnight. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore having ceased to speak:—I know not how words can express my -sense of the obligations I owe you, said Adeline, or my gratitude for -your generosity. -</p> - -<p> -Ah! call it not generosity, he replied, it was love. He paused. Adeline -was silent. After some moments of expressive emotion, he resumed; But -pardon this abrupt declaration; yet why do I call it abrupt, since my -actions have already disclosed what my lips have never, till this -instant, ventured to acknowledge. He paused again. Adeline was still -silent. Yet do me the justice to believe, that I am sensible of the -impropriety of pleading my love at present, and have been surprised into -this confession. I promise also to forbear from a renewal of the -subject, till you are placed in a situation where you may freely accept, -or refuse, the sincere regards I offer you. If I could, however, now be -certain that I possess your esteem, it would relieve me from much -anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline felt surprised that he should doubt her esteem for him, after -the signal and generous service he had rendered her; but she was not yet -acquainted with the timidity of love. Do you then, said she in a -tremulous voice, believe me ungrateful? It is impossible I can consider -your friendly interference in my behalf without esteeming you. Theodore -immediately took her hand and pressed it to his lips in silence. They -were both too much agitated to converse, and continued to travel for -some miles without exchanging a word. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And hope enchanted smiled and waved her golden</span><br /> -<span class="i3">hair,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And longer had she sung—but, with a frown,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Revenge impatient rose.</span><br /> -<span class="i8">ODE TO THE PASSIONS.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -The dawn of morning now trembled through the clouds, when the travellers -stopped at a small town to change horses. Theodore entreated Adeline to -alight and take some refreshment, and to this she at length consented. -But the people of the inn were not yet up, and it was some time before -the knocking and the roaring of the postillion could rouse them. -</p> - -<p> -Having taken some slight refreshment, Theodore and Adeline returned to -the carriage. The only subject upon which Theodore could have spoke with -interest, delicacy forbade him at this time to notice; and after -pointing out some beautiful scenery on the road, and making other -efforts to support a conversation, he relapsed into silence. His mind, -though still anxious, was now relieved from the apprehension that had -long oppressed it. When he first saw Adeline, her loveliness made a deep -impression on his heart: there was a sentiment in her beauty, which his -mind immediately acknowledged, and the effect of which, her manners and -conversation had afterwards confirmed. Her charms appeared to him like -those since so finely described by an English poet: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! have you seen, bathed in the morning dew,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The budding rose its infant bloom display?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">When first its virgin tints unfold to view.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I gaz'd, I sigh'd, I caught the tender flame,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -A knowledge of her destitute condition and of the dangers with which she -was environed, had awakened in his heart the tenderest touch of pity, -and assisted the change of admiration into love. The distress he -suffered, when compelled to leave her exposed to these dangers, without -being able to warn her of them, can only be imagined. During his -residence with his regiment, his mind was the constant prey of terrors, -which he saw no means of combating but by returning to the neighbourhood -of the abbey where he might obtain early intelligence of the Marquis's -schemes, and be ready to give his assistance to Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Leave of absence he could not request, without betraying his design -where most he dreaded it should be known; and at length with a generous -rashness, which though it defied law was impelled by virtue, he secretly -quitted his regiment. The progress of the Marquis's plan he had observed -with trembling anxiety, till the night that was to decide the fate of -Adeline and himself roused all his mind to action, and involved him in a -tumult of hope and fear, horror and expectation. -</p> - -<p> -Never till the present hour had he ventured to believe she was in -safety. Now the distance they had gained from the chateau without -perceiving any pursuit, increased his best hopes. It was impossible he -could sit by the side of his beloved Adeline, and receive assurances of -her gratitude and esteem, without venturing to hope for her love. He -congratulated himself as her preserver, and anticipated scenes of -happiness when she should be under the protection of his family. The -clouds of misery and apprehension disappeared from his mind, and left it -to the sunshine of joy. When a shadow of fear would sometimes return, or -when he recollected with compunction the circumstances under which he -had left his regiment, stationed as it was upon the frontiers, and in a -time of war, he looked at Adeline, and her countenance with -instantaneous magic beamed peace upon his heart. -</p> - -<p> -But Adeline had a subject of anxiety from which Theodore was exempt: the -prospect of her future days was involved in darkness and uncertainty. -Again she was going to claim the bounty of strangers—again going to -encounter the uncertainty of their kindness; exposed to the hardships of -dependance, or to the difficulty of earning a precarious livelihood. -These anticipations obscured the joy occasioned by her escape, and by -the affection which the conduct and avowal of Theodore had exhibited. -The delicacy of his behaviour, in forbearing to take advantage of her -present situation to plead his love, increased her esteem and flattered -her pride. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was lost in meditation upon subjects like these, when the -postillion stopped the carriage, and pointing to part of a road which -wound down the side of a hill they had passed, said there were several -horsemen in pursuit! Theodore immediately ordered him to proceed with -all possible speed, and to strike out of the great road into the first -obscure way that offered. The postillion cracked his whip in the air, -and set off as if he was flying for life. In the meanwhile Theodore -endeavoured to reanimate Adeline, who was sinking with terror, and who -now thought, if she could only escape from the Marquis, she could defy -the future. -</p> - -<p> -Presently they struck into a by lane screened and overshadowed by thick -trees. Theodore again looked from the window, but the closing boughs -prevented his seeing far enough to determine whether the pursuit -continued. For his sake Adeline endeavoured to disguise her emotions. -This lane, said Theodore, will certainly lead to a town or village, and -then we have nothing to apprehend: for, though my single arm could not -defend you against the number of our pursuers, I nave no doubt of being -able to interest some of the inhabitants in our behalf. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline appeared to be comforted by the hope this reflection suggested: -and Theodore again looked back: but the windings of the road closed his -view, and the rattling of the wheels overcame every other sound. At -length he called to the postillion to stop; and having listened -attentively without perceiving any sound of horses, he began to hope -they were now in safety. Do you know whither this road leads? said he. -The postillion answered that he did not, but he saw some houses through -the trees at a distance, and believed that it led to them. This was most -welcome intelligence to Theodore, who looked forward and perceived the -houses. The postillion set off. Fear nothing, my adored Adeline, said -he, you are now safe; I will part with you but with life. Adeline -sighed, not for herself only, but for the danger to which Theodore might -be exposed. -</p> - -<p> -They had continued to travel in this manner for near half an hour, when -they arrived at a small village, and soon after stopped at an inn, the -best the place afforded. As Theodore lifted Adeline from the chaise, he -again entreated her to dismiss her apprehensions, and spoke with a -tenderness to which she could reply only by a smile that ill concealed -her anxiety. After ordering refreshments, he went out to speak with the -landlord; but had scarcely left the room when Adeline observed a party -of horsemen enter the inn yard, and she had no doubt these were the -persons from whom they fled. The faces of two of them only were turned -towards her, but she thought the figure of one of the others not unlike -that of the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -Her heart was chilled, and for some moments the powers of reason forsook -her. Her first design was to seek concealments but while she considered -the means, one of the horsemen looked up to the window near, which she -stood, and speaking to his companions they entered the inn. To quit the -room without being observed was impossible; to remain there, alone and -unprotected as she was, would almost be equally dangerous. She paced the -room in an agony of terror, often secretly calling on Theodore, and -often wondering he did not return. These were moments of indescribable -suffering. A loud and tumultuous sound of voices now arose from a -distant part of the house, and she soon, distinguished the words of the -disputants. I arrest you in the king's name, said one; and bid you, at -your peril, attempt to go from hence, except under a guard. -</p> - -<p> -The next minute Adeline heard the voice of Theodore in reply. I do not -mean to dispute the king's orders, said he, and give you my word of -honour not to go without you; but first unhand me, that I may return to -that room; I have a friend there whom I wish to speak with. To this -proposal they at first objected, considering it merely as an excuse to -obtain an opportunity of escaping; but after much altercation and -entreaty his request was granted. He sprang forward towards the room -where Adeline remained; and while a sergeant and corporal followed him -to the door, the two soldiers went out into the yard of the inn to watch -the windows of the apartment. -</p> - -<p> -With an eager hand he unclosed the door; but Adeline hastened not to -meet him, for she had fainted almost at the beginning of the dispute. -Theodore called loudly for assistance; and the mistress of the inn soon -appeared with her stock of remedies, which were administered in vain to -Adeline, who remained insensible, and by breathing alone gave signs of -her existence. The distress of Theodore was in the mean time heightened -by the appearance of the officers, who, laughing at the discovery of his -pretended friend, declared they could wait no longer. Saying this, they -would have forced him from the inanimate form of Adeline, over whom he -hung in unutterable anguish, when fiercely turning upon them he drew his -sword, and swore no power on earth should force him away before the lady -recovered. -</p> - -<p> -The men, enraged by the action and the determined air of Theodore, -exclaimed, Do you oppose the king's orders? and advanced to seize him: -but he presented the point of his sword, and bade them at their peril -approach. One of them immediately drew. Theodore kept his guard, but did -not advance. I demand only to wait here till the lady recovers, said -he;—you understand the alternative. The man already exasperated by -the opposition of Theodore, regarded the latter part of his speech as a -threat, and became determined not to give up the point: he pressed -forward; and while his comrade called the men from the yard, Theodore -wounded him slightly in the shoulder, and received himself the stroke of -a sabre on his head. -</p> - -<p> -The blood gushed furiously from the wound: Theodore, staggering to a -chair, sunk into it, just as the remainder of the party entered the -room; and Adeline unclosed her eyes to see him ghastly pale, and covered -with blood. She uttered an involuntary scream, and exclaiming, They have -murdered him, nearly relapsed. At the sound of her voice he raised his -head, and smiling held out his hand to her. I am not much hurt said he -faintly, and shall soon be better, if indeed you are recovered. She -hastened towards him, and gave her hand. Is nobody gone for a surgeon? -said she with a look of agony. Do not be alarmed, said Theodore, I am -not so ill as you imagine. The room was now crowded with people, whom -the report of the affray had now brought together; among these was a man -who acted as physician, apothecary, and surgeon to the village, and who -now stepped forward to the assistance of Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -Having examined the wound, he declined giving his opinion, but ordered -the patient to be immediately put to bed; to which the officers -objected, alleging that it was their duty to carry him to the regiment. -That cannot be done without great danger to his life, replied the -doctor; and— -</p> - -<p> -Oh; his life, said the sergeant; we have nothing to do with that, we -must do our duty. Adeline, who had hitherto stood in trembling anxiety, -could now no longer be silent. Since the surgeon, said she, has declared -it his opinion that this gentleman cannot be removed in his present -condition without endangering his life, you will remember that if he -dies, yours will probably answer it. -</p> - -<p> -Yes, rejoined the surgeon, who was unwilling to relinquish his patient; -I declare before these witnesses, that he cannot be removed with safety: -you will do well therefore to consider the consequences. He has received -a very dangerous wound, which requires the most careful treatment, and -the event is even then doubtful; but if he travels, a fever may ensue, -and the wound will then be mortal. Theodore heard this sentence with -composure, but Adeline could with difficulty conceal the anguish of her -heart: she roused all her fortitude to suppress the tears that struggled -in her eyes; and though she wished to interest the humanity or to awaken -the fears of the men in behalf of their unfortunate prisoner, she dared -not to trust her voice with utterance. -</p> - -<p> -From this internal struggle she was relieved by the compassion of the -people who filled the room, and becoming clamorous in the cause of -Theodore, declared the officers would be guilty of murder if they -removed him. Why he must die at any rate, said the sergeant, for -quitting his post, and drawing upon me in the execution of the king's -orders. A faint sickness seized the heart of Adeline, and she leaned for -support against Theodore's chair, whose concern for himself was for a -while suspended in his anxiety for her. He supported her with his arm, -and forcing a smile, said in a low voice, which she only could hear. -This is a misrepresentation; I doubt not, when the affair is inquired -into, it will be settled without any serious consequences. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline knew these words were uttered only to console her, and therefore -did not give much credit to them, though Theodore continued to give her -similar assurances of his safety. Meanwhile the mob, whose compassion -for him had been gradually excited by the obduracy of the officer, were -now roused to pity and indignation by the seeming certainty of his -punishment, and the unfeeling manner in which it had been denounced. In -a short time they became so much enraged that, partly from a dread of -further consequences, and partly from the shame which their charges of -cruelty occasioned, the sergeant consented that he should be put to bed, -till his commanding officer might direct what was to be done. Adeline's -joy at this circumstance overcame for a moment the sense of her -misfortunes and of her situation. -</p> - -<p> -She waited in an adjoining room the sentence of the surgeon, who was now -engaged in examining the wound; and though the accident would in any -other circumstances have severely afflicted her, she now lamented it the -more, because she considered herself as the cause of it, and because the -misfortune by illustrating more fully the affection of her lover, drew -him closer to her heart, and seemed therefore to sharpen the poignancy -of her affliction. The dreadful assertion that Theodore, should he -recover, would be punished with death, she scarcely dared to consider, -but endeavoured to believe that it was no more than a cruel exaggeration -of his antagonist. -</p> - -<p> -Upon the whole, Theodore's present danger, together with the attendant -circumstances, awakened all her tenderness, and discovered to her the -true state of her affections. The graceful form, the noble, intelligent, -countenance, and the engaging manners which she had at first admired in -Theodore, became afterwards more interesting by that strength of thought -and elegance of sentiment exhibited in his conversation. His conduct, -since her escape, had excited her warmest gratitude; and the danger -which he had now encountered in her behalf, called forth her tenderness, -and heightened it into love. The veil was removed from her heart, and -she saw for the first time its genuine emotions. -</p> - -<p> -The surgeon at length came out of Theodore's chamber into the room where -Adeline was waiting to speak with him. She inquired concerning the state -of his wound. You are a relation of the gentleman's, I presume, Madam; -his sister, perhaps? The question vexed and embarrassed her, and without -answering it she repeated her inquiry. Perhaps, Madam, you are more -nearly related, pursued the surgeon, seeming also to disregard her -question,—perhaps you are his wife? Adeline blushed, and was about to -reply, but he continued his speech. The interest you take in his welfare -is at least very flattering, and I would almost consent to exchange -conditions with him, were I sure of receiving such tender compassion -from so charming a lady. Saying this, he bowed to the ground. Adeline -assuming a very reserved air, said, Now, Sir, that you have concluded -your compliment, you will perhaps attend to my question; I have inquired -how you have left your patient. -</p> - -<p> -That, Madam, is perhaps a question very difficult to be resolved; and it -is likewise a very disagreeable office to pronounce ill news—I fear -he will die. The surgeon opened his snuff-box and presented it to Adeline. -Die! she exclaimed in a faint voice, die! -</p> - -<p> -Do not be alarmed, Madam, resumed the surgeon, observing her grow pale, -do not be alarmed. It is possible that the wound may not have reached -the——, he stammered, in that case the——, stammering -again, is not affected; and if so, the interior membranes of the brain are -not touched: in this case the wound may perhaps escape inflammation, and -the patient may possibly recover. But if, on the other hand—— -</p> - -<p> -I beseech you, Sir, to speak intelligibly, interrupted Adeline, and not -to trifle with my anxiety. Do you really believe him in danger? -</p> - -<p> -In danger, Madam, exclaimed the surgeon, in danger! yes, certainly, in -very great danger. Saying this, he walked away with an air of chagrin -and displeasure. Adeline remained for some moments in the room, in an -excess of sorrow, which she found it impossible to restrain; and then -drying her tears, and endeavouring to compose her countenance, she went -to inquire for the mistress of the inn, to whom she sent a waiter. After -expecting her in vain for some time, she rang the bell, and sent another -message somewhat more pressing. Still the hostess did not appear; and -Adeline at length went herself down stairs, where she found her, -surrounded by a number of people, relating, with a loud voice and -various gesticulations, the particulars of the late accident. Perceiving -Adeline, she called out, Oh! here is Mademoiselle herself; and the eyes -of the assembly were immediately turned upon her. Adeline, whom the -crowd prevented from approaching the hostess, now beckoned her, and was -going to withdraw; but the landlady, eager in the pursuit of her story, -disregarded the signal. In vain did Adeline endeavour to catch her eye; -it glanced every where but upon her, who was unwilling to attract the -further notice of the crowd by calling out. -</p> - -<p> -It is a great pity, to be sure, that he should be shot, said the -landlady, he's such a handsome man; but they say he certainly will if he -recovers. Poor gentleman! he will very likely not suffer though, for the -doctor says he will never go out of this house alive. Adeline now spoke -to a man who stood near, and desiring he would tell the hostess she -wished to speak with her, left the place. -</p> - -<p> -In about ten minutes the landlady appeared. Alas! Mademoiselle, said -she, your brother is in a sad condition; they fear he won't get over. -Adeline inquired whether there was any other medical person in the town -than the surgeon whom she had seen. Lord, Madam, this is a rare healthy -place; we have little need of medicine people here; such an accident -never happened in it before. The doctor has been here ten years, but -there's very bad encouragement for his trade, and I believe he's poor -enough himself. One of the sort's quite enough for us. Adeline -interrupted her to ask some questions concerning Theodore, whom the -hostess had attended to his chamber. She inquired how he had borne the -dressing of the wound, and whether he appeared to be easier after the -operation; questions to which the hostess gave no very satisfactory -answers. She now inquired whether there was any surgeon in the -neighbourhood of the town, and was told there was not. -</p> - -<p> -The distress visible in Adeline's countenance seemed to excite the -compassion of the landlady, who now endeavoured to console her in the -best manner she was able. She advised her to send for her friends, and -offered to procure a messenger. Adeline sighed, and said it was -unnecessary. I don't know, Ma'mselle, what you may think necessary, -continued the hostess; but I know I should think it very hard to die in -a strange place, with no relations near me, and I dare say the poor -gentleman thinks so himself; and besides, who is to pay for his funeral -if he dies? Adeline begged she would be silent; and desiring that every -proper attention might be given, she promised her a reward for her -trouble, and requested pen and ink immediately. Ay, to be sure, -Ma'mselle, that is the proper way; why your friends would never forgive -you if you did not acquaint them; I know it by myself. And as for taking -care of him, he shall have every thing the house affords; and I warrant -there is never a better inn in the province, though the town is none of -the biggest. Adeline was obliged to repeat her request for pen and ink, -before the loquacious hostess would quit the room. -</p> - -<p> -The thought of sending for Theodore's friends had, in the tumult of the -late scenes, never occurred to her, and she was now somewhat consoled by -the prospect of comfort which it opened for him. When the pen and ink -were brought, she wrote the following note to Theodore:— -</p> - -<p> -"In your present condition, you have need of every comfort that can be -procured you; and surely there is no cordial more valuable in illness -than the presence of a friend. Suffer me, therefore, to acquaint your -family with your situation: it will be a satisfaction to me, and, I -doubt not, a consolation to you." -</p> - -<p> -In a short time after she had sent the note, she received a message from -Theodore, entreating most respectfully, but earnestly, to see her for a -few minutes. She immediately went to his chamber, and found her worst -apprehensions confirmed, by the languor expressed in his countenance; -while the shock she received, together with her struggle to disguise her -emotions, almost overcame her. I thank you for this goodness, said he, -extending his hand, which she received, and sitting down by the bed, -burst into a flood of tears. When her agitation had somewhat subsided, -and, removing her handkerchief from her eyes, she again looked on -Theodore, a smile of the tenderest love expressed his sense of the -interest she took in his welfare, and administered a temporary relief to -her heart. -</p> - -<p> -Forgive this weakness, said she; my spirits have of late been so -variously agitated—Theodore interrupted her: These tears are more -flattering to my heart. But for my sake endeavour to support yourself: I -doubt not I shall soon be better; the surgeon— -</p> - -<p> -I do not like him, said Adeline; but tell me how you find yourself? He -assured her that he was now much easier than he had yet been; and -mentioning her kind note, he led to the subject on account of which he -had solicited to see her. My family, said he, reside at a great distance -from hence, and I well know their affection is such, that, were they -informed of my situation, no consideration, however reasonable, could -prevent their coming to my assistance: but before they can arrive, their -presence will probably be unnecessary (Adeline looked earnestly at him.) -I should probably be well, pursued he, smiling, before a letter could -reach them; it would, therefore, occasion them unnecessary pain, and -moreover a fruitless journey. For your sake, Adeline, I could wish they -were here; but a few days will more fully show the consequences of my -wound: let us wait at least till then, and be directed by circumstances. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline forbore to press the subject further, and turned to one more -immediately interesting. I much wish, said she, that you had a more able -surgeon; you know the geography of the province better than I do; are we -in the neighbourhood of any town likely to afford you other advice? -</p> - -<p> -I believe not, said he; and this is an affair of little consequence, for -my wound is so inconsiderable that a very moderate share of skill may -suffice to cure it. But why, my beloved Adeline, do you give way to this -anxiety? why suffer yourself to be disturbed by this tendency to -forebode the worst? I am willing, perhaps presumptuously so, to -attribute it to your kindness; and suffer me to assure you, that while -it excites my gratitude, it increases my tenderest esteem. O Adeline! -since you wish my speedy recovery, let me see you composed: while I -believe you to be unhappy I cannot be well.—She assured him she would -endeavour to be at least tranquil; and fearing the conversation, if -prolonged, would be prejudicial to him, she left him to repose. -</p> - -<p> -As she turned out of the gallery she met the hostess, upon whom certain -words of Adeline had operated as a talisman, transforming neglect and -impertinence into officious civility. She came to inquire whether the -gentleman above stairs had every thing that he liked, for she was sure -it was her endeavour that he should. I have got him a nurse, Ma'mselle, -to attend him, and I dare say she will do very well; but I will look to -that, for I shall not mind helping him myself sometimes. Poor gentleman! -how patiently he bears it! One would not think now that he believes he -is going to die; yet the doctor told him so himself, or at least as -good. Adeline was extremely shocked at this imprudent conduct of the -surgeon, and dismissed the landlady, after ordering a slight dinner. -</p> - -<p> -Towards evening the surgeon again made his appearance; and having passed -some time with his patient, returned to the parlour, according to the -desire of Adeline, to inform her of his condition. He answered Adeline's -inquiries with great solemnity. It is impossible to determine positively -at present. Madam, but I have reason to adhere to the opinion I gave you -this morning. I am not apt indeed, to form opinions upon uncertain -grounds—I will give you a singular instance of this: -</p> - -<p> -It is not above a fortnight since I was sent for to a patient at some -leagues distance: I was from home when the messenger arrived, and the -case being urgent, before I could reach the patient another physician -was consulted, who had ordered such medicines as he thought proper, and -the patient had been apparently relieved by them. His friends were -congratulating themselves upon his improvement when I arrived, and had -agreed in opinion with the physician that there was no danger in his -case. Depend upon it, said I, you are mistaken; these medicines cannot -have relieved him; the patient is in the utmost danger. The patient -groaned; but my brother physician persisted in affirming that the -remedies he had prescribed would not only be certain, but speedy, some -good effect having been already produced by them. Upon this I lost all -patience; and adhering to my opinion, that these effects were fallacious -and the case desperate, I assured the patient himself that his life was -in the utmost danger. I am not one of those, Madam, who deceive their -patients to the last moment;—but you shall hear the conclusion. -</p> - -<p> -My brother physician was, I suppose, enraged by the firmness of my -opposition, for he assumed a most angry look, which did not in the least -affect me, and turning to the patient, desired he would decide upon -which of our opinions to rely, for he must decline acting with me. The -patient did me the honour, pursued the surgeon with a smile of -complacency and smoothing his ruffles, to think more highly of me than, -perhaps, I deserved, for he immediately dismissed my opponent. I could -not have believed, said he, as the physician left the room—I could -not have believed that a man who has been so many years in the profession -could be so wholly ignorant of it. -</p> - -<p> -I could not have believed it either, said I.—I am astonished that he -was not aware of my danger, resumed the patient. I am astonished -likewise, replied I. I was resolved to do what I could for the patient, -for he was a man of understanding, as you perceive, and I had a regard -for him. I therefore altered the prescriptions, and myself administered -the medicines; but all would not do,—my opinion was verified, and he -died even before the next morning.—Adeline, who had been compelled to -listen to this long story, sighed at the conclusion of it. I don't -wonder that you are affected, Madam, said the surgeon; the instance I -have related is certainly a very affecting one. It distressed me so -much, that it was some time before I could think or even speak -concerning it. But you must allow, Madam, continued he, lowering his -voice and bowing with a look of self-congratulation, that this was a -striking instance of the infallibility of my judgment. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline shuddered at the infallibility of his judgment, and made no -reply. It was a shocking thing for the poor man, resumed the -surgeon.—It was indeed, very shocking, said Adeline.—It -affected me a good deal when it happened, continued he.—Undoubtedly, -Sir, said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -But time wears away the most painful impressions. -</p> - -<p> -I think you mention it was about a fortnight since this happened? -</p> - -<p> -Somewhere thereabouts, replied the surgeon without seeming to understand -the observation.—And will you permit me, Sir, to ask the name of the -physician who so ignorantly opposed you? -</p> - -<p> -Certainly, Madame; it is Lafance. -</p> - -<p> -He lives in the obscurity he deserves, no doubt, said Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Why no, Madam, he lives in a town of some note, at about the distance of -four leagues from hence; and affords one instance, among many others, -that the public opinion, is generally erroneous. You will hardly believe -it, but I assure you it is a fact, that this man comes into a great deal -of practice, while I am suffered to remain here neglected, and, indeed -very little known. -</p> - -<p> -During his narrative Adeline had been considering by what means she -could discover the name of the physician; for the instance that had been -produced to prove his <i>ignorance</i>, and the <i>infallibility</i> of his -opponent, had completely settled her opinion concerning them both. She -now more than ever wished to deliver Theodore from the hands of the -surgeon, and was musing on the possibility, when he with so much -self-security, developed the means. -</p> - -<p> -She asked him a few more questions concerning the state of Theodore's -wound; and was told it was much as it had been, but that some degree of -fever had come on. But I have ordered a fire to be made in the room, -continued the surgeon, and some additional blankets to be laid on the -bed; these, I doubt not, will have a proper effect. In the mean time -they must be careful to keep from him every kind of liquid, except some -cordial draughts which I shall send. He will naturally ask for drink, -but it must on no account be given to him. -</p> - -<p> -You do not approve then of the method which I have somewhere heard of, -said Adeline, of attending to nature in these cases? -</p> - -<p> -Nature, Madam! pursued he, nature is the most improper guide in the -world: I always adopt a method directly contrary to what she would -suggest; for what can be the use of art, if she is only to follow -nature? This was my first opinion on setting out in life, and I have -ever since strictly adhered to it. From what I have said, indeed, Madam, -you may perhaps perceive that my opinions may be depended on; what they -once are they always are, for my mind is not of that frivolous kind to -be affected by circumstances. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was fatigued by this discourse, and impatient to impart to -Theodore her discovery of a physician: but the surgeon seemed by no -means disposed to leave her, and was expatiating upon various topics, -with new instances of his surprising sagacity, when the waiter brought a -message that some person desired to see him. He was, however, engaged -upon too agreeable a topic to be easily prevailed upon to quit it, and -it was not till after a second message was brought that he made his bow -to Adeline and left the room. The moment he was gone she sent a note to -Theodore, entreating his permission to call in the assistance of the -physician. -</p> - -<p> -The conceited manners of the surgeon had by this time given Theodore a -very unfavourable opinion of his talents, and the last prescription had -so fully confirmed it, that he now readily consented to have other -advice. Adeline immediately inquired for a messenger; but recollecting -that the residence of the physician was still a secret, she applied to -the hostess, who being really ignorant of it, or pretending to be so, -gave her no information. What further inquiries she made were equally -ineffectual, and she passed some hours in extreme distress, while the -disorder of Theodore rather increased than abated. -</p> - -<p> -When supper appeared, she asked the boy who waited if he knew a -physician of the name of Lafance in the neighbourhood. Not in the -neighbourhood, Madame; but I know doctor Lafance of Chancy, for I come -from the town.—Adeline inquired further, and received very -satisfactory answers. But the town was at some leagues distance, and the -delay this circumstance must occasion again alarmed her; she, however, -ordered a messenger to be immediately dispatched, and having sent again to -inquire concerning Theodore, retired to her chamber for the night. -</p> - -<p> -The continued fatigue she had suffered for the last fourteen hours -overcame anxiety, and her harassed spirits sunk to repose. She slept -till late in the morning, and was then awakened by the landlady, who -came to inform her that Theodore was much worse, and to inquire what -should be done. Adeline, finding that the physician was not arrived, -immediately arose, and hastened to inquire further concerning Theodore. -The hostess informed her that he had passed a very disturbed night; that -he had complained of being very hot, and desired that the fire in his -room might be extinguished; but that the nurse knew her duty too well to -obey him, and had strictly followed the doctor's orders. -</p> - -<p> -She added, that he had taken the cordial draughts regularly, but had, -notwithstanding, continued to grow worse, and at last became -light-headed. In the mean time the boy who had been sent for the physician -was still absent:—And no wonder, continued the hostess; why, -only consider, it's eight leagues off, and the lad had to find the road, -bad as it is, in the dark. But indeed, Ma'mselle, you might as well have -trusted our doctor, for we never want any body else, not we, in the town -here; and if I might speak my mind, Jaques had better have been sent off -for the young gentleman's friends than for this strange doctor that -nobody knows. -</p> - -<p> -After asking some further questions concerning Theodore, the answers to -which rather increased than diminished her alarm, Adeline endeavoured to -compose her spirits, and await in patience the arrival of the physician. -She was now more sensible than ever of the forlornness of her own -condition, and of the danger of Theodore's, and earnestly wished that -his friends could be informed of his situation; a wish which could not -be gratified, for Theodore, who alone could acquaint her with their -place of residence, was deprived of recollection. -</p> - -<p> -When the surgeon arrived and perceived the situation of his patient, he -expressed no surprise; but having asked some questions and given a few -general directions, he went down to Adeline. After paying her his usual -compliments, he suddenly assumed an air of importance,—I am sorry -Madam, said he, that it is my office to communicate disagreeable -intelligence, but I wish you to be prepared for the event, which I fear, -is approaching. Adeline comprehended his meaning; and though she had -hitherto given little faith to his judgment, she could not hear him hint -at the immediate danger of Theodore without yielding to the influence of -fear. -</p> - -<p> -She entreated him to acquaint her with all he apprehended: and he then -proceeded to say that Theodore was, as he had foreseen, much worse this -morning than he had been the preceding night; and the disorder having -now affected his head, there was every reason to fear it would prove -fatal in a few hours. The worst consequences may ensue, continued he; if -the wound becomes inflamed, there will be very little chance of his -recovery. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline listened to this sentence with a dreadful calmness, and gave no -utterance to grief, either by words or tears. The gentleman, I suppose, -Madam, has friends, and the sooner you inform them of his condition the -better. If they reside at any distance, it is indeed too late; but there -are other necessary—You are ill, Madam! -</p> - -<p> -Adeline made an effort to speak, but in vain, and the surgeon now called -loudly for a glass of water; she drank it, and a deep sigh that she -uttered, seemed somewhat to relieve her oppressed heart: tears -succeeded. In the mean time the surgeon perceiving she was better, -though not well enough to listen to his conversation, took leave, and -promised to return in an hour. The physician was not yet arrived, and -Adeline awaited his appearance with a mixture of fear and anxious hope. -</p> - -<p> -About noon he came; and having been informed of the accident by which -the fever was produced, and of the treatment which the surgeon had given -it, he ascended to Theodore's chamber. In a quarter of an hour he -returned to the room where Adeline expected him: The gentleman -is still delirious, said he, but I have ordered him a composing -draught.——Is there any hope, Sir? inquired Adeline. Yes, -Madam, certainly there is hope; the case at present is somewhat -doubtful, but a few hours may enable me to judge with more certainty: in -the mean time, I have directed that he shall be kept quiet, and be -allowed to drink freely of some diluting liquids. -</p> - -<p> -He had scarcely, at Adeline's request, recommended a surgeon, instead of -the one at present employed, when the latter gentleman entered the room, -and perceiving the physician, threw a glance of mingled surprise and -anger at Adeline, who retired with him to another apartment, where she -dismissed him with a politeness which he did not deign to return, and -which he certainly did not deserve. -</p> - -<p> -Early the following morning the surgeon arrived; but either the -medicines or the crisis of the disorder had thrown Theodore into a deep -sleep, in which he remained for several hours. The physician now gave -Adeline reason to hope for a favourable issue, and every precaution was -taken to prevent his being disturbed. He awoke perfectly sensible and -free from fever; and his first words inquired for Adeline, who soon -learned that he was out of danger. -</p> - -<p> -In a few days he was sufficiently recovered to be removed from his -chamber to a room adjoining, where Adeline met him with a joy which she -found it impossible to repress; and the observance of this lighted up -his countenance with pleasure: indeed Adeline, sensible to the -attachment he had so nobly testified, and softened by the danger he had -encountered, no longer attempted to disguise the tenderness of her -esteem, and was at length brought to confess the interest his first -appearance had impressed upon her heart. -</p> - -<p> -After an hour of affecting conversation, in which the happiness of a -young and mutual attachment totally occupied their minds, and excluded -every idea not in unison with delight, they returned to a sense of their -present embarrassments. Adeline recollected that Theodore was arrested -for disobedience of orders, and deserting his post; and Theodore, that -he must shortly be torn away from Adeline, who would be left exposed to -all the evils from which he had so lately rescued her. This thought -overwhelmed his heart with anguish; and after a long pause he ventured to -propose what his wishes had often suggested—a marriage with Adeline -before he departed from the village: this was the only means of -preventing, perhaps, an eternal separation; and though he saw the many -dangerous inconveniences to which she would be exposed by a marriage -with a man circumstanced like himself, yet these appeared so unequal to -those she would otherwise be left to encounter alone, that his reason -could no longer scruple to adopt what his affection had suggested. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was for some time too much agitated to reply: and though she had -little to oppose to the arguments and pleadings of Theodore; though she -had no friends to control, and no contrariety of interests to perplex -her, she could not bring herself to consent thus hastily to a marriage -with a man of whom she had little knowledge, and to whose family and -connexions she had no sort of introduction. At length she entreated he -would drop the subject; and the conversation for the remainder of the -day was more general, yet still interesting. -</p> - -<p> -That similarity of taste and opinion which had at first attracted them, -every moment now more fully disclosed. Their discourse was enriched by -elegant literature, and endeared by mutual regard. Adeline had enjoyed -few opportunities of reading; but the books to which she had access, -operating upon a mind eager for knowledge, and upon a taste peculiarly -sensible of the beautiful and the elegant, had impressed all their -excellences upon her understanding. Theodore had received from nature -many of the qualities of genius, and from education, all that it could -bestow; to these were added a noble independency of spirit, a feeling -heart, and manners which partook of a happy mixture of dignity and -sweetness. -</p> - -<p> -In the evening, one of the officers who, upon the representation of the -sergeant, was sent by the person employed to prosecute military -criminals, arrived at the village; and entering the apartment of -Theodore, from which Adeline immediately withdrew, informed him with an -air of infinite importance that he should set out on the following day -for head-quarters. Theodore answered that he was not able to bear the -journey, and referred him to his physician: but the officer replied that -he should take no such trouble, it being certain that the physician -might be instructed what to say, and that he should begin his journey on -the morrow. Here has been delay enough, said he, already; and you will -have sufficient business on your hands when you reach head-quarters; for -the sergeant whom you have severely wounded intends to appear against -you; and this, with the offence you have committed by deserting your -post—— -</p> - -<p> -Theodore's eyes flashed fire: Deserting! said he, rising from his seat -and darting a look of menace at his accuser—who dares to brand me -with the name of deserter? But instantly recollecting how much his conduct -had appeared to justify the accusation, he endeavoured to stifle his -emotions; and with a firm voice and composed manner said, that when he -reached head-quarters he should be ready to answer whatever might be -brought against him, but that till then he should be silent. The -boldness of the officer was repressed by the spirit and dignity with -which Theodore spoke these words, and muttering a reply that was -scarcely audible, he left the room. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore sat musing on the danger of his situation: he knew that he had -much to apprehend from the peculiar circumstances attending his abrupt -departure from his regiment, it having been stationed in a garrison town -upon the Spanish frontiers, where the discipline was very severe, and -from the power of his colonel, the Marquis de Montalt, whom pride and -disappointment would now rouse to vengeance, and probably render -indefatigable in the accomplishment of his destruction. But his thoughts -soon fled from his own danger to that of Adeline; and in the -consideration of this, all his fortitude forsook him: he could not -support the idea of leaving her exposed to the evils he foreboded, nor, -indeed, of a separation so sudden as that which now threatened him: and -when she again entered the room, he renewed his solicitations for a -speedy marriage, with all the arguments that tenderness and ingenuity -could suggest. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, when she learned that he was to depart on the morrow, felt as -if bereaved of her last comfort: all the horrors of his situation arose -to her mind, and she turned from him in unutterable anguish. Considering -her silence as a favourable presage, he repeated his entreaties that she -would consent to be his, and thus give him a surety that their -separation should not be eternal. Adeline sighed deeply to these words: -And who can know that our separation will not be eternal, said she, even -if I could consent to the marriage you propose? But while you hear my -determination, forbear to accuse me of indifference; for indifference -towards you would indeed be a crime, after the services you have -rendered me. -</p> - -<p> -And is a cold sentiment of gratitude all that I must expect from you? -said Theodore. I know that you are going to distress me with a proof of -your indifference, which you mistake for the suggestions of prudence; -and that I shall be compelled to look without reluctance upon the evils -that may shortly await me. Ah, Adeline! if you mean to reject this, -perhaps the last proposal which I can ever make to you, cease at least -to deceive yourself with an idea that you love me—that delirium is -fading even from my mind. -</p> - -<p> -Can you then so soon forget our conversation of this morning? replied -Adeline; and can you think so lightly of me as to believe I would -profess a regard which I do not feel? If indeed you can believe this, I -shall do well to forget that I ever made such an acknowledgement, and -you that you heard it. -</p> - -<p> -Forgive me, Adeline, forgive the doubts and inconsistencies I have -betrayed: let the anxieties of love, and the emergency of my -circumstances, plead for me. Adeline; smiling faintly through her tears, -held out her hand, which he seized and pressed to his lips. Yet do not -drive me to despair by a rejection of my suit, continued Theodore; think -what I must suffer to leave you here destitute of friends and -protection. -</p> - -<p> -I am thinking how I may avoid a situation so deplorable, said Adeline. -They say there is a convent which receives boarders, within a few miles, -and thither I wish to go. -</p> - -<p> -A convent! rejoined Theodore; would you go to a convent? Do you know the -persecutions you would be liable to; and that if the Marquis should -discover you, there is little probability the superior would resist his -authority, or at least his bribes? -</p> - -<p> -All this I have considered, said Adeline, and am prepared to encounter -it, rather than enter into an engagement which at this time can be -productive only of misery to us both. -</p> - -<p> -Ah, Adeline! could you think thus, if you truly loved? I see myself -about to be separated, and that perhaps for ever, from the object of my -tenderest affections; and I cannot but express all the anguish I -feel—I cannot forbear to repeat every argument that may afford -even the slightest possibility of altering your determination. But -<i>you</i>, Adeline, you look with complacency upon a circumstance which -tortures <i>me</i> with despair. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, who had long strove to support her spirits in his presence, -while she adhered to a resolution which reason suggested, but which the -pleadings of her heart powerfully opposed, was unable longer to command -her distress, and burst into tears. Theodore was in the same moment -convinced of his error, and shocked at the grief he had occasioned. He -drew his chair towards her, and taking her hand, again entreated her -pardon, and endeavoured in the tenderest accents to soothe and comfort -her.—What a wretch was I to cause you this distress, by questioning -that regard with which I can no longer doubt you honour me! Forgive me, -Adeline; say but you forgive me, and whatever may be the pain of this -separation, I will no longer oppose it. -</p> - -<p> -You have given me some pain, said Adeline, but you have not offended -me.—She then mentioned some further particulars concerning the -convent. Theodore endeavoured to conceal the distress which the approaching -separation occasioned him, and to consult with her on these plans with -composure. His judgment by degrees prevailed over his passions, and he -now perceived that the plan she suggested, would afford her best chance -of security. He considered, what in the first agitation of his mind had -escaped him, that he might be condemned upon the charges brought against -him, and that his death, should they have been married, would not only -deprive her of her protector, but leave her more immediately exposed to -the designs of the Marquis, who would doubtless attend his trial. -Astonished that he had not noticed this before, and shocked at the -unwariness by which he might have betrayed her into so dangerous a -situation, he became at once reconciled to the idea of leaving her in a -convent. He could have wished to place her in the asylum of his own -family: but the circumstances under which she must be introduced were so -awkward and painful, and above all, the distance at which they resided -would render a journey so highly dangerous for her, that he forbore to -propose it. He entreated only that she would allow him to write to her; -but recollecting that his letters might be a means of betraying the -place of her residence to the Marquis, he checked himself: I must deny -myself even this melancholy pleasure, said he, lest my letters should -discover your abode; yet hew shall I be able to endure the impatience -and uncertainty to which prudence condemns me! If you are in danger, I -shall be ignorant of it; though, indeed, did I know it, said he with a -look of despair, I could not fly to save you. O exquisite misery! 'tis -now only I perceive all the horrors of confinement—'tis now only that -I understand all the value of liberty. -</p> - -<p> -His utterance was interrupted by the violent agitation of his mind; he -arose from his chair, and walked with quick paces about the room. -Adeline sat, overcome by the description which Theodore had given of his -approaching situation, and by the consideration that she might remain in -the most terrible suspense concerning his fate. She saw him in a -prison—pale—emaciated, and in chains:—she saw all the -vengeance of the Marquis descending upon him; and this for his noble -exertions in her cause. Theodore, alarmed by the placid despair expressed -in her countenance, threw himself into a chair by hers, and taking her -hand, attempted to speak comfort to her; but the words faltered on his -lips, and he could only bathe her hand with tears. -</p> - -<p> -This mournful silence was interrupted by the arrival of the carriage at -the inn, and Theodore, arising, went to the window that opened into the -yard. The darkness of the night prevented his distinguishing the objects -without, but a light now brought from the house showed him a carriage -and four, attended by several servants. Presently he saw a gentleman, -wrapped up in a roquelaure, alight and enter the inn, and in the next -moment he heard the voice of the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -He had flown to support Adeline, who was sinking with terror, -when the door opened, and the Marquis followed by the officers -and several servants entered. Fury flashed from his eyes as -they glanced upon Theodore, who hung over Adeline with a look of fearful -solicitude—Seize that traitor, said he, turning to the officers; -why have you suffered him to remain here so long? -</p> - -<p> -I am no traitor, said Theodore with a firm voice and the dignity of -conscious worth, but a defender of innocence, of one whom the -treacherous Marquis de Montalt would destroy. -</p> - -<p> -Obey your orders, said the Marquis to the officers. Adeline shrieked, -held faster by Theodore's arm, and entreated the men not to part them. -Force only can effect it, said Theodore, as he looked round for some -instrument of defence; but he could see none, and in the same moment -they surrounded and seized him. Dread every thing from my vengeance, -said the Marquis to Theodore, as he caught the hand of Adeline, who had -lost all power of resistance and was scarcely sensible of what passed; -dread every thing from my vengeance; you know you have deserved it. -</p> - -<p> -I defy your vengeance, cried Theodore, and dread only the pangs of -conscience, which your power cannot inflict upon me, though your vices -condemn you to its tortures. -</p> - -<p> -Take him instantly from the room, and see that he is strongly fettered, -said the Marquis; he shall soon know what a criminal who adds insolence -to guilt may suffer.—Theodore exclaiming, Oh, Adeline! farewell! was -now forced out of the room; while Adeline, whose torpid senses were -roused by his voice and his last looks, fell at the feet of the Marquis, -and with tears of agony implored compassion for Theodore: but her -pleadings for his rival served only to irritate the pride and exasperate -the hatred of the Marquis. He denounced vengeance on his head, and -imprecations too dreadful for the spirits of Adeline, whom he compelled -to rise; and then endeavouring to stifle the emotions of rage, which the -presence of Theodore had excited, he began to address her with his usual -expressions of admiration. -</p> - -<p> -The wretched Adeline, who, regardless of what he said, still endeavoured -to plead for her unhappy lover, was at length alarmed by the returning -rage which the countenance of the Marquis expressed; and exerting all -her remaining strength, she sprung from his grasp towards the door of -the room: but he seized her hand before she could reach it, and -regardless of her shrieks, bringing her back to her chair, was going to -speak, when voices were heard in the passage, and immediately the -landlord and his wife, whom Adeline's cries had alarmed, entered the -apartment. The Marquis, turning furiously at them, demanded what they -wanted; but not waiting for an answer, he bade them attend him, and -quitting the room, she heard the door locked upon her. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure06.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Adeline now ran to the windows, which were unfastened and opened into -the inn-yard. All was dark and silent. She called aloud for help, but no -person appeared; and the windows were so high that it was impossible to -escape unassisted. She walked about the room in an agony of terror and -distress, now stooping to listen, and fancying she heard voices -disputing below and now quickening her steps, as suspense increased the -agitation of her mind. -</p> - -<p> -She had continued in this state for near half an hour, when she suddenly -heard a violent noise in the lower part of the house, which increased -till all was uproar and confusion. People passed quickly through the -passages, and doors were frequently opened and shut. She called, but -received no answer. It immediately occurred to her that Theodore, having -heard her screams, had attempted to come to her assistance, and that the -bustle had been occasioned by the opposition of the officers. Knowing -their fierceness and cruelty, she was seized with dreadful apprehensions -for the life of Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -A confused uproar of voices now sounded from below, and the screams of -women convinced her there was fighting; she even thought she heard the -clashing of swords: the image of Theodore dying by the hands of the -Marquis now rose to her imagination, and the terrors of suspense became -almost insupportable. She made a desperate effort to force the door, and -again called for help; but her trembling hands were powerless, and every -person in the house seemed to be too much engaged even to hear her. A -loud shriek now pierced her ears, and amidst the tumult that followed -she clearly distinguished deep groans. This confirmation of her fears -deprived her of all her remaining spirits, and growing faint, she sunk -almost lifeless into a chair near the door. The uproar gradually -subsided till all was still, but nobody returned to her. Soon after she -heard voices in the yard, but she had no power to walk across the room, -even to ask the questions she wished, yet feared, to have answered. -</p> - -<p> -About a quarter of an hour elapsed, when the door was unlocked, and the -hostess appeared with a countenance as pale as death. For God's sake, -said Adeline, tell me what has happened? Is he wounded? Is he killed? -</p> - -<p> -He is not dead, Ma'mselle, but— -</p> - -<p> -He is dying then?—tell me where he is—let me go. -</p> - -<p> -Stop, Ma'mselle, cried the hostess, you are to stay here, I only want -the hartshorn out of that cupboard there. Adeline tried to escape by the -door; but the hostess, pushing her aside, locked it, and went down -stairs. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline's distress now entirely overcame her, and she sat motionless and -scarcely conscious that she existed, till roused by a sound of footsteps -near the door, which was again opened, and three men, whom she knew to -be the Marquis's servants entered. She had sufficient recollection to -repeat the questions she had asked the landlady; but they answered only -that she must come with them, and that a chaise was waiting for her at -the door. Still she urged her questions. Tell me if he lives, cried -she.—Yes, Ma'mselle, he is alive, but he is terribly wounded, and the -surgeon is just come to him. As they spoke they hurried her along the -passage: and without noticing her entreaties and supplications to know -whither she was going, they had reached the foot of the stairs, when her -cries brought several people to the door. To these the hostess related -that the lady was the wife of a gentleman just arrived, who had -overtaken her in her flight with a gallant; an account which the -Marquis's servants corroborated. 'Tis the gentleman who has just fought -the duel, added the hostess, and it was on her account. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, partly disdaining to take any notice of this artful story, and -partly from her desire to know the particulars of what had happened, -contented herself with repeating her inquiries; to which one of the -spectators at last replied, that the gentleman was desperately wounded. -The Marquis's people would now have hurried her into the chaise, but she -sunk lifeless in their arms; and her condition so interested the -humanity of the spectators, that, notwithstanding their belief of what -had been said, they opposed the effort made to carry her, senseless as -she was, into the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -She was at length taken into a room, and by proper applications restored -to her senses. There she so earnestly besought an explanation of what -had happened, that the hostess acquainted her with some particulars of -the late rencounter. When the gentleman that was ill heard your screams, -Madam, said she, he became quite outrageous, as they tell me, and -nothing could pacify him. The Marquis, for they say he is a Marquis, but -you know best, was then in the room with my husband and I, and when he -heard the uproar, he went down to see what was the matter; and when he -came into the room where the Captain was, he found him struggling with -the sergeant. Then the Captain was more outrageous than ever; and -notwithstanding he had one leg chained, and no sword, he contrived to -get the sergeant's cutlass out of the scabbard, and immediately flew at the -Marquis, and wounded him desperately; upon which he was secured.—It -is the Marquis then who is wounded, said Adeline; the other gentleman is -not hurt? -</p> - -<p> -No, not he, replied the hostess; but he will smart for it by and by, for -the Marquis swears he will do for him. Adeline for a moment forgot all -her misfortunes and all her danger in thankfulness for the immediate -escape of Theodore; and she was proceeding to make some further -inquiries concerning him, when the Marquis's servants entered the room, -and declared they could wait no longer. Adeline, now awakened to a sense -of the evils with which she was threatened, endeavoured to win the pity -of the hostess, who however was, or affected to be, convinced of the -truth of the Marquis's story, and therefore insensible to all she could -urge. Again she addressed his servants, but in vain; they would neither -suffer her to remain longer at the inn, nor inform her whither she was -going; but in the presence of several persons, already prejudiced by the -injurious assertions of the hostess, Adeline was hurried into the -chaise, and her conductors mounting their horses, the whole party was -very soon beyond the village. -</p> - -<p> -Thus ended Adeline's share of an adventure, begun with a prospect not only -of security, but of happiness—an adventure which had attached her -more closely to Theodore, and shown him to be more worthy of her love; -but which, at the same time, had distressed her by new disappointment, -produced the imprisonment of her generous and now adored lover, and -delivered both himself and her into the power of a rival irritated by -delay, contempt, and opposition. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Where flame-eyed fury means to frown—can save.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -The surgeon of the place, having examined the Marquis's wound, gave him -an immediate opinion upon it, and ordered that he should be put to bed: -but the Marquis, ill as he was, had scarcely any other apprehension than -that of losing Adeline, and declared he should be able to begin his -journey in a few hours. With this intention he had begun to give orders -for keeping horses in readiness, when the surgeon persisting most -seriously, and even passionately to exclaim that his life would be the -sacrifice of his rashness, he was carried to a bedchamber, where his -valet alone was permitted to attend him. -</p> - -<p> -This man, the convenient confident of all his intrigues, had been the -chief instrument in assisting his designs concerning Adeline, and was -indeed the very person who had brought her to the Marquis's villa on the -borders of the forest. To him the Marquis gave his further directions -concerning her: and, foreseeing the inconvenience as well as the danger -of detaining her at the inn, he had ordered him, with several other -servants, to carry her away immediately in a hired carriage. The valet -having gone to execute his orders, the Marquis was left to his own -reflections, and to the violence of contending passions. -</p> - -<p> -The reproaches and continued opposition of Theodore, the favoured lover -of Adeline, exasperated his pride and roused all his malice. He could -not for a moment consider this opposition, which was in some respects -successful, without feeling an excess of indignation and inveteracy, -such as the prospect of a speedy revenge could alone enable him to -support. -</p> - -<p> -When he had discovered Adeline's escape from the villa, his surprise at -first equalled his disappointment; and, after exhausting the paroxysms -of his rage upon his domestics, he dispatched them all different ways in -pursuit of her, going himself to the abbey, in the faint hope that, -destitute as she was of other succour, she might have fled thither. La -Motte, however, being as much surprised as himself, and as ignorant of -the route which Adeline had taken, he returned to the villa impatient of -intelligence, and found some of his servants arrived, without any news -of Adeline, and those who came afterwards were as successless as the -first. -</p> - -<p> -A few days after, a letter from the lieutenant-colonel of the regiment -informed him, that Theodore had quitted his company, and had been for -some time absent, nobody knew where. This information, confirming a -suspicion which had frequently occurred to him, that Theodore had been -by some means or other instrumental in the escape of Adeline, all his -other passions became for a time subservient to his revenge, and he gave -orders for the immediate pursuit and apprehension of Theodore: but -Theodore, in the mean time, had been overtaken and secured. -</p> - -<p> -It was in consequence of having formerly observed the growing partiality -between him and Adeline, and of intelligence received from La Motte, who -had noticed their interview in the forest, that the Marquis had resolved -to remove a rival so dangerous to his love, and so likely to be informed -of his designs. He had therefore told Theodore, in a manner as plausible -as he could, that it would be necessary for him to join the regiment; a -notice which affected him only as it related to Adeline, and which -seemed the less extraordinary, as he had already been at the villa a -much longer time than was usual with the officers invited by the -Marquis. Theodore, indeed, very well knew the character of the Marquis, -and had accepted his invitation rather from an unwillingness to show any -disrespect to his colonel by a refusal, than from a sanguine expectation -of pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -From the men who had apprehended Theodore, the Marquis received the -information, which had enabled him to pursue and recover Adeline; but -though he had now effected this, he was internally a prey to the -corrosive effects of disappointed passion and exasperated pride. The -anguish of his wound was almost forgotten in that of his mind, and every -pang he felt seemed to increase his thirst of revenge, and to recoil -with new torture upon his heart. While he was in this state, he heard -the voice of the innocent Adeline imploring protection; but her cries -excited in him neither pity nor remorse: and when, soon after, the -carriage drove away, and he was certain both that she was secured and -Theodore was wretched, he seemed to feel some cessation of mental pain. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore, indeed, did suffer all that a virtuous mind, labouring under -oppression so severe, could feel; but he was at least free from those -inveterate and malignant passions which tore the bosom of the Marquis, -and which inflict upon the professor a punishment more severe than any -they can prompt him to imagine for another. What indignation he might -feel towards the Marquis, was at this time secondary to his anxiety for -Adeline. His captivity was painful, as it prevented his seeking a just -and honourable revenge; but it was dreadful, as it withheld him from -attempting the rescue of her whom he loved more than life. -</p> - -<p> -When he heard the wheels of the carriage that contained her drive off, -he felt an agony of despair which almost overcame his reason. Even the -stern hearts of the soldiers who attended him were not wholly insensible -to his wretchedness, and by venturing to blame the conduct of the -Marquis they endeavoured to console their prisoner. The physician, who -was just arrived, entered the room during this paroxysm of his distress, -and both feeling and expressing much concern at his condition, inquired -with strong surprise why he had been thus precipitately removed to a -room so very unfit for his reception? -</p> - -<p> -Theodore explained to him the reason of this, of the distress he -suffered, and of the chains by which he was disgraced; and perceiving -the physician listened to him with attention and compassion, he became -desirous of acquainting him with some further particulars, for which -purpose he desired the soldiers to leave the room. The men, complying -with his request, stationed themselves on the outside of the door. -</p> - -<p> -He then related all the particulars of the late transaction, and of his -connection with the Marquis. The physician attended to his narrative -with deep concern, and his countenance frequently expressed strong -agitation. When Theodore concluded, he remained for some time silent and -lost in thought; at length, awaking from his reverie, he said, I fear -your situation is desperate: the character of the Marquis is too well -known to suffer him either to be loved or respected; from such a man you -have nothing to hope, for he has scarcely any thing to fear: I wish it -was in my power to serve you, but I see no possibility of it. -</p> - -<p> -Alas! said Theodore, my situation is indeed desperate, and—for that -suffering angel—deep sobs interrupted his voice, and the violence of -his agitation would not allow him to proceed. The physician could only -express the sympathy he felt for his distress, and entreat him to be -more calm, when a servant entered the room from the Marquis, who desired -to see the physician immediately. After some time, he said he would -attend the Marquis; and having endeavoured to attain a degree of -composure which he found it difficult to assume, he wrung the hand of -Theodore and quitted the room, promising to return before he left the -house. -</p> - -<p> -He found the Marquis much agitated both in body and mind, and rather -more apprehensive for the consequences of the wound than he had -expected. His anxiety for Theodore now suggested a plan, by the -execution of which he hoped he might be able to serve him. Having felt -his patient's pulse, and asked some questions, he assumed a very serious -look; when the Marquis, who watched every turn of his countenance, -desired he would, without hesitation, speak his opinion. -</p> - -<p> -I am sorry to alarm you, my Lord, but here is some reason for -apprehension: how long is it since you received the wound. -</p> - -<p> -Good God! there is danger then! cried the Marquis, adding some bitter -execrations against Theodore.—There certainly <i>is</i> danger, -replied the physician; a few hours may enable me to determine its degree. -</p> - -<p> -A few hours, Sir! interrupted the Marquis; a few hours! The physician -entreated him to be more calm. Confusion! cried the Marquis: a man in -health may, with great composure, entreat a dying man to be calm. -Theodore will be broke upon the wheel for it, however. -</p> - -<p> -You mistake me, Sir, said the physician; if I believed you a dying man, -or, indeed, <i>very</i> near death, I should not have spoken as I did. But -it is of consequence I should know how long the wound has been -inflicted.—The Marquis's terror now began to subside, and he gave a -circumstantial account of the affray with Theodore, representing that he -had been basely used in an affair where his own conduct had been -perfectly just and humane. The physician heard this relation with great -coolness, and when it concluded without making any comment upon it, told -the Marquis he would prescribe a medicine which he wished him to take -immediately. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis again alarmed by the gravity of his manner, entreated he -would declare most seriously, whether he thought him in immediate -danger. The physician hesitated, and the anxiety of the Marquis -increased: It is of consequence, said he, that I should know my exact -situation. The physician then said, that if he had any worldly affairs -to settle, it would be as well to attend to them, for that it was -impossible to say what might be the event. -</p> - -<p> -He then turned the discourse, and said he had just been with the young -officer under arrest, who, he hoped, would not be removed at present, as -such a procedure must endanger his life. The Marquis uttered a dreadful -oath, and, cursing Theodore for having brought him to his present -condition, said he should depart with the guard that very night. Against -the cruelty of this sentence the physician ventured to expostulate; and -endeavouring to awaken the Marquis to a sense of humanity, pleaded -earnestly for Theodore. But these entreaties and arguments seemed, by -displaying to the Marquis a part of his own character, to rouse his -resentment and rekindle all the violence of his passions. -</p> - -<p> -The physician at length withdrew in despondency, after promising, at the -Marquis's request, not to leave the inn. He had hoped, by aggravating -his danger, to obtain some advantages both for Adeline and Theodore; but -the plan had quite a contrary effect: for the apprehension of death, so -dreadful to the guilty mind of the Marquis, instead of awakening -penitence, increased his desire of vengeance against the man who had -brought him to such a situation. He determined to have Adeline conveyed -where Theodore, should he by any accident escape, could never obtain -her; and thus to secure to himself at least some means of revenge. He -knew, however, that when Theodore was once safely conveyed to his -regiment, his destruction was certain; for should he even be acquitted -of the intention of deserting, he would be condemned for having -assaulted his superior officer. -</p> - -<p> -The physician returned to the room where Theodore was confined. The -violence of his distress was now subsided into a stern despair more -dreadful than the vehemence which had lately possessed him. The guard, -in compliance with his request, having left the room, the physician -repeated to him some part of his conversation with the Marquis. -Theodore, after expressing his thanks, said he had nothing more to hope. -For himself he felt little; it was for his family and Adeline he -suffered. He inquired what route she had taken; and though he had no -prospect of deriving advantage from the information, desired the -physician to assist him in obtaining it: but the landlord and his wife -either were, or affected to be, ignorant of the matter, and it was in -vain to apply to any other person. -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant now entered with orders from the Marquis for the immediate -departure of Theodore, who heard the message with composure, though the -physician could not help expressing his indignation at this precipitate -removal, and his dread of the consequences that might attend it. -Theodore had scarcely time to declare his gratitude for the kindness of -this valuable friend, before the soldiers entered the room to conduct -him to the carriage in waiting. As he bade him farewell, Theodore -slipped his purse into his hand, and turning abruptly away, told the -soldiers to lead on: but the physician stopped him, and refused the -present with such serious warmth that he was compelled to resume it. He -wrung the hand of his new friend, and being unable to speak, hurried -away. The whole party immediately set off; and the unhappy Theodore was -left to the remembrance of his past hopes and sufferings, to his anxiety -for the fate of Adeline, the contemplation of his present wretchedness, -and the apprehension of what might be reserved for him in future. For -himself, indeed, he saw nothing but destruction, and was only relieved -from total despair by a feeble hope that she whom he loved better than -himself might one time enjoy that happiness of which he did not venture -to look for a participation. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,</span><br /> -<span class="i0"><i>I knit my handkerchief about your brows</i>,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And with my hand at midnight held your head;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And, like the watchful minutes to the hour.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">KING JOHN.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">If the midnight bell</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Sound one unto the drowsy race of night;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">If this same were a church-yard where we stand,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Or if that surly spirit Melancholy</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Had baked thy blood and made it heavy, thick;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">KING JOHN.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Meanwhile the persecuted Adeline continued to travel, with little -interruption, all night. Her mind suffered such a tumult of grief, -regret, despair, and terror, that she could not be said to think. The -Marquis's valet, who had placed himself in the chaise with her, at first -seemed inclined to talk; but her inattention soon silenced him, and left -her to the indulgence of her own misery. -</p> - -<p> -They seemed to travel through obscure lanes and by-ways, along which the -carriage drove as furiously as the darkness would permit. When the dawn -appeared, she perceived herself on the borders of a forest, and renewed -her entreaties to know whither she was going. The man replied he had no -orders to tell, but she would soon see. Adeline, who had hitherto -supposed they were carrying her to the villa, now began to doubt it; and -as every place appeared less terrible to her imagination than that, her -despair began to abate, and she thought only of the devoted Theodore, -whom she knew to be the victim of malice and revenge. -</p> - -<p> -They now entered upon the forest, and it occurred to her that she was -going to the abbey; for though she had no remembrance of the scenery -through which she passed, it was not the less probable that this was the -forest of Fontanville, whose boundaries were by much too extensive to -have come within the circle of her former walks. This conjecture revived -a terror little inferior to that occasioned by the idea of going to the -villa; for at the abbey she would be equally in the power of the -Marquis, and also in that of her cruel enemy La Motte. Her mind revolted -at the picture her fancy drew; and as the carriage moved under the -shades, she threw from the window a look of eager inquiry for some -object which might confirm or destroy her present surmise: she did not -long look, before an opening in the forest showed her the distant towers -of the abbey—I am, indeed, lost then, said she, bursting into tears. -</p> - -<p> -They were soon at the foot of the lawn, and Peter was seen running to -open the gate, at which the carriage stopped. When he saw Adeline, he -looked surprised and made an effort to speak; but the chaise now drove -up to the abbey, where, at the door of the hall, La Motte himself -appeared. As he advanced to take her from the carriage, an universal -trembling seized her; it was with the utmost difficulty she supported -herself, and for some moments she neither observed his countenance nor -heard his voice. He offered his arm to assist her into the abbey, which -she at first refused, but having tottered a few paces was obliged to -accept; they then entered the vaulted room, where, sinking into a chair, -a flood of tears came to her relief. La Motte did not interrupt the -silence, which continued for some time, but paced the room in seeming -agitation. When Adeline was sufficiently recovered to notice external -objects, she observed his countenance, and there read the tumult of his -soul, while he was struggling to assume a firmness which his better -feelings opposed. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now took her hand, and would have led her from the room; but -she stopped, and with a kind of desperate courage made an effort to -engage him to pity and to save her. He interrupted her; It is not in my -power, said he in a voice of emotion; I am not master of myself or my -conduct; inquire no further—it is sufficient for you to know that I -pity you; more I cannot do. He gave her no time to reply, but taking her -hand led her to the stairs of the tower, and from thence to the chamber -she had formerly occupied. -</p> - -<p> -Here you must remain for the present, said he, in a confinement which -is, perhaps, almost as involuntary on my part as it can be on yours. I -am willing to render it as easy as possible, and have therefore ordered -some books to be brought you. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline made an effort to speak; but he hurried from the room, seemingly -ashamed of the part he had undertaken, and unwilling to trust himself -with her tears. She heard the door of the chamber locked; and then -looking towards the windows, perceived they were secured: the door that -led to the other apartments was also fastened. Such preparation for -security shocked her; and hopeless as she had long believed herself, she -now perceived her mind sink deeper in despair. When the tears she shed -had somewhat relieved her, and her thoughts could turn from the subjects -of her immediate concern, she was thankful for the total seclusion -allotted her, since it would spare her the pain she must feel in the -presence of Monsieur and Madame La Motte, and allow the unrestrained -indulgence of her own sorrow and reflection; reflection which, however -distressing, was preferable to the agony inflicted on the mind when, -agitated by care and fear, it is obliged to assume an appearance of -tranquillity. -</p> - -<p> -In about a quarter of an hour her chamber door was unlocked, and Annette -appeared with refreshments and books: she expressed satisfaction at -seeing Adeline again, but seemed fearful of speaking, knowing, probably, -that it was contrary to the orders of La Motte, who, she said, was -waiting at the bottom of the stairs. When Annette was gone, Adeline took -some refreshment, which was indeed necessary, for she had tasted nothing -since she left the inn. She was pleased, but not surprised, that Madame -La Motte did not appear, who, it was evident, shunned her from a -consciousness of her own ungenerous conduct,—a consciousness which -offered some presumption that she was still not wholly unfriendly to -her. She reflected upon the words of La Motte,—I am not master of -myself or my conduct,—and though they afforded her no hope, she -derived some comfort, poor as it was, from the belief that he pitied her. -After some time spent in miserable reflection and various conjectures, her -long-agitated spirits seemed to demand repose, and she lay down to -sleep. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline slept quietly for several hours, and awoke with a mind refreshed -and tranquillized. To prolong this temporary peace, and to prevent -therefore the intrusion of her own thoughts, she examined the books La -Motte had sent her: among these she found some that in happier times had -elevated her mind and interested her heart: their effect was now -weakened; they were still, however, able to soften for a time the sense -of her misfortunes. -</p> - -<p> -But this Lethean medicine to a wounded mind was but a temporary -blessing; the entrance of La Motte dissolved the illusions of the page, -and awakened her to a sense of her own situation. He came with food, and -having placed it on the table left the room without speaking. Again she -endeavoured to read, but his appearance had broken the enchantment; -bitter reflection returned to her mind, and brought with it the image of -Theodore—of Theodore lost to her for ever! -</p> - -<p> -La Motte meanwhile experienced all the terrors that could be inflicted -by a conscience not wholly hardened to guilt. He had been led on by -passion to dissipation, and from dissipation to vice; but having once -touched the borders of infamy, the progressive steps followed each other -fast, and he now saw himself the pander of a villain, and the betrayer -of an innocent girl whom every plea of justice and humanity called upon -him to protect. He contemplated his picture—he shrunk from it, but he -could change its deformity only by an effort too nobly daring for a mind -already effeminated by vice. He viewed the dangerous labyrinth into -which he was led, and perceived, as if for the first time, the -progression of his guilt: from this labyrinth he weakly imagined further -guilt could alone extricate him. Instead of employing his mind upon the -means of saving Adeline from destruction, and himself from being -instrumental to it, he endeavoured only to lull the pangs of conscience, -and to persuade himself into a belief that he must proceed in the course -he had begun. He knew himself to be in the power of the Marquis, and he -dreaded that power more than the sure though distant punishment that -awaits upon guilt. The honour of Adeline, and the quiet of his own -conscience, he consented to barter for a few years of existence. -</p> - -<p> -He was ignorant of the present illness of the Marquis, or he would have -perceived that there was a chance of escaping the threatened punishment -at a price less enormous than infamy, and he would perhaps have -endeavoured to save Adeline and himself by flight. But the Marquis, -foreseeing the possibility of this, had ordered his servants carefully -to conceal the circumstance which detained him, and to acquaint La Motte -that he should be at the abbey in a few days, at the same time directing -his valet to await him there. Adeline, as he expected, had neither -inclination nor opportunity to mention it; and thus La Motte remained -ignorant of the circumstance which might have preserved him from further -guilt and Adeline from misery. -</p> - -<p> -Most unwillingly had La Motte made his wife acquainted with the action -which had made him absolutely dependent upon the will of the Marquis; -but the perturbation of his mind partly betrayed him: frequently in his -sleep he muttered incoherent sentences, and frequently would start from -his slumber, and call in passionate exclamation upon Adeline. These -instances of a disturbed mind had alarmed and terrified Madame La Motte, -who watched while he slept, and soon gathered from his words a confused -idea of the Marquis's designs. -</p> - -<p> -She hinted her suspicions to La Motte, who reproved her for having -entertained them; but his manner, instead of repressing, increased her -fears for Adeline; fears, which the conduct of the Marquis soon -confirmed. On the night that he slept at the abbey, it had occurred to -her that whatever scheme was in agitation it would now most probably be -discussed; and anxiety for Adeline made her stoop to a meanness which, -in other circumstances, would have been despicable. She quitted her -room, and concealing herself in an apartment adjoining that in which she -had left the Marquis and her husband, listened to their discourse. It -turned upon the subject she had expected, and disclosed to her the full -extent of their designs. Terrified for Adeline, and shocked at the -guilty weakness of La Motte, she was for some time incapable of -thinking, or determining how to proceed. She knew her husband to be -under great obligation to the Marquis, whose territory thus afforded him -a shelter from the world, and that it was in the power of the former to -betray him into the hands of his enemies. She believed also that the -Marquis would do this, if provoked: yet she thought, upon such an -occasion, La Motte might find some way of appeasing the Marquis without -subjecting himself to dishonour. After some further reflection, her mind -became more composed, and she returned to her chamber, where La Motte -soon followed. Her spirits, however, were not now in a state to -encounter either his displeasure or his opposition, which she had too -much reason to expect whenever she should mention the subject of her -concern, and she therefore resolved not to notice it till the morrow. -</p> - -<p> -On the morrow she told La Motte all he had uttered in his dreams; and -mentioned other circumstances, which convinced him it was in vain any -longer to deny the truth of her apprehensions. His wife then represented -to him how possible it was to avoid the infamy into which he was about -to plunge, by quitting the territories of the Marquis; and pleaded so -warmly for Adeline, that La Motte in sullen silence appeared to meditate -upon the plan. His thoughts were however very differently engaged. He -was conscious of having deserved from the Marquis a dreadful punishment, -and knew that if he exasperated him by refusing to acquiesce with his -wishes, he had little to expect from flight, for the eye of justice and -revenge would pursue him with indefatigable research. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte meditated how to break this to his wife, for he perceived that -there was no other method of counteracting her virtuous compassion for -Adeline, and the dangerous consequences to be expected from it, than by -opposing it with terror for his safety; and this could be done only by -showing her the full extent of the evils that must attend the resentment -of the Marquis. Vice had not yet so entirely darkened his conscience, -but that the blush of shame stained his cheek, and his tongue faltered -when he would have told his guilt. At length, finding it impossible to -mention particulars, he told her that on account of an affair which no -entreaties should ever induce him to explain, his life was in the power -of the Marquis. You see the alternative, said he, take your choice of -evils; and, if you can, tell Adeline of her danger, and sacrifice my -life to save her from a situation which many would be ambitious to -obtain.—Madame La Motte, condemned to the horrible alternative of -permitting the seduction of innocence, or of dooming her husband to -destruction, suffered a distraction of thought which defied all control. -Perceiving, however, that an opposition to the designs of the Marquis -would ruin La Motte and avail Adeline little, she determined to yield -and endure in silence. -</p> - -<p> -At the time when Adeline was planning her escape from the abbey, the -significant looks of Peter had led La Motte to suspect the truth and to -observe them more closely. He had seen them separate in the hall with -apparent confusion, and had afterwards observed them conversing together -in the cloisters. Circumstances so unusual left him not a doubt that -Adeline had discovered her danger, and was concerting with Peter some -means of escape. Affecting, therefore, to be informed of the whole -affair, he charged Peter with treachery towards himself, and threatened -him with the vengeance of the Marquis if he did not disclose all he -knew. The menace intimidated Peter, and supposing that all chance of -assisting Adeline was gone, he made a circumstantial confession, and -promised to forbear acquainting Adeline with the discovery of the -scheme. In this promise he was seconded by inclination, for he feared to -meet the displeasure which Adeline, believing he had betrayed her, might -express. -</p> - -<p> -On the evening of the day on which Adeline's intended escape was -discovered, the Marquis designed to come to the abbey, and it had been -agreed that he should then take Adeline to his villa. La Motte had -immediately perceived the advantage of permitting Adeline to repair, in -the belief of being undiscovered, to the tomb. It would prevent much -disturbance and opposition, and spare himself the pain he must feel in -her presence, when she should know that he had betrayed her. A servant -of the Marquis might go at the appointed hour to the tomb, and wrapt in -the disguise of night might take her quietly thence in the character of -Peter. Thus, without resistance she would be carried to the villa, nor -discover her mistake till it was too late to prevent its consequence. -</p> - -<p> -When the Marquis did arrive, La Motte, who was not so much intoxicated -by the wine he had drunk as to forget his prudence, informed him of what -had happened and what he had planned; and the Marquis approving it, his -servant was made acquainted with the signal, which afterwards betrayed -Adeline to his power. -</p> - -<p> -A deep consciousness of the unworthy neutrality she had observed in -Adeline's concerns, made Madame La Motte anxiously avoid seeing her now -that she was again in the abbey. Adeline understood this conduct; and -she rejoiced that she was spared the anguish of meeting her as an enemy, -whom she had once considered as a friend. Several days now passed in -solitude, in miserable retrospection, and dreadful expectation. The -perilous situation of Theodore was almost the constant subject of her -thoughts. Often did she breathe an agonizing wish for his safety, and -often look round the sphere of possibility in search of hope: but hope -had almost left the horizon of her prospect, and when it did appear, it -sprung only from the death of the Marquis, whose vengeance threatened -most certain destruction. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis, meanwhile, lay at the inn at Caux, in a state of very -doubtful recovery. The physician and surgeon, neither of whom he would -dismiss nor suffer to leave the village, proceeded upon contrary -principles; and the good effect of what the one prescribed, was -frequently counteracted by the injudicious treatment of the other. -Humanity alone prevailed on the physician to continue his attendance. -The malady of the Marquis was also heightened by the impatience of his -temper, the terrors of death, and the irritation of his passions. One -moment he believed himself dying, another he could scarcely be prevented -from attempting to follow Adeline to the abbey. So various were the -fluctuations of his mind, and so rapid the schemes that succeeded each -other, that his passions were in a continual state of conflict. The -physician attempted to persuade him that his recovery greatly depended -upon tranquillity, and to prevail upon him to attempt at least some -command of his feelings; but he was soon silenced in hopeless disgust by -the impatient answers of the Marquis. -</p> - -<p> -At length the servant who had carried off Adeline returned; and the -Marquis having ordered him into his chamber, asked so many questions in -a breath, that the man knew not which to answer. At length he pulled a -folded paper from his pocket, which he said had been dropped in the -chaise by Mademoiselle Adeline, and as he thought his Lordship would -like to see it, he had taken care of it. The Marquis stretched forth his -hand with eagerness, and received a note addressed to Theodore. On -perceiving the superscription, the agitation of jealous rage for a -moment overcame him, and he held it in his hand unable to open it. -</p> - -<p> -He, however, broke the seal, and found it to be a note of inquiry, -written by Adeline to Theodore during his illness, and which from some -accident she had been prevented from sending him. The tender solicitude -it expressed for his recovery stung the soul of the Marquis, and drew -from him a comparison of her feelings on the illness of his rival and -that of himself. She could be solicitous for his recovery, said he, but -for mine she only dreads it. As if willing to prolong the pain this -little billet had excited, he then read it again. Again he cursed his -fate and execrated his rival. Giving himself up, as usual, to the -transports of his passion, he was going to throw it from him, when his -eyes caught the seal, and he looked earnestly at it: his anger seemed -now to have subsided, he deposited the note carefully in his -pocket-book, and was for some time lost in thought. -</p> - -<p> -After many days of hopes and fears, the strength of his constitution -overcame his illness, and he was well enough to write several letters, -one of which he immediately sent off to prepare La Motte for his -reception. The same policy which had prompted him to conceal his illness -from La Motte, now urged him to say what he knew would not happen, that -he should reach the abbey on the day after his servant. He repeated this -injunction, that Adeline should be strictly guarded, and renewed his -promises of reward for the future services of La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte, to whom each succeeding day had brought new surprise and -perplexity concerning the absence of the Marquis, received this notice -with uneasiness; for he had begun to hope that the Marquis had altered -his intentions concerning Adeline, being either engaged in some new -adventure, or obliged to visit his estates in some distant province: he -would have been willing thus to have got rid of an affair, which was to -reflect so much dishonour on himself. -</p> - -<p> -This hope was now vanished, and he directed Madame to prepare for the -reception of the Marquis. Adeline passed these days in a state of -suspense which was now cheered by hope and now darkened by despair. The -delay, so much exceeding her expectation, seemed to prove that the -illness of the Marquis was dangerous; and when she looked forward to the -consequences of his recovery, she could not be sorry that it was so. So -odious was the idea of him to her mind, that she would not suffer her -lips to pronounce his name, nor make the inquiry of Annette, which was -of such consequence to her peace. -</p> - -<p> -It was about a week after the receipt of the Marquis's letter that -Adeline one day saw from her window a party of horsemen enter the -avenue, and knew them to be the Marquis and his attendants. She retired -from the window, in a state of mind not to be described, and sinking -into a chair, was for some time scarcely conscious of the objects around -her. When she had recovered from the first terror which his appearance -excited, she again tottered to the window; the party was not in sight, -but she heard the trampling of horses, and knew that the Marquis had -wound round to the great gate of the abbey. She addressed herself to -Heaven for support and protection; and her mind being now somewhat -composed, sat down to wait the event. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte received the Marquis with expressions of surprise at his long -absence; and the latter, merely saying he had been detained by illness, -proceeded to inquire for Adeline. He was told she was in her chamber, -from whence she might be summoned if he wished to see her. The Marquis -hesitated, and at length excused himself, but desired she might be -strictly watched. Perhaps, my Lord, said La Motte smiling, Adeline's -obstinacy has been too powerful for your passion? you seem less -interested concerning her than formerly. -</p> - -<p> -O! by no means, replied the Marquis; she interests me if possible, more -than ever; so much, indeed, that I cannot have her too closely guarded; -and I therefore beg, La Motte, that you will suffer nobody to attend her -but when you can observe them yourself. Is the room where she is -confined sufficiently secure? La Motte assured him it was; but at the -same time expressed his wish that she was removed to the villa. If by -any means, said he, she should contrive to escape, I know what I must -expect from your displeasure; and this reflection keeps my mind in -continual anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -This removal cannot be at present, said the Marquis; she is safer here, -and you do wrong to disturb yourself with any apprehension of her -escape, if her chamber is so secure as you represent it. -</p> - -<p> -I can have no motive for deceiving you, my Lord, in this point. -</p> - -<p> -I do not suspect you of any, said the Marquis; guard her carefully, and -trust me she will not escape. I can rely upon my valet, and if you wish -it he shall remain here. La Motte thought there could be no occasion for -him, and it was agreed that the man should go home. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis, after remaining about half an hour in conversation with La -Motte, left the abbey; and Adeline saw him depart with a mixture of -surprise and thankfulness that almost overcame her. She had waited in -momentary expectation of being summoned to appear, and had been -endeavouring to arm herself with resolution to support his presence. She -had listened to every voice that sounded from below; and at every step -that crossed the passage her heart had palpitated with dread, lest it -should be La Motte coming to lead her to the Marquis. This state of -suffering had been prolonged almost beyond her power of enduring it, -when she heard voices under her window, and rising, saw the Marquis ride -away. After giving way to the joy and thankfulness that swelled her -heart, she endeavoured to account for this circumstance, which, -considering what had passed, was certainly very strange. It appeared, -indeed, wholly inexplicable; and after much fruitless inquiry, she -quitted the subject, endeavouring to persuade herself that it could only -portend good. -</p> - -<p> -The time of La Motte's usual visitation now drew near, and Adeline -expected it in the trembling hope of hearing that the Marquis had ceased -his persecution; but he was, as usual, sullen and silent, and it was not -till he was about to quit the room that Adeline had the courage to -inquire when the Marquis was expected again. La Motte, opening the door -to depart, replied, on the following day; and Adeline, whom fear and -delicacy embarrassed, saw she could obtain no intelligence of Theodore -but by a direct question; she looked earnestly, as if she would have -spoke, and he stopped; but she blushed and was still silent, till upon -his again attempting to leave the room she faintly called him back. -</p> - -<p> -I would ask, said she, after that unfortunate chevalier who has incurred -the resentment of the Marquis, by endeavouring to serve me: Has the -Marquis mentioned him? -</p> - -<p> -He has, replied La Motte; and your indifference towards the Marquis is -now fully explained. -</p> - -<p> -Since I must feel resentment towards those who injure me, said Adeline, -I may surely be allowed to be grateful towards those who serve me. Had -the Marquis deserved my esteem, he would probably have possessed it. -</p> - -<p> -Well, well, said La Motte, this young hero, who it seems has -been brave enough to lift his arm against his Colonel, is taken -care of, and I doubt not will soon be sensible of the value of his -quixotism.—Indignation, grief, and fear, struggled in the bosom of -Adeline; she disdained to give La Motte an opportunity of again -pronouncing the name of Theodore; yet the uncertainty under which she -laboured, urged her to inquire whether the Marquis had heard of him -since he left Caux. Yes, said La Motte, he has been safely carried to -his regiment, where he is confined till the Marquis can attend to appear -against him. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline had neither power nor inclination to inquire further; and La -Motte quitting the chamber, she was left to the misery he had renewed. -Though this information contained no new circumstance of misfortune, -(for she now heard confirmed what she had always expected,) a weight of -new sorrow seemed to fall upon her heart, and she perceived that she had -unconsciously cherished a latent hope of Theodore's escape before he -reached the place of his destination. All hope was now, however, gone; -he was suffering the miseries of a prison, and the tortures of -apprehension both for his own life and her safety. She pictured to -herself the dark damp dungeon where he lay, loaded with chains and pale -with sickness and grief; she heard him, in a voice that thrilled her -heart, call upon her name, and raise his eyes to heaven in silent -supplication: she saw the anguish of his countenance, the tears that -fell slowly on his cheek; and remembering at the same time, the generous -conduct that had brought him to this abyss of misery, and that it was -for her sake he suffered, grief resolved itself into despair, her tears -ceased to flow, and she sunk silently into a state of dreadful torpor. -</p> - -<p> -On the morrow the Marquis arrived, and departed as before. Several days -then elapsed, and he did not appear; till one evening, as La Motte and -his wife were in their usual sitting-room, he entered, and conversed for -some time upon general subjects, from which, however, he by degrees fell -into a reverie, and after a pause of silence he rose and drew La Motte -to the window. I would speak to you alone, said he, if you are at -leisure; if not, another time will do. La Motte assuring him he was -perfectly so, would have conducted him to another room, but the Marquis -proposed a walk in the forest. They went out together; and when they had -reached a solitary glade, where the spreading branches of the beech and -oak deepened the shades of twilight and threw a solemn obscurity around, -the Marquis turned to La Motte and addressed him: -</p> - -<p> -Your condition, La Motte, is unhappy; this abbey is a melancholy -residence for a man like you fond of society, and like you also -qualified to adorn it. La Motte bowed. I wish it was in my power to -restore you to the world, continued the Marquis; perhaps, if I knew the -particulars of the affair which has driven you from it, I might perceive -that my interest could effectually serve you:—I think I have heard -you hint it was an affair of honour? La Motte was silent. I mean not to -distress you, however; nor is it common curiosity that prompts this -inquiry, but a sincere desire to befriend you. You have already informed -me of some particulars of your misfortunes; I think the liberality of -your temper led you into expenses which you afterwards endeavoured to -retrieve by gaming? -</p> - -<p> -Yes, my Lord, said La Motte, 'tis true that I dissipated the greater -part of an affluent fortune in luxurious indulgencies, and that I -afterwards took unworthy means to recover it: but I wish to be spared -upon this subject. I would, if possible, lose the remembrance of a -transaction which must for ever stain my character, and the rigorous -effect of which, I fear, it is not in your power, my Lord, to soften. -</p> - -<p> -You may be mistaken on this point, replied the Marquis; my interest at -court is by no means inconsiderable. Fear not from me any severity of -censure; I am not at all inclined to judge harshly of the faults of -others: I well know how to allow for the emergency of circumstances; and -I think La Motte, you have hitherto found me your friend. -</p> - -<p> -I have, my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -And when you recollect, that I have forgiven a certain transaction of -late date—— -</p> - -<p> -It is true, my Lord; and allow me to say, I have a just sense of your -generosity. The transaction you allude to is by far the worst of my -life; and what I have to relate cannot therefore lower me in your -opinion. When I had dissipated the greatest part of my property in -habits of voluptuous pleasure, I had recourse to gaming to supply the -means of continuing them. A run of good luck for some time enabled me to -do this; and encouraging my most sanguine expectations, I continued in -the same career of success. -</p> - -<p> -Soon after this, a sudden turn of fortune destroyed my hopes, and -reduced me to the most desperate extremity. In one night my money was -lowered to the sum of two hundred louis. These I resolved to stake also, -and with them my life; for it was my resolution not to survive their -loss. Never shall I forget the horrors of that moment on which hung my -fate, nor the deadly anguish that seized my heart when my last stake was -gone. I stood for some time in a state of stupefaction, till, roused to -a sense of my misfortune, my passion made me pour forth execrations on -my more fortunate rivals, and act all the phrensy of despair. During -this paroxysm of madness, a gentleman, who had been a silent observer of -all that passed, approached me.—You are unfortunate, Sir, said -he.—I need not be informed of that. Sir, I replied. -</p> - -<p> -You have perhaps been ill used? resumed he.—Yes, Sir, I am ruined, -and therefore it may be said I am ill used. -</p> - -<p> -Do you know the people you have played with? -</p> - -<p> -No; but I have met them in the first circles. -</p> - -<p> -Then I am probably mistaken, said he, and walked away. His last words -roused me, and raised a hope that my money had not been fairly lost. -Wishing for further information, I went in search of the gentleman, but -he had left the rooms. I however stifled my transports, returned to the -table where I had lost my money, placed myself behind the chair of one -of the persons who had won it, and closely watched the game. For some -time I saw nothing that could confirm my suspicions, but was at length -convinced they were just. -</p> - -<p> -When the game was ended I called one of my adversaries out of the room, -and telling him what I had observed, threatened instantly to expose him -if he did not restore my property. The man was for some time as positive -as myself; and assuming the bully, threatened me with chastisement for -my scandalous assertions. I was not, however, in a state of mind to be -frightened; and his manner served only to exasperate my temper, already -sufficiently inflamed by misfortune. After retorting his threats, I was -about to return to the apartment we had left, and expose what had -passed, when, with an insidious smile and a softened voice, he begged I -would favour him with a few moments' attention, and allow him to speak -with the gentleman his partner. To the latter part of his request I -hesitated, but in the mean time the gentleman himself entered the room. -His partner related to him, in few words, what had passed between us, -and the terror that appeared in his countenance sufficiently declared -his consciousness of guilt. -</p> - -<p> -They then drew aside, and remained a few minutes in conversation -together, after which they approached me with an offer, as they phrased -it, of a compromise. I declared, however, against any thing of this -kind, and swore nothing less than the whole sum I had lost should -content me.—Is it not possible, Monsieur, that you may be offered -something as advantageous as the whole?—I did not understand their -meaning; but after they had continued for some time to give distant -hints of the same sort, they proceeded to explain. -</p> - -<p> -Perceiving their characters wholly in my power, they wished to secure my -interest to their party, and therefore informing me that they belonged -to an association of persons who lived upon the folly and inexperience -of others, they offered me a share in their concern. My fortunes were -desperate; and the proposal now made me would not only produce an -immediate supply, but enable me to return to those scenes of dissipated -pleasure to which passion had at first, and long habit afterwards, -attached me. I closed with the offer, and thus sunk from dissipation -into infamy. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte paused, as if the recollection of these times filled him with -remorse. The Marquis understood his feelings. You judge too rigorously -of yourself, said he; there are few persons, let their appearance of -honesty be what it may, who in such circumstances would have acted -better than you have done. Had I been in your situation, I know not how -I might have acted. That rigid virtue which shall condemn you, may -dignify itself with the appellation of wisdom, but I wish not to possess -it; let it still reside where it generally is to be found, in the cold -bosoms of those who, wanting feeling to be men, dignify themselves with -the title of philosophers. But pray proceed. -</p> - -<p> -Our success was for some time unlimited, for we held the wheel of -fortune, and trusted not to her caprice. Thoughtless and voluptuous by -nature, my expenses fully kept pace with my income. An unlucky discovery -of the practices of our party was at length made by a young nobleman, -which obliged us to act for some time with the utmost circumspection. It -would be tedious to relate the particulars, which made us at length so -suspected, that the distant civility and cold reserve of our -acquaintance rendered the frequenting public assemblies both painful and -unprofitable. We turned our thoughts to other modes of obtaining money; -and a swindling transaction, in which I engaged to a very large amount, -soon compelled me to leave Paris. You know the rest my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte was now silent, and the Marquis continued for some time musing. -You perceive, my Lord, at length resumed La Motte, you perceive that my -case is hopeless. -</p> - -<p> -It is bad indeed, but not entirely hopeless. From my soul I pity you: -yet, if you should return to the world, and incur the danger of -prosecution, I think my interest with the minister might save you from -any severe punishment. You seem, however, to have lost your relish for -society, and perhaps do not wish to return to it. -</p> - -<p> -Oh! my Lord can you doubt this?—But I am overcome with the excess of -your goodness; would to heaven it were in my power to prove the -gratitude it inspires! -</p> - -<p> -Talk not of goodness, said the Marquis; I will not pretend that my -desire of serving you is unalloyed by any degree of self-interest: I -will not affect to be more than man, and trust me those who do are less. -It is in your power to testify your gratitude, and bind me to your interest -for ever. He paused. Name but the means, cried La Motte,—name -but the means, and if they are within the compass of possibility they -shall be executed. The Marquis was still silent. Do you doubt my -sincerity, my Lord, that you are yet silent? Do you fear to repose a -confidence in the man whom you have already loaded with obligation? who -lives by your mercy, and almost by your means! The Marquis looked -earnestly at him, but did not speak. I have not deserved this of you, my -Lord; speak, I entreat you. -</p> - -<p> -There are certain prejudices attached to the human mind, said the -Marquis in a slow and solemn voice, which it requires all our wisdom to -keep from interfering with our happiness; certain set notions, acquired -in infancy, and cherished involuntarily by age, which grow up and assume -a gloss so plausible, that few minds, in what is called a civilized -country, can afterwards overcome them. Truth is often perverted by -education. While the refined Europeans boast a standard of honour and a -sublimity of virtue which often leads them from pleasure to misery, and -from nature to error, the simple uninformed American follows the impulse -of his heart, and obeys the inspiration of wisdom. The Marquis paused, -and La Motte continued to listen in eager expectation. -</p> - -<p> -Nature, uncontaminated by false refinement, resumed the Marquis, every -where acts alike in the great occurrences of life. The Indian discovers -his friend to be perfidious, and he kills him; the wild Asiatic does the -same: the Turk, when ambition fires or revenge provokes, gratifies his -passion at the expense of life, and does not call it murder. Even the -polished Italian, distracted by jealousy, or tempted by a strong -circumstance of advantage, draws his stiletto, and accomplishes his -purpose. It is the first proof of a superior mind to liberate itself -from prejudices of country or of education. You are silent, La Motte: -are you not of my opinion? -</p> - -<p> -I am attending, my Lord, to your <i>reasoning</i>. -</p> - -<p> -There are, I repeat it, said the Marquis, people of minds so weak, as to -shrink from acts they have been accustomed to hold wrong, however -advantageous; they never suffer themselves to be guided by -circumstances, but fix for life upon a certain standard, from which they -will on no account depart. Self-preservation is the great law of nature; -when a reptile hurts us, or an animal of prey threatens us, we think no -further, but endeavour to annihilate it. When my life, or what may be -essential to my life, requires the sacrifice of another,—or even if -some passion, wholly unconquerable, requires it,—I should be a madman -to hesitate. La Motte, I think I may confide in you—there are ways of -doing certain things—you understand me? There are times, and -circumstances, and opportunities—you comprehend my meaning? -</p> - -<p> -Explain yourself, my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -Kind services that—in short, there are services which excite all our -gratitude, and which we can never think repaid. It is in your power to -place me in such a situation. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed! my Lord, name the means. -</p> - -<p> -I have already named them. This abbey well suits the purpose; it is shut -up from the eye of observation; any transaction may be concealed within -its walls; the hour of midnight may witness the deed, and the morn shall -not dawn to disclose it; these woods tell no tales. Ah! La Motte am I -right in trusting this business with you? may I believe you are desirous -of serving me, and of preserving yourself? The Marquis paused, and -looked steadfastly at La Motte, whose countenance was almost concealed -by the gloom of evening. -</p> - -<p> -My Lord, you may trust me in any thing; explain yourself more fully. -</p> - -<p> -What security will you give me of your faithfulness? -</p> - -<p> -My life, my Lord; is it not already in your power? The Marquis -hesitated, and then said, To-morrow about this time I shall return to -the abbey, and will then explain my meaning, if indeed you shall not -already have understood it. You in the mean time will consider your own -powers of resolution, and be prepared either to adopt the purpose I -shall suggest, or to declare you will not. La Motte made some confused -reply. Farewell till to-morrow, said the Marquis; remember that freedom -and affluence are now before you. He moved towards the abbey, and, -mounting his horse, rode off with his attendants. La Motte walked slowly -home, musing on the late conversation. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Danger, whose limbs of giant mould</span><br /> -<span class="i0">What mortal eye can fixed behold?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Who stalks his round, an hideous form!</span><br /> -<span class="i0"><i>Howling amidst the midnight storm!</i>——</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And with him thousand phantoms join'd,</span><br /> -<span class="i0"><i>Who prompt to deeds accurst the mind!</i></span><br /> -<span class="i0">On whom that rav'ning brood of Fate</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Who lap the blood of Sorrow wait;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Who, Fear! this ghastly train can see,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And look not madly wild like thee!</span><br /> -<span class="i10">COLLINS.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -The Marquis was punctual to the hour. La Motte received him at the gate; -but he declined entering, and said he preferred a walk in the forest. -Thither, therefore, La Motte attended him. After some general -conversation, Well, said the Marquis, have you considered what I said, -and are you prepared to decide? -</p> - -<p> -I have, my Lord, and will quickly decide, when you shall further explain -yourself: till then I can form no resolution. The Marquis appeared -dissatisfied, and was a moment silent. Is it then possible, he at length -resumed, that you do not understand? This ignorance is surely affected. -La Motte, I expect sincerity. Tell me, therefore, is it necessary I -should say more? -</p> - -<p> -It is, my Lord, said La Motte immediately. If you fear to confide in me -freely, how can I fully accomplish your purpose? -</p> - -<p> -Before I proceed further, said the Marquis, let me administer some oath -which shall bind you to secrecy. But this is scarcely necessary; for, -could I even doubt your word of honour, the remembrance of a certain -transaction would point out to you the necessity of being as silent -yourself as you must wish me to be. There was now a pause of silence, -during which both the Marquis and La Motte betrayed some confusion. I -think, La Motte, said he, I have given you sufficient proof that I can -be grateful: the services you have already rendered me with respect to -Adeline have not been unrewarded. -</p> - -<p> -True, my Lord; I am ever willing to acknowledge this; and am sorry it -has not been in my power to serve you more effectually. Your further -views respecting her I am ready to assist. -</p> - -<p> -I thank you.—Adeline——the Marquis -hesitated—Adeline, rejoined La Motte, eager to anticipate his -wishes, has beauty worthy of your pursuit: she has inspired a passion of -which she ought to be proud, and at any rate she shall soon be yours. -Her charms are worthy of—— -</p> - -<p> -Yes, yes, interrupted the Marquis; but—he paused. But they have given -you too much trouble in the pursuit, said La Motte; and to be sure, -my Lord, it must be confessed they have; but this trouble is all -over—you may now consider her as your own. -</p> - -<p> -I would do so, said the Marquis, fixing an eye of earnest regard upon La -Motte—I would do so. -</p> - -<p> -Name your hour, my Lord; you shall not be interrupted. Beauty such as -Adeline's— -</p> - -<p> -Watch her closely, interrupted the Marquis, and on no account suffer her -to leave her apartment. Where is she now? -</p> - -<p> -Confined in her chamber. -</p> - -<p> -Very well. But I am impatient. -</p> - -<p> -Name your time, my Lord—to-morrow night. -</p> - -<p> -<i>To-morrow</i> night, said the Marquis, to-morrow night. Do you -understand me now? -</p> - -<p> -Yes, my Lord, this night if you wish it so. But had you not better -dismiss your servants, and remain yourself in the forest? You know the -door that opens upon the woods from the west tower. Come thither about -twelve—I will be there to conduct you to her chamber. Remember then, -my Lord, that to-night— -</p> - -<p> -Adeline dies! interrupted the Marquis in a low voice scarcely human. Do -you understand me now? -</p> - -<p> -——La Motte shrunk aghast—My Lord! -</p> - -<p> -La Motte! said the Marquis.—There was a silence of several minutes, -in which La Motte endeavoured to recover himself. Let me ask, my Lord, the -meaning of this? said he, when he had breath to speak. Why should you -wish the death of Adeline—of Adeline, whom so lately you loved? -</p> - -<p> -Make no inquiries for my motive, said the Marquis; but it is as certain -as that I live that she you name must die. This is sufficient. The -surprise of La Motte equalled his horror. The means are various, resumed -the Marquis. I could have wished that no blood might be spilt; -and there are drugs sure and speedy in their effect, but they cannot -be soon or safely procured. I also wish it over—it must be done -quickly—this night. -</p> - -<p> -This night, my Lord! -</p> - -<p> -Aye, this night, La Motte; if it is to be, why not soon? Have you no -convenient drug at hand? -</p> - -<p> -None, my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -I feared to trust a third person, or I should have been provided, said -the Marquis. As it is, take this poniard! use it as occasion offers, but -be resolute. La Motte received the poniard with a trembling hand, and -continued to gaze upon it for some time, scarcely knowing what he did. -Put it up, said the Marquis, and endeavour to recollect yourself. La -Motte obeyed, but continued to muse in silence. -</p> - -<p> -He saw himself entangled in the web which his own crimes had woven. -Being in the power of the Marquis, he knew he must either consent to the -commission of a deed, from the enormity of which, depraved as he was, he -shrunk in horror, or sacrifice fortune, freedom, probably life itself, -to the refusal. He had been led on by slow gradations from folly to -vice, till he now saw before him an abyss of guilt which startled even -the conscience that so long had slumbered. The means of retreating were -desperate—to proceed was equally so. -</p> - -<p> -When he considered the innocence and the helplessness of Adeline, her -orphan state, her former affectionate conduct, and her confidence in his -protection, his heart melted with compassion for the distress he had -already occasioned her, and shrunk in terror from the deed he was urged -to commit. But when, on the other hand, he contemplated the destruction -that threatened him from the vengeance of the Marquis, and then -considered the advantages that were offered him of favour, freedom, and -probably fortune,—terror and temptation contributed to overcome the -pleadings of humanity, and silence the voice of conscience. In this -state of tumultuous uncertainty he continued for some time silent, until -the voice of the Marquis roused him to a conviction of the necessity of -at least appearing to acquiesce in his designs. -</p> - -<p> -Do you hesitate? said the Marquis.—No, my Lord, my resolution is -fixed—I will obey you. But methinks it would be better to avoid -bloodshed. Strange secrets have been revealed by—— -</p> - -<p> -Aye, but how avoid it? interrupted the Marquis.—Poison I will not -venture to procure. I have given you one sure instrument of death. You -also may find it dangerous to inquire for a drug. La Motte perceived -that he could not purchase poison without incurring a discovery much -greater than that he wished to avoid. You are right, my Lord, and I will -follow your orders implicitly. The Marquis now proceeded, in broken -sentences, to give further directions concerning this dreadful scheme. -</p> - -<p> -In her sleep, said he, at midnight; the family will then be at rest. -Afterwards they planned a story which was to account for her -disappearance, and by which it was to seem that she had sought an escape -in consequence of her aversion to the addresses of the Marquis. The -doors of her chamber and of the west tower were to be left open to -corroborate this account, and many other circumstances were to be -contrived to confirm the suspicion. They further consulted how the -Marquis was to be informed of the event; and it was agreed that he -should come as usual to the abbey on the following day.—<i>To-night -then</i>, said the Marquis, I may rely upon your resolution? -</p> - -<p> -You may, my Lord. -</p> - -<p> -Farewell, then. When we meet again—— -</p> - -<p> -When we meet again said La Motte, it will be done. He followed the -Marquis to the abbey; and having seen him mount his horse and wished him -a good night, he retired to his chamber, where he shut himself up. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, meanwhile, in the solitude of her prison gave way to the -despair which her condition inspired. She tried to arrange her thoughts, -and to argue herself into some degree of resignation; but reflection, by -representing the past, and reason, by anticipating the future, brought -before her mind the full picture, of her misfortunes, and she sunk in -despondency. Of Theodore, who, by a conduct so noble, had testified his -attachment and involved himself in ruin, she thought with a degree of -anguish infinitely superior to any she had felt upon any other occasion. -</p> - -<p> -That the very exertions which had deserved all her gratitude, and -awakened all her tenderness, should be the cause of his destruction, was -a circumstance so much beyond the ordinary bounds of misery, -that her fortitude sunk at once before it. The idea of Theodore -suffering—Theodore dying—was for ever present to her -imagination; and frequently excluding the sense of her own danger, made -her conscious only of his. Sometimes the hope he had given her of being -able to vindicate his conduct, or at least to obtain a pardon, would -return; but it was like the faint beam of an April morn, transient and -cheerless. She knew that the Marquis, stung with jealousy and -exasperated to revenge, would pursue him with unrelenting malice. -</p> - -<p> -Against such an enemy what could Theodore oppose? Conscious rectitude -would not avail him to ward off the blow which disappointed passion and -powerful pride directed. Her distress was considerably heightened by -reflecting that no intelligence of him could reach her at the abbey, and -that she must remain she knew not how long in the most dreadful suspense -concerning his fate. From the abbey she saw no possibility of escaping. -She was a prisoner in a chamber inclosed at every avenue; she had no -opportunity of conversing with any person who could afford her even a -chance of relief; and she saw herself condemned to await in passive -silence the impending destiny, infinitely more dreadful to her -imagination than death itself. -</p> - -<p> -Thus circumstanced, she yielded to the pressure of her misfortunes, and -would sit for hours motionless and given up to thought. Theodore! she -would frequently exclaim, you cannot hear my voice, you cannot fly to -help me; yourself a prisoner and in chains. The picture was too horrid: -the swelling anguish of her heart would subdue her utterance—tears -bathed her cheeks—and she became insensible to every thing but the -misery of Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -On this evening her mind had been remarkably tranquil; and as she -watched from her window, with a still and melancholy pleasure, the -setting sun, the fading splendour of the western horizon, and the -gradual approach of twilight, her thoughts bore her back to the time -when in happier circumstances she had watched the same appearances. She -recollected also the evening of her temporary escape from the abbey, -when from this same window she had viewed the declining sun—how -anxiously she had awaited the fall of twilight—how much she had -endeavoured to anticipate the events of her future life—with what -trembling fear she had descended from the tower and ventured into the -forest. These reflections produced others that filled her heart with -anguish and her eyes with tears. -</p> - -<p> -While she was lost in her melancholy reverie she saw the Marquis mount -his horse and depart from the gate. The sight of him revived in all its -force a sense of the misery he inflicted on her beloved Theodore, and a -consciousness of the evils which more immediately threatened herself. -She withdrew from the window in an agony of tears, which continuing for -a considerable time, her frame was at length quite exhausted, and she -retired early to rest. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte remained in his chamber till supper obliged him to descend. At -table his wild and haggard countenance, which, in spite of all his -endeavours, betrayed the disorder of his mind, and his long and frequent -fits of abstraction, surprised as well as alarmed Madame La Motte. When -Peter left the room she tenderly inquired what had disturbed him, and he -with a distorted smile tried to be gay; but the effort was beyond his -art, and he quickly relapsed into silence; or when Madame La Motte -spoke, and he strove to conceal the absence of his thoughts, he answered -so entirely from the purpose that his abstraction became still more -apparent. Observing this, Madame La Motte appeared to take no notice of -his present temper; and they continued to sit in uninterrupted silence -till the hour of rest, when they retired to their chamber. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte lay in a state of disturbed watchfulness for some time, and his -frequent starts awoke Madame, who however, being pacified by some -trifling excuse, soon went to sleep again. This agitation continued till -near midnight, when recollecting that the time was now passing in idle -reflection which ought to be devoted to action, he stole silently from -his bed, wrapped himself in his night-gown, and taking the lamp which -burned nightly in his chamber, passed up the spiral staircase. As he -went he frequently looked back, and often started and listened to the -hollow sighings of the blast. -</p> - -<p> -His hand shook so violently when he attempted to unlock the door of -Adeline's chamber, that he was obliged to set the lamp on the ground, -and apply both his hands. The noise he made with the key induced him to -suppose he must have awakened her; but when he opened the door, and -perceived the stillness that reigned within, he was convinced she was -asleep. When he approached the bed he heard her gently breathe, and soon -after sigh—and he stopped: but silence returning he again advanced, -and then heard her sing in her deep. As he listened he distinguished some -notes of a melancholy little air, which in her happier days she had -often sung to him. The low and mournful accent in which she now uttered -them expressed too well the tone of her mind. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte now stepped hastily towards the bed, when breathing a deep sigh -she was again silent. He undrew the curtain and saw her lying in a -profound sleep, her cheek, yet wet with tears, resting upon her arm. He -stood a moment looking at her; and as he viewed her innocent and lovely -countenance, pale in grief, the light of the lamp, which shone strong -upon her eyes, awoke her, and perceiving a man, she uttered a scream. -Her recollection returning, she knew him to be La Motte; and it -instantly occurring to her that the Marquis was at hand, she raised -herself in bed, and implored pity and protection. La Motte stood looking -eagerly at her, but without replying. -</p> - -<p> -The wildness of his looks and the gloomy silence he preserved increased -her alarm, and with tears of terror she renewed her supplication. You -once saved me from destruction, cried she; O save me now! have pity upon -me—I have no protector but you. -</p> - -<p> -What is it you fear? said La Motte in a tone scarcely articulate.—O -save me—save me from the Marquis! -</p> - -<p> -Rise then, said he, and dress yourself quickly: I shall be back again in -a few minutes. He lighted a candle that stood on the table, and left the -chamber; Adeline immediately arose and endeavoured to dress; but her -thoughts were so bewildered that she scarcely knew what she did, and her -whole frame so violently agitated, that it was with the utmost -difficulty she preserved herself from fainting. She threw her clothes -hastily on, and then sat down to await the return of La Motte. A -considerable time elapsed, yet he did not appear; and having in vain -endeavoured to compose her spirits, the pain of suspense became at -length so insupportable, that she opened the door of her chamber, and -went to the top of the staircase to listen. She thought she heard voices -below; but considering that if the Marquis was there, her appearance -could only increase her danger, she checked the step she had almost -involuntarily taken to descend. Still she listened, and still thought -she distinguished voices. Soon after, she heard a door shut, and then -footsteps, and she hastened back to her chamber. -</p> - -<p> -Near a quarter of an hour had elapsed and La Motte did not appear; when -again she thought she heard a murmur of voices below and also passing -steps: and at length, her anxiety not suffering her to remain in her -room, she moved through the passage that communicated with the spiral -staircase; but all was now still. In a few moments, however, a light -flashed across the hall, and La Motte appeared at the door of the -vaulted room. He looked up, and seeing Adeline in the gallery, beckoned -her to descend. -</p> - -<p> -She hesitated, and looked towards her chamber; but La Motte now -approached the stairs, and with faltering steps she went to meet him. I -fear the Marquis may see me, said she, whispering; where is he? La Motte -took her hand and led her on, assuring her she had nothing to fear from -the Marquis. The wildness of his looks, however, and the trembling of -his hand, seemed to contradict this assurance, and she inquired whether -he was leading her. To the forest, said La Motte, that you may escape -from the abbey—a horse waits for you without: I can save you by no -other means. New terror seized her. She could scarcely believe that La -Motte, who had hitherto conspired with the Marquis, and had so closely -confined her, should now himself undertake her escape; and she at this -moment felt a dreadful presentiment which it was impossible to account -for, that he was leading her out to murder her in the forest. Again -shrinking back, she supplicated his mercy. He assured her he meant only -to protect her, and desired she would not waste time. -</p> - -<p> -There was something in his manner that spoke sincerity, and she suffered -him to conduct her to a side door that opened into the forest, where she -could just distinguish through the gloom a man on horseback. This -brought to her remembrance the night in which she had quitted the tomb, -when, trusting to the person who appeared, she had been carried to the -Marquis's villa. La Motte called, and was answered by Peter, whose voice -somewhat reassured Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -He then told her that the Marquis would return to the abbey on the -following morning and that this could be her only opportunity of -escaping his designs; that she might rely upon his (La Motte's) word, -that Peter had orders to carry her wherever she choose; but as he knew -the Marquis would be indefatigable in search of her, he advised her by -all means to leave the kingdom, which she might do with Peter, who was a -native of Savoy, and would convey her to the house of his sister. There -she might remain till La Motte himself, who did not now think it would -be safe to continue much longer in France, should join her. He entreated -her, whatever might happen, never to mention the events which had passed -at the abbey. To save you, Adeline, I have risked my life; do not -increase my danger and your own by any unnecessary discoveries. We may -never meet again, but I hope you will be happy; and remember, when you -think of me, that I am not quite so bad as I have been tempted to be. -</p> - -<p> -Having said this, he gave her some money, which he told her would be -necessary to defray the expenses of her journey. Adeline could no longer -doubt his sincerity, and her transports of joy and gratitude would -scarcely permit her to thank him. She wished to have bid Madame La Motte -farewell, and indeed earnestly requested it; but he again told her she -had no time to lose; and having wrapped her in a large cloak, he lifted -her upon the horse. She bade him adieu with tears of gratitude, and -Peter set off as fast as the darkness would permit. -</p> - -<p> -When they were got some way,—I am glad with all my heart, Mam'selle, -said he, to see you again. Who would have thought, after all, that my -master himself would have bid me take you away! Well, to be sure, -strange things come to pass; but I hope we shall have better luck this -time. Adeline, not choosing to reproach him with the treachery of which -she feared he had been formerly guilty, thanked him for his good wishes, -and said she hoped they should be more fortunate: but Peter, in his -usual strain of eloquence, proceeded to undeceive her in this point, and -to acquaint her with every circumstance which his memory, and it was -naturally a strong one could furnish. -</p> - -<p> -Peter expressed such an artless interest in her welfare, and such a -concern for her disappointment, that she could no longer doubt his -faithfulness; and this conviction not only strengthened her confidence -in the present undertaking, but made her listen to his conversation with -kindness and pleasure. I should never have staid at the abbey till this -time, said he, if I could have got away; but my master frighted me so -much about the Marquis, and I had not money enough to carry me into my -own country, so that I was forced to stay. It's well we have got some -solid louis d'ors now; for I question, Ma'mselle, whether the people on -the road would have taken those trinkets you formerly talked of for -money. -</p> - -<p> -Possibly not, said Adeline: I am thankful to Monsieur La Motte that we -have more certain means of procuring conveniences. What route shall you -take when we leave the forest, Peter?—Peter mentioned very correctly -a great part of the road to Lyons; And then, said he, we can easily get to -Savoy, and that will be nothing. My sister, God bless her! I hope, is -living; I have not seen her many a year: but if she is not all the -people will be glad to see me, and you will easily get a lodging, -Ma'mselle, and every thing you want. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline resolved to go with him to Savoy. La Motte, who knew the -character and designs of the Marquis, had advised her to leave the -kingdom, and had told her, what her fears would have suggested, that the -Marquis would be indefatigable in search of her. His motive for this -advice must be a desire of serving her; why else, when she was already -in his power, should he remove her to another place, and even furnish -her with money for the expenses of a journey? -</p> - -<p> -At Leloncourt, where Peter said he was well known, she would be most -likely to meet with protection and comfort, even should his sister be -dead; and its distance and solitary situation pleased her. These -reflections would have pointed out to her the prudence of proceeding to -Savoy, had she been less destitute of resources in France; in her -present situation they proved it to be necessary. -</p> - -<p> -She inquired further concerning the route they were to take, and whether -Peter was sufficiently acquainted with the road. When once I get to -Thiers, I know it well enough, said Peter; for I have gone it many a -time in my younger days, and any body will tell us the way there. They -travelled for several hours in darkness and silence; and it was not till -they emerged from the forest that Adeline saw the morning light streak -the eastern clouds. The sight cheered and revived her; and as she -travelled silently along, her mind revolved the events of the past -night, and meditated plans for the future. The present kindness of La -Motte appeared so very different from his former conduct, that it -astonished and perplexed her; and she could only account for it by -attributing it to one of those sudden impulses of humanity which -sometimes operate even upon the most depraved hearts. -</p> - -<p> -But when she recollected his former words—that he was not master of -himself—she could scarcely believe that mere pity could induce him to -break the bonds which had hitherto so strongly held him; and then, -considering the altered conduct of the Marquis, she was inclined to -think that she owed her liberty to some change in his sentiments towards -her: yet the advice La Motte had given her to quit the kingdom, and the -money with which he had supplied her for that purpose, seemed to -contradict this opinion, and involved her again in doubt. -</p> - -<p> -Peter now got directions to Thiers, which place they reached without any -accident, and there stopped to refresh themselves. As soon as Peter -thought the horse sufficiently rested, they again set forward, and from -the rich plains of the Lyonnois, Adeline for the first time caught a -view of the distant Alps, whose majestic heads, seeming to prop the -vault of heaven, filled her mind with sublime emotions. -</p> - -<p> -In a few hours they reached the vale in which stands the city of Lyons, -whose beautiful environs, studded with villas and rich with cultivation, -withdrew Adeline from the melancholy contemplation of her own -circumstances, and her more painful anxiety for Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -When they reached that busy city, her first care was to inquire -concerning the passage of the Rhone; but she forbore to make these -inquiries of the people of the inn, considering that if the Marquis -should trace her thither, they might enable him to pursue her route. -She, therefore, sent Peter to the quays to hire a boat, while she -herself took a slight repast, it being her intention to embark -immediately. Peter presently returned, having engaged a boat and men to -take them up the Rhone to the nearest part of Savoy, from whence they -were to proceed by land to the village of Leloncourt. -</p> - -<p> -Having taken some refreshment, she ordered him to conduct her to the -vessel. A new and striking scene presented itself to Adeline, who looked -with surprise upon the river, gay with vessels, and the quay crowded -with busy faces, and felt the contrast which the cheerful objects around -bore to herself—to her, an orphan, desolate, helpless, and flying -from persecution and her country. She spoke with the master of the boat; -and having sent Peter back to the inn for the horse, (La Motte's gift to -Peter in lieu of some arrears of wages,) they embarked. -</p> - -<p> -As they slowly passed up the Rhone, whose steep banks, crowned with -mountains, exhibited the most various, wild, and romantic scenery, -Adeline sat in pensive reverie. The novelty of the scene through which -she floated, now frowning with savage grandeur, and now smiling in -fertility and gay with towns and villages, soothed her mind, and her -sorrow gradually softened into a gentle and not unpleasing melancholy. -She had seated herself at the head of the boat, where she watched its -sides cleave the swift stream, and listened to the dashing of the -waters. -</p> - -<p> -The boat, slowly opposing the current, passed along for some hours, and -at length the veil of evening was stretched over the landscape. The -weather was fine, and Adeline, regardless of the dews that now fell, -remained in the open air, observing the objects darken round her, the -gay tints of the horizon fade away, and the stars gradually appear -trembling upon the lucid mirror of the waters. The scene was now sunk in -deep shadow, and the silence of the hour was broken only by the measured -dashing of the oars, and now and then by the voice of Peter speaking to -the boatmen. Adeline sat lost in thought—the forlornness of her -circumstances came heightened to her imagination. -</p> - -<p> -She saw herself surrounded by the darkness and stillness of night, in a -strange place, far distant from any friends, going she scarcely knew -whither, under the guidance of strangers, and pursued, perhaps, by an -inveterate enemy. She pictured to herself the rage of the Marquis now -that he had discovered her flight; and though she knew it very unlikely -he should follow her by water, for which reason she had chosen that -manner of travelling, she trembled at the portrait her fancy drew. Her -thoughts then wandered to the plan she should adopt after reaching -Savoy; and much as her experience had prejudiced her against the manners -of a convent, she saw no place more likely to afford her a proper -asylum. At length she retired to the little cabin for a few hours -repose. -</p> - -<p> -She awoke with the dawn: and her mind being too much disturbed to sleep -again, she rose and watched the gradual approach of day. As she mused, -she expressed the feelings of the moment in the following: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">SONNET</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And wake the blushes of the rose,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">That all night long oppress'd with dews,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And veil'd in chilly shade its hues,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Reclined, forlorn, the languid head,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And sadly sought its parent bed;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Warmth from her ray the trembling flower derives,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And, sweetly blushing, through its tears revives.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And melt the tears that bend the rose;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">But can their charms suppress the sigh,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Or chase the tear from Sorrow's eye?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Can all their lustrous light impart</span><br /> -<span class="i0">One ray of peace to Sorrow's heart?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Ah! no; their fires her fainting soul oppress——</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Eve's pensive shades more soothe her meek distress!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -When Adeline left the abbey, La Motte had remained for some time at the -gate, listening to the steps of the horse that carried her, till the -sound was lost in distance: he then turned into the hall with a -lightness of heart to which he had long been a stranger. The -satisfaction of having thus preserved her, as he hoped, from the designs -of the Marquis, overcame for a while all sense of the danger in which -this step must involve him. But when he returned entirely to his own -situation, the terrors of the Marquis's resentment struck their full -force upon his mind, and he considered how he might best escape it. -</p> - -<p> -It was now past midnight—the Marquis was expected early on the -following day; and in this interval it at first appeared probable to him -that he might quit the forest. There was only one horse; but he -considered whether it would be best to set off immediately for Auboine, -where a carriage might be procured to convey his family and his -moveables from the abbey, or quietly await the arrival of the Marquis, -and endeavour to impose upon him by a forged story of Adeline's escape. -</p> - -<p> -The time which must elapse before a carriage could reach the abbey would -leave him scarcely sufficient to escape from the forest; what money he -had remaining from the Marquis's bounty would not carry him far; and -when it was expended he must probably be at a loss for subsistence, -should he not before then be detected. By remaining at the abbey it -would appear that he was unconscious of deserving the Marquis's -resentment; and though he could not expect to impress a belief upon him -that his orders had been executed, he might make it appear that Peter -only had been accessary to the escape of Adeline; an account which would -seem the more probable, from Peter's having been formerly detected in a -similar scheme. He believed, also, that if the Marquis should threaten -to deliver him into the hands of justice he might save himself by a -menace of disclosing the crime he had commissioned him to perpetrate. -</p> - -<p> -Thus arguing, La Motte resolved to remain at the abbey, and await the -event of the Marquis's disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -When the Marquis did arrive, and was informed of Adeline's flight, the -strong workings of his soul, which appeared in his countenance, for a -while alarmed and terrified La Motte. He cursed himself and her in terms -of such coarseness and vehemence, as La Motte was astonished to hear -from a man whose <i>manners</i> were generally amiable, whatever might be -the violence and criminality of his passions. To invent and express these -terms seemed to give him not only relief, but delight; yet he appeared -more shocked at the circumstance of her escape than exasperated at the -carelessness of La Motte; and recollecting at length that he wasted -time, he left the abbey, and dispatched several of his servants in -pursuit of her. -</p> - -<p> -When he was gone, La Motte, believing that his story had succeeded, -returned to the pleasure of considering that he had done his duty, and -to the hope that Adeline was now beyond the reach of pursuit. This calm -was of short continuance. In a few hours the Marquis returned, -accompanied by the officers of justice. The affrighted La Motte, -perceiving him approach, endeavoured to conceal himself, but was seized -and carried to the Marquis, who drew him aside. -</p> - -<p> -I am not to be imposed upon, said he, by such a superficial story as you -have invented; you know your life is in my hands; tell me instantly -where you have secreted Adeline, or I will charge you with the crime you -have committed against me; but upon your disclosing the place of her -concealment I will dismiss the officers and, if you wish it, assist you -to leave the kingdom. You have no time to hesitate, and may know that I -will not be trifled with. La Motte attempted to appease the Marquis, and -affirmed that Adeline was really fled he knew not whither. You will -remember, my Lord, that your character is also in my power; and that, if -you proceed to extremities, you will compel me to reveal in the face of -day that you would have made me a murderer. -</p> - -<p> -And who will believe you? said the Marquis. The crimes that banished you -from society will be no testimony of your veracity, and that with which -I now charge you will bring with it a sufficient presumption that your -accusation is malicious. Officers, do your duty. -</p> - -<p> -They then entered the room and seized La Motte, whom terror now deprived -of all power of resistance, could resistance have availed him; and in -the perturbation of his mind he informed the Marquis that Adeline had -taken the road to Lyons. This discovery, however, was made too late to -serve himself; the Marquis seized the advantage it offered: but the -charge had been given; and with the anguish of knowing that he had -exposed Adeline to danger without benefiting himself, La Motte submitted -in silence to his fate. Scarcely allowing him time to collect what -little effects might easily be carried with him, the officers conveyed -him from the abbey: but the Marquis, in consideration of the extreme -distress of Madame La Motte, directed one of his servants to procure a -carriage from Auboine, that she might follow her husband. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis in the mean time, now acquainted with the route Adeline had -taken, sent forward his faithful valet to trace her to her place of -concealment, and return immediately with intelligence to the villa. -</p> - -<p> -Abandoned to despair, La Motte and his wife quitted the forest of -Fontanville, which had for so many months afforded them an asylum, and -embarked once more upon the tumultuous world, where justice would meet -La Motte in the form of destruction. They had entered the forest as a -refuge, rendered necessary by the former crimes of La Motte, and for -sometime found in it the security they sought: but other offences, for -even in that sequestered spot there happened to be temptation, soon -succeeded; and his life, already sufficiently marked by the punishment -of vice, now afforded him another instance of this great truth, "That -where guilt is, there peace cannot enter." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hail awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And woo the weary to profound repose!</span><br /> -<span class="i10">BEATTIE.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Adeline meanwhile, and Peter, proceeded on their voyage without any -accident, and landed in Savoy, where Peter placed her upon the horse, -and himself walked beside her. When he came within sight of his native -mountains, his extravagant joy burst forth into frequent exclamations, -and he would often ask Adeline if she had ever seen such <i>hills</i> in -France. No, no, said he, the hills there are very well for French hills, -but they are not to be named on the same day with ours. Adeline, lost in -admiration of the astonishing and tremendous scenery around her, -assented very warmly to the truth of Peter's assertion, which encouraged -him to expatiate more largely upon the advantages of his country; its -disadvantages he totally forgot; and though he gave away his last sous -to the children of the peasantry that ran barefooted by the side of the -horse, he spoke of nothing but the happiness and content of the -inhabitants. -</p> - -<p> -His native village, indeed, was an exception to the general character of -the country, and to the usual effects of an arbitrary government; it was -flourishing, healthy, and happy; and these advantages it chiefly owed to -the activity and attention of the benevolent clergyman whose cure it -was. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, who now began to feel the effects of long anxiety and fatigue, -much wished to arrive at the end of her journey, and inquired -impatiently of Peter concerning it. Her spirits thus weakened, the -gloomy grandeur of the scenes which had so lately awakened emotions of -delightful sublimity, now awed her into terror; she trembled at the -sound of the torrents rolling among the cliffs and thundering in the -vale below, and shrunk from the view of the precipices, which sometimes -overhung the road and at others appeared beneath it. Fatigued as she -was, she frequently dismounted to climb on foot the steep flinty road, -which she feared to travel on horseback. -</p> - -<p> -The day was closing when they drew near a small village at the foot of -the Savoy Alps; and the sun, in all his evening splendour, now sinking -behind their summits, threw a farewell gleam athwart the landscape so -soft and glowing as drew from Adeline, languid as she was, an -exclamation of rapture. -</p> - -<p> -The romantic situation of the village next attracted her notice. It -stood at the foot of several stupendous mountains, which formed a chain -round a lake at some little distance, and the woods that swept from -their summits almost embosomed the village. The lake, unruffled by the -lightest air, reflected the vermeil tints of the horizon with the -sublime on its borders, darkening every instant with the falling -twilight. -</p> - -<p> -When Peter perceived the village, he burst into a shout of joy. Thank -God, said he, we are near home; there is my dear native place: it looks -just as it did twenty years ago: and there are the same old trees -growing round our cottage yonder, and the huge rock that rises above it. -My poor father died there, Ma'mselle. Pray Heaven my sister be alive! it -is a long while since I saw her. Adeline listened with a melancholy -pleasure to these artless expressions of Peter, who in retracing the -scenes of his former days seemed to live them over again. As they -approached the village, he continued to point out various objects of his -remembrance. And there too is the good pastor's chateau; look, -Ma'mselle, that white house with the smoke curling, that stands on the -edge of the lake yonder. I wonder whether he is alive yet: he was not -old when I left the place, and as much beloved as ever man was; but -death spares nobody! -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure07.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -They had by this time reached the village, which was extremely neat, -though it did not promise much accommodation. Peter had hardly advanced -ten steps before he was accosted by some of his old acquaintance, who -shook hands, and seemed not to know how to part with him. He inquired -for his sister, and was told she was alive and well. As they passed on, -so many of his old friends flocked round him, that Adeline became quite -weary of the delay. Many whom he had left in the vigour of life were now -tottering under the infirmities of age, while their sons and daughters, -whom he had known only in the playfulness of infancy, were grown from -his remembrance, and in the pride of youth. At length they approached -the cottage, and were met by his sister, who having heard of his -arrival, came and welcomed him with unfeigned joy. -</p> - -<p> -On seeing Adeline, she seemed surprised, but assisted her to alight; and -conducting her into a small but neat cottage, received her with a warmth -of ready kindness which would have graced a better situation. Adeline -desired to speak with her alone, for the room was now crowded with -Peter's friends; and then acquainting her with such particulars of her -circumstances as it was necessary to communicate, desired to know if she -could be accommodated with lodging in the cottage. Yes, Ma'mselle, said -the good woman, such as it is, you are heartily welcome: I am only sorry -it is not better. But you seem ill Ma'mselle; what shall I get you? -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, who had been long struggling with fatigue and indisposition, -now yielded to their pressure. She said she was indeed ill; but hoped -that rest would restore her, and desired a bed might be immediately -prepared. The good woman went out to obey her, and soon returning showed -her to a little cabin, where she retired to a bed whose cleanliness was -its only recommendation. -</p> - -<p> -But notwithstanding her fatigue, she could not sleep; and her mind, in -spite of all her efforts, returned to the scenes that were passed, or -presented gloomy and imperfect visions of the future. -</p> - -<p> -The difference between her own condition and that of other persons, -educated as she had been, struck her forcibly, and she wept. They, said -she, have friends and relations, all striving to save them not only from -what may hurt, but what may displease them; watching not only for their -present safety, but for their future advantage, and preventing them even -from injuring themselves. But during my whole life I have never known a -friend; have been in general surrounded by enemies, and very seldom -exempt from some circumstance either of danger or calamity. Yet surely I am -not born to be for ever wretched; the time will come when——She -began to think she might one time be happy; but recollecting the -desperate situation of Theodore,—No, said she, I can never hope even -for peace! -</p> - -<p> -Early the following morning the good woman of the house came to inquire -how she had rested; and found she had slept little, and was much worse -than on the preceding night. The uneasiness of her mind contributed to -heighten the feverish symptoms that attended her, and in the course of -the day her disorder began to assume a serious aspect. She observed its -progress with composure, resigning herself to the will of God, and -feeling little to regret in life. Her kind hostess did every thing in -her power to relieve her, and there was neither physician nor apothecary -in the village, so that nature was deprived of none of her advantages. -Notwithstanding this, the disorder rapidly increased, and on the third -day from its first attack she became delirious, after which she sunk -into a state of stupefaction. -</p> - -<p> -How long she remained in this deplorable condition she knew not; but on -recovering her senses she found herself in an apartment very different -from any she remembered. It was spacious and almost beautiful, the bed -and every thing around being in one style of elegant simplicity. For -some minutes she lay in a trance of surprise, endeavouring to recollect -her scattered ideas of the past, and almost fearing to move lest the -pleasing vision should vanish from her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -At length she ventured to raise herself, when she presently heard a soft -voice speaking near her, and the bed curtain on one side was gently -undrawn by a beautiful girl. As she leaned forward over the bed, and -with a smile of mingled tenderness and joy inquired of her patient how -she did. Adeline gazed in silent admiration upon the most interesting -female countenance she had ever seen, in which the expression of -sweetness, united with lively sense and refinement, was chastened by -simplicity. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline at length recollected herself sufficiently to thank her kind -inquirer, and begged to know to whom she was obliged, and where she was? -The lovely girl pressed her hand, 'Tis we who are obliged, said she. Oh! -how I rejoice to find that you have recovered your recollection! She -said no more, but flew to the door of the apartment, and disappeared. In -a few minutes she returned with an elderly lady, who approaching the bed -with an air of tender interest, asked concerning the state of Adeline; -to which the latter replied as well as the agitation of her spirits -would permit, and repeated her desire of knowing to whom she was so -greatly obliged. You shall know that hereafter, said the lady; at -present be assured that you are with those who will think their care -much overpaid by your recovery; submit, therefore, to every thing that -may conduce to it, and consent to be kept as quiet as possible. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline gratefully smiled and bowed her head in silent assent. The lady -now quitted the room for a medicine; having given which to Adeline, the -curtain was closed and she was left to repose. But her thoughts were too -busy to suffer her to profit by the opportunity:—she contemplated the -past and viewed the present; and when she compared them, the contrast -struck her with astonishment: the whole appeared like one of those -sudden transitions so frequent in dreams, in which we pass from grief -and despair, we know not how, to comfort and delight. -</p> - -<p> -Yet she looked forward to the future with a trembling anxiety that -threatened to retard her recovery, and which when she remembered the -words of her generous benefactress, she endeavoured to suppress. Had she -better known the disposition of the persons in whose house she now was, -her anxiety, as far as it regarded herself, must in a great measure have -been done away; for La Luc, its owner, was one of those rare characters -to whom misfortune seldom looks in vain, and whose native goodness, -confirmed by principle, is uniform and unassuming in its acts. The -following little picture of his domestic life, his family, and his -manners, will more fully illustrate his character. It was drawn from the -life, and its exactness will, it is hoped, compensate for its length. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">THE FAMILY OF LA LUC.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">But half mankind, like Handel's fool, destroy,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Through rage and ignorance, the strain of joy;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Irregularly wild, the passions roll</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Through Nature's finest instrument, the soul:—</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While men of sense, with Handel's happier skill,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Correct the taste and harmonize the will;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Teach their affections like his notes to flow,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Nor raised too high, nor ever sunk too low;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Till every virtue, measured and refined,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">As fits the concert of the master mind,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Melts in its kindred sounds, and pours along</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Th' according music of the moral song.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">CAWTHORNE.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -In the village of Leloncourt, celebrated for its picturesque situation -at the foot of the Savoy Alps, lived Arnaud La Luc, a clergyman -descended from an ancient family of France, whose decayed fortunes -occasioned them to seek a retreat in Switzerland, in an age when the -violence of civil commotion seldom spared the conquered. He was minister -of the village, and equally loved for the piety and benevolence of the -Christian, as respected for the dignity and elevation of the -philosopher. His was the philosophy of nature, directed by common sense. -He despised the jargon of the modern schools, and the brilliant -absurdities of systems which dazzled without enlightening, and guided -without convincing their disciples. -</p> - -<p> -His mind was penetrating; his views extensive; and his systems, like his -religion, were simple, rational, and sublime. The people of his parish -looked up to him as to a father; for while his precepts directed their -minds, his example touched their hearts. -</p> - -<p> -In early youth La Luc lost a wife whom he tenderly loved. This event -threw a tincture of soft and interesting melancholy over his character, -which remained when time had mellowed the remembrance that occasioned -it. Philosophy had strengthened, not hardened, his heart; it enabled him -to resist the pressure of affliction, rather than to overcome it. -</p> - -<p> -Calamity taught him to feel with peculiar sympathy the distresses of -others. His income from the parish was small, and what remained from the -divided and reduced estates of his ancestors did not much increase it; -but though he could not always relieve the necessities of the indigent, -his tender pity and holy conversation seldom failed in administering -consolation to the mental sufferer. On these occasions the sweet and -exquisite emotions of his heart have often induced him to say, that -could the voluptuary be once sensible of these feelings, he would never -after forego the luxury of doing good. Ignorance of true pleasure, he -would say, more frequently than temptation to that which is false, leads -to vice. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc had one son and a daughter, who were too young when their mother -died to lament their loss. He loved them with peculiar tenderness, as -the children of her whom he never ceased to deplore; and it was for some -time his sole amusement to observe the gradual unfolding of their infant -minds, and to bend them to virtue. His was the deep and silent sorrow of -the heart: his complaints he never obtruded upon others, and very seldom -did he even mention his wife. His grief was too sacred for the eye of -the vulgar. Often he retired to the deep solitude of the mountains, and -amid their solemn and tremendous scenery would brood over the -remembrance of times past, and resign himself to the luxury of grief. On -his return from these little excursions he was always more placid and -contented. A sweet tranquillity, which arose almost to happiness, was -diffused over his mind, and his manners were more than usually -benevolent. As he gazed on his children, and fondly kissed them, a tear -would sometimes steal into his eye: but it was a tear of tender regret, -unmingled with the darker qualities of sorrow, and was most precious to -his heart. -</p> - -<p> -On the death of his wife he received into his house a maiden sister, a -sensible, worthy woman, who was deeply interested in the happiness of -her brother. Her affectionate attention and judicious conduct -anticipated the effect of time in softening the poignancy of his -distress; and her unremitted care of his children, while it proved the -goodness of her own heart, attracted her more closely to his. -</p> - -<p> -It was with inexpressible pleasure that he traced in the infant features -of Clara the resemblance of her mother. The same gentleness of manner -and the same sweetness of disposition soon displayed themselves; and as -she grew up, her actions frequently reminded him so strongly of his lost -wife as to fix him in reveries, which absorbed all his soul. -</p> - -<p> -Engaged in the duties of his parish, the education of his children, and -in philosophic research, his years passed in tranquillity. The tender -melancholy with which affliction had tinctured his mind, was by long -indulgence become dear to him, and he would not have relinquished it for -the brightest dream of airy happiness. When any passing incident -disturbed him, he retired for consolation to the idea of her he so -faithfully loved, and yielding to a gentle, and what the world would -call a romantic, sadness, gradually reassumed his composure. -This was the secret luxury to which he withdrew from temporary -disappointment—the solitary enjoyment which dissipated the cloud of -care, and blunted the sting of vexation—which elevated his mind above -this world, and opened to his view the sublimity of another. -</p> - -<p> -The spot he now inhabited, the surrounding scenery, the romantic -beauties of the neighbouring walks, were dear to La Luc, for they had -once been loved by Clara; they had been the scenes of her tenderness, -and of his happiness. -</p> - -<p> -His chateau stood on the borders of a small lake that was almost -environed by mountains of stupendous height, which, shooting into a -variety of grotesque forms, composed a scenery singularly solemn and -sublime. Dark woods intermingled with bold projections of rock, -sometimes barren and sometimes covered with the purple bloom of wild -flowers, impended over the lake, and were seen in the clear mirror of -its waters. The wild and alpine heights which rose above, were either -crowned with perpetual snows, or exhibited tremendous crags and masses -of solid rock, whose appearance was continually changing as the rays of -light were variously reflected on their surface, and whose summits were -often wrapt in impenetrable mists. Some cottages and hamlets, scattered -on the margin of the lake or seated in picturesque points of view on the -rocks above, were the only objects that reminded the beholder of -humanity. -</p> - -<p> -On the side of the lake, nearly opposite to the chateau, the mountains -receded, and a long chain of Alps was seen stretching in perspective. -Their innumerable tints and shades, some veiled in blue mists, some -tinged with rich purple, and others glittering in partial light, gave -luxurious and magical colouring to the scene. -</p> - -<p> -The chateau was not large, but it was convenient, and was characterized -by an air of elegant simplicity and good order. The entrance was a small -hall, which opening by a glass door into the garden, afforded a view of -the lake, with the magnificent scenery exhibited on its borders. On the -left of the hall was La Luc's study, where he usually passed his -mornings; and adjoining was a small room fitted up with chemical -apparatus, astronomical instruments, and other implements of science. On -the right hand was the family parlour, and behind it a room which -belonged exclusively to Madame La Luc. Here were deposited various -medicines and botanical distillations, together with the apparatus for -preparing them. From this room the whole village was liberally supplied -with medicinal comfort; for it was the pride of Madame to believe -herself skilful in relieving the disorders of her neighbours. -</p> - -<p> -Behind the chateau rose a tuft of pines, and in front a gentle -declivity, covered with verdure and flowers, extended to the lake, whose -waters flowed even with the grass, and gave freshness to the acacias -that waved over its surface. Flowering shrubs, intermingled with -mountain-ash, cypress, and ever-green oak, marked the boundary of the -garden. -</p> - -<p> -At the return of spring it was Clara's care to direct the young shoots -of the plants, to nurse the budding flowers, and to shelter them with -the luxuriant branches of the shrubs from the cold blasts that descended -from the mountains. In summer she usually rose with the sun, and visited -her favourite flowers while the dew yet hung glittering on their leaves. -The freshness of early day, with the glowing colouring which then -touched the scenery, gave a pure and exquisite delight to her innocent -heart. Born amid scenes of grandeur and sublimity, she had quickly -imbibed a taste for their charms, which taste was heightened by the -influence of a warm imagination. To view the sun rising above the Alps, -tinging their snowy heads with light, and suddenly darting his rays over -the whole face of nature—to see the fiery splendour of the clouds -reflected in the lake below, and the roseate tints first steal upon the -rocks above—were among the earliest pleasures of which Clara was -susceptible. From being delighted with the observance of nature, she -grew pleased with seeing her finely imitated, and soon displayed a taste -for poetry and painting. When she was about sixteen she often selected -from her father's library those of the Italian poets most celebrated for -picturesque beauty, and would spend the first hours of morning in -reading them under the shade of the acacias that bordered the lake. Here -too she would often attempt rude sketches of the surrounding scenery; -and at length by repeated efforts, assisted by some instruction from her -brother she succeeded so well as to produce twelve drawings in crayon, -which were judged worthy of decorating the parlour of the chateau. -</p> - -<p> -Young La Luc played the flute, and she listened to him with exquisite -delight, particularly when he stood on the margin of the lake, under her -beloved acacias. Her voice was sweet and flexible, though not strong, -and she soon learned to modulate it to the instrument. She knew nothing -of the intricacies of execution; her airs were simple, and her style -equally so; but she soon gave them a touching expression, inspired by -the sensibility of her heart, which seldom left those of her hearers -unaffected. -</p> - -<p> -It was the happiness of La Luc to see his children happy; and in one of -his excursions to Geneva, whither he went to visit some relations of his -late wife, he bought Clara a lute. She received it with more gratitude -than she could express; and having learned one air, she hastened to her -favourite acacias, and played it again and again till she forgot every -thing besides. Her little domestic duties, her books, her drawing, even -the hour which her father dedicated to her improvement, when she met her -brother in the library, and with him partook of knowledge, even this -hour passed unheeded by. La Luc suffered it to pass. Madame was -displeased that her niece neglected her domestic duties, and wished to -reprove her, but La Luc begged she would be silent. Let experience teach -her her error, said he, precept seldom brings conviction to young minds. -</p> - -<p> -Madame objected that experience was a slow teacher. It is a sure one, -replied La Luc, and is not unfrequently the quickest of all teachers: -when it cannot lead us into serious evil, it is well to trust to it. -</p> - -<p> -The second day passed with Clara as the first, and the third as the -second. She could now play several tunes; she came to her father and -repeated what she had learnt. -</p> - -<p> -At supper the cream was not dressed, and there was no fruit on the -table. La Luc inquired the reason; Clara recollected it, and blushed. -She observed that her brother was absent, but nothing was said. Toward -the conclusion of the repast he appeared; his countenance expressed -unusual satisfaction, but he seated himself in silence. Clara inquired -what had detained him from supper, and learnt that he had been to a sick -family in the neighbourhood with the weekly allowance which her father -gave them. La Luc had intrusted the care of this family to his daughter, -and it was her duty to have carried them their little allowance on the -preceding day, but she had forgotten every thing but music. -</p> - -<p> -How did you find the woman? said La Luc to his son. Worse, Sir, he -replied; for her medicines had not been regularly given and the children -had had little or no food to-day. -</p> - -<p> -Clara was shocked. No food to-day! said she to herself; and I have been -playing all day on my lute, under the acacias by the lake! Her father -did not seem to observe her emotion, but turned to his son. I left her -better, said the latter; the medicines I carried eased her pain, and I -had the pleasure to see her children make a joyful supper. -</p> - -<p> -Clara, perhaps, for the first time in her life, envied him his pleasure; -her heart was full, and she sat silent. No food to-day! thought she. -</p> - -<p> -She retired pensively to her chamber. The sweet serenity with which she -usually went to rest was vanished, for she could no longer reflect on -the past day with satisfaction. -</p> - -<p> -What a pity, said she, that what is so pleasing should be the cause of -so much pain! This lute is my delight, and my torment! This reflection -occasioned her much internal debate; but before she could come to any -resolution upon the point in question, she fell asleep. -</p> - -<p> -She awoke very early the next morning, and impatiently watched the -progress of the dawn. The sun at length appearing, she arose, and -determined to make all the atonement in her power for her former -neglect, hastened to the cottage. -</p> - -<p> -Here she remained a considerable time, and when she returned to the -chateau, her countenance had recovered all its usual serenity. She -resolved, however, not to touch her lute that day. -</p> - -<p> -Till the hour of breakfast she busied herself in binding up the flowers -and pruning the shoots that were too luxuriant, and she at length found -herself, she scarcely knew how, beneath her beloved acacias by the side -of the lake. Ah! said she with a sigh, how sweetly would the song I -learned yesterday sound now over the waters! But she remembered her -determination, and checked the step she was involuntarily taking towards -the chateau. -</p> - -<p> -She attended her father in the library at the usual hour, and learned -from his discourse with her brother on what had been read the two -preceding days, that she had lost much entertaining knowledge. She -requested her father would inform her to what this conversation alluded; -but he calmly replied, that she had preferred another amusement at the -time when the subject was discussed, and must therefore content herself -with ignorance. You would reap the rewards of study from the amusements -of idleness, said he; learn to be reasonable—do not expect to unite -inconsistencies. -</p> - -<p> -Clara felt the justness of this rebuke, and remembered her lute. What -mischief has it occasioned! sighed she. Yes, I am determined not to -touch it at all this day. I will prove that I am able to control my -inclinations when I see it is necessary so to do. Thus resolving, she -applied herself to study with more than usual assiduity. -</p> - -<p> -She adhered to her resolution, and towards the close of the day went -into the garden to amuse herself. The evening was still and uncommonly -beautiful. Nothing was heard but the faint shivering of the leaves, -which returned but at intervals, making silence more solemn, and the -distant murmurs of the torrents that rolled among the cliffs. As she -stood by the lake, and watched the sun slowly sinking below the Alps, -whose summits were tinged with gold and purple; as she saw the last rays -of light gleam upon the waters, whose surface was not curled by the -slightest air, she sighed, oh! how enchanting would be the sound of my -lute at this moment, on this spot, and when every thing is so still -around me! -</p> - -<p> -The temptation was too powerful for the resolution of Clara: she ran to -the chateau, returned with the instrument to her dear acacias, and -beneath their shade continued to play till the surrounding objects faded -in darkness from her sight. But the moon rose, and shedding a trembling -lustre on the lake, made the scene more captivating than ever. -</p> - -<p> -It was impossible to quit so delightful a spot; Clara repeated her -favourite airs again and again. The beauty of the hour awakened all her -genius; she never played with such expression before, and she listened -with increasing rapture to the tones as they languished over the waters -and died away on the distant air. She was perfectly enchanted—no! -nothing was ever so delightful as to play on the lute beneath her -acacias, on the margin of the lake, by moonlight! -</p> - -<p> -When she returned to the chateau, supper was over. La Luc had observed -Clara, and would not suffer her to be interrupted. -</p> - -<p> -When the enthusiasm of the hour was passed, she recollected that she had -broken her resolution, and the reflection gave her pain. I prided myself -on controlling my inclinations, said she, and I have weakly yielded to -their direction. But what evil have I incurred by indulging them this -evening? I have neglected no duty, for I had none to perform. Of what -then have I to accuse myself? It would have been absurd to have kept my -resolution, and denied myself a pleasure when there appeared no reason -for this self-denial. -</p> - -<p> -She paused, not quite satisfied with this reasoning. Suddenly resuming -her inquiry, But how, said she, am I certain that I should have resisted -my inclinations if there <i>had</i> been a reason for opposing them? If the -poor family whom I neglected yesterday had been unsupplied to-day, I -fear I should again have forgotten them while I played on my lute on the -banks of the lake. -</p> - -<p> -She then recollected all that her father had at different times said on -the subject of self-command, and she felt some pain. -</p> - -<p> -No, said she, if I do not consider that to preserve a resolution, which -I have once solemnly formed, is a sufficient reason to control my -inclinations, I fear no other motive would long restrain me. I seriously -determined not to touch my lute this whole day, and I have broken my -resolution. To-morrow perhaps I may be tempted to neglect some duty, for -I have discovered that I cannot rely on my own prudence. Since I cannot -conquer temptation, I will fly from it. -</p> - -<p> -On the following morning she brought her lute to La Luc, and begged he -would receive it again, and at least keep it till she had taught her -inclinations to submit to control. -</p> - -<p> -The heart of La Luc swelled as she spoke. No, Clara, said he, it is -unnecessary that I should receive your lute; the sacrifice you would -make proves you worthy of my confidence. Take back the instrument; since -you have sufficient resolution to resign it when it leads you from duty, -I doubt not that you will be able to control its influence now that it -is restored to you. -</p> - -<p> -Clara felt a degree of pleasure and pride at these words, such as she -had never before experienced; but she thought, that to deserve the -commendation they bestowed, it was necessary to complete the sacrifice -she had begun. In the virtuous enthusiasm of the moment the delights of -music were forgotten in those of aspiring to well-earned praise; and -when she refused the lute thus offered, she was conscious only of -exquisite sensations. Dear Sir, said she, tears of pleasure, swelling in -her eyes, allow me to deserve the praises you bestow, and then I shall -indeed be happy. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc thought she had never resembled her mother so much as at this -instant, and tenderly kissing her, he for some moments wept in silence. -When he was able to speak, You do already deserve my praises, said he, -and I restore your lute as a reward for the conduct which excites them. -This scene called back recollections too tender for the heart of La Luc, -and giving Clara the instrument, he abruptly quitted the room. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc's son, a youth of much promise, was designed by his father for -the church, and had received from him an excellent education, which, -however, it was thought necessary he should finish at an university. -That of Geneva was fixed upon by La Luc. His scheme had been to make his -son not a scholar only; he was ambitious that he should also be enviable -as a man. From early infancy he had accustomed him to hardihood and -endurance, and as he advanced in youth, he encouraged him in manly -exercises, and acquainted him with the useful arts as well as with -abstract science. -</p> - -<p> -He was high-spirited and ardent in his temper, but his heart was -generous and affectionate. He looked forward to Geneva, and to the new -world it would disclose, with the sanguine expectations of youth; and in -the delight of these expectations was absorbed the regret he would -otherways have felt at a separation from his family. -</p> - -<p> -A brother of the late Madame La Luc, who was by birth an Englishman, -resided at Geneva with his family. To have been related to his wife was -a sufficient claim upon the heart of La Luc, and he had therefore always -kept up an intercourse with Mr. Audley, though the difference in their -characters and manner of thinking would never permit this association to -advance into friendship. La Luc now wrote to him, signifying an -intention of sending his son to Geneva, and recommending him to his -care. To this letter Mr. Audley returned a friendly answer; and a short -time after, an acquaintance of La Luc's being called to Geneva, he -determined that his son should accompany him. The separation was painful -to La Luc, and almost insupportable to Clara. Madame was grieved, and -took care that he should have a sufficient quantity of medicines put up -in his travelling trunk; she was also at some pains to point out their -virtues, and the different complaints for which they were requisite; but -she was careful to deliver her lecture during the absence of her -brother. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc, with his daughter, accompanied his son on horseback to the next -town, which was about eight miles from Leloncourt; and there again -enforcing all the advice he had formerly given him respecting his -conduct and pursuits, and again yielding to the tender weakness of the -father, he bade him farewell. Clara wept, and felt more sorrow at this -parting than the occasion could justify; but this was almost the first -time she had known grief, and she artlessly yielded to its influence. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc and Clara travelled pensively back, and the day was closing when -they came within view of the lake, and soon after of the chateau. Never -had it appeared gloomy till now; but now Clara wandered forlornly -through every deserted apartment where she had been accustomed to see -her brother, and recollected a thousand little circumstances which, had -he been present, she would have thought immaterial, but on which -imagination now stamped a value. The garden, the scenes around, all wore -a melancholy aspect, and it was long ere they resumed their natural -character and Clara recovered her vivacity. -</p> - -<p> -Near four years had elapsed since this separation, when one evening, as -Madame La Luc and her niece were sitting at work together in the -parlour, a good woman in the neighbourhood desired to be admitted. She -came to ask for some medicines, and the advice of Madame La Luc. Here is -a sad accident happened at our house, Madame, said she; I am sure my -heart aches for the poor young creature.—Madame La Luc desired she -would explain herself, and the woman proceeded to say that her brother -Peter, whom she had not seen for so many years, was arrived, and had -brought a young lady to her cottage, who she verily believed was dying. -She described her disorder, and acquainted Madame with what particulars -of her mournful story Peter had related, failing not to exaggerate such -as her compassion for the unhappy stranger and her love of the -marvellous prompted. -</p> - -<p> -The account appeared a very extraordinary one to Madame; but pity for -the forlorn condition of the young sufferer induced her to inquire -further into the affair. Do let me go to her, Madame, said Clara, who -had been listening with ready compassion to the poor woman's narrative: -Do suffer me to go—she must want comforts, and I wish much to see how -she is. Madame asked some further questions concerning her disorder, and -then, taking off her spectacles, she rose from her chair, and said she -would go herself. Clara desired to accompany her. They put on their hats -and followed the good woman to the cottage, where, in a very small close -room, on a miserable bed, lay Adeline, pale, emaciated, and unconscious -of all around her. Madame turned to the woman, and asked how long she -had been in this way, while Clara went up to the bed, and taking the -almost lifeless hand that lay on the quilt, looked anxiously in her -face. She observes nothing, said she, poor creature! I wish she was at -the chateau, she would be better accommodated, and I could nurse her -there. The woman told Madame La Luc that the young lady had lain in that -state for several hours. Madame examined her pulse, and shook her head. -This room is very close, said she.—Very close indeed, cried Clara -eagerly; surely she would be better at the chateau, if she could be -moved. -</p> - -<p> -We will see about that, said her aunt. In the mean time let me speak to -Peter; it is some years since I saw him. She went to the outer room, and -the woman ran out of the cottage to look for him. When she was gone, -This is a miserable habitation for the poor stranger, said Clara; she -will never be well here: do, Madame, let her be carried to our house; I -am sure my father would wish it. Besides, there is something in her -features, even inanimate as they now are, that prejudices me in her -favour. -</p> - -<p> -Shall I never persuade you to give up that romantic notion of judging -people by their faces? said her aunt. What sort of a face she has is of -very little consequence—her condition is lamentable, and I am -desirous of altering it; but I wish first to ask Peter a few questions -concerning her. -</p> - -<p> -Thank you, my dear aunt, said Clara; she will be removed then. Madame La -Luc was going to reply; but Peter now entered, and expressing great joy -at seeing her again, inquired how Monsieur La Luc and Clara did. Clara -immediately welcomed honest Peter to his native place, and he returned -her salutation with many expressions of surprise at finding her <i>so much -grown</i>. Though I have so often dandled you in my arms, Ma'mselle, I -should never have known you again: Young twigs shoot fast, as they say. -</p> - -<p> -Madame La Luc now inquired into the particulars of Adeline's story; and -heard as much as Peter knew of it, being only that his late master found -her in a very distressed situation, and that he had himself brought her -from the abbey to save her from a French Marquis. The simplicity of -Peter's manner would not suffer her to question his veracity, though -some of the circumstances he related excited all her surprise and -awakened all her pity. Tears frequently stood in Clara's eyes during the -course of his narrative; and when he concluded, she said, Dear Madame, -I am sure when my father learns the history of this unhappy young woman -he will not refuse to be a parent to her, and I will be her sister. -</p> - -<p> -She deserves it all, said Peter, for she is very good indeed. He then -proceeded in a strain of praise which was very unusual with him.—I -will go home and consult with my brother about her, said Madame La Luc, -rising: she certainly ought to be removed to a more airy room. The -chateau is so near, that I think she may be carried thither without much -risk. -</p> - -<p> -Heaven bless you! Madam, cried Peter, rubbing his hands, for your -goodness to my poor young lady. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc had just returned from his evening walk when they reached the -chateau. Madame told him where she had been, and related the history of -Adeline and her present condition.—By all means have her removed -hither, said La Luc, whose eyes bore testimony to the tenderness of his -heart: she can be better attended to here than in Susan's cottage. -</p> - -<p> -I knew you would say so, my dear father, said Clara: I will go and order -the green bed to be prepared for her. -</p> - -<p> -Be patient, niece, said Madame La Luc; there is no occasion for such -haste: some things are to be considered first; but you are young and -romantic.—La Luc smiled.—The evening is now closed, resumed -Madame; it will therefore be dangerous to remove her before morning. Early -to-morrow a room shall be got ready, and she shall be brought here; in -the mean time I will go and make up a medicine which I hope may be of -service to her.—Clara reluctantly assented to this delay, and Madame -La Luc retired to her closet. -</p> - -<p> -On the following morning Adeline, wrapped in blankets and sheltered as -much as possible from the air, was brought to the chateau, where the -good La Luc desired she might have every attention paid her, and where -Clara watched over her with unceasing anxiety and tenderness. She -remained in a state of torpor during the greater part of the day, but -towards evening she breathed more freely; and Clara, who still watched -by her bed, had at length the pleasure of perceiving that her senses -were restored. It was at this moment that she found herself in the -situation from which we have digressed to give this account of the -venerable La Luc and his family. The reader will find that his virtues -and his friendship to Adeline deserved this notice. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still Fancy, to herself unkind,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Awakes to grief the soften'd mind.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And points the bleeding friend.</span><br /> -<span class="i8">COLLINS.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Adeline, assisted by a fine constitution, and the kind attentions of her -new friends, was in a little more than a week so much recovered as to -leave her chamber. She was introduced to La Luc, whom she met with tears -of gratitude, and thanked for his goodness in a manner so warm, yet so -artless, as interested him still more in her favour. During the progress -of her recovery, the sweetness of her behaviour had entirely won the -heart of Clara, and greatly interested that of her aunt, whose reports -of Adeline, together with the praises bestowed by Clara, had excited -both esteem and curiosity in the breast of La Luc; and he now met her -with an expression of benignity which spoke peace and comfort to her -heart. She had acquainted Madame La Luc with such particulars of her -story as Peter, either through ignorance or inattention, had not -communicated, suppressing only, through a false delicacy perhaps, an -acknowledgment of her attachment to Theodore. These circumstances were -repeated to La Luc, who, ever sensible to the sufferings of others, was -particularly interested by the singular misfortunes of Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Near a fortnight had elapsed since her removal to the chateau, when one -morning La Luc desired to speak with her alone. She followed him into -his study, and then in a manner the most delicate he told her, that as -he found she was so unfortunate in her father, he desired she would -henceforth consider him as her parent, and his house as her home. You -and Clara shall be equally my daughters, continued he; I am rich in -having such children. The strong emotions of surprise and gratitude for -some time kept Adeline silent. Do not thank me, said La Luc; I know all -you would say, and I know also that I am but doing my duty: I thank God -that my duty and my pleasures are generally in unison. Adeline wiped -away the tears which his goodness had excited, and was going to speak; -but La Luc pressed her hand, and turning away to conceal his emotion, -walked out of the room. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was now considered as a part of the family; and in the parental -kindness of La Luc, the sisterly affection of Clara, and the steady and -uniform regard of Madame, she would have been happy as she was thankful, -had not unceasing anxiety for the fate of Theodore, of whom in this -solitude she was less likely than ever to hear, corroded her heart, and -embittered every moment of reflection. Even when sleep obliterated for -awhile the memory of the past, his image frequently arose to her fancy, -accompanied by all the exaggerations of terror. She saw him in chains, -and struggling in the grasp of ruffians, or saw him led, amidst the -dreadful preparations for execution, into the field: she saw the agony -of his look, and heard him repeat her name in frantic accents, till the -horrors of the scene overcame her and she awoke. -</p> - -<p> -A similarity of taste and character attached her to Clara; yet the -misery that preyed upon her heart was of a nature too delicate to be -spoken of, and she never mentioned Theodore even to her friend. Her -illness had yet left her weak and languid, and the perpetual anxiety of -her mind contributed to prolong this state. She endeavoured by strong -and almost continual efforts to abstract her thoughts from their -mournful subject, and was often successful. La Luc had an excellent -library, and the instruction it offered at once gratified her love of -knowledge, and withdrew her mind from painful recollections. His -conversation too afforded her another refuge from misery. -</p> - -<p> -But her chief amusement was to wander among the sublime scenery of the -adjacent country, sometimes with Clara, though often with no other -companion than a book. There were indeed times when the conversation of -her friend imposed a painful restraint, and, when, given up to -reflection, she would ramble alone through scenes whose solitary -grandeur assisted and soothed the melancholy of her heart. Here she -would retrace all the conduct of her beloved Theodore, and endeavour to -recollect his exact countenance, his air and manner. Now she would weep -at the remembrance, and then, suddenly considering that he had perhaps -already suffered an ignominious death for her sake, even in consequence -of the very action which had proved his love, a dreadful despair would -seize her, and, arresting her tears, would threaten to bear down every -barrier that fortitude and reason could oppose. -</p> - -<p> -Fearing longer to trust her own thoughts, she would hurry home, and by a -desperate effort would try to lose, in the conversation of La Luc, the -remembrance of the past. Her melancholy, when he observed it, La Luc -attributed to a sense of the cruel treatment she had received from her -father; a circumstance which, by exciting his compassion, endeared her -more strongly to his heart; while that love of rational conversation, -which in her calmer hours so frequently appeared, opened to him a new -source of amusement in the cultivation of a mind eager for knowledge, -and susceptible of all the energies of genius. She found a melancholy -pleasure in listening to the soft tones of Clara's lute, and would often -soothe her mind by attempting to repeat the airs she heard. -</p> - -<p> -The gentleness of her manners, partaking so much of that pensive -character which marked La Luc's, was soothing to his heart, and -tinctured his behaviour with a degree of tenderness that imparted -comfort to her, and gradually won her entire confidence and affection. -She saw with extreme concern the declining state of his health, and -united her efforts with those of the family to amuse and revive him. -</p> - -<p> -The pleasing society of which she partook, and the quietness of the -country, at length restored her mind to a state of tolerable composure. -She was now acquainted with all the wild walks of the neighbouring -mountains; and never tired of viewing their astonishing scenery, she -often indulged herself in traversing alone their unfrequented paths, -where now and then a peasant from a neighbouring village was all that -interrupted the profound solitude. She generally took with her a book, -that if she perceived her thought inclined to fix on the one object of -her grief, she might force them to a subject less dangerous to her -peace. She had become a tolerable proficient in English while at the -convent where she received her education, and the instruction of La Luc, -who was well acquainted with the language, now served to perfect her. He -was partial to the English; he admired their character, and the -constitution of their laws, and his library contained a collection of -their best authors, particularly of their philosophers and poets. -Adeline found that no species of writing had power so effectually to -withdraw her mind from the contemplation of its own misery as the higher -kinds of poetry, and in these her taste soon taught her to distinguish -the superiority of the English from that of the French. The genius of -the language, more perhaps than the genius of the people, if indeed the -distinction may be allowed, occasioned this. -</p> - -<p> -She frequently took a volume of Shakespeare or of Milton, and, having -gained some wild eminence, would seat herself beneath the pines, whose -low murmurs soothed her heart, and conspired with the visions of the -poet to lull her to forgetfulness of grief. -</p> - -<p> -One evening, when Clara was engaged at home, Adeline wandered alone to a -favourite spot among the rocks that bordered the lake. It was an -eminence which commanded an entire view of the lake, and of the -stupendous mountains that environed it. A few ragged thorns grew from -the precipice beneath, which descended perpendicularly to the water's -edge; and above rose a thick wood of larch, pine, and fir, intermingled -with some chesnut and mountain ash. The evening was fine, and the air so -still that it scarcely waved the light leaves of the trees around, or -rippled the broad expanse of the waters below. Adeline gazed on the -scene with a kind of still rapture, and watched the sun sinking amid a -crimson glow, which tinted the bosom of the lake and the snowy heads of -the distant Alps. The delight which the scenery inspired: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soothing each gust of passion into peace,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">All but the swellings of the soften'd heart,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind;</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -was now heightened by the tones of a French horn, and, looking on the -lake, she perceived at some distance a pleasure-boat. As it was a -spectacle rather uncommon in this solitude, she concluded the boat -contained a party of foreigners come to view the wonderful scenery of -the country, or perhaps of Genevois, who choose to amuse themselves on -a lake as grand, though much less extensive, than their own; and the -latter conjecture was probably just. -</p> - -<p> -As she listened to the mellow and enchanting tones of the horn, which -gradually sunk away in distance, the scene appeared more lovely than -before; and finding it impossible to forbear attempting to paint in -language what was so beautiful in reality, she composed the following: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">STANZAS</span><br /> -<span class="i0">How smooth that lake expands its ample breast!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Where smiles in soften'd glow the summer sky:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">How vast the rocks that o'er its surface rest!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">How wild the scenes its winding shores supply!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now down the western steep slow sinks the sun,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And paints with yellow gleam the tufted woods;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While here the mountain-shadows, broad and dun,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sweep o'er the crystal mirror of the floods.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mark how his splendour tips with partial light</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Those shatter'd battlements! that on the brow</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Of yon bold promontory burst to sight</span><br /> -<span class="i2">From o'er the woods that darkly spread below.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the soft blush of light's reflected power,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The ridgy rock, the woods that crown its steep,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Th' illumin'd battlement, and darker tower,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">On the smooth wave in trembling beauty sleep.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, lo! the sun recalls his fervid ray,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And cold and dim the watery visions fail;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While o'er yon cliff, whose pointed crags decay,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Mild evening draws her thin empurpled veil!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How sweet that strain of melancholy horn!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That floats along the slowly-ebbing wave,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And up the far-receding mountains borne,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Returns a dying close from Echo's cave!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hail! shadowy forms of still, expressive Eve!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Your pensive graces stealing on my heart,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Bid all the fine-attun'd emotions live,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And Fancy all her loveliest dreams impart.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -La Luc observing how much Adeline was charmed with the features of the -country, and desirous of amusing her melancholy, which, notwithstanding -her efforts, was often too apparent, wished to show her other scenes -than those to which her walks were circumscribed. He proposed a party on -horseback to take a nearer view of the Glaciers; to attempt their ascent -was a difficulty and fatigue to which neither La Luc, in his present -state of health, nor Adeline were equal. She had not been accustomed to -ride single, and the mountainous road they were to pass made the -experiment rather dangerous; but she concealed her fears, and they were -not sufficient to make her wish to forego an enjoyment such as was now -offered her. -</p> - -<p> -The following day was fixed for this excursion. La Luc and his party -arose at an early hour, and having taken a slight breakfast, they set -out towards the Glacier of Montanvert, which lay at a few leagues -distance. Peter carried a small basket of provisions; and it was their -plan to dine on some pleasant spot in the open air. -</p> - -<p> -It is unnecessary to describe the high enthusiasm of Adeline, the more -complacent pleasure of La Luc, and the transports of Clara, as the -scenes of this romantic country shifted to their eyes. Now frowning in -dark and gloomy grandeur, it exhibited only tremendous rocks and -cataracts rolling from the heights into some deep and narrow valley, -along which their united waters roared and foamed, and burst away to -regions inaccessible to mortal foot: and now the scene arose less -fiercely wild: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The pomp of groves and garniture of fields</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -were intermingled with the ruder features of nature; and while the snow -froze on the summit of the mountain, the vine blushed at its foot. -</p> - -<p> -Engaged in interesting conversation, and by the admiration which the -country excited, they travelled on till noon, when they looked round for -a pleasant spot where they might rest and take refreshment. At some -little distance they perceived the ruins of a fabric which had once been -a castle; it stood almost on a point of rock that overhung a deep -valley; and its broken turrets rising from among the woods that -embosomed it, heightened the picturesque beauty of the object. -</p> - -<p> -The edifice invited curiosity, and the shades repose—La Luc and his -party advanced. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep struck with awe they mark'd the dome o'erthrown,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Where once the beauty bloom'd, the warrior shone:</span><br /> -<span class="i0">They saw the <i>castle's</i> mouldering towers decay'd,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">The loose stone tottering o'er the trembling shade.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -They seated themselves on the grass under the shade of some high trees -near the ruins. An opening in the woods afforded a view of the distant -Alps—the deep silence of solitude reigned. For some time they were -lost in meditation. Adeline felt a sweet complacency, such as she had long -been a stranger to. Looking at La Luc, she perceived a tear stealing -down his cheek, while the elevation of his mind was strongly expressed -on his countenance. He turned on Clara his eyes, which were now filled -with tenderness, and made an effort to recover himself. -</p> - -<p> -The stillness and total seclusion of this scene, said Adeline, those -stupendous mountains, the gloomy grandeur of these woods, together with -that monument of faded glory on which the hand of time is so -emphatically impressed, diffuse a sacred enthusiasm over the mind, and -awaken sensations truly sublime. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc was going to speak; but Peter coming forward, desired to know -whether he had not better open the wallet, as he fancied his honour and -the young ladies must be main hungry, jogging on so far up hill and down -before dinner. They acknowledged the truth of honest Peter's suspicion, -and accepted his hint. -</p> - -<p> -Refreshments were spread on the grass; and having seated themselves -under the canopy of waving woods, surrounded by the sweets of wild -flowers, they inhaled the pure breeze of the Alps, which might be called -spirit of air, and partook of a repast which these circumstances -rendered delicious. -</p> - -<p> -When they arose to depart,—I am unwilling, said Clara, to quit this -charming spot. How delightful would it be to pass one's life beneath these -shades with the friends who are dear to one!—La Luc smiled at the -romantic simplicity of the idea: but Adeline sighed deeply to the image -of felicity and of Theodore which it recalled, and turned away to -conceal her tears. -</p> - -<p> -They now mounted their horses, and soon after arrived at the foot of -Montanvert. The emotions of Adeline, as she contemplated in various -points of view the astonishing objects around her, surpassed all -expression; and the feelings of the whole party were too strong to admit -of conversation. The profound stillness which reigned in these regions -of solitude inspired awe, and heightened the sublimity of the scenery to -an exquisite degree. -</p> - -<p> -It seems, said Adeline, as if we were walking over the ruins of the -world, and were the only persons who had survived the wreck. I can -scarcely persuade myself that we are not left alone on the globe. -</p> - -<p> -The view of these objects, said La Luc, lift the soul to their Great -Author, and we contemplate with a feeling almost too vast for -humanity—the sublimity of his nature in the grandeur of his -works.—La Luc raised his eyes, filled with tears, to heaven, and -was for some moments lost in silent adoration. -</p> - -<p> -They quitted these scenes with extreme reluctance; but the hour of the -day, and the appearance of the clouds, which seemed gathering for a -storm, made them hasten their departure. Could she have been sheltered -from its fury, Adeline almost wished to have witnessed the tremendous -effect of a thunder storm in these regions. -</p> - -<p> -They returned to Leloncourt by a different route, and the shade of the -overhanging precipices was deepened by the gloom of the atmosphere. It -was evening when they came within view of the lake, which the travelers -rejoiced to see, for the storm so long threatened was now fast -approaching; the thunder murmured among the Alps; and the dark vapours -that rolled heavily along their sides heightened their dreadful -sublimity. La Luc would have quickened his pace, but the road winding -down the steep side of a mountain made caution necessary. The darkening -air and the lightnings that now flashed along the horizon terrified -Clara, but she withheld the expression of her fear in consideration of -her father. A peal of thunder, which seemed to shake the earth to its -foundations, and was reverberated in tremendous echoes from the cliffs, -burst over their heads. Clara's horse took fright at the sound, and -setting off, hurried her with amazing velocity down the mountain towards -the lake, which washed its foot. The agony of La Luc, who viewed her -progress in the horrible expectation of seeing her dashed down the -precipice that bordered the road, is not to be described. -</p> - -<p> -Clara kept her seat, but terror had almost deprived her of sense. Her -efforts to preserve herself were mechanical, for she scarcely knew what -she did. The horse, however, carried her safely almost to the foot of -the mountain, but was making towards the lake, when a gentleman who -travelled along the road caught the bridle as the animal endeavoured to -pass. The sudden stopping of the horse threw Clara to the ground, and, -impatient of restraint, the animal burst from the hand of the stranger, -and plunged into the lake. The violence of the fall deprived her of -recollection; but while the stranger endeavoured to support her, his -servant ran to fetch water. -</p> - -<p> -She soon recovered, and unclosing her eyes found herself in the arms of -a chevalier, who appeared to support her with difficulty. The compassion -expressed in his countenance while he inquired how she did, revived her -spirits; and she was endeavouring to thank him for his kindness, when La -Luc and Adeline came up. The terror impressed on her father's features -was perceived by Clara; languid as she was, she tried to raise herself, -and said with a faint smile, which betrayed instead of disguising her -sufferings, Dear Sir, I am not hurt. Her pale countenance and the blood -that trickled down her cheek contradicted her words. But La Luc, to whom -terror had suggested the utmost possible evil, now rejoiced to hear her -speak; he recalled some presence of mind, and while Adeline applied her -salts, he chafed her temples. -</p> - -<p> -When she revived, she told him how much she was obliged to the stranger. -La Luc endeavoured to express his gratitude; but the former interrupting -him, begged he might be spared the pain of receiving thanks for having -followed only an impulse of common humanity. -</p> - -<p> -They were now not far from Leloncourt; but the evening was almost shut -in, and the thunder murmured deeply among the hills. La Luc was -distressed how to convey Clara home. -</p> - -<p> -In endeavouring to raise her from the ground, the stranger betrayed such -evident symptoms of pain, that La Luc inquired concerning it. The sudden -jerk which the horse had given the arm of the chevalier, in escaping -from his hold, had violently sprained his shoulder, and rendered his arm -almost useless. The pain was exquisite; and La Luc, whose fears for his -daughter were now subsiding, was shocked at the circumstance, and -pressed the stranger to accompany him to the village, where relief might -be obtained. He accepted the invitation; and Clara, being at length -placed on a horse led by her father, was conducted to the chateau. -</p> - -<p> -When Madame, who had been looking out for La Luc some time, perceived -the cavalcade approaching, she was alarmed, and her apprehensions were -confirmed when she saw the situation of her niece. Clara was carried -into the house, and La Luc would have sent for a surgeon, but there was -none within several leagues of the village, neither were there any of -the physical profession within the same distance. Clara was assisted to -her chamber by Adeline, and Madame La Luc undertook to examine the -wounds. The result restored peace to the family, for though she was much -bruised, she had escaped material injury; a slight contusion on the -forehead had occasioned the bloodshed which at first alarmed La Luc. -Madame undertook to restore her niece in a few days with the assistance -of a balsam composed by herself, on the virtues of which she descanted -with great eloquence, till La Luc interrupted her by reminding her of -the condition of her patient. -</p> - -<p> -Madame having bathed Clara's bruises, and given her a cordial of -incomparable efficacy, left her; and Adeline watched in the chamber of -her friend till she retired to her own for the night. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc, whose spirits had suffered much perturbation, was now -tranquillized by the report his sister made of Clara. He introduced the -stranger; and having mentioned the accident he had met with, desired -that he might have immediate assistance. Madame hastened to her closet; -and it is perhaps difficult to determine whether she felt most concern -for the sufferings of her guest, or pleasure at the opportunity thus -offered of displaying her medical skill. However this might be, she -quitted the room with great alacrity, and very quickly returned with a -phial containing her inestimable balsam; and having given the necessary -directions for the application of it, she left the stranger to the care -of his servant. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc insisted that the chevalier, M. Verneuil, should not leave the -chateau that night, and he very readily submitted to be detained. His -manners during the evening were as frank and engaging as the hospitality -and gratitude of La Luc were sincere, and they soon entered into -interesting conversation. M. Verneuil conversed like a man who had seen -much, and thought more; and if he discovered any prejudice in his -opinions, it was evidently the prejudice of a mind which, seeing objects -through the medium of his own goodness, tinges them with the hue of its -predominant quality. La Luc was much pleased, for in his retired -situation he had not often an opportunity of receiving the pleasure -which results from a communion of intelligent minds. He found that M. -Verneuil had travelled. La Luc having asked some questions relative to -England, they fell into discourse concerning the national characters of -the French and English. -</p> - -<p> -If it is the privilege of wisdom, said M. Verneuil, to look beyond -happiness, I own I had rather be without it. When we observe the -English, their laws, writings, and conversations, and at the same time -mark their countenances, manners, and the frequency of suicide among -them, we are apt to believe that wisdom and happiness are incompatible. -If, on the other hand, we turn to their neighbours, the French, and -see<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> their wretched policy, their sparkling but sophistical discourse, -frivolous occupations, and, withal, their gay animated air, we shall be -compelled to acknowledge that happiness and folly too often dwell -together. -</p> - -<p> -It is the end of wisdom, said La Luc, to attain happiness, and I can -hardly dignify that conduct or course of thinking which tends to misery -with the name of wisdom. By this rule, perhaps, the folly, as we term -it, of the French deserves, since its effect is happiness, to be called -wisdom. That airy thoughtlessness, which alike to contemn reflection and -anticipation, produces all the effect of it without reducing its -subjects to the mortification of philosophy. But in truth wisdom is an -exertion of mind to subdue folly; and as the happiness of the French is -less the consequence of mind than of constitution, it deserves not the -honours of wisdom. -</p> - -<p> -Discoursing on the variety of opinions that are daily formed on the same -conduct, La Luc observed how much that which is commonly called opinion -is the result of passion and temper. -</p> - -<p> -True, said M. Vernueil, there is a tone of thought, as there is a key -note in music, that leads all its weaker affections. Thus, where the -powers of judging may be equal, the disposition to judge is different; -and the actions of men are but too often arraigned by whim and caprice, -by partial vanity, and the humour of the moment. -</p> - -<p> -Here La Luc took occasion to reprobate the conduct of those writers, -who, by showing the dark side only of human nature, and by dwelling on -the evils only which are incident to humanity, have sought to degrade -man in his own eyes, and to make him discontented with life. What should -we say of a painter, continued La Luc, who collected in his piece -objects of a black hue only, who presents you with a black man, a black -horse, a black dog, &c. &c., and tells you that his is a picture of -nature, and that nature is black?—'Tis true, you would reply, the -objects you exhibit do exist in nature, but they form a very small part -of her works. You say that nature is black, and, to prove it, you have -collected on your canvass all the animals of this hue that exist. But -you have forgot to paint the green earth, the blue sky, the white man, -and objects of all those various hues with which creation abounds, and -of which black is a very inconsiderable part. -</p> - -<p> -The countenance of M. Verneuil lightened with peculiar animation during -the discourse of La Luc.—To think well of his nature, said he, is -necessary to the dignity and the happiness of man. There is a decent -pride which becomes every mind, and is congenial to virtue. That -consciousness of innate dignity, which shows him the glory of his -nature, will be his best protection from the meanness of vice. Where -this consciousness is wanting, continued M. Verneuil, there can be no -sense of moral honour, and consequently none of the higher principles of -action. What can be expected of him who says it is his nature to be mean -and selfish? Or who can doubt that he who thinks thus, thinks from the -experience of his own heart, from the tendency of his own inclinations? -Let it always be remembered, that he who would persuade men to be good, -ought to show them that they are great. -</p> - -<p> -You speak, said La Luc, with the honest enthusiasm of a virtuous mind; -and in obeying the impulse of your heart, you utter the truths of -philosophy: and, trust me, a bad heart and a truly philosophic head have -never yet been united in the same individual. Vicious inclinations not -only corrupt the heart, but the understanding, and thus lead to false -reasoning. Virtue only is on the side of truth. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc and his guest, mutually pleased with each other, entered upon the -discussion of subjects so interesting to them both, that it was late -before they parted for the night. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>It must be remembered that this was said in the -seventeenth century.</p></div> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">'Twas such a scene as gave a kind relief</span><br /> -<span class="i0">To memory, in sweetly pensive grief.</span><br /> -<span class="i8">VIRGIL'S TOMB.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Mine be the breezy hill, that skirts the down,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">With here and there a violet bestrown,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">THE MINSTREL.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Repose had so much restored Clara, that when Adeline, anxious to know -how she did, went early in the morning to her chamber, she found her -already risen, and ready to attend the family at breakfast. Monsieur -Verneuil appeared also; but his looks betrayed a want of rest, and -indeed he had suffered during the night a degree of anguish from his arm -which it was an effort of some resolution to endure in silence. It was -now swelled and somewhat inflamed, and this might in some degree be -attributed to the effect of Madame La Luc's balsam, the restorative -qualities of which for once had failed. The whole family sympathized -with his sufferings, and Madame at the request of M. Verneuil, abandoned -her balsam, and substituted an emollient fomentation. -</p> - -<p> -From an application of this, he in a short time found an abatement of -the pain, and returned to the breakfast table with greater composure. -The happiness which La Luc felt at seeing his daughter in safety was -very apparent; but the warmth of his gratitude towards her preserver he -found it difficult to express. Clara spoke the genuine emotions of her -heart with artless but modest energy, and testified sincere concern for -the sufferings which she had occasioned M. Verneuil. -</p> - -<p> -The pleasure received from the company of his guest, and the -consideration of the essential services he had rendered him, co-operated -with the natural hospitality of La Luc, and he pressed M. Verneuil to -remain some time at the chateau.—I can never repay the services you -have done me, said La Luc; yet I seek to increase my obligations to you -by requesting you will prolong your visit, and thus allow me an -opportunity of cultivating your acquaintance. -</p> - -<p> -M. Verneuil, who at the time he met La Luc was travelling from Geneva to -a distant part of Savoy, merely for the purpose of viewing the country, -being now delighted with his host and with every thing around him, -willingly accepted the invitation. In this circumstance prudence -concurred with inclination, for to have pursued his journey on -horseback, in his present situation, would have been dangerous, if not -impracticable. -</p> - -<p> -The morning was spent in conversation, in which M. Verneuil displayed a -mind enriched with taste, enlightened by science, and enlarged by -observation. The situation of the chateau and the features of the -surrounding scenery charmed him, and in the evening he found himself -able to walk with La Luc and explore the beauties of this romantic -region. As they passed through the village, the salutations of the -peasants, in whom love and respect were equally blended, and their eager -inquiries after Clara, bore testimony to the character of La Luc; while -his countenance expressed a serene satisfaction, arising from the -consciousness of deserving and possessing their love.—I live -surrounded by my children, said he, turning to M. Verneuil, who had noticed -their eagerness; for such I consider my parishioners. In discharging the -duties of my office, I am repaid not only by my own conscience, but by -their gratitude. There is a luxury in observing their simple and honest -love, which I would not exchange for any thing the world calls -blessings. -</p> - -<p> -Yet the world, Sir, would call the pleasures of which you speak -romantic, said M. Verneuil; for to be sensible of this pure and -exquisite delight requires a heart untainted with the vicious pleasures -of society—pleasures that deaden its finest feelings and poison the -source of its truest enjoyments.—They pursued their way along the -borders of the lake, sometimes under the shade of hanging woods, and -sometimes over hillocks of turf, where the scene opened in all its wild -magnificence. M. Verneuil often stopped in raptures to observe and point -out the singular beauties it exhibited, while La Luc, pleased with the -delight his friend expressed, surveyed with more than usual satisfaction -the objects which had so often charmed him before. But there was a -tender melancholy in the tone of his voice and his countenance, which -arose from the recollection of having often traced those scenes, and -partaken of the pleasure they inspired, with her who had long since bade -them an eternal farewell. -</p> - -<p> -They presently quitted the lake, and, winding up a steep ascent between -the woods, came after a hour's walk to a green summit, which appeared, -among the savage rocks that environed it, like the blossom on the thorn. -It was a spot formed for solitary delight, inspiring that soothing -tenderness so dear to the feeling mind, and which calls back to memory -the images of past regret, softened by distance and endeared by frequent -recollection. Wild shrubs grew from the crevices of the rocks beneath, -and the high trees of pine and cedar that waved above, afforded a -melancholy and romantic shade. The silence of the scene was interrupted -only by the breeze as it rolled over the woods, and by the solitary -notes of the birds that inhabited the cliffs. -</p> - -<p> -From this point the eye commanded an entire view of those majestic and -sublime Alps whose aspect fills the soul with emotions of indescribable -awe, and seems to lift it to a nobler nature. The village and the -chateau of La Luc appeared in the bosom of the mountains, a peaceful -retreat from the storms that gathered on their tops. All the faculties -of M. Verneuil were absorbed in admiration, and he was for some time -quite silent; at length, bursting into a rhapsody, he turned, and would -have addressed La Luc, when he perceived him at a distance leaning -against a rustic urn, over which drooped in beautiful luxuriance the -weeping willow. -</p> - -<p> -As he approached, La Luc quitted his position, and advanced to meet him, -while M. Verneuil inquired upon what occasion the urn had been erected. -La Luc, unable to answer, pointed to it, and walked silently away, and -M. Verneuil approaching the urn, read the following inscription: -</p> - -<h4>TO<br /> -THE MEMORY OF CLARA LA LUC,<br /> -THIS URN</h4> - -<h5>IS ERECTED ON THE SPOT WHICH SHE<br /> -LOVED, IN TESTIMONY OF<br /> -THE AFFECTION OF</h5> -<h4>A HUSBAND.</h4> - -<p> -M. Verneuil now comprehended the whole, and, feeling for his friend, was -hurt that he had noticed this monument of his grief. He rejoined La Luc, -who was standing on the point of the eminence contemplating the -landscape below with an air more placid, and touched with the sweetness -of piety and resignation. He perceived that M. Verneuil was somewhat -disconcerted, and he sought to remove his uneasiness. You will consider -it, said he, as a mark of my esteem that I have brought you to this -spot: it is never profaned by the presence of the unfeeling; they would -deride the faithfulness of an attachment which has so long survived its -object, and which, in their own breasts, would quickly have been lost -amidst the dissipation of general society. I have cherished in my heart -the remembrance of a woman whose virtues claimed all my love: I have -cherished it as a treasure to which I could withdraw from temporary -cares and vexations, in the certainty of finding a soothing, though -melancholy comfort. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc paused. M. Verneuil expressed the sympathy he felt, but he knew -the sacredness of sorrow, and soon relapsed into silence. One of the -brightest hopes of a future state, resumed La Luc, is, that we shall -meet again those whom we have loved upon earth. And perhaps our -happiness may be permitted to consist very much in the society of our -friends, purified from the frailties of mortality, with the finer -affections more sweetly attuned, and with the faculties of mind -infinitely more elevated and enlarged. We shall then be enabled to -comprehend subjects which are too vast for human conception; to -comprehend, perhaps, the sublimity of that Deity who first called us -into being. These views of futurity, my friend, elevate us above the -evils of this world, and seem to communicate to us a portion of the -nature we contemplate. -</p> - -<p> -Call them not the illusions of a visionary brain, proceeded La Luc: I -trust in their reality. Of this I am certain, that whether they are -illusions or not, a faith in them ought to be cherished for the comfort -it brings to the heart, and reverenced for the dignity it imparts to the -mind. Such feelings make a happy and an important part of our belief in -a future existence: they give energy to virtue, and stability to -principle. -</p> - -<p> -This, said M. Verneuil, is what I have often felt, and what every -ingenuous mind must acknowledge. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc and M. Verneuil continued in conversation till the sun had left -the scene. The mountains, darkened by twilight, assumed a sublimer -aspect, while the tops of some of the highest Alps were yet illuminated -by the sun's rays, and formed a striking contrast to the shadowy -obscurity of the world below. As they descended through the woods, and -traversed the margin of the lake, the stillness and solemnity of the -hour diffused a pensive sweetness over their minds, and sunk them into -silence. -</p> - -<p> -They found supper spread, as was usual, in the hall, of which the -windows opened upon a garden, where the flowers might be said to yield -their fragrance in gratitude to the refreshing dews. The windows were -embowered with eglantine and other sweet shrubs, which hung in wild -luxuriance around, and formed a beautiful and simple decoration. Clara -and Adeline loved to pass their evenings in this hall, where they had -acquired the first rudiments of astronomy, and from which they had a -wide view of the heavens. La Luc pointed out to them the planets and the -fixed stars, explained their laws, and from thence taking occasion to -mingle moral with scientific instruction, would often ascend towards -that great First Cause, whose nature soars beyond the grasp of human -comprehension. -</p> - -<p> -No study, he would sometimes say, so much enlarges the mind, or -impresses it with so sublime an idea of the Deity, as that of astronomy. -When the imagination launches into the regions of space, and -contemplates the innumerable worlds which are scattered through it, we -are lost in astonishment and awe. This globe appears as a mass of atoms -in the immensity of the universe, and man a mere insect. Yet how -wonderful! that man, whose frame is so diminutive in the scale of being, -should have powers which spurn the narrow boundaries of time and place, -soar beyond the sphere of his existence, penetrate the secret laws of -nature, and calculate their progressive effects. -</p> - -<p> -O! how expressively does this prove the spirituality of our being! Let -the materialist consider it, and blush that he has ever doubted. -</p> - -<p> -In this hall the whole family now met at supper; and during the -remainder of the evening the conversation turned upon general subjects, -in which Clara joined in modest and judicious remark. La Luc had taught -her to familiarize her mind to reasoning, and had accustomed her to -deliver her sentiments freely: she spoke them with a simplicity -extremely engaging, and which convinced her hearers that the love of -knowledge, not the vanity of talking, induced her to converse. M. -Verneuil evidently endeavoured to draw forth her sentiments; and Clara, -interested by the subjects he introduced, a stranger to affectation, and -pleased with the opinions he expressed, answered them with frankness and -animation. They retired mutually pleased with each other. -</p> - -<p> -M. Verneuil was about six-and-thirty; his figure manly, his countenance -frank and engaging. A quick penetrating eye, whose fire was softened by -benevolence, disclosed the chief traits of his character; he was quick -to discern, but generous to excuse, the follies of mankind; and while no -one more sensibly felt an injury, none more readily accepted the -concession of an enemy. -</p> - -<p> -He was by birth a Frenchman. A fortune lately devolved to him, had -enabled him to execute the plan which his active and inquisitive mind -had suggested, of viewing the most remarkable parts of the continent. He -was peculiarly susceptible of the beautiful and sublime in nature. To -such a taste, Switzerland and the adjacent country was, of all others, -the most interesting; and he found the scenery it exhibited infinitely -surpassing all that his glowing imagination had painted; he saw with the -eye of a painter, and felt with the rapture of a poet. -</p> - -<p> -In the habitation of La Luc he met with the hospitality, the frankness, -and the simplicity so characteristic of the country; in his venerable -host he saw the strength of philosophy united with the finest tenderness -of humanity—a philosophy which taught him to correct his feelings, -not to annihilate them; in Clara, the bloom of beauty with the most perfect -simplicity of heart; and in Adeline, all the charms of elegance and -grace, with a genius deserving of the highest culture. In this family -picture the goodness of Madame La Luc was not unperceived or forgotten. -The cheerfulness and harmony that reigned within the chateau was -delightful; but the philanthropy which, flowing from the heart of the -pastor, was diffused through the whole village, and united the -inhabitants in the sweet and firm bonds of social compact, was divine. -The beauty of its situation conspired with these circumstances to make -Leloncourt seem almost a paradise. M. Verneuil sighed that he must soon -quit it. I ought to seek no further, said he, for here wisdom and -happiness dwell together. -</p> - -<p> -The admiration was reciprocal: La Luc and his family found themselves -much interested in M. Verneuil, and looked forward to the time of his -departure with regret. So warmly they pressed him to prolong his visit, -and so powerfully his own inclinations seconded theirs, that he accepted -the invitation. La Luc admitted no circumstance which might contribute -to the amusement of his guest, who having in a few days recovered the -use of his arm, they made several excursions among the mountains. -Adeline and Clara, whom the care of Madame had restored to her usual -health, were generally of the party. -</p> - -<p> -After spending a week at the chateau, M. Verneuil bade adieu to La Luc -and his family. They parted with mutual regret; and the former promised -that when he returned to Geneva, he would take Leloncourt in his way. As -he said this, Adeline, who had for some time observed with much alarm La -Luc's declining health, looked mournfully on his languid countenance, -and uttered a secret prayer that he might live to receive the visit of -M. Verneuil. -</p> - -<p> -Madame was the only person who did not lament his departure; she saw -that the efforts of her brother to entertain his guest were more than -his present state of health would admit of, and she rejoiced in the -quiet that would now return to him. -</p> - -<p> -But this quiet brought La Luc no respite from illness; the fatigue he -had suffered in his late excursions seemed to have increased his -disorder, which in a short time assumed the aspect of a consumption. -Yielding to the solicitations of his family, he went to Geneva for -advice, and was there recommended to try the air of Nice. -</p> - -<p> -The journey thither, however, was of considerable length; and believing -his life to be very precarious, he hesitated whether to go. He was also -unwilling to leave the duty of his parish unperformed for so long a -period as his health might require; but this was an objection which -would not have withheld him from Nice, had his faith in the climate been -equal to that of his physicians. -</p> - -<p> -His parishioners felt the life of their pastor to be of the utmost -consequence to them: it was a general cause, and they testified at once -his worth, and their sense of it, by going in a body to solicit him to -leave them. He was much affected by this instance of their attachment. -Such a proof of regard, joined with the entreaties of his own family, -and a consideration that for their sakes it was a duty to endeavour to -prolong his life, was too powerful to be withstood, and he determined to -set out for Italy. -</p> - -<p> -It was settled that Clara and Adeline, whose health La Luc thought -required change of air and scene, should accompany him, attended by the -faithful Peter. -</p> - -<p> -On the morning of his departure, a large body of his parishioners -assembled round the door to bid him farewell. It was an affecting -scene;—they might meet no more. At length, wiping the tears from his -eyes, La Luc said, Let us trust in God, my friends; he has power to heal -all disorders both of body and mind. We shall meet again, if not in this -world, I hope in a better;—let our conduct be such as to ensure that -better. -</p> - -<p> -The sobs of his people prevented any reply. There was scarcely a dry eye -in the village; for there was scarcely an inhabitant of it that was not -now assembled in the presence of La Luc. He shook hands with them all; -Farewell, my friends, said he, we shall meet again.—God grant we may! -said they, with one voice of fervent petition. -</p> - -<p> -Having mounted his horse, and Clara and Adeline being ready, they took a -last leave of Madame La Luc, and quitted the chateau. The people -unwilling to leave La Luc, the greater part of them accompanied him to -some distance from the village. As he moved slowly on, he cast a last -lingering look at his little home, where he had spent so many peaceful -years, and which he now gazed on perhaps for the last time, and tears -rose to his eyes; but he checked them. Every scene of the adjacent -country called up, as he passed, some tender remembrance. He looked -towards the spot consecrated to the memory of his deceased wife; the -dewy vapours of the morning veiled it. La Luc felt the disappointment -more deeply, perhaps, than reason could justify; but those who know from -experience how much the imagination loves to dwell on any object, -however remotely connected with that of our tenderness, will feel with -him. This was an object round which the affections of La Luc had settled -themselves; it was a memorial to the eye, and the view of it awakened -more forcibly in the memory every tender idea that could associate with -the primary subject of his regard. In such cases fancy gives to the -illusions of strong affection the stamp of reality, and they are -cherished by the heart with romantic fondness. -</p> - -<p> -His people accompanied him for near a mile from the village, and could -scarcely then be prevailed on to leave him: at length he once more bade -them farewell, and went on his way, followed by their prayers and -blessings. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc and his little party travelled slowly on, sunk in pensive -silence—a silence too pleasingly sad to be soon relinquished, and -which they indulged without fear of interruption. The solitary grandeur of -the scenes through which they passed, and the soothing murmur of the pines -that waved above, aided this soft luxury of meditation. -</p> - -<p> -They proceeded by easy stages; and after travelling for some days among -the romantic mountains and green valleys of Piedmont, they entered the -rich country of Nice. The gay and luxuriant views which now opened upon -the travellers as they wound among the hills, appeared like scenes of -fairy enchantment, or those produced by the lonely visions of the poets. -While the spiral summits of the mountains exhibited the snowy severity -of winter, the pine, the cypress, the olive, and the myrtle shaded their -sides with the green tints of spring, and groves of orange, lemon, and -citron, spread over their feet the full glow of autumn. As they -advanced, the scenery became still more diversified; and at length, -between the receding heights, Adeline caught a glimpse of the distant -waters of the Mediterranean fading into the blue and cloudless horizon. -She had never till now seen the ocean; and this transient view of it -roused her imagination, and made her watch impatiently for a nearer -prospect. -</p> - -<p> -It was towards the close of day when the travellers, winding round an -abrupt projection of that range of Alps which crowns the amphitheatre -that environs Nice, looked down upon the green hills that stretch to the -shores, on the city, and its ancient castle, and on the wide waters of -the Mediterranean; with the mountains of Corsica in the furthest -distance. Such a sweep of sea and land, so varied with the gay, the -magnificent, and the awful, would have fixed any eye in admiration. For -Adeline and Clara novelty and enthusiasm added their charms to the -prospect. The soft and salubrious air seemed to welcome La Luc to this -smiling region, and the serene atmosphere to promise invariable summer. -They at length descended upon the little plain where stands the city of -Nice, and which was the most extensive piece of level ground they had -passed since they entered the country. Here, in the bosom of the -mountains, sheltered from the north and the east, where the western -gales alone seemed to breathe, all the blooms of spring and the riches -of autumn were united. Trees of myrtle bordered the road, which wound -among groves of orange, lemon, and bergamot, whose delicious fragrance -came to the sense mingled with the breath of roses and carnations that -blossomed in their shade. The gently swelling hills that rose from the -plain were covered with vines, and crowned with cypresses, olives, and -date trees; beyond, there appeared the sweep of lofty mountains whence -the travellers had descended, and whence rose the little river Paglion, -swollen by the snows that melt on their summits, and which, after -meandering through the plain, washes the walls of Nice, where it falls -into the Mediterranean. In this blooming region Adeline observed that -the countenances of the peasants, meagre and discontented, formed a -melancholy contrast to the face of the country; and she lamented again -the effects of an arbitrary government, where the bounties of nature, -which were designed for all, are monopolized by a few, and the many are -suffered to starve, tantalized by surrounding plenty. -</p> - -<p> -The city lost much of its enchantment on a nearer approach; its narrow -streets and shabby houses but ill answered the expectation which a -distant view of its ramparts and its harbour, gay with vessels, seemed -to authorize. The appearance of the inn at which La Luc now alighted did -not contribute to soften his disappointment: but if he was surprised to -find such indifferent accommodation at the inn of a town celebrated as -the resort of valetudinarians, he was still more so when he learned the -difficulty of procuring furnished lodgings. -</p> - -<p> -After much search, he procured apartments in a small but pleasant house -situated a little way out of the town; it had a garden, and a terrace -which overlooked the sea, and was distinguished by an air of neatness -very unusual in the houses of Nice. He agreed to board with the family, -whose table likewise accommodated a gentleman and lady, their lodgers; -and thus he became a temporary inhabitant of this charming climate. -</p> - -<p> -On the following morning Adeline rose at an early hour, eager to indulge -the new and sublime emotion with which a view of the ocean inspired her, -and walked with Clara toward the hills that afforded a more extensive -prospect. They pursued their way for some time between high embowering -banks, till they arrived at an eminence, whence: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Heaven, earth, ocean, smiled!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -They sat down on a point of rock overshadowed by lofty palm-trees, to -contemplate at leisure the magnificent scene. The sun was just emerged -from the sea, over which his rays shed a flood of light, and darted a -thousand brilliant tints on the vapours that ascend the horizon, and -floated there in light clouds, leaving the bosom of the waters below -clear as crystal, except where the white surges were seen to beat upon -the rocks; and discovering the distant sails of the fishing-boats, and -the far distant highlands of Corsica tinted with ethereal blue. Clara, -after some time, drew forth her pencil, but threw it aside in despair. -Adeline, as they returned home through a romantic glen, when her senses -were no longer absorbed in the contemplation of this grand scenery, and -when its images floated on her memory only in softened colours, repeated -the following lines: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">SUNRISE: A SONNET</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Oft let me wander, at the break of day,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Through the cool vale o'erhung with waving woods,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Drink the rich fragrance of the budding May,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And catch the murmur of the distant floods;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or rest on the fresh bank of limpid rill,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Where sleeps the violet in the dewy shade,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Where opening lilies balmy sweets distil,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And the wild musk-rose weeps along the glade:</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or climb the eastern cliff, whose airy head</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Hangs rudely o'er the blue and misty main;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Watch the fine hues of morn through ether spread,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And paint with roseate glow the crystal plain.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Oh! who can speak the rapture of the soul</span><br /> -<span class="i0">When o'er the waves the sun first steals to sight,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And all the world of waters, as they roll,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And Heaven's vast vault unveils in living light!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">So life's young hour to man enchanting smiles,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">With sparkling health, and joy, and fancy's fairy wiles!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -La Luc in his walks met with some sensible and agreeable companions, who -like himself came to Nice in search of health. Of these he soon formed a -small but pleasant society, among whom was a Frenchman, whose mild -manners, marked with a deep and interesting melancholy, had particularly -attracted La Luc. He very seldom mentioned himself, or any circumstance -that might lead to a knowledge of his family, but on other subjects -conversed with frankness and much intelligence. La Luc had frequently -invited him to his lodgings, but he had always declined the invitation; -and this in a manner so gentle as to disarm displeasure, and convince La -Luc that his refusal was the consequence of a certain dejection of mind -which made him reluctant to meet other strangers. -</p> - -<p> -The description which La Luc had given of this foreigner had excited the -curiosity of Clara; and the sympathy which the unfortunate feel for each -other called forth the commiseration of Adeline; for that he was -unfortunate she could not doubt. On their return from an evening walk La -Luc pointed out the chevalier, and quickened his pace to overtake him. -Adeline was for a moment impelled to follow; but delicacy checked her -steps, she knew how painful the presence of a stranger often is to a -wounded mind, and forbore to intrude herself on his notice for the sake -of only satisfying an idle curiosity. She turned therefore into another -path: but the delicacy which now prevented the meeting, accident in a -few days defeated, and La Luc introduced the stranger. Adeline received -him with a soft smile, but endeavoured to restrain the expression of -pity which her features had involuntarily assumed; she wished him not to -know that she observed he was unhappy. -</p> - -<p> -After this interview he no longer rejected the invitations of La Luc, -but made him frequent visits, and often accompanied Adeline and Clara in -their rambles. The mild and sensible conversation of the former seemed -to soothe his mind, and in her presence he frequently conversed with a -degree of animation which La Luc till then had not observed in him. -Adeline too derived from the similarity of their taste, and his -intelligent conversation, a degree of satisfaction which contributed, -with the compassion his dejection inspired, to win her confidence, and -she conversed with an easy frankness rather unusual to her. -</p> - -<p> -His visits soon became more frequent. He walked with La Luc and his -family; he attended them on their little excursions to view those -magnificent remains of Roman antiquity which enrich the neighbourhood of -Nice. When the ladies sat at home and worked, he enlivened the hours by -reading to them, and they had the pleasure to observe his spirits -somewhat relieved from the heavy melancholy that had oppressed him. -</p> - -<p> -M. Amand was passionately fond of music. Clara had not forgot to bring -her beloved lute: he would sometimes strike the chords in the most sweet -and mournful symphonies, but never could be prevailed on to play. When -Adeline or Clara played, he would sit in deep reverie, and lost to every -object around him, except when he fixed his eyes in mournful gaze on -Adeline, and a sigh would sometimes escape him. -</p> - -<p> -One evening, Adeline having excused herself from accompanying La Luc and -Clara in a visit to a neighbouring family, she retired to the terrace of -the garden which overlooked the sea; and as she viewed the tranquil -splendour of the setting sun, and his glories reflected on the polished -surface of the waves, she touched the strings of the lute in softest -harmony, her voice accompanying it with words which she had one day -written after having read that rich effusion of Shakespeare's genius, "A -Midsummer Night's Dream." -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">TITANIA TO HER LOVE.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">O! fly with me through distant air</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To isles that gem the western deep!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">For laughing Summer revels there,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And hangs her wreath on every steep.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As through the green transparent sea</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Light floating on the waves we go,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">The nymphs shall gaily welcome me,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Far in their coral caves below.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For oft upon their margin sands,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">When twilight leads the freshening hours,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I come with all my jocund bands</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To charm them from their sea-green bowers.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And well they love our sports to view,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And on the ocean's breast to lave;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And oft as we the dance renew,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">They call up music from the wave.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Swift hie we to that splendid clime,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Where gay Jamaica spreads her scene,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Lifts the blue mountain—wild—sublime!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And smooths her vales of vivid green.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where throned high, in pomp of shade,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The <i>power of vegetation</i> reigns,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Expanding wide, o'er hill and glade,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Shrubs of all growth—fruit of all stains:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She steals the sun-beam's fervid glow,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To paint her flowers of mingling hue;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And o'er the grape the purple throw,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Breaking from verdant leaves to view.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There myrtle bowers, and citron grove,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">O'er canopy our airy dance;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And there the sea-breeze loves to rove,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">When trembles day's departing glance.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the false moon steals away,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or ere the chasing morn doth rise,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Oft, fearless, we our gambols play</span><br /> -<span class="i2">By the fire-worm's radiant eyes.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And suck the honey'd reeds that swell</span><br /> -<span class="i2">In tufted plumes of silver white;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Or pierce the cocoa's milky cell,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To sip the nectar of delight!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the shaking thunders roll,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And lightnings strike athwart the gloom,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">We shelter in the cedar's bole,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And revel 'mid the rich perfume!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But chief we love beneath the palm,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or verdant plantain's spreading leaf,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">To hear, upon the midnight calm,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sweet Philomela pour her grief.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To mortal sprite such dulcet sound,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Such blissful hours, were never known!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">O fly with me my airy round,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And I will make them all thine own!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Adeline ceased to sing—when she immediately heard repeated in a low -voice: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To mortal sprite such dulcet sound,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Such blissful hours, were never known!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -and turning her eyes whence it came, she saw M. Amand. She blushed and -laid down the lute, which he instantly took up, and with a tremulous -hand drew forth tones -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure08.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That might create a soul,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Under the ribs of death:</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -In a melodious voice, that trembled with sensibility, he sang the -following -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">SONNET</span><br /> -<span class="i2">How sweet is Love's first gentle sway,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">When crown'd with flowers he softly smiles!</span><br /> -<span class="i3">His blue eyes fraught with tearful wiles,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Where beams of tender transport play:</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Hope leads him on his airy way,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">And faith and fancy still beguiles——</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Faith quickly tangled in her toils——</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Fancy, whose magic forms so say</span><br /> -<span class="i3">The fair deceiver's self deceive——</span><br /> -<span class="i3">How sweet is love's first gentle sway!</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Ne'er would that heart he bids to grieve</span><br /> -<span class="i2">From sorrow's soft enchantments stray——</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Ne'er—till the God exulting in his art,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Relentless frowns and wings th' envenom'd dart.</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Monsieur Amand paused: he seemed much oppressed, and at length, bursting -into tears, laid down the instrument and walked abruptly away to the -further end of the terrace. Adeline, without seeming to observe his -agitation, arose and leaned upon the wall, below which a group of -fishermen were busily employed in drawing a net. In a few moments he -returned with a composed and softened countenance. Forgive this abrupt -conduct, said he; I know not how to apologize for it but by owning its -cause. When I tell you, Madame, that my tears flow to the memory of a -lady who strongly resembled you, and who is lost to me for ever, you -will know how to pity me.—His voice faltered, and he paused. -Adeline was silent. The lute he resumed, was her favourite instrument, -and when you touched it with such a melancholy expression, I saw her -very image before me. But, alas! why do I distress you with a knowledge -of my sorrows! she is gone, and never to return! And you, -Adeline,—you——He checked his speech; and Adeline -turning on him a look of mournful regard, observed a wildness in his -eyes which alarmed her. These recollections are too painful, said she in -a gentle voice: let us return to the house; M. La Luc is probably come -home. O no! replied M. Amand;—No—this breeze refreshes me. -How often at this hour have I talked with <i>her</i>, as I now talk with -you!—such were the soft tones of her voice—such the -ineffable expression of her countenance.—Adeline interrupted him. -Let me beg of you to consider your health—this dewy air cannot be -good for invalids. He stood with his hands clasped, and seemed not to -hear her. She took up the lute to go, and passed her fingers lightly -over the chords. The sounds recalled his scattered senses: he raised his -eyes, and fixed them in long unsettled gaze upon hers. Must I leave you -here? said she smiling, and standing in an attitude to depart—I -entreat you to play again the air I heard just now, said M. Amand in a -hurried voice.—Certainly; and she immediately began to play. He -leaned against a palm tree in an attitude of deep attention, and as the -sounds languished on the air, his features gradually lost their wild -expression, and he melted into tears. He continued to weep silently till -the song concluded, and it was some time before he recovered voice -enough to say, Adeline, I cannot thank you for this goodness: my mind -has recovered its bias; you have soothed a broken heart. Increase the -kindness you have shown me, by promising never to mention what you have -witnessed this evening, and I will endeavour never again to wound your -sensibility by a similar offence.—Adeline gave the required -promise; and M. Amand, pressing her hand, with a melancholy smile -hurried from the garden, and she saw him no more that night. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc had been near a fortnight at Nice, and his health, instead of -amending seemed rather to decline, yet he wished to make a longer -experiment of the climate. The air which failed to restore her venerable -friend revived Adeline, and the variety and novelty of the surrounding -scenes amused her mind, though, since they could not obliterate the -memory of past, or suppress the pang of present affection, they were -ineffectual to dissipate the sick languor of melancholy. Company, by -compelling her to withdraw her attention from the subject of her sorrow, -afforded her a transient relief, but the violence of the exertion -generally left her more depressed. It was in the stillness of solitude, -in the tranquil observance of beautiful nature, that her mind recovered -its tone, and, indulging the pensive inclination now become habitual to -it, was soothed and fortified. Of all the grand objects which nature had -exhibited, the ocean inspired her with the most sublime admiration. She -loved to wander alone on its shores; and when she could escape so long -from the duties or forms of society, she would sit for hours on the -beach watching the rolling waves, and listening to their dying murmur, -till her softened fancy recalled long-lost scenes, and restored the -image of Theodore; when tears of despondency too often followed those of -pity and regret. But these visions of memory, painful as they were, no -longer excited that phrensy of grief they formerly awakened in Savoy; -the sharpness of misery was passed, though its heavy influence was not -perhaps less powerful. To these solitary indulgences generally succeeded -calmness, and what Adeline endeavoured to believe was resignation. -</p> - -<p> -She usually rose early, and walked down to the shore to enjoy, in the -cool and silent hours of the morning, the cheering beauty of nature, and -inhale the pure sea-breeze. Every object then smiled in fresh and lively -colours. The blue sea, the brilliant sky, the distant fishing-boats with -their white sails, and the voices of the fishermen borne at intervals on -the air, were circumstances which reanimated her spirits; and in one of -her rambles, yielding to that taste for poetry which had seldom forsaken -her, she repeated the following lines:— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">MORNING, ON THE SEA SHORE</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">What print of fairy feet is here</span><br /> -<span class="i0">On Neptune's smooth and yellow sands?</span><br /> -<span class="i2">What midnight revel's airy dance,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Beneath the moonbeam's trembling glance</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Has blest these shores?—What sprightly bands</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Have chased the waves uncheck'd by fear?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Whoe'er they were they fled from morn,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">For now, all silent and forlorn,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">These tide-forsaken sands appear—</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Return, sweet sprites! the scene to cheer!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In vain the call!—Till moonlight's hour</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Again diffuse its softer power,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Titania, nor her fairy loves,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Emerge from India's spicy groves.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Then, when the shadowy hour returns,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">When silence reigns o'er air and earth,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And every star in ether burns,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">They come to celebrate their mirth;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">In frolic ringlet trip the ground,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Bid music's voice on silence win,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Till magic echoes answer round—</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Thus do their festive rites begin.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O fairy forms so coy to mortal ken,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Your mystic steps to poets only shown;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">O! lead me to the brook, or hollow'd glen,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Retiring far, with winding woods o'ergrown</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Where'er ye best delight to rule;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">If in some forest's lone retreat,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Thither conduct my willing feet</span><br /> -<span class="i3">To the light brink of fountain cool,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Where, sleeping in the midnight dew,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Lie spring's young buds of every hue,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Yielding their sweet breath to the air;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To fold their silken leaves from harm,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And their chill heads in moonshine warm,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Is bright Titania's tender care.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There, to the night-birds's plaintive chaunt</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Your carols sweet ye love to raise,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">With oaten reed and pastoral lays;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And guard with forceful spell her haunt,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Who, when your antic sports are done,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Oft lulls ye in the lily's cell,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Sweet flower! that suits your slumbers well,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And shields ye from the rising sun.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">When not to India's steeps ye fly</span><br /> -<span class="i2">After twilight and the moon,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">In honey buds ye love to lie,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">While reigns supreme light's fervid noon;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Nor quit the cell where peace pervades.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Till night leads on the dews and shades.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">E'en now your scenes enchanted meet my sight!</span><br /> -<span class="i3">I see the earth unclose, the palace rise,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">The high dome swell, and long arcades of light</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Glitter among the deep embowering woods,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And glance reflecting from the trembling floods!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While to soft lutes the portals wide unfold,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">And fairy forms, of fine ethereal dyes,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Advance with frolic step and laughing eyes,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Their hair with pearl, their garments deck'd with gold;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Pearls that in Neptune's briny waves they sought,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And gold from India's deepest caverns brought.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Thus your light visions to my eyes unveil,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Ye sportive pleasures, sweet illusion, hail!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">But ah! at morn's first blush again ye fade!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">So from youth's ardent gaze life's landscape gay,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And forms in fancy's summer hues array'd,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Dissolve at once in air at truth's resplendent day!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -During several days succeeding that on which M. Amand had disclosed the -cause of his melancholy, he did not visit La Luc. At length Adeline met -him in one of her solitary rambles on the shore. He was pale, and -dejected, and seemed much agitated when he observed her; she therefore -endeavoured to avoid him, but he advanced with quickened steps and -accosted her. He said it was his intention to leave Nice in a few days. -I have found no benefit from the climate, added M. Amand; alas! what -climate can relieve the sickness of the heart! I go to lose in the -varieties of new scenes the remembrance of past happiness; yet the -effort is vain; I am every where equally restless and unhappy. Adeline -tried to encourage him to hope much from time and change of -place. Time <i>will</i> blunt the sharpest edge of sorrow, said -she; I know it from experience. Yet while she spoke, the tears in her -eyes contradicted the assertions of her lips.—You have been unhappy, -Adeline!—Yes—I knew it from the first. The smile of pity -which you gave me, assured me that you knew what it was to suffer. The -desponding air with which he spoke renewed her apprehension of a scene -similar to the one she had lately witnessed, and she changed the -subject; but he soon returned to it. You bid me hope much from -time!—My wife!—My dear wife!——his tongue -faltered—It is now many months since I lost her—yet the -moment of her death seems but as yesterday. Adeline faintly smiled. You -can scarcely judge of the effect of time, yet you have much to hope for. -He shook his head. But I am again intruding my misfortunes on your -notice; forgive this perpetual egotism. There is a comfort in the pity -of the good, such as nothing else can impart; this must plead my excuse; -may you, Adeline, never want it! Ah! those tears——Adeline -hastily dried them. M. Amand forbore to press the subject, and -immediately began to converse on indifferent topics. They returned -towards the chateau; but La Luc being from home, M. Amand took leave at -the door. Adeline retired to her chamber, oppressed by her own sorrows, -and those of her amiable friend. -</p> - -<p> -Near three weeks had now elapsed at Nice, during which the disorder of -La Luc seemed rather to increase than abate, when his physician very -honestly confessed the little hope he entertained from the climate, and -advised him to try the effect of a sea voyage, adding that if the -experiment failed, even the air of Montpellier appeared to him more -likely to afford relief than that of Nice. La Luc received this -disinterested advice with a mixture of gratitude and disappointment. The -circumstances which had made him reluctant to quit Savoy, rendered him -yet more so to protract his absence and increase his expenses; but the -ties of affection that bound him to his family, and the love of life, -which so seldom leaves us, again prevailed over inferior considerations; -and he determined to coast the Mediterranean as far as Languedoc, where -if the voyage did not answer his expectation he would land and proceed -to Montpellier. -</p> - -<p> -When M. Amand learned that La Luc designed to quit Nice in a few days, -he determined not to leave it before him. During this interval he had -not sufficient resolution to deny himself the frequent conversation of -Adeline, though her presence, by reminding him of his lost wife, gave -him more pain than comfort. He was the second son of a French gentleman -of family, and had been married about a year to a lady to whom he had -long been attached, when she died in her lying-in. The infant soon -followed its mother, and left the disconsolate father abandoned to -grief, which had preyed so heavily on his health, that his physician -thought it necessary to send him to Nice. From the air of Nice, however, -he had derived no benefit; and he now determined to travel further into -Italy, though he no longer felt any interest in those charming scenes -which in happier days and with her whom he never ceased to lament, would -have afforded him the highest degree of mental luxury—now he sought -only to escape from himself, or rather from the image of her who had -once constituted his truest happiness. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc having laid his plan, hired a small vessel, and in a few days -embarked, with a sick hope, bidding adieu to the shores of Italy and the -towering Alps, and seeking on a new element the health which had -hitherto mocked his pursuit. -</p> - -<p> -M. Amand took a melancholy leave of his new friends, whom he attended to -the sea-side. When he assisted Adeline on board, his heart was too full -to suffer him to say farewell; but he stood long on the beach pursuing -with his eyes her course over the waters, and waving his hand, till -tears dimmed his sight. The breeze wafted the vessel gently from the -coast, and Adeline saw herself surrounded by the undulating waves of the -ocean. The shore appeared to recede, its mountains to lessen, the gay -colours of its landscape to melt into each other, and in a short time -the figure of M. Amand was seen no more: the town of Nice, with its -castle and harbour next faded away in distance, and the purple tint of -the mountains was at length all that remained on the verge of the -horizon. She sighed as she gazed, and her eyes filled with tears. So -vanished my prospect of happiness, said she; and my future view is like -the waste of waters that surround me. Her heart was full, and she -retired from observation to a remote part of the deck, where she -indulged her tears as she watched the vessel cut its way through the -liquid glass. The water was so transparent that she saw the sun-beams -playing at a considerable depth, and fish of various colours glance -athwart the current. Innumerable marine plants spread their vigorous -leaves on the rocks below, and the richness of their verdure formed a -beautiful contrast to the glowing scarlet of the coral that branched -beside them. -</p> - -<p> -The distant coast at length entirely disappeared. Adeline gazed with an -emotion the most sublime, on the boundless expanse of waters that spread -on all sides: she seemed as if launched into a new world: the grandeur -and immensity of the view astonished and overpowered her: for a moment -she doubted the truth of the compass, and believed it to be almost -impossible for the vessel to find its way over the pathless waters to -any shore. And when she considered that a plank alone separated her from -death, a sensation of unmixed terror superseded that of sublimity, and -she hastily turned her eyes from the prospect, and her thoughts from the -subject. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Is there a heart that music cannot melt?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Is there who ne'er the mystic transports felt</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Of solitude and melancholy born?</span><br /> -<span class="i0">He need not woo the Muse—he is her scorn.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">BEATTIE.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Towards evening the captain, to avoid the danger of encountering a -Barbary corsair steered for the French coast, and Adeline distinguished -in the gleam of the setting sun the shores of Provence, feathered with -wood and green with pasturage. La Luc, languid and ill, had retired to -the cabin, whither Clara attended him. The pilot at the helm guiding the -tall vessel through the sounding waters, and one solitary sailor leaning -with crossed arms against the mast, and now and then singing parts of a -mournful ditty, were all of the crew, except Adeline, that remained upon -deck—and Adeline silently watched the declining sun, which threw a -saffron glow upon the waves and on the sails gently swelling in the -breeze that was now dying away. The sun at length sunk below the ocean, -and twilight stole over the scene, leaving the shadowy shores yet -visible, and touching with a solemn tint the waters that stretched wide -around. She sketched the picture, but it was with a faint pencil. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">NIGHT</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O'er the dim breast of Ocean's wave</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Night spreads afar her gloomy wings,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And pensive thought, and silence brings,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Save when the distant waters lave;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or when the mariner's lone voice</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Swells faintly in the passing gale,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or when the screaming sea-gulls poise</span><br /> -<span class="i0">O'er the tall mast and swelling sail.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Bounding the grey gleam of the deep,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Where fancied forms arouse the mind,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Dark sweep the shores, on whose rude steep</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Sighs the sad spirit of the wind.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sweet is its voice upon the air,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">At Evening's melancholy close,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">When the smooth wave in silence flows!</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Sweet, sweet the peace its stealing accents bear!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Blest be thy shades, O Night! and blest the song</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Thy low winds breathe the distant shores along!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -As the shadows thickened, the scene sunk into deeper repose. Even the -sailor's song had ceased; no sound was heard but that of the waters -dashing beneath the vessel, and their fainter murmur on the pebbly -coast. Adeline's mind was in unison with the tranquillity of the hour; -lulled by the waves, she resigned herself to a still melancholy and sat -lost in reverie. The present moment brought to her recollection her -voyage up the Rhone, when seeking refuge from the terrors of the Marquis -de Montalt, she so anxiously endeavoured to anticipate her future -destiny. She then, as now, had watched the fall of evening and the -fading prospect, and she remembered what a desolate feeling had -accompanied the impression which those objects made. She had then no -friends—no asylum—no certainty of escaping the pursuit of -her enemy. Now she had found affectionate friends—a secure -retreat—and was delivered from the terrors she then -suffered—but still she was unhappy. The remembrance of -Theodore—of Theodore who had loved her so truly, who had -encountered and suffered so much for her sake, and of whose fate she was -now as ignorant as when she traversed the Rhone, was an incessant pang -to her heart. She seemed to be more remote than ever from the -possibility of hearing of him. Sometimes a faint hope crossed her that -he had escaped the malice of his persecutor; but when she considered the -inveteracy and power of the latter, and the heinous light in which the -law regards an assault upon a superior officer, even this poor hope -vanished, and left her to tears and anguish, such as this reverie, which -began with a sensation of only gentle melancholy, now led to. She -continued to muse till the moon arose from the bosom of the ocean, and -shed her trembling lustre upon the waves, diffusing peace, and making -silence more solemn; beaming a soft light on the white sails, and -throwing upon the waters the tall shadow of the vessel which now seemed -to glide along unopposed by any current. Her tears had somewhat relieved -the anguish of her mind, and she again reposed in placid melancholy, -when a strain of such tender and entrancing sweetness stole on the -silence of the hour, that it seemed more like celestial than mortal -music—so soft, so soothing, it sunk upon her ear, that it recalled -her from misery to hope and love. She wept again—but these were -tears which she would not have exchanged for mirth and joy. She looked -round, but perceived neither ship nor boat; and as the undulating sounds -swelled on the distant air, she thought they came from the shore. -Sometimes the breeze wafted them away, and again returned them in tones -of the most languishing softness. The links of the air thus broken, it -was music rather than melody that she caught, till, the pilot gradually -steering nearer the coast, she distinguished the notes of a song -familiar to her ear. She endeavoured to recollect where she had heard -it, but in vain; yet her heart beat almost unconsciously with a -something resembling hope. Still she listened, till the breeze again -stole the sounds. With regret she now perceived that the vessel was -moving from them, and at length they trembled faintly on the waves, sunk -away at distance, and were heard no more. She remained upon deck a -considerable time, unwilling to relinquish the expectation of hearing -them again, and their sweetness still vibrating on her fancy, and at -length retired to the cabin oppressed by a degree of disappointment -which the occasion did not appear to justify. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc grew better during the voyage, his spirits revived, and when the -vessel entered that part of the Mediterranean called the Gulf of Lyons, -he was sufficiently animated to enjoy from the deck the noble prospect -which the sweeping shores of Provence, terminating in the far distant -ones of Languedoc, exhibited. Adeline and Clara, who anxiously watched -his looks, rejoiced in their amendment; and the fond wishes of the -latter already anticipated his perfect recovery. The expectations of -Adeline had been too often checked by disappointment permit her now to -indulge an equal degree of hope with that of her friend, yet she -confided much in the effect of this voyage. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc amused himself at intervals with discoursing, and pointing out -the situations of considerable ports on the coast, and the mouths of the -rivers that, after wandering through Provence, disembogue themselves -into the Mediterranean. The Rhone, however, was the only one of much -consequence which he passed. On this object, though it was so distant -that fancy perhaps, rather than the sense, beheld it, Clara gazed with -peculiar pleasure, for it came from the banks of Savoy; and the wave -which she thought she perceived, had washed the feet of her dear native -mountains. The time passed with mingled pleasure and improvement as La -Luc described to his attentive pupils the manners and commerce of the -different inhabitants of the coast, and the natural history of the -country: or as he traced in imagination the remote wanderings of rivers -to their source, and delineated the characteristic beauties of their -scenery. -</p> - -<p> -After a pleasant voyage of a few days, the shores of Provence receded, -and that of Languedoc, which had long bounded the distance, became the -grand object of the scene, and the sailors drew near their port. They -landed in the afternoon at a small town, situated at the foot of a woody -eminence, on the right overlooking the sea, and on the left the rich -plains of Languedoc gay with the purple vine. La Luc determined to defer -his journey till the following day, and was directed to a small inn at -the extremity of the town, where the accommodation, such as it was, he -endeavoured to be contented with. -</p> - -<p> -In the evening, the beauty of the hour and the desire of exploring new -scenes, invited Adeline to walk. La Lac was fatigued, and did not go -out, and Clara remained with him. Adeline took her way to the woods that -rose from the margin of the sea, and climbed the wild eminence on which -they hung. Often as she went she turned her eyes to catch between the -dark foliage the blue waters of the bay, the white sail that flitted by, -and the trembling gleam of the setting sun. When she reached the summit, -and looked down over the dark tops of the woods on the wide and various -prospect, she was seized with a kind of still rapture impossible to be -expressed, and stood unconscious of the flight of time, till the sun had -left the scene, and twilight threw its solemn shade upon the mountains. -The sea alone reflected the fading splendour of the west; its tranquil -surface was partially disturbed by the low wind that crept in tremulous -lines along the waters, whence rising to the woods, it shivered their -light leaves, and died away. Adeline, resigning herself to the luxury of -sweet and tender emotions, repeated the following lines:— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">SUNSET</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Soft o'er the mountain's purple brow</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Meek Twilight draws her shadows gray;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">From tufted woods and valleys low,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Light's magic colours steal away.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Yet still, amid the spreading gloom,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Resplendent glow the western waves,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">That roll o'er Neptune's coral caves,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">A zone of light on Evening's dome.</span><br /> -<span class="i3">On this lone summit let me rest,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And view the forms to Fancy dear,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Till on the Ocean's darken'd breast</span><br /> -<span class="i2">The stars of Evening tremble clear;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or the moon's pale orb appear,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Throwing her line of radiance wide,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Far o'er the lightly-curling tide,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">That seems the yellow sands to chide.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">No sounds o'er silence now prevail,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Save of the dying wave below,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Or sailor's song borne on the gale,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Or oar at distance striking slow.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">So sweet! so tranquil! may my evening ray</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Set to this world—and rise in future day!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Adeline quitted the heights, and followed a narrow path that wound to -the beach below: her mind was now particularly sensible to fine -impressions, and the sweet notes of the nightingale amid the stillness -of the woods again awakened her enthusiasm. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">TO THE NIGHTINGALE</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Child of the melancholy song!</span><br /> -<span class="i4">O yet that tender strain prolong!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Her lengthen'd shade when Evening flings,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">From mountain-cliffs, and forests green,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And sailing slow on silent wings,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Along the glimmering West is seen;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">I love o'er pathless hills to stray,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Or trace the winding vale remote,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And pause, sweet Bird! to hear thy lay</span><br /> -<span class="i3">While moonbeams on the thin clouds float,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Till o'er the Mountain's dewy head</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Pale Midnight steals to wake the dead.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Far through the heaven's ethereal blue,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Wafted on Spring's light airs you come,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">With blooms, and flowers, and genial dew,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">From climes where Summer joys to roam;</span><br /> -<span class="i3">O! welcome to your long-lost home!</span><br /> -<span class="i3">"Child of the melancholy song!"</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Who lov'st the lonely woodland glade</span><br /> -<span class="i2">To mourn, unseen, the boughs among,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">When Twilight spreads her pensive shade,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Again thy dulcet voice I hail!</span><br /> -<span class="i4">O pour again the liquid note</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That dies upon the evening gale!</span><br /> -<span class="i3">For Fancy loves the kindred tone;</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Her griefs the plaintive accents own.</span><br /> -<span class="i4">She loves to hear thy music float</span><br /> -<span class="i2">At solemn Midnight's stillest hour,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">And think on friends for ever lost,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">On joys by disappointment crost,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And weep anew Love's charmful power!</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Then Memory wakes the magic smile,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Th' impassion'd voice, the melting eye,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That wont the trusting heart beguile,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">And <i>wakes again</i> the hopeless sigh.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Her skill the glowing tints revive</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Of scenes that Time had bade decay;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">She bids the soften'd Passions live—</span><br /> -<span class="i3">The Passions urge again their sway.</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Yet o'er the long-regretted scene</span><br /> -<span class="i3">Thy song the grace of sorrow throws;</span><br /> -<span class="i2">A melancholy charm serene,</span><br /> -<span class="i3">More rare than all that mirth bestows,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Then hail, sweet Bird, and hail thy pensive tear!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">To Taste, to Fancy, and to Virtue dear!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -The spreading dusk at length reminded Adeline of her distance from the -inn, and that she had her way to find through a wild and lonely wood: -she bade adieu to the syren that had so long detained her, and pursued -the path with quick steps. Having followed it for some time, she became -bewildered among the thickets, and the increasing darkness did not allow -her to judge of the direction she was in. Her apprehensions heightened -her difficulties: she thought she distinguished the voices of men at -some little distance, and she increased her speed till she found herself -on the sea-sands over which the woods impended. Her breath was now -exhausted—she paused a moment to recover herself, and fearfully -listened: but instead of the voices of men, she heard faintly swelling in -the breeze the notes of mournful music.—Her heart, ever sensible to -the impressions of melody, melted with the tones, and her fears were for -a moment lulled in sweet enchantment. Surprise was soon mingled with -delight when, as the sound advanced, she distinguished the tone of that -instrument, and the melody of that well-known air, she had heard a few -preceding evenings from the shores of Provence. But she had no time for -conjecture—footsteps approached, and she renewed her speed. She was -now emerged from the darkness of the woods, and the moon, which shone -bright, exhibited along the level sands the town and port in the -distance. The steps that had followed now came up with her, and she -perceived two men; but they passed in conversation without noticing her, -and as they passed she was certain she recollected the voice of him who -was then speaking. Its tones were so familiar to her ear, that she was -surprised at the imperfect memory which did not suffer her to be assured -by whom they were uttered. Another step now followed, and a rude voice -called to her to stop. As she hastily turned her eyes she saw -imperfectly by the moonlight a man in sailor's habit pursuing, while he -renewed the call. Impelled by terror, she fled along the sands; but her -steps were short and trembling—those of her pursuer strong and quick. -</p> - -<p> -She had just strength sufficient to reach the men who had before passed -her, and to implore their protection, when her pursuer came up with -them, but suddenly turned into the woods on the left, and disappeared. -</p> - -<p> -She had no breath to answer the inquiries of the strangers who supported -her, till a sudden exclamation, and the sound of her own name, drew her -eyes attentively upon the person who uttered them, and in the rays which -shone strong from his features she distinguished M. Verneuil! Mutual -satisfaction and explanation ensued; and when he learned that La Luc and -his daughter were at the inn, he felt an increased pleasure in -conducting her thither. He said that he had accidentally met with an old -friend in Savoy, whom he now introduced by the name of Mauron, and who -had prevailed on him to change his route and accompany him to the shores -of the Mediterranean. They had embarked from the coast of Provence only -a few preceding days, and had that evening landed in Languedoc on the -estate of M. Mauron. Adeline had now no doubt that it was the flute of -M. Verneuil, and which had so often delighted her at Leloncourt, that -she had heard on the sea. -</p> - -<p> -When they reached the inn, they found La Luc under great anxiety for -Adeline, in search of whom he had sent several people. Anxiety yielded -to surprise and pleasure, when he perceived her with M. Verneuil, whose -eyes beamed with unusual animation on seeing Clara. After mutual -congratulations, M. Verneuil observed, and lamented, the very -indifferent accommodation which the inn afforded his friends, and M. -Mauron immediately invited them to his chateau with a warmth of -hospitality that overcame every scruple which delicacy or pride could -oppose. The woods that Adeline had traversed formed a part of his -domain, which extended almost to the inn; but he insisted that his -carriage should take his guests to the chateau, and departed to give -orders for their reception. The presence of M. Verneuil, and the -kindness of his friend, gave to La Luc an unusual flow of spirits; he -conversed with a degree of vigour and liveliness to which he had long -been unaccustomed, and the smile of satisfaction that Clara gave to -Adeline expressed how much she thought he was already benefited by the -voyage. Adeline answered her look with a smile of less confidence, for -she attributed his present animation to a more temporary cause. -</p> - -<p> -About half an hour after the departure of M. Mauron, a boy who served as -waiter brought a message from a chevalier then at the inn, requesting -permission to speak with Adeline. The man who had pursued her along the -sands instantly occurred to her, and she scarcely doubted that the -stranger was some person belonging to the Marquis de Montalt, perhaps -the Marquis himself, though that he should have discovered her -accidentally, in so obscure a place, and so immediately upon her -arrival, seemed very improbable. With trembling lips and a countenance -pale as death she inquired the name of the chevalier. The boy was not -acquainted with it. La Luc asked what sort of a person he was; but the -boy, who understood little of the art of describing, gave such a -confused account of him, that Adeline could only learn he was not large, -but of a middle stature. This circumstance, however, convincing her it -was not the Marquis de Montalt who desired to see her, she asked whether -it would be agreeable to La Luc to have the stranger admitted. La Luc -said, By all means; and the waiter withdrew. Adeline sat in trembling -expectation till the door opened, and Louis de la Motte entered the -room. He advanced with an embarrassed and melancholy air, though his -countenance had been enlightened with a momentary pleasure when he first -beheld Adeline—Adeline, who was still the idol of his heart. After -the first salutations were over, all apprehensions of the Marquis being now -dissipated, she inquired when Louis had seen Monsieur and Madame La -Motte. -</p> - -<p> -I ought rather to ask you that question, said Louis in some confusion, -for I believe you have seen them since I have; and the pleasure of -meeting you thus is equalled by my surprise. I have not heard from my -father for some time, owing probably to my regiment being removed to new -quarters. -</p> - -<p> -He looked as if he wished to be informed with whom Adeline now was; but -as this was a subject upon which it was impossible she could speak in -the presence of La Luc, she led the conversation to general topics, -after having said that Monsieur and Madame La Motte were well when she -left them. Louis spoke little, and often looked anxiously at Adeline, -while his mind seemed labouring under strong oppression. She observed -this, and recollecting the declaration he had made her on the morning of -his departure from the abbey, she attributed his present embarrassment -to the effect of a passion yet unsubdued, and did not appear to notice -it. After he had sat near a quarter of an hour, under a struggle of -feelings which he could neither conquer nor conceal, he rose to leave -the room; and as he passed Adeline, said, in a low voice, Do permit me -to speak with you alone for five minutes. She hesitated in some -confusion, and then, saying there were none but friends present, begged -he would be seated.—Excuse me, said he, in the same low accent; what -I would say nearly concerns you, and you only. Do favour me with a few -moments' attention. He said this with a look that surprised her; and -having ordered candles in another room, she went thither. -</p> - -<p> -Louis sat for some moments silent, and seemingly in great perturbation -of mind. At length he said, I know not whether to rejoice or to lament -at this unexpected meeting, though, if you are in safe hands, I ought -certainly to rejoice, however hard the task that now falls to my lot. I -am not ignorant of the dangers and persecutions you have suffered, and -cannot forbear expressing my anxiety to know how you are now -circumstanced. Are you indeed with friends?—I am, said Adeline; M. La -Motte has informed you——No, replied Louis with a deep sigh, not -my father.—He paused.—But I do indeed rejoice, resumed he, O! -how sincerely rejoice! that you are in safety. Could you know, lovely -Adeline, what I have suffered!—He checked himself.—I understood -you had something of importance to say, Sir, said Adeline; you must excuse -me if I remind you that I have not many moments to spare. -</p> - -<p> -It is indeed of importance, replied Louis; yet I know not how to mention -it—how to soften——This task is too severe. Alas! my poor -friend! -</p> - -<p> -Whom is it you speak of, Sir? said Adeline with quickness. Louis rose -from his chair and walked about the room. I would prepare you for what I -have to say, he resumed, but upon my soul I am not equal to it. -</p> - -<p> -I entreat you to keep me no longer in suspense, said Adeline, who had a -wild idea that it was Theodore he would speak of. Louis still hesitated. -Is it—O! is it?—I conjure you tell me the worst at once, said -she in a voice of agony. I can bear it,—indeed I can. -</p> - -<p> -My unhappy friend! exclaimed Louis. O! Theodore!—Theodore! faintly -articulated Adeline; he lives then!—He does, said Louis, -but—He stopped.—But what? cried Adeline, trembling -violently; if he is living, you cannot tell me worse than my fears -suggest; I entreat you therefore not to hesitate.—Louis resumed -his seat and, endeavouring to assume a collected air, said, He is -living, Madame, but he is a prisoner; and—for why should I deceive -you? I fear he has little to hope in this world. -</p> - -<p> -I have long feared so, Sir, said Adeline in a voice of forced composure; -you have something more terrible than this to relate, and I again -entreat you will explain yourself. -</p> - -<p> -He has every thing to apprehend from the Marquis de Montalt, said Louis. -Alas! why do I say to apprehend? His judgment is already fixed—he is -condemned to die. -</p> - -<p> -At this confirmation of her fears, a death-like paleness diffused itself -over the countenance of Adeline; she sat motionless, and attempted to -sigh, but seemed almost suffocated. Terrified at her situation, and -expecting to see her faint, Louis would have supported her, but with her -hand she waved him from her, and was unable to speak. He now called for -assistance, and La Luc and Clara, with M. Verneuil, informed of -Adeline's indisposition, were quickly by her side. -</p> - -<p> -At the sound of their voices she looked up, and seemed to recollect -herself, when uttering a heavy sigh she burst into tears. La Luc, -rejoiced to see her weep, encouraged her tears, which after some time -relieved her; and when she was able to speak, she desired to go back to -La Luc's parlour. Louis attended her thither; when she was better he -would have withdrawn, but La Luc begged he would stay. -</p> - -<p> -You are perhaps a relation of this young lady, Sir, said he, and may -have brought news of her father?—Not so, Sir, replied Louis, -hesitating—This gentleman, said Adeline, who had now recollected her -dissipated thoughts, is the son of the M. La Motte whom you may have -heard me mention.—Louis seemed shocked to be declared the son of a -man that had once acted so unworthily towards Adeline, who, instantly -perceiving the pain her words occasioned, endeavoured to soften their -effect by saying that La Motte had saved her from imminent danger, and -had afforded her an asylum for many months.—Adeline sat in a state of -dreadful solicitude to know the particulars of Theodore's situation, yet -could not acquire courage to renew the subject in the presence of La -Luc; she ventured, however, to ask Louis if his own regiment was -quartered in the town. -</p> - -<p> -He replied that his regiment lay at Vaceau, a French town on the -frontiers of Spain; that he had just crossed a part of the Gulf of -Lyons, and was on his way to Savoy, whither he should set out early in -the morning. -</p> - -<p> -We are lately come from thence, said Adeline; may I ask to what part of -Savoy you are going?—-To Leloncourt, he replied.—To Leloncourt! -said Adeline, in some surprise.—I am a stranger to the country, -resumed Louis; but I go to serve my friend. You seem to know -Leloncourt.—I do indeed, said Adeline.—You probably know then -that M. La Luc lives there, and will guess the motive of my journey? -</p> - -<p> -O Heavens! is it possible? exclaimed Adeline—is it possible that -Theodore Peyrou is a relation of M. La Luc? -</p> - -<p> -Theodore! what of my son? asked La Luc in surprise and -apprehension—Your son! said Adeline, in a trembling voice—your -son!—The astonishment and anguish depicted on her countenance -increased the apprehensions of this unfortunate father, and he renewed his -question. But Adeline was totally unable to answer him; and the distress -of Louis, on thus unexpectedly discovering the father of his unhappy -friend, and knowing that it was his task to disclose the fate of his -son, deprived him for some time of all power of utterance; and La Luc -and Clara, whose fears were every instant heightened by this dreadful -silence, continued to repeat their questions. -</p> - -<p> -At length a sense of the approaching sufferings of the good La Luc -overcoming every other feeling, Adeline recovered strength of mind -sufficient to try to soften the intelligence Louis had to communicate, -and to conduct Clara to another room. Here she collected resolution to -tell her, and with much tender consideration, the circumstances of her -brother's situation, concealing only her knowledge of his sentence being -already pronounced. This relation necessarily included the mention of -their attachment, and in the friend of her heart Clara discovered the -innocent cause of her brother's destruction. Adeline also learned the -occasion of that circumstance which had contributed to keep her ignorant -of Theodore's relationship to La Luc; she was told the former had taken -the name of Peyrou, with an estate which had been left him about a year -before by a relation of his mother's upon that condition. Theodore had -been designed for the church, but his disposition inclined him to a more -active life than the clerical habit would admit of; and on his accession -to this estate he had entered into the service of the French king. -</p> - -<p> -In the few and interrupted interviews which had been allowed them at -Caux, Theodore had mentioned his family to Adeline only in general -terms; and thus, when they were so suddenly separated, had, without -designing it, left her in ignorance of his father's name and place of -residence. -</p> - -<p> -The sacredness and delicacy of Adeline's grief, which had never -permitted her to mention the subject of it even to Clara, had since -contributed to deceive her. -</p> - -<p> -The distress of Clara, on learning the situation of her brother, could -endure no restraint; Adeline, who had commanded her feelings so as to -impart this intelligence with tolerable composure, only by a strong -effort of mind, was now almost overwhelmed by her own and Clara's -accumulated suffering. While they wept forth the anguish of their -hearts; a scene if possible, more affecting passed between La Luc and -Louis; who perceived it was necessary to inform him, though cautiously -and by degrees, of the full extent of his calamity. He, therefore, told -La Luc, that though Theodore had been first tried for the offence of -having quitted his post, he was now condemned on a charge of assault -made upon his general officer the Marquis de Montalt, who had brought -witnesses to prove that his life had been endangered by the -circumstance; and who, having pursued the prosecution with the most -bitter rancour, had at length obtained the sentence which the law could -not withhold, but which every other officer in the regiment deplored. -</p> - -<p> -Louis added, that the sentence was to be executed in less than a -fortnight, and that Theodore being very unhappy at receiving no answers -to the letters he had sent his father, wishing to see him once more, and -knowing that there was now no time to be lost, had requested him to go -to Leloncourt and acquaint his father with his situation. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc received the account of his son's condition with a distress that -admitted neither of tears nor complaint. He asked where Theodore was; -and desiring to be conducted to him, he thanked Louis for all his -kindness, and ordered post horses immediately. -</p> - -<p> -A carriage was soon ready; and this unhappy father, after taking a -mournful leave of M. Verneuil, and sending a compliment to M. Mauron, -attended by his family set out for the prison of his son. The journey -was a silent one; each individual of the party endeavoured, in -consideration of each other, to suppress the expression of grief, but -was unable to do more. La Luc appeared calm and complacent; he seemed -frequently to be engaged in prayer; but a struggle for resignation and -composure was sometimes visible upon his countenance, notwithstanding -the efforts of his mind. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And venom'd with disgrace the dart of Death.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">SEWARD.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -We now return to the Marquis de Montalt, who having seen La Motte safely -lodged in the prison of D——y, and learning the trial would not -come on immediately, had returned to his villa on the borders of the -forest, where he expected to hear news of Adeline. It had been his -intention to follow his servants to Lyons; but he now determined to wait a -few days for letters, and he had little doubt that Adeline, since her -flight had been so quickly pursued, would be overtaken, and probably before -she could reach that city. In this expectation he had been miserably -disappointed; for his servants informed him, that though they traced her -thither, they had neither been able to follow her route beyond, nor to -discover her at Lyons. This escape she probably owed to having embarked -on the Rhone, for it does not appear that the Marquis's people thought -of seeking her on the course of that river. -</p> - -<p> -His presence was soon after required at Vaceau, where the court-martial -was then sitting; thither therefore he went, with passions still more -exasperated by his late disappointment, and procured the condemnation of -Theodore. The sentence was universally lamented, for Theodore was much -beloved in his regiment; and the occasion of the Marquis's personal -resentment towards him being known, every heart was interested in his -cause. -</p> - -<p> -Louis de La Motte happening at this time to be stationed in the same -town, heard an imperfect account of his story; and being convinced that -the prisoner was the young chevalier whom he had formerly seen with the -Marquis at the abbey, he was induced partly from compassion, and partly -with a hope of hearing of his parents, to visit him. The compassionate -sympathy which Louis expressed, and the zeal with which he tendered his -services, affected Theodore, and excited in him a warm return of -friendship; Louis made him frequent visits, did every thing that -kindness could suggest to alleviate his sufferings, and a mutual esteem -and confidence ensued. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore at length communicated the chief subject of his concern to -Louis; who discovered with inexpressible grief that it was Adeline whom -the Marquis had thus cruelly persecuted, and Adeline for whose sake the -generous Theodore was about to suffer. He soon perceived also that -Theodore was his favoured rival; but he generously suppressed the -jealous pang this discovery occasioned, and determined that no prejudice -of passion should withdraw him from the duties of humanity and -friendship. He eagerly inquired where Adeline then resided. She is yet, -I fear, in the power of the Marquis, said Theodore, sighing deeply. O -God!—these chains!—and he threw an agonizing glance upon them. -Louis sat silent and thoughtful; at length starting from his reverie, he -said he would go to the Marquis, and immediately quitted the prison. The -Marquis, was, however, already set off for Paris, where he had been -summoned to appear at the approaching trial of La Motte; and Louis, yet -ignorant of the late transactions at the abbey, returned to the prison; -where he endeavoured to forget that Theodore was the favoured rival of -his love, and to remember him only as the defender of Adeline. So -earnestly he pressed his offers of service, that Theodore, whom the -silence of his father equally surprised and afflicted, and who was very -anxious to see him once again, accepted his proposal of going himself to -Savoy. My letters I strongly suspect to have been intercepted by the -Marquis, said Theodore; if so, my poor father will have the whole weight -of this calamity to sustain at once, unless I avail myself of your -kindness, and I shall neither see him nor hear from him before I die. -Louis! there are moments when my fortitude shrinks from the conflict, -and my senses threaten to desert me. -</p> - -<p> -No time was to be lost; the warrant for his execution had already -received the king's signature, and Louis immediately set forward for -Savoy. The letters of Theodore had indeed been intercepted by order of -the Marquis, who, in the hope of discovering the asylum of Adeline, had -opened and afterwards destroyed them. -</p> - -<p> -But to return to La Luc, who now drew near Vaceau, and whom his family -observed to be greatly changed in his looks since he had heard the late -calamitous intelligence; he uttered no complaint; but it was too obvious -that his disorder had made a rapid progress. Louis, who during the -journey proved the goodness of his disposition by the delicate -attentions he paid this unhappy party, concealed his observation of the -decline of La Luc, and to support Adeline's spirits, endeavoured to -convince her that her apprehensions on this subject were groundless. Her -spirits did indeed require support, for she was now within a few miles -of the town that contained Theodore; and while her increasing -perturbation almost overcame her, she yet tried to appear composed. When -the carriage entered the town, she cast a timid and anxious glance from -the window in search of the prison; but having passed through several -streets without perceiving any building which corresponded with her idea -of that she looked for, the coach stopped at the inn. The frequent -changes in La Luc's countenance betrayed the violent agitation of his -mind; and when he attempted to alight, feeble and exhausted, he was -compelled to accept the support of Louis, to whom he faintly said as he -passed to the parlour, I am indeed sick at heart, but I trust the pain -will not be long. Louis pressed his hand without speaking, and hastened -back for Adeline and Clara, who were already in the passage. La Luc -wiped the tears from his eyes (they were the first he had shed) as they -entered the room. I would go immediately to my poor boy, said he to Louis; -yours, Sir, is a mournful office—be so good as to conduct me to -him. He rose to go, but, feeble and overcome with grief, again sat down. -Adeline and Clara united in entreating that he would compose himself, -and take some refreshment; and Louis urging the necessity of preparing -Theodore for the interview, prevailed with him to delay it till his son -should be informed of his arrival, and immediately quitted the inn for -the prison of his friend. When he was gone, La Luc, as a duty he owed -those he loved, tried to take some support; but the convulsions of his -throat would not suffer him to swallow the wine he held to his parched -lips, and he was now so much disordered, that he desired to retire to -his chamber, where alone, and in prayer, he passed the dreadful interval -of Louis's absence. -</p> - -<p> -Clara on the bosom of Adeline, who sat in calm but deep distress, -yielded to the violence of her grief. I shall lose my dear father too, -said she; I see it; I shall lose my father and my brother together. -Adeline wept with her friend for some time in silence; and then -attempted to persuade her that La Luc was not so ill as she apprehended. -</p> - -<p> -Do not mislead me with hope, she replied that will not survive the shock -of this calamity—I saw it from the first. Adeline knowing that La -Luc's distress would be heightened by the observance of his daughter's, and -that indulgence would only increase its poignancy, endeavoured to rouse -her to an exertion of fortitude by urging the necessity of commanding -her emotion in the presence of her father. This is possible, added she, -however painful may be the effort. You must know, my dear, that my grief -is not inferior to your own, yet I have hitherto been enabled to support -my sufferings in silence; for M. La Luc I do, indeed, love and reverence -as a parent. -</p> - -<p> -Louis meanwhile reached the prison of Theodore, who received him with an -air of mingled surprise and impatience. What brings you back so soon? -said he, have you heard news of my father? Louis now gradually unfolded -the circumstances of their meetings and La Luc's arrival at Vaceau. A -various emotion agitated the countenance of Theodore on receiving this -intelligence. My poor father! said he, he has then followed his son to -this ignominious place! Little did I think when last we parted he would -meet me in a prison under condemnation! This reflection roused an -impetuosity of grief which deprived him for some time of speech? But -where is he? said Theodore, recovering himself; now he is come I shrink -from the interview I have so much wished for. The sight of his distress -will be dreadful to me. Louis! when I am gone, comfort my poor father. -His voice was again interrupted by sobs; and Louis, who had been fearful -of acquainting him at the same time of the arrival of La Luc and the -discovery of Adeline, now judged it proper to administer the cordial of -this latter intelligence. -</p> - -<p> -The glooms of a prison and of calamity vanished for a transient moment; -those who had seen Theodore would have believed this to be the instant -which gave him life and liberty. When his first emotions subsided, I -will not repine, said he, since I know that Adeline is preserved, and -that I shall once more see my father, I will endeavour to die with -resignation. He inquired if La Luc was then in the prison, and was told -he was at the inn with Clara and Adeline. Adeline! Is Adeline there -too?—This is beyond my hopes. Yet why do I rejoice? I must never see -her more: this is no place for Adeline. Again he relapsed into an agony of -distress—and again repeated a thousand questions concerning Adeline, -till he was reminded by Louis that his father was impatient to see -him—when, shocked that he had so long detained his friend, he -entreated him to conduct La Luc to the prison, and endeavoured to recollect -fortitude for the approaching interview. -</p> - -<p> -When Louis returned to the inn, La Luc was still in his chamber; and -Clara quitting the room to call him, Adeline seized with trembling -impatience the opportunity to inquire more particularly concerning -Theodore, than she chose to do in the presence of his unhappy sister. -Louis represented him to be much more tranquil than he really was. -Adeline was somewhat soothed by the account; and her tears, hitherto -restrained, flowed silently and fast till La Luc appeared. His -countenance had recovered its serenity, but was impressed with a deep -and steady sorrow, which excited in the beholder a mingled emotion of -pity and reverence. How is my son, Sir? said he as he entered the room. -We will go to him immediately. -</p> - -<p> -Clara renewed the entreaties that had been already rejected, to -accompany her father, who persisted in a refusal. To-morrow you shall -see him, added he; but our first meeting must be alone. Stay with your -friend, my dear; she has need of consolation. When La Luc was gone, -Adeline, unable longer to struggle against the force of grief, retired -to her chamber and her bed. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc walked silently towards the prison, resting on the arm of Louis. -It was now night: a dim lamp that hung above showed them the gates, and -Louis rang a bell: La Luc, almost overcome with agitation, leaned -against the postern till the porter appeared. He inquired for Theodore, -and followed the man; but when he reached the second courtyard he seemed -ready to faint, and again stopped. Louis desired the porter would fetch -some water; but La Luc, recovering his voice, said he should soon be -better, and would not suffer him to go. In a few minutes he was able to -follow Louis, who led him through several dark passages, and up a flight -of steps to a door which, being unbarred, disclosed to him the prison of -his son. He was seated at a small table, on which stood a lamp that -threw a feeble light across the place, sufficient only to show its -desolation and wretchedness. When he perceived La Luc he sprung from his -chair, and in the next moment was in his arms. My father! said he in a -tremulous voice. My son! exclaimed La Luc; and they were for some time -silent, and locked in each other's embrace. At length Theodore led him -to the only chair the room afforded, and seating himself with Louis at -the foot of the bed, had leisure to observe the ravages which illness -and calamity had made on the features of his parent. La Luc made several -efforts to speak; but, unable to articulate, laid his hand upon his -breast and sighed deeply. Fearful of the consequence of so affecting a -scene on his shattered frame, Louis endeavoured to call off his -attention from the immediate object of his distress, and interrupted the -silence; but La Luc shuddering, and complaining he was very cold, sunk -back in his chair. His condition roused Theodore from the stupor of -despair; and while he flew to support his father, Louis ran out for -other assistance.—I shall soon be better, Theodore, said La Luc, -unclosing his eyes, the faintness is already going off. I have not been -well of late; and this sad meeting!—Unable any longer to command -himself, Theodore wrung his hand, and the distress which had long -struggled for utterance burst in convulsive throbs from his breast. La -Lac gradually revived, and exerted himself to calm the transports of his -son; but the fortitude of the latter had now entirely forsaken him, and -he could only utter exclamation and complaint. Ah! little did I think we -should ever meet under circumstances so dreadful as the present! But I -have not deserved them, my father! the motives of my conduct have still -been just. -</p> - -<p> -That is my supreme consolation, said La Luc, and ought to support you in -this hour of trial. The Almighty God, who is the judge of hearts, will -reward you hereafter. Trust in him, my son; I look to him with no feeble -hope, but with a firm reliance on his justice! La Luc's voice faltered; -he raised his eyes to heaven with an expression of meek devotion, while -the tears of humanity fell slowly on his cheek. -</p> - -<p> -Still more affected by his last words, Theodore turned from him, and -paced the room with quick steps: the entrance of Louis was a very -seasonable relief to La Luc, who, taking a cordial he had brought, was -soon sufficiently restored to discourse on the subject most interesting -to him. Theodore tried to attain a command of his feelings, and -succeeded. He conversed with tolerable composure for above an hour, -during which La Luc endeavoured to elevate, by religious hope, the mind -of his son, and to enable him to meet with fortitude the awful hour that -approached. But the appearance of resignation which Theodore attained -always vanished when he reflected that he was going to leave his father -a prey to grief, and his beloved Adeline for ever. When La Luc was about -to depart he again mentioned her. Afflicting as an interview must be in -our present circumstances, said he, I cannot bear the thought of -quitting the world without seeing her once more; yet I know not how to -ask her to encounter, for my sake, the misery of a parting scene. Tell -her that my thoughts never, for a moment, leave her; that——La -Luc interrupted, and assured him, that since he so much wished it, he -should see her, though a meeting could serve only to heighten the mutual -anguish of a final separation. -</p> - -<p> -I know it—I know it too well, said Theodore; yet I cannot resolve to -see her no more, and thus spare her the pain this interview must -inflict. O my father! when I think of those whom I must soon leave for -ever, my heart breaks. But I will, indeed, try to profit by your precept -and example, and show that your paternal care has not been in vain. My -good Louis, go with my father—he has need of support. How much I owe -this generous friend, added Theodore, you well know, Sir.—I do, in -truth, replied La Luc, and can never repay his kindness to you. He has -contributed to support us all; but you require comfort more than -myself—he shall remain with you—I will go alone. -</p> - -<p> -This Theodore would not suffer; and La Luc no longer opposing him, they -affectionately embraced, and separated for the night. -</p> - -<p> -When they reached the inn, La Luc consulted with Louis on the -possibility of addressing a petition to the sovereign time enough to -save Theodore. His distance from Paris, and the short interval before -the period fixed for this execution of the sentence, made this design -difficult: but believing it was practicable, La Luc, incapable as he -appeared of performing so long a journey, determined to attempt it. -Louis, thinking that the undertaking would prove fatal to the father, -without benefiting the son, endeavoured, though faintly, to dissuade him -from it—but his resolution was fixed—If I sacrifice the small -remains of my life in the service of my child, said he, I shall lose -little: if I save him, I shall gain every thing. There is no time to be -lost—I will set off immediately. -</p> - -<p> -He would have ordered post-horses, but Louis and Clara, who were now -come from the bed-side of her friend, urged the necessity of his taking -a few hours' repose: he was at length compelled to acknowledge himself -unequal to the immediate exertion which parental anxiety prompted, and -consented to seek rest. -</p> - -<p> -When he had retired to his chamber, Clara lamented the condition of her -father.—He will not bear the journey, said she; he is greatly changed -within these few days.—Louis was so entirely of her opinion, that he -could not disguise it, even to flatter her with a hope. She added, what -did not contribute to raise his spirits, that Adeline was so much -indisposed by her grief for the situation of Theodore and the sufferings -of La Luc that she dreaded the consequence. -</p> - -<p> -It has been seen that the passion of young La Motte had suffered no -abatement from time or absence; on the contrary, the persecution and the -dangers which had pursued Adeline awakened all his tenderness, and drew -her nearer to his heart. When he had discovered that Theodore loved her, -and was beloved again, he experienced all the anguish of jealousy and -disappointment; for, though she had forbidden him to hope, he found it -too painful an effort to obey her, and had secretly cherished the flame -which he ought to have stifled. His heart was, however, too noble to -suffer his zeal for Theodore to abate because he was his favoured rival, -and his mind too strong not to conceal the anguish this certainty -occasioned. The attachment which Theodore had testified towards Adeline -even endeared him to Louis, when he had recovered from the first shock -of disappointment, and that conquest over jealousy which originated in -principle, and was pursued with difficulty, became afterwards his pride and -his glory. When, however, he again saw Adeline—saw her in the mild -dignity of sorrow more interesting than ever—saw her, though sinking -beneath its pressure, yet tender and solicitous to soften the -afflictions of those around her—it was with the utmost difficulty he -preserved his resolution, and forebore to express the sentiments she -inspired. When he further considered that her acute sufferings arose -from the strength of her affection, he more than ever wished himself the -object of a heart capable of so tender a regard—and Thedore in prison -and in chains was a momentary object of envy. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning, when La Luc arose from short and disturbed slumbers, he -found Louis, Clara, and Adeline, whom indisposition could not prevent -from paying him this testimony of respect and affection, assembled in -the parlour of the inn to see him depart. After a slight breakfast, -during which his feelings permitted him to say little, he bade his -friends a sad farewell, and stepped into the carriage, followed by their -tears and prayers.—Adeline immediately retired to her chamber, which -she was too ill to quit that day. In the evening Clara left her friend, -and, conducted by Louis, went to visit her brother, whose emotions, on -hearing of his father's departure, were various and strong. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">'Tis only when with inbred horror smote</span><br /> -<span class="i0">At some base act, or done, or to be done,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">That the recoiling soul, with conscious dread.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Shrinks back into itself.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">MASON.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -We return now to Pierre de la Motte, who, after remaining some weeks in -the prison of D——y, was removed to take his trial in the courts -of Paris, whether the Marquis de Montalt followed to prosecute the charge. -Madame de la Motte accompanied her husband to the prison of the -Chatelet. His mind sunk under the weight of his misfortunes; nor could -all the efforts of his wife rouse him from the torpidity of despair -which a consideration of his circumstances occasioned. Should he be even -acquitted of the charge brought against him by the Marquis, (which was -very unlikely,) he was now in the scene of his former crimes, and the -moment that should liberate him from the walls of his prison would -probably deliver him again into the hands of offended justice. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/figure09.jpg" width="400" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The prosecution of the Marquis was too well founded, and its object of a -nature too serious, not to justify the terror of La Motte. Soon after -the latter had settled at the abbey of St. Clair, the small stock of -money which the emergency of his circumstances had left him being nearly -exhausted, his mind became corroded with the most cruel anxiety -concerning the means of his future subsistence. As he was one evening -riding alone in a remote part of the forest, musing on his distressed -circumstances, and meditating plans to relieve the exigencies which he -saw approaching, he perceived among the trees at some distance a -chevalier on horseback, who was riding deliberately along, and seemed -wholly unattended. A thought darted across the mind of La Motte, that he -might be spared the evils which threatened him by robbing this stranger. -His former practices had passed the boundary of honesty—fraud was in -some degree familiar to him—and the thought was not dismissed. He -hesitated——every moment of hesitation increased the power of -temptation—the opportunity was such as might never occur again. He -looked round, and as far as the trees opened saw no person but the -chevalier, who seemed by his air to be a man of distinction. Summoning -all his courage, La Motte rode forward and attacked him. The Marquis de -Montalt, for it was he, was unarmed; but knowing that his attendants -were not far off, he refused to yield. While they were struggling for -victory, La Motte saw several horsemen enter the extremity of the -avenue, and rendered desperate by opposition and delay, he drew from his -pocket a pistol, (which an apprehension of banditti made him usually -carry when he rode to a distance from the abbey) and fired at the -Marquis, who staggered and fell senseless to the ground. La Motte had -time to tear from his coat a brilliant star, some diamond rings from his -fingers, and to rifle his pockets before his attendants came up. Instead -of pursuing the robber, they all, in their first confusion, flew to -assist their Lord, and La Motte escaped. -</p> - -<p> -He stopped before he reached the abbey at a little ruin, the tomb -formerly mentioned, to examine his booty. It consisted of a purse -containing seventy louis d'ors; of a diamond star, three rings of great -value, and a miniature set with brilliants of the Marquis himself, which -he had intended as a present for his favourite mistress. To La Motte, -who but a few hours before had seen himself nearly destitute, the view -of this treasure excited an almost ungovernable transport; but it was -soon checked when he remembered the means he had employed to obtain it, -and that he had paid for the wealth he contemplated, the price of blood. -Naturally violent in his passions, this reflection sunk him from the -summit of exultation to the abyss of despondency. He considered himself -a murderer, and, startled as one awakened from a dream, would have given -half the world, had it been his, to have been as poor, and comparatively -as guiltless, as a few preceding hours had seen him. On examining the -portrait he discovered the resemblance; and believing that his hand had -deprived the original of life, he gazed upon the picture with -unutterable anguish. To the horrors of remorse succeeded the -perplexities of fear. Apprehensive of he knew not what, he lingered at -the tomb, where he at length deposited his treasure, believing that if -his offence should awaken justice, the abbey might be searched, and -these jewels betray him. From Madame La Motte it was easy to conceal his -increase of wealth; for as he had never made her acquainted with the -exact state of his finances, she had not suspected the extreme poverty -which menaced him; and as they continued to live as usual, she believed -that their expenses were drawn from the usual supply. But it was not so -easy to disguise the workings of remorse and horror: his manner became -gloomy and reserved, and his frequent visits to the tomb, where he went -partly to examine his treasure, but chiefly to indulge in the dreadful -pleasure of contemplating the picture of the Marquis, excited curiosity. -In the solitude of the forest, where no variety of objects occurred to -renovate his ideas, the horrible one of having committed murder was ever -present to him.—When the Marquis arrived at the abbey, the -astonishment and terror of La Motte (for at first he scarce knew whether he -held the shadow or the substance of a human form) were quickly succeeded by -apprehension of the punishment due to the crime he had really committed. -When his distress had prevailed on the Marquis to retire, he informed -him that he was by birth a chevalier: he then touched upon such parts of -his misfortunes as he thought would excite pity, expressed such -abhorrence of his guilt, and voluntarily uttered such a solemn promise -of returning the jewels he had yet in his possession, (for he had -ventured to dispose only of a small part,) that the Marquis at length -listened to him with some degree of compassion. This favourable -sentiment, seconded by a selfish motive, induced the Marquis to -compromise with La Motte. Of quick and inflammable passions, he had -observed the beauty of Adeline with an eye of no common regard, and he -resolved to spare the life of La Motte upon no other condition than the -sacrifice of this unfortunate girl. La Motte had neither resolution nor -virtue sufficient to reject the terms—the jewels were restored, and -he consented to betray the innocent Adeline. But as he was too well -acquainted with her heart to believe that she would easily be won to the -practice of vice, and as he still felt a degree of pity and tenderness -for her, he endeavoured to prevail on the Marquis to forbear precipitate -measures, and to attempt gradually to undermine her principles by -seducing her affections. He approved and adopted this plan: the failure -of his first scheme induced him to employ the stratagems he afterwards -pursued, and thus to multiply the misfortunes of Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Such were the circumstances which had brought La Motte to his present -deplorable situation. The day of trial was now come, and he was led from -prison into the court, where the Marquis appeared as his accuser. When -the charge was delivered, La Motte, as is usual, pleaded Not guilty, and -the Advocate Nemours, who had undertaken to plead for him, afterwards -endeavoured to make it appear that the accusation, on the part of the -Marquis de Montalt, was false and malicious. To this purpose he -mentioned the circumstance of the latter having attempted to persuade -his client to the murder of Adeline: he further urged that the Marquis -had lived in habits of intimacy with La Motte for several months -immediately preceding his arrest, and that it was not till he had -disappointed the designs of his accuser, by conveying beyond his reach -the unhappy object of his vengeance, that the Marquis had thought proper -to charge La Motte with the crime for which he stood indicted. Nemours -urged the improbability of one man's keeping up a friendly intercourse -with another from whom he had suffered the double injury of assault and -robbery; yet it was certain that the Marquis had observed a frequent -intercourse with La Motte for some months following the time specified -for the commission of the crime. If the Marquis intended to prosecute, -why was it not immediately after his discovery of La Motte? and if not -then, what had influenced him to prosecute at so distant a period? -</p> - -<p> -To this nothing was replied on the part of the Marquis; for, as his -conduct on this point had been subservient to his designs on Adeline, he -could not justify it but by exposing schemes which would betray the -darkness of his character, and invalidate his cause. He, therefore, -contented himself with producing several of his servants as witnesses of -the assault and robbery, who swore without scruple to the person of La -Motte, though not one of them had seen him otherwise than through the -gloom of evening and riding off at full speed. On a cross-examination -most of them contradicted each other; their evidence was of course -rejected: but as the Marquis had yet two other witnesses to produce, -whose arrival at Paris had been hourly expected, the event of the trial -was postponed, and the court adjourned. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte was re-conducted to his prison under the same pressure of -despondency with which he had quitted it. As he walked through one of -the avenues he passed a man who stood by to let him proceed, and who -regarded him with a fixed and earnest eye. La Motte thought he had seen -him before; but the imperfect view he caught of his features through the -darkness of the place made him uncertain as to this, and his mind was in -too perturbed a state to suffer him to feel an interest on the subject. -When he was gone, the stranger inquired of the keeper of the prison who -La Motte was: on being told, and receiving answers to some further -questions he put, he desired he might be admitted to speak with him. The -request, as the man was only a debtor, was granted; but as the doors -were now shut for the night, the interview was deferred till the morrow. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte found Madame in his room, where she had been waiting for some -hours to hear the event of the trial. They now wished more earnestly -than ever to see their son; but they were, as he had suspected, ignorant -of his change of quarters, owing to the letters which he had as usual, -addressed to them under an assumed name, remaining at the post-house of -Auboine. This circumstance occasioned Madame La Motte to address her -letters to the place of her son's late residence, and he had thus -continued ignorant of his father's misfortunes and removal. Madame La -Motte, surprised at receiving no answers to her letters, sent off -another, containing an account of the trial as far as it had proceeded, -and a request that her son would obtain leave of absence, and set out -for Paris instantly. As she was still ignorant, of the failure of her -letters, and, had it been otherwise, would not have known whither to -have sent them, she directed this as usual. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile his approaching fate was never absent for a moment from the -mind of La Motte, which, feeble by nature, and still more enervated by -habits of indulgence, refused to support him at this dreadful period. -</p> - -<p> -While these scenes were passing at Paris, La Luc arrived there without -any accident, after performing a journey, during which he had been -supported almost entirely by the spirit of his resolution. He hastened -to throw himself at the feet of the sovereign; and such was the excess -of his feeling on presenting the petition which was to decide the fate -of his son, that he could only look silently up, and then fainted. The -king received the paper, and giving orders for the unhappy father to be -taken care of, passed on. He was carried back to his hotel, where he -awaited the event of this his final effort. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, meanwhile, continued at Vaceau in a state of anxiety too -powerful for her long-agitated frame, and the illness in consequence of -this, confined her almost wholly to her chamber. Sometimes she ventured -to flatter herself with a hope that the journey of La Luc would be -successful: but these short and illusive intervals of comfort served -only to heighten, by contrast, the despondency that succeeded; and in -the alternate extremes of feeling she experienced a state more torturing -than that produced either by the sharp sting of unexpected calamity, or -the sullen pain of settled despair. -</p> - -<p> -When she was well enough she came down to the parlour to converse with -Louis, who brought her frequent accounts of Theodore, and who passed -every moment he could snatch from the duty of his profession in -endeavours to support and console his afflicted friends. Adeline and -Theodore, both looked to him for the little comfort allotted them, for -he brought them intelligence of each other, and whenever he appeared a -transient melancholy kind of pleasure played round their hearts. He -could not conceal from Theodore Adeline's indisposition, since it was -necessary to account for her not indulging the earnest wish he -repeatedly expressed to see her again. To Adeline he spoke chiefly of -the fortitude and resignation of his friend, not however forgetting to -mention the tender affection he constantly expressed for her. Accustomed -to derive her sole consolation from the presence of Louis, and to -observe his unwearied friendship towards him whom she so truly loved, -she found her esteem for him ripen into gratitude, and her regard daily -increase. -</p> - -<p> -The fortitude with which he had said Theodore supported his calamities -was somewhat exaggerated. He could not forget those ties which bound him -to life sufficiently to meet his fate with firmness; but though the -paroxysms of grief were acute and frequent, he sought, and often -attained in the presence of his friends, a manly composure. From the -event of his father's journey he hoped little, yet that little was -sufficient to keep his mind in the torture of suspense till the issue -should appear. -</p> - -<p> -On the day preceding that fixed for the execution of the sentence, La -Luc reached Vaceau. Adeline was at her chamber window when the carriage -drew up to the inn; she saw him alight, and with feeble steps, supported -by Peter, enter the house. From the languor of his air she drew no -favourable omen, and, almost sinking under the violence of her emotion, -she went to meet him. Clara was already with her father when Adeline -entered the room. She approached him, but, dreading to receive from his -lips a confirmation of the misfortune his countenance seemed to -indicate, she looked expressively at him and sat down, unable to speak -the question she would have asked. He held out his hand to her in -silence, sunk back in his chair, and seemed to be fainting under -oppression of heart. His manner confirmed all her fears; at this -dreadful conviction her senses failed her, and she sat motionless and -stupefied. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc and Clara were too much occupied by their own distress to observe -her situation; after some time she breathed a heavy sigh, and burst into -tears. Relieved by weeping, her spirits gradually returned, and she at -length said to La Luc, It is unnecessary, Sir, to ask the success of -your journey; yet, when you can bear to mention the subject, I wish— -</p> - -<p> -La Luc waved his hand—Alas! said he, I have nothing to tell but what -you already guess too well. My poor Theodore!—His voice was convulsed -with sorrow, and some moments of unutterable anguish followed. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline was the first who recovered sufficient recollection to notice -the extreme languor of La Luc, and attend to his support. She ordered -him refreshments, and entreated he would retire to his bed and suffer -her to send for a physician; adding, that the fatigue he had suffered -made repose absolutely necessary. Would that I could find it, my dear -child! said he; it is not in this world that I must look for it, but in -a better, and that better, I trust, I shall soon attain. But where is -our good friend, Louis La Motte? He must lead me to my son.—Grief -again interrupted his utterance, and the entrance of Louis was a very -seasonable relief to them all. Their tears explained the question he -would have asked. La Luc immediately inquired for his son; and thanking -Louis for all his kindness to him, desired to be conducted to the -prison. Louis endeavoured to persuade him to defer his visit till the -morning, and Adeline and Clara joined their entreaties with his, but La -Luc determined to go that night.—His time is short, said he; a few -hours and I shall see him no more, at least in this world; let me not -neglect these precious moments. Adeline! I had promised my poor boy that -he should see you once more; you are not now equal to the meeting; I -will try to reconcile him to the disappointment: but if I fail, and you -are better in the morning, I know you will exert yourself to sustain the -interview.—Adeline looked impatient, and attempted to speak. La Luc -rose to depart, but could only reach the door of the room, where, faint -and feeble, he sat down in a chair. I must submit to necessity, said he; -I find I am not able to go further to-night. Go to him, La Motte, and -tell him I am somewhat disordered by my journey, but that I will be with -him early in the morning. Do not flatter him with a hope; prepare him -for the worst.—There was a pause of silence. La Luc at length -recovering himself, desired Clara would order his bed to be got ready, -and she willingly obeyed. When he withdrew, Adeline told Louis, what was -indeed unnecessary, the event of La Luc's journey. I own, continued she, -that I had sometimes suffered myself to hope, and I now feel this -calamity with double force: I fear too that M. La Luc will sink under -its pressure; he is much altered for the worse since he set out for -Paris. Tell me your opinion sincerely. -</p> - -<p> -The change was so obvious that Louis could not deny it; but he -endeavoured to soothe her apprehension by ascribing this alteration, in -a great measure, to the temporary fatigue of travelling. Adeline -declared her resolution of accompanying La Luc to take leave of Theodore -in the morning. I know not how I shall support the interview, said she; -but to see him once more is a duty I owe both to him and myself. The -remembrance of having neglected to give him this last proof of affection -would pursue me with incessant remorse. -</p> - -<p> -After some further conversation on this subject Louis withdrew to the -prison, ruminating on the best means of imparting to his friend the -fatal intelligence he had to communicate. Theodore received it with more -composure than he had expected; but he asked with impatience why he did -not see his father and Adeline; and on being informed that indisposition -withheld them, his imagination seized on the worst possibility, and -suggested that his father was dead. It was a considerable time before -Louis could convince him of the contrary, and that Adeline was not -dangerously ill: when, however, he was assured that he should see them -in the morning, he became more tranquil. He desired his friend would not -leave him that night. These are the last hours we can pass together, -added he; I cannot sleep! Stay with me and lighten their heavy moments. -I have need of comfort, Louis. Young as I am, and held by such strong -attachments, I cannot quit the world with resignation. I know not how to -credit those stories we hear of philosophic fortitude; wisdom cannot -teach us cheerfully to resign a good, and life in my circumstances is -surely such. -</p> - -<p> -The night was passed in embarrassed conversation; sometimes interrupted -by long fits of silence, and sometimes by the paroxysms of despair; and -the morning of that day which was to lead Theodore to death, at length -dawned through the grates of his prison. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc meanwhile passed a sleepless and dreadful night. He prayed for -fortitude and resignation both for himself and Theodore; but the pangs -of nature were powerful in his heart, and not to be subdued. The idea of -his lamented wife, and of what she would have suffered had she lived to -witness the ignominious death which awaited her son, frequently occurred -to him. -</p> - -<p> -It seemed as if a destiny had hung over the life of Theodore; for it is -probable that the king might have granted the petition of the unhappy -father, had it not happened that the Marquis de Montalt was present at -court when the paper was presented. The appearance and singular distress -of the petitioner had interested the monarch, and, instead of putting by -the paper, he opened it. As he threw his eyes over it, observing that -the criminal was of the Marquis de Montalt's regiment, he turned to him -and inquired the nature of the offence for which the culprit was about -to suffer. The answer was such as might have been expected from the -Marquis, and the king was convinced that Theodore was not a proper -object of mercy. -</p> - -<p> -But to return to La Luc, who was called, according to his order, at a -very early hour. Having passed some time in prayer, he went down to the -parlour, where Louis, punctual to the moment, already waited to conduct -him to the prison. He appeared calm and collected, but his countenance -was impressed with a fixed despair that sensibly affected his young -friend. While they waited for Adeline he spoke little, and seemed -struggling to attain the fortitude necessary to support him through the -approaching scene. Adeline not appearing, he at length sent to hasten -her, and was told she had been ill, but was recovering. She had indeed -passed a night of such agitation, that her frame had sunk under it, and -she was now endeavouring to recover strength and composure sufficient to -sustain her in this dreadful hour. Every moment that brought her nearer -to it had increased her emotion, and the apprehension of being prevented -seeing Theodore had alone enabled her to struggle against the united -pressure of illness and grief. -</p> - -<p> -She now, with Clara, joined La Luc, who advanced as they entered the -room, and took a hand of each in silence. After some moments he proposed -to go, and they stepped into a carriage which conveyed them to the gates -of the prison. The crowd had already begun to assemble there, and a -confused murmur arose as the carriage moved forward; it was a grievous -sight to the friends of Theodore. Louis supported Adeline when she -alighted, she was scarcely able to walk, and with trembling steps she -followed La Luc, whom the keeper led towards that part of the prison -where his son was confined. It was now eight o'clock, the sentence was -not to be executed till twelve, but a guard of soldiers was already -placed in the court; and as this unhappy party passed along the narrow -avenues, they were met by several officers who had been to take a last -farewell of Theodore. As they ascended the stairs that led to his -apartment. La Luc's ear caught the clink of chains, and heard him -walking above with a quick irregular step. The unhappy father, overcome -by the moment which now pressed upon him, stopped, and was obliged to -support himself by the bannister. Louis fearing the consequence of his -grief might be fatal, shattered as his frame already was, would have -gone for assistance, but he made a sign to him to stay, I am better, -said La Luc; O God! support me through this hour!—and in a few -minutes he was able to proceed. -</p> - -<p> -As the warder unlocked the door, the harsh grating of the key shocked -Adeline, but in the next moment she was in the presence of Theodore, who -sprung to meet her, and caught her in his arms before she sunk to the -ground. As her head reclined on his shoulder, he again viewed that -countenance so dear to him, which had so often lighted rapture in his -heart, and which, though pale and inanimate as it now was, awakened him -to momentary delight. When at length she unclosed her eyes, she fixed -them in long and mournful gaze upon Theodore, who pressing her to his -heart could answer her only with a smile of mingled tenderness and -despair; the tears he endeavoured to restrain trembled in his eyes, and -he forgot for a time every thing but Adeline. La Luc, who had seated -himself at the foot of the bed, seemed unconscious of what passed around -him, and entirely absorbed in his own grief; but Clara, as she clasped -the hand of her brother and hung weeping on his arm, expressed aloud all -the anguish of her heart, and at length recalled the attention of -Adeline, who in a voice scarcely audible entreated she would spare her -father. Her words roused Theodore, and supporting Adeline to a chair, he -turned to La Luc. My dear child! said La Luc, grasping his hand and -bursting into tears, my dear child! They wept together. After a long -interval of silence, he said, I thought I could have supported this -hour, but I am old and feeble. God knows my efforts for resignation, my -faith in his goodness. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore by a strong and sudden exertion assumed a composed and firm -countenance, and endeavoured by every gentle argument to soothe and -comfort his weeping friends. La Luc at length seemed to conquer his -sufferings; drying his eyes, he said, My son, I ought to have set you a -better example, and have practised the precepts of fortitude I have so -often given you. But it is over; I know and will perform my duty. -Adeline breathed a heavy sigh, and continued to weep. Be comforted, my -love, we part but for a time, said Theodore as he kissed the tears from -her cheek; and uniting her hand with that of his father's, he earnestly -recommended her to his protection. Receive her, added he, as the most -precious legacy I can bequeath; consider her as your child: she will -console you when I am gone, she will more than supply the loss of your -son. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc assured him that he did now, and should continue to regard -Adeline as his daughter. During those afflicting hours he endeavoured to -dissipate the terrors of approaching death by inspiring his son with -religious confidence. His conversation was pious, rational, and -consolatory; he spoke not from the cold dictates of the head, but from -the feelings of a heart which had long loved and practised the pure -precepts of Christianity, and which now drew from them a comfort such as -nothing earthly could bestow. -</p> - -<p> -You are young, my son, said he, and are yet innocent of any great crime; -you may therefore look on death without terror, for to the guilty only -is his approach dreadful. I feel that I shall not long survive you, and -I trust in a merciful God that we shall meet in a state where sorrow -never comes; where the <i>Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing on -his wings!</i> As he spoke he looked up; the tears still trembled in his -eyes, which beamed with meek yet fervent devotion, and his countenance -glowed with the dignity of a superior being. -</p> - -<p> -Let us not neglect the awful moments, said La Luc rising, let our united -prayers ascend to Him who alone can comfort and support us! They all -knelt down, and he prayed with that simple and sublime eloquence which -true piety inspires. When he arose he embraced his children separately, -and when he came to Theodore he paused, gazed upon him with an earnest, -mournful expression, and was for some time unable to speak. Theodore -could not bear this; he drew his hand before his eyes, and vainly -endeavoured to stifle the deep sobs which convulsed his frame. At length -recovering his voice, he entreated his father would leave him. This -misery is too much for us all, said he, let us not prolong it. The time -is now drawing on—leave me to compose myself; the sharpness of death -consists in parting with those who are dear to us; when that is passed -death is disarmed. -</p> - -<p> -I will not leave you, my son, replied La Luc; my poor girls shall go, -but for me, I will be with you in your last moments. Theodore felt that -this would be too much for them both, and urged every argument which -reason could suggest to prevail with his father to relinquish his -design: but he remained firm in his determination. I will not suffer a -selfish consideration of the pain I may endure, said La Luc, to tempt me -to desert my child when he will most require my support. It is my duty -to attend you, and nothing shall withhold me. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore seized on the words of La Luc—As you would that I should be -supported in my last hour, said he, I entreat that you will not be -witness of it. Your presence, my dear father, would subdue all my -fortitude—would destroy what little composure I may otherwise be able -to attain. Add not to my sufferings the view of your distress, but leave -me to forget, if possible, the dear parent I must quit for ever. His -tears flowed anew. La Luc continued to gaze on him in silent agony. At -length he said, Well, be it so. If indeed my presence would distress -you, I will not go. His voice was broken and interrupted. After a pause -of some moments he again embraced Theodore—We must part, said he, we -<i>must</i> part, but it is only for a time—we shall soon be reunited -in a higher world!—O God! thou seest my heart—thou seest all -its feelings in this bitter hour!—Grief again overcame him. He -pressed Theodore in his arms: and at length seeming to summon all his -fortitude, he again said, We<i>must</i> part—Oh! my son, farewell -for ever in this world!—The mercy of Almighty God support and bless -you! -</p> - -<p> -He turned away to leave the prison, but quite worn out with grief, sunk -into a chair near the door he would have opened. Theodore gazed, with a -distracted countenance, alternately on his father, on Clara, and on -Adeline, whom he pressed to his throbbing heart, and their tears flowed -together. And do I then, cried he, for the last time look upon that -countenance!—Shall I never—never more behold it?—O! -exquisite misery! Yet once again—once more, continued he, pressing -her cheek; but it was insensible and cold as marble. -</p> - -<p> -Louis, who had left the room soon after La Luc arrived, that his -presence might not interrupt their farewell grief, now returned. Adeline -raised her head, and perceiving who entered, it again sunk on the bosom -of Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -Louis appeared much agitated. La Luc arose. We must go, said he; -Adeline, my love, exert yourself—Clara—my children, -let us depart.—Yet one last—last embrace, and -then!——Louis advanced and took his hand; My dear Sir, I have -something to say; yet I fear to tell it.—What do you mean? said La -Luc with quickness: no new misfortune can have power to afflict me at -this moment; do not fear to speak.—I rejoice that I cannot put you -to the proof, replied Louis; I have seen you sustain the most trying -affliction with fortitude. Can you support the transports of -hope?—La Luc gazed eagerly on Louis—Speak! said he, in a -faint voice. Adeline raised her head, and, trembling between hope and -fear, looked as if she would have searched his soul. He smiled -cheerfully upon her. Is it—O! is it possible! she exclaimed, -suddenly reanimated—He lives! He lives!—She said no more, -but ran to La Luc, who sunk fainting in his chair, while Theodore and -Clara with one voice called on Louis to relieve them from the tortures -of suspense. -</p> - -<p> -He proceeded to inform them that he had obtained from the commanding -officer a respite for Theodore till the king's further pleasure could be -known, and this in consequence of a letter received that morning from -his mother, Madame de La Motte, in which she mentioned some very -extraordinary circumstances that had appeared in the course of a trial -lately conducted at Paris, and which so materially affected the -character of the Marquis de Montalt as to render it possible a pardon -might be obtained for Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -These words darted with the rapidity of lightning upon the hearts of his -hearers. La Luc revived, and that prison so lately the scene of despair -now echoed only to the voices of gratitude and gladness. La Luc, raising -his clasped hands to heaven, said, Great God! support me in this moment -as thou hast already supported me!—If my son lives, I die in peace. -</p> - -<p> -He embraced Theodore, and remembering the anguish of his last embrace, -tears of thankfulness and joy flowed to the contrast. So powerful indeed -was the effect of this temporary reprieve, and of the hope it -introduced, that if an absolute pardon had been obtained, it could -scarcely for the moment have diffused a more lively joy. But when the -first emotions were subsided, the uncertainty of Theodore's fate once -more appeared. Adeline forbore to express this; but Clara without -scruple lamented the possibility that her brother might yet be taken -from them, and all their joy be turned to sorrow. A look from Adeline -checked her. Joy was, however, so much the predominant feeling of the -present moment, that the shade which reflection threw upon their hopes -passed away like the cloud that is dispelled by the strength of the -sunbeam; and Louis alone was pensive and abstracted. -</p> - -<p> -When they were sufficiently composed, he informed them that the contents -of Madame de La Motte's letter obliged him to set out for Paris -immediately; and that the intelligence he had to communicate intimately -concerned Adeline, who would undoubtedly judge it necessary to go -thither also as soon as her health would permit. He then read to his -impatient auditors such passages in the letter as were necessary to -explain his meaning; but as Madame de La Motte had omitted to mention -some circumstances of importance to be understood, the following is a -relation of the occurrences that had lately happened at Paris. -</p> - -<p> -It may be remembered that on the first day of his trial, La Motte, in -passing from the courts to his prison, saw a person whose features, -though imperfectly seen through the dusk, he thought he recollected; and -that this same person, after inquiring the name of La Motte, desired to -be admitted to him. On the following day the warder complied with his -request, and the surprise of La Motte may be imagined when in the -stronger light of his apartment, he distinguished the countenance of the -man, from whose hands he had formerly received Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -On observing Madame de La Motte in the room, he said he had something of -consequence to impart, and desired to be left alone with the prisoner. -When she was gone, he told De La Motte that he understood he was -confined at the suit of the Marquis de Montalt. La Motte assented.—I -know him for a villain, said the stranger boldly. Your case is -desperate. Do you wish for life? -</p> - -<p> -Need the question be asked? -</p> - -<p> -Your trial, I understand proceeds to-morrow. I am now under confinement -in this place for debt; but if you can obtain leave for me to go with -you into the courts, and a condition from the judge that what I reveal -shall not criminate myself, I will make discoveries that shall confound -that same Marquis; I will prove him a villain; and it shall then be -judged how far his word ought to be taken against you. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte, whose interest was now strongly excited, desired he would -explain himself; and the man proceeded to relate a long history of the -misfortunes and consequent poverty which had tempted him to become -subservient to the schemes of the Marquis, till he suddenly checked -himself, and said. When I obtain from the court the promise I require, I -will explain myself fully; till then, I cannot say more on the subject. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte could not forbear expressing a doubt of his sincerity, and a -curiosity concerning the motive that had induced him to become the -Marquis's accuser.—As to my motive, it is a very natural one, replied -the man: it is no easy matter to receive ill usage without resenting it, -particularly from a villain whom you have served.—La Motte, for his -own sake, endeavoured to check the vehemence with which this was uttered. I -care not who hears me continued the stranger, but at the same time he -lowered his voice; I repeat it—the Marquis has used me ill—I -have kept his secret long enough: he does not think it worth while to -secure my silence, or he would relieve my necessities. I am in prison for -debt, and have applied to him for relief; since he does not choose to give -it, let him take the consequence. I warrant he shall soon repent that he -has provoked me, and 'tis fit he should. -</p> - -<p> -The doubts of La Motte were now dissipated; the prospect of life again -opened upon him, and he assured Du Bosse (which was the stranger's name) -with much warmth, that he would commission his advocate to do all in his -power to obtain leave for his appearance on the trial, and to procure -the necessary condition. After some further conversation they parted. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Drag forth the legal monster into light,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Wrench from his hand oppression's iron rod,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And bid the cruel feel the pains they give.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Leave was at length granted for the appearance of Du Bosse, with a -promise that his words should not criminate him, and he accompanied La -Motte into court. -</p> - -<p> -The confusion of the Marquis de Montalt on perceiving this man was -observed by many persons present, and particularly by La Motte, who drew -from this circumstance a favourable presage for himself. -</p> - -<p> -When Du Bosse was called upon, he informed the court, that on the night -of the twenty-first of April, in the preceding year, one Jean D'Aunoy, a -man he had known many years, came to his lodging. After they had -discoursed for some time on their circumstances, D'Aunoy said he knew a -way by which Du Bosse might change all his poverty to riches, but that -he would not say more till he was certain he would be willing to follow -it. The distressed state in which Du Bosse then was, made him anxious to -learn the means which would bring him relief; he eagerly inquired what -his friend meant, and after some time D'Aunoy explained himself. He said -he was employed by a nobleman (who he afterwards told Du Bosse was the -Marquis de Montalt) to carry off a young girl from a convent, and that -she was to be taken to a house a few leagues distant from Paris. I knew -the house he described well, said Du Bosse, for I had been there many -times with D'Aunoy, who lived there to avoid his creditors, though he -often passed his nights at Paris. He would not tell me more of the -scheme, but said he should want assistants, and if I and my brother, who -is since dead, would join him, his employer would grudge no money, and -we should be well rewarded. I desired him again to tell me more of the -plan, but he was obstinate; and after I had told him I would consider of -what he said, and speak to my brother, he went away. -</p> - -<p> -When he called the next night for his answer, my brother and I agreed to -engage, and accordingly we went home with him. He then told us that the -young lady he was to bring thither was a natural daughter of the Marquis -de Montalt and of a nun belonging to a convent of Ursulines; that his -wife had received the child immediately on its birth, and had been -allowed a handsome annuity to bring it up as her own, which she had done -till her death. The child was then placed in a convent and designed for -the veil; but when she was of an age to receive the vows, she had -steadily persisted in refusing them. This circumstance had so much -exasperated the Marquis, that in his rage he ordered that if she -persisted in her obstinacy she should be removed from the convent, and -got rid of any way; since if she lived in the world her birth might be -discovered, and in consequence of this, her mother, for whom he had yet -a regard, would be condemned to expiate her crime by a terrible death. -</p> - -<p> -Du Bosse was interrupted in his narrative by the counsel of the Marquis, -who contended that the circumstances alleged tending to criminate his -client, the proceeding was both irrelevant and illegal. He was answered -that it was not irrelevant, and therefore not illegal; for that the -circumstances which threw light upon the character of the Marquis, -affected his evidence against La Motte. Du Bosse was suffered to -proceed. -</p> - -<p> -D'Aunoy then said that the Marquis had ordered him to dispatch her, but -that, as he had been used to see her from her infancy, he could not find -in his heart to do it, and wrote to tell him so. The Marquis then -commanded him to find those who would, and this was the business for -which he wanted us. My brother and I were not so wicked as this came to, -and so we told D'Aunoy; and I could not help asking why the Marquis -resolved to murder his own child rather than expose her mother to the -risque of suffering death. He said the Marquis had never seen his child -and that, therefore, it could not be supposed he felt much kindness -towards it, and still less that he could love it better than he loved -its mother. -</p> - -<p> -Du Bosse proceeded to relate how much he and his brother had endeavoured -to soften the heart of D'Aunoy towards the Marquis's daughter, and that -they prevailed with him to write again and plead for her. D'Aunoy went -to Paris to await the answer, leaving them and the young girl at the -house on the heath, where the former had consented to remain, seemingly -for the purpose of executing the orders they might receive, but really -with a design to save the unhappy victim from the sacrifice. -</p> - -<p> -It is probable that Du Bosse, in this instance, gave a false account of -his motive; since, if he was really guilty of an intention so atrocious -as that of murder, he would naturally endeavour to conceal it. However -this might be, he affirmed, that on the night of the twenty-sixth of -April, he received an order from D'Aunoy for the destruction of the -girl, whom he had afterwards delivered into the hands of La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte listened to this relation in astonishment; when he knew that -Adeline was the daughter of the Marquis, and remembered the crime to -which he had once devoted her, his frame thrilled with horror. He now -took up the story, and added an account of what had passed at the abbey -between the Marquis and himself, concerning a design of the former upon -the life of Adeline, and urged, as a proof of the present prosecution -originating in malice, that it had commenced immediately after he had -effected her escape from the Marquis. He concluded, however, with -saying, that as the Marquis had immediately sent his people in pursuit -of her, it was possible she might yet have fallen a victim to his -vengeance. -</p> - -<p> -Here the Marquis's counsel again interfered, and their objections were -again overruled by the court. The uncommon degree of emotion which his -countenance betrayed during the narrations of Du Bosse and De La Motte -was generally observed. The court suspended the sentence of the latter, -ordered that the Marquis should be put under immediate arrest, and that -Adeline (the name given by her fostermother) and Jean D'Aunoy should be -sought for. -</p> - -<p> -The Marquis was accordingly seized at the suit of the crown, and put -under confinement till Adeline should appear, or proof could be obtained -that she died by his order; and till D'Aunoy should confirm or destroy -the evidence of De La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -Madame, who at length obtained intelligence of her son's residence from -the town where he was formerly stationed, had acquainted him with his -father's situation, and the proceedings of the trial; and as she -believed that Adeline, if she had been so fortunate as to escape the -Marquis's pursuit, was still in Savoy, she desired Louis would obtain -leave of absence, and bring her to Paris, where her immediate presence -was requisite to substantiate the evidence, and probably to save the -life of La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -On the receipt of her letter, which happened on the morning appointed -for the execution of Theodore, Louis went immediately to the commanding -officer to petition for a respite till the king's further pleasure -should be known. He founded his plea on the arrest of the Marquis, and -showed the letter he had just received. The commanding officer readily -granted a reprieve; and Louis, who, on the arrival of this letter had -forborne to communicate its contents to Theodore, lest it should torture -him with false hope, now hastened to him with this comfortable news. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Low on his funeral couch he lies!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">No pitying heart, no eye, afford</span><br /> -<span class="i0">A tear lo grace his obsequies.</span><br /> -<span class="i8">GRAY.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -On learning the purport of Madame de La Motte's letter, Adeline saw the -necessity of her immediate departure for Paris. The life of La Motte, -who had more than saved hers, the life perhaps of her beloved Theodore, -depended on the testimony she should give. And she who had so lately -been sinking under the influence of illness and despair, who could -scarcely raise her languid head, or speak but in the faintest accents, -now reanimated with hope, and invigorated by a sense of the importance -of the business before her, prepared to perform a rapid journey of some -hundred miles. -</p> - -<p> -Theodore tenderly entreated that she would so far consider her health as -to delay this journey for a few days: but with a smile of enchanting -tenderness she assured him, that she was now too happy to be ill, and -that the same cause which would confirm her happiness would confirm her -health. So strong was the effect of hope upon her mind, now that it -succeeded to the misery of despair, that it overcame the shock she -suffered on believing herself a daughter of the Marquis, and every other -painful reflection. She did not even foresee the obstacle that -circumstance might produce to her union with Theodore, should he at last -be permitted to live. -</p> - -<p> -It was settled that she should set off for Paris in a few hours with -Louis, and attended by Peter. These hours were passed by La Luc and his -family in the prison. -</p> - -<p> -When the time of her departure arrived, the spirits of Adeline again -forsook her, and the illusions of joy disappeared. She no longer beheld -Theodore as one respited from death, but took leave of him with a -mournful presentiment that she should see him no more. So strongly was -this presage impressed upon her mind, that it was long before she could -summon resolution to bid him farewell; and when she had done so, and -even left the apartment, she returned to take of him a last look. As she -was once more quitting the room, her melancholy imagination represented -Theodore at the place of execution, pale, and convulsed in death; she -again turned her lingering eyes upon him; but fancy affected her sense, -for she thought as she now gazed that his countenance changed, and -assumed a ghastly hue. All her resolution vanished; and such was the -anguish of her heart, that she resolved to defer her journey till the -morrow, though she must by this means lose the protection of Louis, -whose impatience to meet his father would not suffer the delay. The -triumph of passion, however, was transient; soothed by the indulgence -she promised herself, her grief subsided; reason resumed its influence; -she again saw the necessity of her immediate departure, and recollected -sufficient resolution to submit. La Luc would have accompanied her for -the purpose of again soliciting the king in behalf of his son, had not -the extreme weakness and lassitude to which he was reduced made -travelling impracticable. -</p> - -<p> -At length, Adeline with a heavy heart quitted Theodore, notwithstanding -his entreaties that she would not undertake the journey in her present -weak state, and was accompanied by Clara and La Luc to the inn. The -former parted from her friend with many tears, and much anxiety for her -welfare, but under a hope of soon meeting again. Should a pardon be -granted to Theodore, La Luc designed to fetch Adeline from Paris; but -should this be refused, she was to return with Peter. He bade her adieu -with a father's kindness, which she repaid with a filial affection, and -in her last words conjured him to attend to the recovery of his health: -the languid smile he assumed seemed to express that her solicitude was -vain, and that he thought his health past recovery. -</p> - -<p> -Thus Adeline quitted the friends so justly dear to her, and so lately -found, for Paris, where she was a stranger, almost without protection, -and compelled to meet a father, who had pursued her with the utmost -cruelty, in a public court of justice. The carriage in leaving Vaceau -passed by the prison; she threw an eager look towards it as she passed; -its heavy black walls, and narrow-grated windows, seemed to frown upon -her hopes—but Theodore was there, and leaning from the window: she -continued to gaze upon it till an abrupt turning in the street concealed -it from her view. She then sunk back in the carriage, and yielding to -the melancholy of her heart, wept in silence. Louis was not disposed to -interrupt it; his thoughts were anxiously employed on his father's -situation, and the travellers proceeded many miles without exchanging a -word. -</p> - -<p> -At Paris, whither we shall now return, the search after Jean D'Aunoy was -prosecuted without success. The house on the heath, described by Du -Bosse, was found uninhabited, and to the places of his usual resort in -the city, where the officers of the police awaited him, he no longer -came. It even appeared doubtful whether he was living, for he had -absented himself from the houses of his customary rendezvous sometime -before the trial of La Motte; it was therefore certain that his absence -was not occasioned by any thing which had passed in the courts. -</p> - -<p> -In the solitude of his confinement the Marquis de Montalt had leisure to -reflect on the past, and to repent of his crimes; but reflection and -repentance formed as yet no part of his disposition. He turned with -impatience from recollections which produced only pain, and looked -forward to the future with an endeavour to avert the disgrace and -punishment which he saw impending. The elegance of his manners had so -effectually veiled the depravity of his heart, that he was a favourite -with his sovereign; and on this circumstance he rested his hope of -security. He, however, severely repented that he had indulged the hasty -spirit of revenge which had urged him to the prosecution of La Motte, and -had thus unexpectedly involved him in a situation dangerous—if not -fatal—since if Adeline could not be found he would be concluded -guilty of her death. But the appearance of D'Aunoy was the circumstance he -most dreaded; and to oppose the possibility of this, he employed secret -emissaries to discover his retreat, and to bribe him to his interest. -These were, however as unsuccessful in their research as the officers of -police, and the Marquis at length began to hope that the man was really -dead. -</p> - -<p> -La Motte meanwhile awaited with trembling impatience the arrival of his -son, when he should be relieved in some degree from his uncertainty -concerning Adeline. On this appearance he rested his only hope of life, -since the evidence against him would lose much of its validity from the -confirmation she would give of the bad character of his prosecutor; and -if the Parliament even condemned La Motte, the clemency of the king -might yet operate in his favour. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline arrived at Paris after a journey of several days, during which -she was chiefly supported by the delicate attentions of Louis, whom she -pitied and esteemed, though she could not love. She was immediately -visited at the hotel by Madame La Motte: the meeting was affecting on -both sides. A sense of her past conduct excited in the latter an -embarrassment which the delicacy and goodness of Adeline would willingly -have spared her; but the pardon solicited was given with so much -sincerity, that Madame gradually became composed and reassured. This -forgiveness, however, could not have been thus easily granted, had -Adeline believed her former conduct was voluntary; a conviction of the -restraint and terror under which Madame had acted, alone induced her to -excuse the past. In this first meeting they forbore dwelling on -particular subjects; Madame La Motte proposed that Adeline should remove -from the hotel to her lodgings near the Chatelet; and Adeline, for whom -a residence at a public hotel was very improper, gladly accepted the -offer. -</p> - -<p> -Madame there gave her a circumstantial account of La Motte's situation, -and concluded with saying, that as the sentence of her husband had been -suspended till some certainty could be obtained concerning the late -criminal designs of the Marquis, and as Adeline could confirm the chief -part of La Motte's testimony, it was probable that now she was arrived -the court would proceed immediately. She now learnt the full extent of -her obligation to La Motte; for she was till now ignorant that when he -sent her from the forest he saved her from death. Her horror of the -Marquis, whom she could not bear to consider as her father, and her -gratitude to her deliverer, redoubled, and she became impatient to give -the testimony so necessary to the hopes of her preserver. Madame then -said, she believed it was not too late to gain admittance that night to -the Chatelet; and as she knew how anxiously her husband wished to see -Adeline, she entreated her consent to go thither. Adeline, though much -harassed and fatigued, complied. When Louis returned from M. Nemours, -his father's advocate, whom he had hastened to inform of her arrival, -they all set out for the Chatelet. The view of the prison into which -they were now admitted, so forcibly recalled to Adeline's mind the -situation of Theodore, that she with difficulty supported herself to the -apartment of La Motte. When he saw her, a gleam of joy passed over his -countenance; but again relapsing into despondency, he looked mournfully -at her, and then at Louis, and groaned deeply. Adeline, in whom all -remembrance of his former cruelty was lost in his subsequent kindness, -expressed her thankfulness for the life he had preserved, and her -anxiety to serve him, in warm and repeated terms. But her gratitude -evidently distressed him; instead of reconciling him to himself, it -seemed to awaken a remembrance of the guilty designs he had once -assisted, and to strike the pangs of conscience deeper in his heart. -Endeavouring to conceal his emotions, he entered on the subject of his -present danger, and informed Adeline what testimony would be required of -her on the trial. After above an hour's conversation with La Motte, she -returned to the lodgings of Madame, where, languid and ill, she withdrew -to her chamber, and tried to obliviate her anxieties in sleep. -</p> - -<p> -The Parliament which conducted the trial re-assembled in a few days -after the arrival of Adeline, and the two remaining witnesses of the -Marquis, on whom he now rested his cause against La Motte, appeared. She -was led trembling into the court, where almost the first object that met -her eyes was the Marquis de Montalt, whom she now beheld with an emotion -entirely new to her, and which was strongly tinctured with horror. When -Du Bosse saw her he immediately swore to her identity; his testimony was -confirmed by her manner; for, on perceiving him she grew pale, and an -universal tremor seized her. Jean D'Aunoy could no where be found, and -La Motte was thus deprived of an evidence which essentially affected his -interest. Adeline, when called upon, gave her little narrative with -clearness and precision; and Peter, who had conveyed her from the abbey, -supported the testimony she offered. The evidence produced was -sufficient to criminate the Marquis of the intention of murder, in the -minds of most people present; but it was not sufficient to affect the -testimony of his two last witnesses, who positively swore to the -commission of the robbery, and to the person of La Motte, on whom -sentence of death was accordingly pronounced. On receiving the sentence -the unhappy criminal fainted, and the compassion of the assembly, whose -feelings had been unusually interested in the decision, was expressed in -a general groan. -</p> - -<p> -Their attention was quickly called to a new object—it was Jean -D'Aunoy, who now entered the court. But his evidence, if it could ever, -indeed, have been the means of saving La Motte, came too late. He was -reconducted to prison; but Adeline, who, extremely shocked by his -sentence, was much indisposed, received orders to remain in the court -during the examination of D'Aunoy. This man had been at length found in -the prison of a provincial town, where some of his creditors had thrown -him, and from which even the money which the Marquis had remitted to him -for the purpose of satisfying the craving importunities of Du Bosse, had -been insufficient to release him. Meanwhile the revenge of the latter -had been roused against the Marquis by an imaginary neglect, and the -money which was designed to relieve his necessities, was spent by -D'Aunoy in riotous luxury. -</p> - -<p> -He was confronted with Adeline and with Du Bosse, and ordered to confess -all he knew concerning this mysterious affair, or to undergo the -torture. D'Aunoy, who was ignorant how far the suspicions concerning the -Marquis extended, and who was conscious that his own words might condemn -him, remained for some time obstinately silent; but when the -<i>question</i> was administered, his resolution gave way, and he confessed -a crime of which he had not even been suspected. -</p> - -<p> -It appeared, that, in the year 1642, D'Aunoy, together with one Jaques -Martigny, and Francis Balliere, had way-laid and seized Henri, Marquis -de Montalt, half-brother to Philippe; and after having robbed him, and -bound his servant to a tree, according to the orders they had received, -they conveyed him to the abbey of St. Clair, in the distant forest of -Fontanville. Here he was confined for some time, till further directions -were received from Philippe de Montalt, the present Marquis, who was -then on his estates in a northern province of France. These orders were -for death, and the unfortunate Henri was assassinated in his chamber in -the third week of his confinement at the abbey. -</p> - -<p> -On hearing this, Adeline grew faint: she remembered the MS. she had -found, together with the extraordinary circumstances that had attended -the discovery; every nerve thrilled with horror, and, raising her eyes, -she saw the countenance of the Marquis overspread with the livid -paleness of guilt. She endeavoured, however, to arrest her fleeting -spirits while the man proceeded in his confession. -</p> - -<p> -When the murder was perpetrated, D'Aunoy had returned to his employer, -who gave him the reward agreed upon, and in a few months after delivered -into his hands the infant daughter of the late Marquis, whom he conveyed -to a distant part of the kingdom, where, assuming the name of St. -Pierre, he brought her up as his own child, receiving from the present -Marquis a considerable annuity for his secrecy. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline, no longer able to struggle with the tumult of emotions that now -rushed upon her heart, uttered a deep sigh and fainted away. She was -carried from the court; and when the confusion occasioned by this -circumstance subsided, Jean D'Aunoy went on. He related, that on the -death of his wife, Adeline was placed in a convent, from whence she was -afterwards removed to another, where the Marquis had destined her to -receive the vows. That her determined rejection of them had occasioned -him to resolve upon her death, and that she had accordingly been removed -to the house on the heath. D'Aunoy added, that by the Marquis's order he -had misled Du Bosse with a false story of her birth. Having, after some -time, discovered that his comrades had deceived him concerning her -death, D'Aunoy separated from them in enmity; but they unanimously -determined to conceal her escape from the Marquis, that they might enjoy -the recompense of their supposed crime. Some months subsequent to this -period, however, D'Aunoy received a letter from the Marquis, charging -him with the truth, and promising him a large reward if he would confess -where he had placed Adeline. In consequence of this letter, he -acknowledged that she had been given into the hands of a stranger; but, -who he was, or where he lived, was not known. -</p> - -<p> -Upon these depositions Philippe de Montalt was committed to take his -trial for the murder of Henri, his brother; D'Aunoy was thrown into a -dungeon of the Chatelet, and Du Bosse was bound to appear as evidence. -</p> - -<p> -The feelings of the Marquis, who, in a prosecution stimulated by -revenge, had thus unexpectedly exposed his crimes to the public eye, and -betrayed himself to justice, can only be imagined. The passions which -had tempted him to the commission of a crime so horrid as that of -murder,—and what, if possible, heightened its atrocity, the murder of -one connected with him by the ties of blood, and by habits of even -infantine association—the passions which had stimulated him to so -monstrous a deed, were ambition and the love of pleasure. The first was -more immediately gratified by the title of his brother; the latter, by -the riches which would enable him to indulge his voluptuous -inclinations. -</p> - -<p> -The late Marquis de Montalt, the father of Adeline, received from his -ancestors a patrimony very inadequate to support the splendour of his -rank; but he had married the heiress of an illustrious family, whose -fortune amply supplied the deficiency of his own. He had the misfortune -to lose her, for she was amiable and beautiful, soon after the birth of -a daughter, and it was then that the present Marquis formed the -diabolical design of destroying his brother. The contrast of their -characters prevented that cordial regard between them which their near -relationship seemed to demand. Henri was benevolent, mild, and -contemplative. In his heart reigned the love of virtue; in his manners -the strictness of justice was tempered, not weakened, by mercy; his mind -was enlarged by science, and adorned by elegant literature. The -character of Philippe has been already delineated in his actions; its -nicer shades were blended with some shining tints; but these served only -to render more striking by contrast the general darkness of the -portrait. -</p> - -<p> -He had married a lady, who, by the death of her brother, inherited -considerable estates, of which the abbey of St. Clair, and the villa on -the borders of the forest of Fontanville, were the chief. His passion -for magnificence and dissipation, however, soon involved him in -difficulties, and pointed out to him the conveniency of possessing his -brother's wealth. His brother and his infant daughter only stood between -him and his wishes; how he removed the father has been already related; -why he did not employ the same means to secure the child, seems somewhat -surprising, unless we admit that a destiny hung over him on this -occasion, and that she was suffered to live as an instrument to punish -the murderer of her parent. When a retrospect is taken of the -vicissitudes and dangers to which she had been exposed from her earliest -infancy, it appears as if her preservation was the effect of something -more than human policy, and affords a striking instance, that justice, -however long delayed, will overtake the guilty. -</p> - -<p> -While the late unhappy Marquis was suffering at the abbey, his brother, -who, to avoid suspicion, remained in the north of France, delayed the -execution of his horrid purpose from a timidity natural to a mind not -yet inured to enormous guilt. Before he dared to deliver his final -orders, he waited to know whether the story he contrived to propagate of -his brother's death would veil his crime from suspicion. It succeeded -but too well; for the servant, whose life had been spared that he might -relate the tale, naturally enough concluded that his lord had been -murdered by banditti; and the peasant, who, a few hours after, found the -servant wounded, bleeding, and bound to a tree, and knew also that this -spot was infested by robbers, as naturally believed him, and spread the -report accordingly. -</p> - -<p> -From this period the Marquis, to whom the abbey of St. Clair belonged in -right of his wife, visited it only twice, and that at distant times, -till, after an interval of several years, he accidentally found La Motte -its inhabitant. He resided at Paris and on his estate in the north, -except that once a year he usually passed a month at his delightful -villa on the borders of the forest. In the busy scenes of the court, and -in the dissipations of pleasure, he tried to lose the remembrance of his -guilt; but there were times when the voice of conscience would be heard, -though it was soon again lost in the tumult of the world. -</p> - -<p> -It is probable, that on the night of his abrupt departure from the -abbey, the solitary silence and gloom of the hour, in a place which had -been the scene of his former crime, called up the remembrance of his -brother with a force too powerful for fancy, and awakened horrors which -compelled him to quit the polluted spot. If it was so, it is however -certain that the spectres of conscience vanished with the darkness; for -on the following day he returned to the abbey, though, it may be -observed, he never attempted to pass another night there. But though -terror was roused for a transient moment, neither pity nor repentance -succeeded; since, when the discovery of Adeline's birth excited -apprehension for his own life, he did not hesitate to repeat the crime, -and would again have stained his soul with human blood. This discovery -was effected by means of a seal bearing the arms of her mother's family, -which was impressed on the note his servant had found, and had delivered -to him at Caux. It may be remembered, that having read this note, he was -throwing it from him in the fury of jealousy; but, that after examining -it again, it was carefully deposited in his pocket-book. The violent -agitation which a suspicion of this terrible truth occasioned, deprived -him for awhile of all power to act. When he was well enough to write, he -dispatched a letter to D'Aunoy, the purport of which has been already -mentioned. From D'Aunoy he received the confirmation of his fears. -Knowing that his life must pay the forfeiture of his crime, should -Adeline ever obtain a knowledge of her birth, and not daring again to -confide in the secrecy of a man who had once deceived him, he resolved, -after some deliberation, on her death. He immediately set out for the -abbey, and gave those directions concerning her which terror for his own -safety, still more than a desire of retaining her estates, suggested. -</p> - -<p> -As the history of the seal which revealed the birth of Adeline is rather -remarkable, it may not be amiss to mention, that it was stolen from the -Marquis, together with a gold watch, by Jean D'Aunoy: the watch was soon -disposed of, but the seal had been kept as a pretty trinket by his wife, -and at her death went with Adeline among her clothes to the convent. -Adeline had carefully preserved it, because it had once belonged to the -woman whom she believed to have been her mother. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -We now return to the course of the narrative, and to Adeline, who was -carried from the court to the lodging of Madame de La Motte. Madame was, -however, at the Chatelet with her husband, suffering all the distress -which the sentence pronounced against him might be supposed to inflict. -The feeble frame of Adeline, so long harassed by grief and fatigue, -almost sunk under the agitation which the discovery of her birth -excited. Her feelings on this occasion were too complex to be analysed. -From an orphan, subsisting on the bounty of others, without family, with -few friends, and pursued by a cruel and powerful enemy, she saw herself -suddenly transformed to the daughter of an illustrious house, and the -heiress of immense wealth. But she learned also that her father had been -murdered—murdered in the prime of his days—murdered by means of -his brother, against whom she must now appear, and in punishing the -destroyer of her parent, doom her uncle to death. -</p> - -<p> -When she remembered the manuscript so singularly found, and considered -that when she wept to the sufferings it described, her tears had flowed -for those of her father, her emotion cannot easily be imagined. The -circumstances attending the discovery of these papers no longer appeared -to be a work of chance, but of a Power whose designs are great and just. -O, my father! she would exclaim, your last wish is fulfilled—the -pitying heart you wished might trace your sufferings shall avenge them. -</p> - -<p> -On the return of Madame La Motte, Adeline endeavoured, as usual, to -suppress her own emotions, that she might soothe the affliction of her -friend. She related what had passed in the courts after the departure of -La Motte, and thus excited, even in the sorrowful heart of Madame, a -momentary gleam of satisfaction. Adeline determined to recover, if -possible, the manuscript. On inquiry she learned that La Motte, in the -confusion of his departure, had left it among other things at the abbey. -This circumstance much distressed her, the more so because she believed -its appearance might be of importance on the approaching trial; she -determined, however, if she could recover her rights, to have the -manuscript sought for. -</p> - -<p> -In the evening Louis joined this mournful party: he came immediately -from his father, whom he left more tranquil than he had been since the -fatal sentence was pronounced. After a silent and melancholy supper they -separated for the night; and Adeline, in the solitude of her chamber, -had leisure to meditate on the discoveries of this eventful day. The -sufferings of her dead father, such as she had read them recorded by his -own hand, pressed most forcibly to her thoughts. The narrative had -formerly so much affected her heart, and interested her imagination, -that her memory now faithfully reflected each particular circumstance -there disclosed. But when she considered that she had been in the very -chamber where her parent had suffered, where even his life had been -sacrificed, and that she had probably seen the very dagger, seen it -stained with rust, the rust of blood! by which he had fallen, the -anguish and horror of her mind defied all control. -</p> - -<p> -On the following day Adeline received orders to prepare for the -prosecution of the Marquis de Montalt, which was to commence as soon as -the requisite witnesses could be collected. Among these were the abbess -of the convent, who had received her from the hands of D'Aunoy; Madame -La Motte, who was present when Du Bosse compelled her husband to receive -Adeline; and Peter, who had not only been witness to this circumstance, -but who had conveyed her from the abbey that she might escape the -designs of the Marquis. La Motte and Theodore La Luc were incapacitated -by the sentence of the law from appearing on the trial. -</p> - -<p> -When La Motte was informed of the discovery of Adeline's birth, and that -her father had been murdered at the abbey of St. Clair, he instantly -remembered, and mentioned to his wife, the skeleton he found in the -stone room leading to the subterranean cells. Neither of them doubted, -from the situation in which it lay, hid in a chest in an obscure room -strongly guarded, that La Motte had seen the remains of the late -Marquis. Madame, however, determined not to shock Adeline with the -mention of this circumstance till it should be necessary to declare it -on the trial. -</p> - -<p> -As the time of this trial drew near, the distress and agitation of -Adeline increased. Though justice demanded the life of the murderer, and -though the tenderness and pity which the idea of her father called -forth, urged her to revenge his death, she could not without horror -consider herself as the instrument of dispensing that justice which -would deprive a fellow-being of existence; and there were times when she -wished the secret of her birth had never been revealed. If this -sensibility was, in her peculiar circumstances, a weakness, it was at -least an amiable one, and as such deserves to be reverenced. -</p> - -<p> -The accounts she received from Vaceau of the health of M. La Luc did not -contribute to tranquillize her mind. The symptoms described by Clara -seemed to say that he was in the last stage of a consumption, and the -grief of Theodore and herself on this occasion was expressed in her -letters with the lively eloquence so natural to her. Adeline loved and -revered La Luc for his own worth, and for the parental tenderness he had -shown her; but he was still dearer to her as the father of Theodore and -her concern for his declining state was not inferior to that of his -children. It was increased by the reflection that she had probably been -the means of shortening his life; for she too well knew that the -distress occasioned him by the situation in which it had been her -misfortune to involve Theodore, had shattered his frame to its present -infirmity. The same cause also withheld him from seeking in the climate -of Montpellier the relief he had formerly been taught to expect there. -When she looked around on the condition of her friends, her heart was -almost overwhelmed with the prospect; it seemed as if she was destined -to involve all those most dear to her in calamity. With respect to La -Motte, whatever were his vices, and whatever the designs in which he had -formerly engaged against her, she forgot them all in the service he had -finally rendered her; and considered it to be as much her duty, as she -felt it to be her inclination, to intercede in his behalf. This, -however, in her present situation, she could not do with any hope of -success; but if the suit, upon which depended the establishment of her -rank, her fortune, and consequently her influence, should be decided in -her favour, she determined to throw herself at the king's feet, and when -she pleaded the cause of Theodore, ask the life of La Motte. -</p> - -<p> -A few days preceding that of the trial, Adeline was informed a stranger -desired to speak with her; and on going to the room where he was, she -found M. Verneuil. Her countenance expressed both surprise and -satisfaction at this unexpected meeting, and she inquired, though with -little expectation of an affirmative, if he had heard of M. La Luc. I -have seen him, said M. Verneuil; I am just come from Vaceau: but, I am -sorry I cannot give you a better account of his health; he is greatly -altered since I saw him before. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline could scarcely refrain from tears at the recollection these -words revived of the calamities which had occasioned this lamented -change. M. Verneuil delivered her a packet from Clara. As he presented -it, he said, besides this introduction to your notice, I have a claim of -a different kind, which I am proud to assert, and which will perhaps -justify the permission I ask of speaking upon your affairs.—Adeline -bowed; and M. Verneuil, with a countenance expressive of the most tender -solicitude, added, that he had heard of the late proceedings of the -Parliament of Paris, and of the discoveries that so intimately concerned -her. I know not, continued he, whether I ought to congratulate or -condole with you on this trying occasion. That I sincerely sympathize in -all that concerns you I hope you will believe, and I cannot deny myself -the pleasure of telling you that I am related, though distantly, to the -late Marchioness your mother—for that she <i>was your mother</i> I -cannot doubt. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline rose hastily and advanced towards M. Verneuil; surprise and -satisfaction reanimated her features. Do I indeed see a relation? said -she in a sweet and tremulous voice; and one whom I can welcome as a -friend? Tears trembled in her eyes; and she received M. Verneuil's -embrace in silence. It was some time before her emotion would permit her -to speak. -</p> - -<p> -To Adeline, who from her earliest infancy had been abandoned to -strangers, a forlorn and helpless orphan; who had never till lately -known a relation, and who then found one in the person of an inveterate -enemy; to her this discovery was as delightful as unexpected. But, after -struggling for some time with the various emotions that pressed upon her -heart, she begged of M. Verneuil permission to withdraw till she could -recover composure. He would have taken leave, but she entreated him not -to go. -</p> - -<p> -The interest which M. Verneuil took in the concerns of La Luc, which was -strengthened by his increasing regard for Clara, had drawn him to -Vaceau, where he was informed of the family and peculiar circumstances -of Adeline. On receiving this intelligence he immediately set out for -Paris, to offer his protection and assistance to his newly-discovered -relation, and to aid, if possible, the cause of Theodore. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline in a short time returned, and could then bear to converse on the -subject of her family. M. Verneuil offered her his support and -assistance, if they should be found necessary. But I trust, added he, to -the justice of your cause, and hope it will not require any adventitious -aid. To those who remember the late Marchioness, your features bring -sufficient evidence of your birth. As a proof that my judgment in this -instance is not biassed by prejudice, the resemblance struck me when I -was in Savoy, though I knew the Marchioness only by her portrait; and I -believe I mentioned to M. La Luc that you often reminded me of a -deceased relation. You may form some judgment of this yourself, added M. -Verneuil, taking a miniature from his pocket. This was your amiable -mother. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline's countenance changed; she received the picture eagerly, gazed -on it for a long time in silence, and her eyes filled with tears. It was -not the resemblance she studied; but the countenance—the mild and -beautiful countenance of her parent, whose blue eyes, full of tender -sweetness, seemed bent upon hers, while a soft smile played on her lips; -Adeline pressed the picture to hers, and again gazed in silent reverie. At -length, with a deep sigh, she said. This surely <i>was</i> my mother. Had -she <i>but</i> lived—O, my poor father! you had been spared. This -reflection quite overcame her, and she burst into tears. M. Verneuil did -not interrupt her grief, but took her hand and sat by her without speaking, -till she became more composed. Again kissing the picture, she held it -out to him with a hesitating look. No, said he, it is already with its -true owner. She thanked him with a smile of ineffable sweetness; and -after some conversation on the subject of the approaching trial, on -which occasion she requested M. Verneuil would support her by his -presence, he withdrew, having begged leave to repeat his visit on the -following day. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline now opened her packet, and saw once more the well known -characters of Theodore: for a moment She felt as if in his presence, and -the conscious blush overspread her cheek. With a trembling hand she -broke the seal, and read the tenderest assurances and solicitudes of his -love. She often paused that she might prolong the sweet emotions which -these assurances awakened; but while tears of tenderness stood trembling -on her eyelids, the bitter recollection of his situation would return, -and they fell in anguish on her bosom. -</p> - -<p> -He congratulated her, and with peculiar delicacy, on the prospects of -life which were opening to her; said, every thing that might tend to -animate and support her, but avoided dwelling on his own circumstances, -except by expressing his sense of the zeal and kindness of his -commanding officer, and adding that he did not despair of finally -obtaining a pardon. -</p> - -<p> -This hope, though but faintly expressed, and written evidently for the -purpose of consoling Adeline, did not entirely fail of the desired -effect. She yielded to its enchanting influence, and forgot for awhile -the many subjects of care and anxiety which surrounded her. Theodore -said little of his father's health; what he did say was by no means so -discouraging as the accounts of Clara, who, less anxious to conceal a -truth that must give pain to Adeline, expressed without reserve all her -apprehension and concern. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">...... Heaven is just!</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And, when the measure of his crimes is full,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Will bare its red right arm, and launch its lightnings.</span><br /> -<span class="i10">MASON.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -The day of the trial so anxiously awaited, and on which the fate of so -many persons depended, at length arrived. Adeline, accompanied by M. -Verneuil and Madame La Motte, appeared as the prosecutor of the Marquis -de Montalt; and D'Aunoy, Du Bosse, Louis de La Motte, and several other -persons, as witnesses in her cause. The judges were some of the most -distinguished in France, and the advocates on both sides men of eminent -abilities. On a trial of such importance the court, as may be imagined, -was crowded with persons of distinction, and the spectacle it presented -was strikingly solemn, yet magnificent. -</p> - -<p> -When she appeared before the tribunal, Adeline's emotion surpassed all -the arts of disguise; but, adding to the natural dignity of her air an -expression of soft timidity, and to her downcast eyes a sweet confusion, -it rendered her an object still more interesting; and she attracted the -universal pity and admiration of the assembly. When she ventured to -raise her eyes, she perceived that the Marquis was not yet in the court; -and while she awaited his appearance in trembling expectation, a -confused murmuring rose in a distant part of the hall. Her spirits now -almost forsook her; the certainty of seeing immediately, and -consciously, the murderer of her father, chilled her with horror, and -she was with difficulty preserved from fainting. A low sound now ran -through the court, and an air of confusion appeared, which was soon -communicated to the tribunal itself. Several of the members arose, some -left the hall, the whole place exhibited a scene of disorder, and a -report at length reached Adeline that the Marquis de Montalt was dying. -A considerable time elapsed in uncertainty: but the confusion continued; -the Marquis did not appear, and at Adeline's request M. Verneuil went in -quest of more positive information. -</p> - -<p> -He followed a crowd which was hurrying towards the Chatelet, and with -some difficulty gained admittance into the prison; but the porter at the -gate, whom he had bribed for a passport, could give him no certain -information on the subject of his inquiry, and not being at liberty to -quit his post, furnished M. Verneuil with only a vague direction to the -Marquis's apartment. The courts were silent and deserted; but as he -advanced, a distant hum of voices led him on, till, perceiving several -persons running towards a staircase which appeared beyond the archway of -a long passage, he followed thither, and learned that the Marquis was -certainly dying. The staircase was filled with people; he endeavoured to -press through the crowd, and after much struggle and difficulty he -reached the door of an ante-room which communicated with the apartment -where the Marquis lay, and whence several persons now issued. Here he -learned that the object of his inquiry was already dead. M. Verneuil, -however, pressed through the ante-room to the chamber where lay the -Marquis on a bed surrounded by officers of the law, and two notaries, -who appeared to have been taking down depositions. His countenance was -suffused with a black and deadly hue, and impressed with the horrors of -death. M. Verneuil turned away, shocked by the spectacle; and on inquiry -heard that the Marquis had died by poison. -</p> - -<p> -It appeared that, convinced he had nothing to hope from his trial, he -had taken this method of avoiding an ignominious death. In the last -hours of life, while tortured with the remembrance of his crime, he -resolved to make all the atonement that remained for him; and having -swallowed the potion, he immediately sent for a confessor to take a full -confession of his guilt, and two notaries, and thus establish Adeline -beyond dispute in the rights of her birth: and also bequeathed her a -considerable legacy. -</p> - -<p> -In consequence of these depositions she was soon after formally -acknowledged as the daughter and heiress of Henri, Marquis de Montalt, -and the rich estates of her father were restored to her. She immediately -threw herself at the feet of the king in behalf of Theodore and of La -Motte. The character of the former, the cause in which he had risked his -life, the occasion of the late Marquis's enmity towards him, were -circumstances so notorious and so forcible, that it is more than -probable the monarch would have granted his pardon to a pleader less -irresistible than was Adeline de Montalt. Theodore La Luc not only -received an ample pardon, but, in consideration of his gallant conduct -towards Adeline, he was soon after raised to a post of considerable rank -in the army. -</p> - -<p> -For La Motte, who had been condemned for the robbery on full evidence, -and who had been also charged with the crime which had formerly -compelled him to quit Paris, a pardon could not be obtained; but, at the -earnest supplication of Adeline, and in consideration of the service he -had finally rendered her, his sentence was softened from death to -banishment. This indulgence, however, would have availed him little, had -not the noble generosity of Adeline silenced other prosecutions that -were preparing against him, and bestowed on him a sum more than -sufficient to support his family in a foreign country. This kindness -operated so powerfully upon his heart, which had been betrayed through -weakness rather than natural depravity, and awakened so keen a remorse -for the injuries he had once meditated against a benefactress so noble, -that his former habits became odious to him, and his character gradually -recovered the hue which it would probably always have worn had he never -been exposed to the tempting dissipations of Paris. -</p> - -<p> -The passion which Louis had so long owned for Adeline was raised almost -to adoration by her late conduct; but he now relinquished even the faint -hope which he had hitherto almost unconsciously cherished; and since the -life which was granted to Theodore rendered this sacrifice necessary, he -could not repine. He resolved, however, to seek in absence the -tranquillity he had lost, and to place his future happiness on that of -two persons so deservedly dear to him. -</p> - -<p> -On the eve of his departure, La Motte and his family took a very -affecting leave of Adeline; he left Paris for England, where it was his -design to settle; and Louis, who was eager to fly from her enchantments, -set out on the same day for his regiment. -</p> - -<p> -Adeline remained some time at Paris to settle her affairs, where she was -introduced by M. Verneuil to the few and distant relations that remained -of her family. Among these were the Count and Countess D——, and -the Monsieur Amand who had so much engaged her pity and esteem at Nice. The -lady whose death he lamented was of the family of De Montalt; and the -resemblance which he had traced between her features and those of -Adeline, her cousin, was something more than the effect of fancy. The -death of his elder brother had abruptly recalled him from Italy; but -Adeline had the satisfaction to observe, that the heavy melancholy which -formerly oppressed him, had yielded to a sort of placid resignation, and -that his countenance was often enlivened by a transient gleam of -cheerfulness. -</p> - -<p> -The Count and Countess D——, who were much interested by her -goodness and beauty, invited her to make their hotel her residence while -she remained at Paris. -</p> - -<p> -Her first care was to have the remains of her parent removed from the -abbey of St. Clair, and deposited in the vault of his ancestors. D'Aunoy -was tried, condemned, and hanged, for the murder. At the place of -execution he had described the spot where the remains of the Marquis -were concealed, which was in the stone room already mentioned belonging -to the abbey. M. Verneuil accompanied the officers appointed for the -search, and attended the ashes of the Marquis to St. Maur, an estate in -one of the northern provinces. There they were deposited with the solemn -funeral pomp becoming his rank; Adeline attended as chief mourner; and -this last duty paid to the memory of her parent, she became more -tranquil and resigned. The MS. that recorded his sufferings had been -found at the abbey, and delivered to her by M. Verneuil, and she -preserved it with the pious enthusiasm so sacred a relique deserved. -</p> - -<p> -On her return to Paris, Theodore La Luc, who was come from Montpellier, -awaited her arrival. The happiness of this meeting was clouded by the -account he brought of his father, whose extreme danger had alone -withheld him from hastening the moment he obtained his liberty to thank -Adeline for the life she had preserved. She now received him as the -friend to whom she was indebted for her preservation, and as the lover -who deserved and possessed her tenderest affection. The remembrance of -the circumstances under which they had last met, and of their mutual -anguish, rendered more exquisite the happiness of the present moments, -when, no longer oppressed by the horrid prospect of ignominious death -and final separation, they looked forward only to the smiling days that -awaited them, when hand in hand they should tread the flowery scenes of -life. The contrast which memory drew of the past with the present, -frequently drew tears of tenderness and gratitude to their eyes; and the -sweet smile which seemed struggling to dispel from the countenance of -Adeline those gems of sorrow, penetrated the heart of Theodore, and -brought to his recollection a little song which in other circumstances -he had formerly sung to her. He took up a lute that lay on the table, -and touching the dulcet chords, accompanied it with the following -words:— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">SONG</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The rose that weeps with morning dew,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And glitters in the sunny ray,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">In tears and smiles resembles you,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">When Love breaks sorrow's cloud away.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dews that bend the blushing flower</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Enrich the scent—renew the glow;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">So Love's sweet tears exalt his power,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">So bliss more brightly shines by woe!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Her affection for Theodore had induced Adeline to reject several suitors -whom her goodness, beauty, and wealth, had already attracted, and who, -though infinitely his superiors in point of fortune, were many of them -inferior to him in family, and all of them in merit. -</p> - -<p> -The various and tumultuous emotions which the late events had called -forth in the bosom of Adeline were now subsided; but the memory of her -father still tinctured her mind with a melancholy that time only could -subdue; and she refused to listen to the supplications of Theodore, till -the period she had prescribed for her mourning should be expired. The -necessity of rejoining his regiment obliged him to leave Paris within -the fortnight after his arrival; but he carried with him assurance of -receiving her hand soon after she should lay aside her sable habit, and -departed therefore with tolerable composure. -</p> - -<p> -M. La Luc's very precarious state was a source of incessant disquietude -to Adeline, and she determined to accompany M. Verneuil, who was now the -declared lover of Clara, to Montpellier, whither La Luc had immediately -gone on the liberation of his son. For this journey she was preparing, -when she received from her friend a flattering account of his amendment; -and as some further settlement of her affairs required her presence at -Paris, she deferred her design, and M. Verneuil departed alone. -</p> - -<p> -When Theodore's affairs assumed a more favourable aspect, M. Verneuil -had written to La Luc, and communicated to him the secret of his heart -respecting Clara. La Luc, who admired and esteemed M. Verneuil, and who -was not ignorant of his family connexions, was pleased with the proposed -alliance. Clara thought she had never seen any person whom she was so -much inclined to love; and M. Verneuil received an answer favourable to -his wishes, and which encouraged him to undertake the present journey to -Montpellier. -</p> - -<p> -The restoration of his happiness and the climate of Montpellier did all -for the health of La Luc that his most anxious friends could wish, and -he was at length so far recovered as to visit Adeline at her estate of -St. Maur. Clara and M. Verneuil accompanied him, and a cessation of -hostilities between France and Spain soon after permitted Theodore to -join this happy party. When La Luc, thus restored to those most dear to -him, looked back on the miseries he had escaped, and forward to the -blessings that awaited him, his heart dilated with emotions of exquisite -joy and gratitude; and his venerable countenance, softened by an -expression of complacent delight, exhibited a perfect picture of happy -age. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:—</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They would have thought who heard the strain,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Amidst the festal sounding shades,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">To some unwearied minstrel dancing,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round.</span><br /> -<span class="i8">ODE TO THE PASSIONS.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Adeline, in the society of friends so beloved, lost the impression of -that melancholy which the fate of her parent had occasioned: she -recovered all her natural vivacity; and when she threw off the mourning -habit which filial piety had required her to assume, she gave her hand -to Theodore. The nuptials, which were celebrated at St. Maur, were graced -by the presence of the Count and Countess D——; and La Luc had -the supreme felicity of confirming on the same day the flattering -destinies of both his children. When the ceremony was over, he blessed -and embraced them all with tears of fatherly affection. I thank thee, O -God! that I have been permitted to see this hour, said he; whenever it -shall please thee to call me hence, I shall depart in peace. -</p> - -<p> -Long, very long, may you be spared to bless your children! replied -Adeline. Clara kissed her father's hand and wept: Long, very long! she -repeated in a voice scarcely audible. La Luc smiled cheerfully, and -turned the conversation to a subject less affecting. -</p> - -<p> -But the time now drew nigh when La Luc thought it necessary to return to -the duties of his parish, from which he had so long been absent. Madame -La Luc too, who had attended him during the period of his danger at -Montpellier, and hence returned to Savoy, complained much of the -solitude of her life; and this was with her brother an additional motive -for his speedy departure. Theodore and Adeline, who could not support -the thought of a separation, endeavoured to persuade him to give up his -chateau, and to reside with them in France; but he was held by many ties -to Leloncourt. For many years he had constituted the comfort and -happiness of his parishioners; they revered and loved him as a -father—he regarded them with an affection little short of parental. -The attachment they discovered towards him on his departure was not -forgotten either; it had made a deep impression on his mind, and he -could not bear the thought of forsaking them now that Heaven had -showered on him its abundance. It is sweet to live for them, said he, -and I will also die amongst them. A sentiment also of a more tender -nature,—(and let not the stoic profane it with the name of weakness, -or the man of the world scorn it as unnatural)—a sentiment still more -tender attached him to Leloncourt,—the remains of his wife reposed -there. -</p> - -<p> -Since La Luc would not reside in France, Theodore and Adeline, to whom -the splendid gaieties that courted them at Paris, were very inferior -temptations to the sweet domestic pleasures and refined society which -Leloncourt would afford, determined to accompany La Luc and Monsieur and -Madame Verneuil abroad. Adeline arranged her affairs so as to render her -residence in France unnecessary; and having bid an affectionate adieu to -the Count and Countess D——, and to M. Amand, who had recovered -a tolerable degree of cheerfulness, she departed with her friends for -Savoy. -</p> - -<p> -They travelled leisurely, and frequently turned out of their way to view -whatever was worthy of observation. After a long and pleasant journey -they came once more within view of the Swiss mountains, the sight of -which revived a thousand interesting recollections in the mind of -Adeline. She remembered the circumstances and the sensations under which -she had first seen them—when an orphan, flying from persecution to -seek shelter among strangers, and lost to the only person on earth whom she -loved—she remembered this, and the contrast of the present moment -struck with all its force upon her heart. -</p> - -<p> -The countenance of Clara brightened into smiles of the most animated -delight as she drew near the beloved scenes of her infant pleasures; and -Theodore, often looking from the windows, caught with patriotic -enthusiasm the magnificent and changing scenery which the receding -mountains successively disclosed. -</p> - -<p> -It was evening when they approached within a few miles of Leloncourt, -and the road winding round the foot of a stupendous crag, presented them -a full view of the lake, and of the peaceful dwelling of La Luc. An -exclamation of joy from the whole party announced the discovery, and the -glance of pleasure was reflected from every eye. The sun's last light -gleamed upon the waters that reposed in "crystal purity" below, mellowed -every feature of the landscape, and touched with purple splendour the -clouds that rolled along the mountain tops. -</p> - -<p> -La Luc welcomed his family to his happy home, and sent up a silent -thanksgiving that he was permitted thus to return to it. Adeline -continued to gaze upon each well known object; and again reflecting on -the vicissitudes of grief and joy, and the surprising change of fortune -which she had experienced since last she saw them, her heart dilated -with gratitude and complacent delight. She looked at Theodore, whom in -these very scenes she had lamented as lost to her for ever; who, when -found again, was about to be torn from her by an ignominious death; but, -who now sat by her side her secure and happy husband, the pride of his -family and herself; and while the sensibility of her heart flowed in -tears from her eyes, a smile of ineffable tenderness told him all she -felt. He gently pressed her hand, and answered her with a look of love. -</p> - -<p> -Peter, who now rode up to the carriage with a face fall of joy and of -importance, interrupted a course of sentiment which was become almost -too interesting. Ah! my dear master! cried he, welcome home again. Here -is the village, God bless it! It is worth a million such places as -Paris. Thank St. Jaques, we are all come safe back again. -</p> - -<p> -This effusion of honest Peter's joy was received and answered with the -kindness it deserved. As they drew near the lake, music sounded over the -water, and they presently saw a large party of the villagers assembled -on a green spot that sloped to the very margin of the waves, and dancing -in all their holiday finery. It was the evening of a festival. The elder -peasants sat under the shade of the trees that crowned this little -eminence, eating milk and fruits, and watching their sons and daughters -frisk it away to the sprightly notes of the tabor and pipe, which was -joined by the softer tones of a mandolin. -</p> - -<p> -The scene was highly interesting; and what added to its picturesque -beauty was a group of cattle that stood, some on the brink, some half in -the water, and others reposing on the green bank, while several peasant -girls, dressed in the neat simplicity of their country, were dispensing -the milky feast. Peter now rode on first, and a crowd soon collected -round him, who, learning that their beloved master was at hand, went -forth to meet and welcome him. Their warm and honest expressions of joy -diffused an exquisite satisfaction over the heart of the good La Luc, -who met them with the kindness of a father, and could scarcely forbear -shedding tears to this testimony of their attachment. When the younger -part of the peasants heard the news of his arrival, the general joy was -such, that, led by the tabor and pipe, they danced before his carriage -to the chateau, where they again welcomed him and his family with the -enlivening strains of music. At the gate of the chateau they were -received by Madame La Luc,—and a happier party never met. -</p> - -<p> -As the evening was uncommonly mild and beautiful, supper was spread in -the garden. When the repast was over, Clara, whose heart was all glee, -proposed a dance by moonlight. It will be delicious, said she; the -moonbeams are already dancing on the waters. See what a stream of -radiance they throw across the lake, and how they sparkle round that -little promontory on the left. The freshness of the hour too invites to -dancing. -</p> - -<p> -They all agreed to the proposal.—And let the good people who have so -heartily welcomed us home be called in too, said La Luc: they shall -<i>all</i> partake our happiness: there is devotion in making others happy, -and gratitude ought to make us devout. Peter, bring more wine, and set -some tables under the trees. Peter flew; and while chairs and tables -were placing, Clara ran for her favourite lute, the lute which had -formerly afforded her such delight, and which Adeline had often touched -with a melancholy expression. Clara's light hand now ran over the -chords, and drew forth tones of tender sweetness, her voice accompanying -the following: -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">AIR</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now at Moonlight's fairy hoar,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">When faintly gleams each dewy steep,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And vale and mountain, lake and bower,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">In solitary grandeur sleep;</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When slowly sinks the evening breeze,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">That lulls the mind in pensive care,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And Fancy loftier visions sees,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Bid music wake the silent air:</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bid the merry merry tabor sound,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">And with the Fays of lawn or glade</span><br /> -<span class="i0">In tripping circlet beat the ground</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Under the high trees' trembling shade.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Now at Moonlight's fairy hour"</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Shall Music breathe her dulcet voice,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And o'er the waves, with magic power,</span><br /> -<span class="i2">Call on Echo to rejoice!</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Peter, who could not move in a sober step, had already spread -refreshments under the trees, and in a short time the lawn was encircled -with peasantry. The rural pipe and tabor were placed, at Clara's -request, under the shade of her beloved acacias on the margin of the -lake; the merry notes of music sounded, Adeline led off the dance, and -the mountains answered only to the strains of mirth and melody. -</p> - -<p> -The venerable La Luc, as he sat among the elder peasants, surveyed the -scene—his children and people thus assembled round him in one grand -compact of harmony and joy—the frequent tear bedewed his cheek, and -he seemed to taste the fulness of an exalted delight. -</p> - -<p> -So much was every heart roused to gladness, that the morning dawn began -to peep upon the scene of their festivity, when every cottager returned -to his home, blessing the benevolence of La Luc. -</p> - -<p> -After passing some weeks with La Luc, M. Verneuil bought a chateau in -the village of Leloncourt; and as it was the only one not already -occupied, Theodore looked out for a residence in the neighbourhood. At -the distance of a few leagues, on the beautiful banks of the lake of -Geneva, where the waters retire into a small bay, he purchased a villa. -The chateau was characterized by an air of simplicity and taste rather -than of magnificence, which, however, was the chief trait in the -surrounding scene. The chateau was almost encircled with woods, which -formed a grand amphitheatre, swept down to the water's edge, and -abounded with wild and romantic walks. Here nature was suffered to sport -in all her beautiful luxuriance, except where, here and there, the hand -of art formed the foliage to admit a view of the blue waters of the -lake, with the white sail that glided by, or of the distant mountains. -In front of the chateau the woods opened to a lawn, and the eye was -suffered to wander over the lake, whose bosom presented an ever-moving -picture, while its varied margin sprinkled with villas, woods, and -towns, and crowned beyond with the snowy and sublime Alps, rising point -behind point in awful confusion, exhibited a scenery of almost -unequalled magnificence. -</p> - -<p> -Here, contemning the splendour of false happiness, and possessing the -pure and rational delights of love refined into the most tender -friendship, surrounded by the friends so dear to them, and visited by a -select and enlightened society—here, in the very bosom of felicity, -lived Theodore and Adeline La Luc. -</p> - -<p> -The passion of Louis de La Motte yielded at length to the powers of -absence and necessity. He still loved Adeline, but it was with the -placid tenderness of friendship; and when, at the earnest invitation of -Theodore, he visited the villa, he beheld their happiness with a -satisfaction unalloyed by any emotions of envy. He afterwards married a -lady of some fortune at Geneva; and resigning his commission in the -French service, settled on the borders of the lake, and increased the -social delights of Theodore and Adeline. -</p> - -<p> -Their former lives afforded an example of trials well endured—and -their present, of virtues greatly rewarded; and this reward they continued -to deserve—for, not to themselves was their happiness contracted, but -diffused to all who came within the sphere of their influence. The -indigent and unhappy rejoiced in their benevolence, the virtuous and -enlightened in their friendship, and their children in parents whose -example impressed upon their hearts, the precepts offered to their -understandings. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF THE FOREST ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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