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CHAPTER I.

IT was in the dark and gloomy month of November, just as the sun was retiring behind the tops of the forest trees, partly obscured by clouds, which his feeble rays were as unable to dissipate, as to tinge with gold the western sky, or to communicate genial warmth to animal or vegetable nature, that a travelling carriage stopped at the moat, which surrounded the Castle of the Baron de Zindorf.

The drawbridge being up, denied them nearer access; and, as the distance between the moat and the castle was considerable, the postillion hailed aloud in vain, for some time; at length he espied a large horn, which

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applying to his mouth, its shrill note soon brought a domestic to the bridge. He inquired, in a surly tone, who they were, when a young lady, from the window of the carriage, desired the postillion to ask if that was not Zindorf Castle.

"It is," answered the fellow. "And what then?"

"Why, then," returned she, "be pleased, friend, to inform your lady that Caroline Mecklenburg is arrived."

The servant obeyed her not, but blew a boatswain’s whistle, and called aloud, "Francisco."

A man presently appeared, with whose assistance he let down the drawbridge, and bade the driver proceed. The heart of Caroline sunk at this reception, so different from, and so inferior to, her expectation.

"Alas! hard fate is mine," sighed she, "which has thus reduced me to so forlorn a situation! Better would it have been for me to have accompanied my mother to the peaceful grave!" Yet a moment’s recollection caused her to add, "forbear, Caroline, forbear to arraign the decrees of Heaven, which, although they are inscrutable to mortals are, nevertheless, just and wise."

Her spirits, thus prone to melancholy, were not revived by a nearer view of the castle, indistinct as it was, for, through the gloom, no object could be seen with precision. Its architecture evidenced its antiquity; and its ruinous situation, the poverty, or remissness of the owner. The gloom by which it was obscured, the small number of servants she saw, the silence they observed, the few and dim tapers which glided in the chambers above, accorded not with the idea Caroline had entertained of the grandeur which surrounded the Baron and Baroness de Zindorf. Her bosom heaved with a convulsive sigh, and the remembrance of her misfortunes oppressing her heart, an involuntary tear started from her eye. She wiped it away at the moment in which the carriage stopped at an outer gate.

Roland, the name of the servant, who first appeared, turned a massive key, and, with his ample shoulders, forced open the gate, which turned heavily on its rusty hinges, as though unwilling to receive the new guest. They passed on, and Roland secured it after them with a strong iron bar and a chain,—Caroline was startled. Her reception would have suited a criminal rather then a visitor; and the place appeared to her more like a prison than the palace of a nobleman. She looked from the window, and perceived herself to be in a kind of court, surrounded by walls of an unusual height. Trembling with fear and cold, for snow covered the ground, it was with difficulty she refrained from speaking, as she could not but suppose herself mistaken in the place. The idea of banditti, and the danger she was exposed to, struck her forcibly; but prudence whispered that it was too late to retreat, and restrained her.

"Follow me," said Roland, who now advanced, after having fastened the gate, to Pedro, the postillion. Pedro obeyed, and they soon arrived at another gate; Roland opened it, and addressing himself to Caroline for the

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first time, "Lady," said he, "be pleased to wait here a moment, while I go and inform my master of your arrival."

Without waiting for an answer, which indeed she was hardly able to give, he left her; but shortly returned bearing a lighted torch, and followed by another man, well dressed. Pedro opened the door of the vehicle, and the gentleman advancing, offered his hand to assist Caroline.

"Alight," said he, "you a welcome to the castle. We have been expecting you some time. I fear you have had a disagreeable journey. The baroness and myself were uneasy about you."

Caroline interrupted him to inquire after the health of the baroness.

"She is not well," replied he, "or she would have welcomed you here. Walk in; she knows of your arrival, and is impatient to see you."

He again offered his hand. Caroline accepted it, and descended from the carriage, but the snow, rendered hard and slippery, gave her no firm footing, and she fell to the ground. The baron assisted in raising her, but distress had enfeebled her frame, and the long journey she had taken, together with the severity of the cold, had still more diminished her strength. At length she moved forward, but with difficulty, as she had sprained her ancle, and the pain was excessive. Insupportable, however, as this was, not the pain she endured alone caused Caroline to shudder as she advanced; her inexperienced, and too susceptible heart was oppressed with anguish, which even the satisfaction she was about to experience from seeing the baroness, could not remove. Feeling thus, it was with difficulty she could answer the questions which the constrained politeness of the baron led him to ask her.

They ascended a staircase, the steps of which were composed of stone, and were secured to the right and left by iron ballustrades. Their footsteps echoed through the castle; and the ear of Caroline conveying the sound to her heart, it shrunk with dismay within her. More dead than alive, she moved along until they reached a spacious gallery, with which, from the number of the doors, many apartments had communication. The baron opened one, and ushered in Caroline. She was somewhat revived by the sight of a cheerful fire within, but more so on perceiving the baroness reclining on a sofa beside it. The baroness attempted to rise, but was evidently unable. Caroline hastened to prevent her, and falling on one knee before her, she bowed on her hand, and pressed it gently to her lips.

"Excuse me, my dear niece," said the baroness, "that I met you not below. A fever which preys upon me, has reduced me greatly; I am, however, recovering, and hope I shall soon be well. Indeed, I am sure that the pleasure of your company will greatly conduce to my becoming so."

Caroline bowed gratefully, and expressed her fervent wishes for the restoration of her health, which she observed might perhaps suffer from the silence and seclusion of the castle.

The baroness made no answer, but cast a look at the baron. The look had meaning; Caroline observed it, and her eyes involuntarily followed

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those of the baroness. A momentary barrenness appeared on his countenance, which, however, wore away, when he perceived himself observed. He answered, they lived retired, and saw little or no company.

"But," said the baroness, taking up the conversation, "I hope, my dear niece, you will be happy with us. You are fond of reading and our library is well furnished. Besides, I know your inventive genius will furnish you with amusement, and enable you to fill up your time agreeably."

Caroline expressed the grateful sentiments of her heart, in a manner equally removed from pride or servility; and the baroness, charmed with the engaging figure and manner of her niece, exerted herself to support the conversation. The baron spoke little. Folding his arms, and stretching himself in his chair, he appeared wholly given up to contemplation. Sometimes he would knit his brows, sometimes he would bite his lips; and his mind entirely abstracted from external objects, was in visible agitation. Surprised at such behaviour, Caroline began to examine him with more circumspection, though still with caution. The Baron de Zindorf was of the middle size, and, at this time, about forty-five years of age. He was rather lean, his eyes though small were piercing, and his countenance pourtrayed a sort of sternness and ferocity, which inspired those who were his dependants with awe, and, when he pleased, terror. His hair was black, and his complexion partook of the same cast. In short, his whole appearance was repulsive, and it was impossible for his fair visitor, much as she wished it, to be at ease in his presence. She wondered that so beautiful and accomplished a woman as her aunt, should have united herself to a man so apparently undeserving of her; but she was ignorant of the peculiar circumstances which had obliged the baroness to give her hand to a man she could not love. Caroline had now leisure to survey the apartment in which they sat. It was constructed and adorned in all the sublime simplicity which marked, in so distinguished a manner, the designs of the ancient inhabitants of Bohemia. The roof, supported by lofty pillars, was high and arched, and formed of wood carved, and embossed with various gothic figures, from the venerable Larch, which had not been violated by the chisel of modern times.

The sides of this spacious apartment were decorated with fine paintings of different designs, among which were several full-length portraits. The most striking of them, as Caroline glanced her eyes around, appeared to be a warrior cased in steel so exquisitely represented, that living fire seemed to flash from his eyes, and his whole form to break from the canvass. Yet, even beyond this, the attention of Caroline was rivetted on the portrait of a most beautiful woman, which was placed in an obscure corner of the room.

She looked at her aunt: the features were not hers; and prompted by curiosity, she was going to make inquiries, when she checked herself by reflecting that the baron, though not handsome himself, might, nevertheless, have handsome women in his family. She recollected likewise, that in so short an acquaintance such a question might be improper. It probably

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was fortunate for Caroline, that on this occasion her curiosity was overruled by her discretion.

After a late supper, which was brought in by Roland, the baroness observing her niece to be much fatigued, summoned a female attendant, and informed her that her apartment had been prepared, and that she might retire whenever she wished to do so. Caroline gladly availed herself of this permission, and withdrew with Namine, who attended her by her lady’s order.

They retired along the gallery, and passed by several doors before Namine, who carried a light, opened one, which led into a large and gloomy ante-chamber, through which they passed to the bed-room.

"This," said Namine, "is the ante-chamber to the one you are to sleep in, which is as large as this, but better fitted up, and more comfortable. Let us proceed."

Caroline requested that they might remain long enough for her to survey the apartment, and receiving the light from Namine, began her examination. But as she passed the window, a current of air rushed through an aperture, suddenly extinguished it, and left them in total darkness.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Namine, "what shall we do?"

"Do," returned Caroline, "why, return for a light, whilst I remain here."

"Not for the whole world, Madame," replied Namine. "Lord, I could not find my way in the dark, and by myself too. I have been but four days in the castle. What if I should see—nay, for that matter I have heard——"

"What have you heard, or what need you fear seeing?" asked Caroline, with some asperity. "Return for a light, or I must myself return, and ask for one of your lady."

"Ah, madame, you don’t know what strange things——"

At this instant a light flashed on the walls, and the gallery echoed the sound of advancing footsteps. Namine’s broken hints had affected Caroline, and she started impulsively, whilst Namine scarcely suppressed a shriek. Their suspense lasted not long, for Roland soon appeared, bearing materials for kindling a fire in Caroline’s apartment, which had before been forgotten. Roland was a man of few words, and nature had bestowed upon him few advantages. A surly downcast eye, and a most forbidding visage, strangely marked his character, and impressed Caroline with a dread which prevented her speaking until he had retired. Everything she saw was so totally different from what she had expected, that a curiosity, wholly irrepressible, and not entirely blameable, induced her to take advantage of Namine’s simplicity, in order to gain some information.

"Namine," said Caroline, "is it possible that you can have been here but four days?"

"No longer, ma’amselle."

"And are you not acquainted with the passages in the castle?"

"Heaven, ma’amselle, how you talk! Acquainted? Why the castle is so

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large it would take a month to be acquainted with it! Besides, we occupy but five or six rooms."

"But five or six rooms?"

"Oh, ma’amselle, the furniture of all the rest is dropping to pieces. Why, bless me, you’ll never see the face of a living soul here, but Roland, Francisco the gardener, the baron, my lady, and myself; and——." But at this moment a bell rang. "It is my lady who wants me," said Namine, "Good night, ma’amselle;" and hastily lighting a taper, she quitted the apartment.

All ideas of repose were banished from the mind of Caroline. Although possessed of the strongest natural sense, her mind was feeling, and her spirits too apt to be affected by external objects. She had been educated in a manner correspondent to her birth, and consequently despised all superstitious terrors; but, few persons, however, in her lonely situation, could have entirely repressed a sentiment of fear. Accordingly, instead of retiring to sleep, she seated herself by the fire, which not being very large, scarcely sufficed to counteract the inclement blasts, which entering through many cavities, pervaded and filled the apartment. Here, ruminating on her situation, she remained, until a distant noise, occasioned, as she supposed, by the baron and baroness retiring to bed, aroused her from her reverie. Her candle was now burnt to the socket, and its feeble and uncertain light scarcely allowed her to see half way across the spacious chamber in which she sat. Desirous, however, of being satisfied of her security before she slept, she proceeded, without loss of further time, to an examination of the apartment and its appurtenances. The first, and principal object was the fastenings to the doors and windows, which were in good repair. She next surveyed the bed. It was of blue damask, with very deep fringe, the form and drapery ancient. She looked under it, and behind the head piece, but all was safe. A recess next engaged her attention. Formerly it had folding doors, one of which was absent, whilst the other had fallen against some inner shelves. These shelves appeared loaded with old lumbered pictures either without glass or with the frames broken. She observed among them some astronomical instruments, though, apparently, out of repair. In short, an appearance of neglect and desolation pervaded the whole. Two large pictures which reached from the ceiling to the floor, and which presented the figures of two knights in their warlike accoutrements, next presented themselves to her view. Their fierce and savage looks were ill calculated to restore composure to the mind of Caroline, who could with difficulty persuade herself, but that they menaced her destruction. A large double chest full of drawers next attracted her observation. It rose nearly as high as the cornice of the room, and Caroline would have examined that also, but her now expiring lamp warned her to her bed, on which, though so weary, she unwillingly reclined.

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CHAPTER II.

"And up the hills, on either side, a wood of blackening pines, high waving to and fro, sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood."

SHE slept undisturbed, nor were her slumbers broken until Namine summoned her to breakfast. Revived by the cheering rays of the sun, she felt ashamed that she had for a moment suffered fears like those of the past night to possess her. Namine enquired how she had slept, and betrayed no little astonishment on Caroline’s replying, perfectly well. This apparent incredulity, nearly tempted Caroline to recommence her questions, but, on reflection, she checked herself, and dressed as hastily as she could.

On her entering the breakfast parlour, which was indeed the same room they had sat in the evening before, she found the baron and baroness conversing. The latter received her with much affection, and the baron with politeness. She congratulated the baroness on finding her better then the preceding night, and offered to relieve her from the trouble of making breakfast. The meal being concluded, the baron arose, and left them together. They passed the morning without interruption, and in conversing chiefly on general topics, for the baroness, fearful of wounding the tender feelings of her niece, carefully, for the present, avoided anything which might lead to the discussion of her distresses and dependant situation. This delicacy Caroline could not help observing and feeling grateful for.

After dinner, Caroline, accompanied by the baron, took a walk on the terrace of the castle. She had now an opportunity of surveying this vast edifice more minutely. Three hills of considerable and nearly equal heights, with their sides and ample summits, covered the dark and gloomy forests, arose towards the skies. On the centre of one of these, which commanded the other two, stood the proud and awful majestic towers of Zindorf Castle. Desolate and dreary was the prospect from them; and as Caroline looked around from this exalted situation her blood chilled, and her heart recoiled as she reflected on the barbarous policy which must have been practised to desolate a country once so populous. Far as her eye could reach towards the east, nothing appeared to relieve the sight of brown heaths, and alpine woods. She sought in vain for the cheerful peasant’s cottage. No curling smoke ascended through the chill atmosphere to announce that any such were near: and a silence as profound as gloomy, confirmed the idea of absolute depopulation. The west presented a prospect rather more cheering, as the most distant grounds in view, had the appearance of cultivation, which, imperfect as it was, afforded a contrast which could not but be pleasing. This fertilization owed its origin to the streams of the river Moldaw, which, though flowing in the distant back ground, yet here and there its meanders were discovered from the terrace of the castle. Caroline turned from these sombre features of nature, to take a view of the edifice itself. If antiquity could render a building interesting, Zindorf Castle had a just claim to be

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so styled. The walls, though broad and lofty, and built of the strongest materials, were broken in many places; and the destroyer, Time, whose ravages had caused so conspicuous a decay, had clothed them with a coat of moss, or the long waving fern. A lofty turret arose from each of the four corners, and the grand entrance was formed through an immense square tower, which was guarded by a port cullis. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and those on the lower floors, strongly secured with iron bars. They bore as ample testimony to the gloomy policy of the ancient possessors, as the sublimity of the building did to their vast power and wealth.

The castle was every where surrounded by a moat; which rendered near access difficult; whilst the ponderous gates in the outward courts, which afforded, or prevented entrance, seemed to defy the attempts of those who could even force a passage across the moat.

Although the enfeebled spirits of Caroline were, at this time, greatly renovated, and although she was by this time satisfied that she had no danger to apprehend; yet the dreary scenes around her, the solemnity of the castle, the lonely silence which prevailed it; and the echoes which reverberated from the footsteps or voices, impressing her mind with a degree of superstitious awe, prevented her from conversing with ease. The baron, who, perceiving her embarrassment, yet entertained a high opinion of her intellectual endowments, endeavoured to re-assure her by turning the current of her thoughts; and, therefore, enquired what was doing at Presburg, and, indeed on the great theatre of the world, "for I," said he, "have little to do with it, and can assure you, that I know not whether the potentates of Europe are the same who reigned twelve months ago."

"Doubtless," said Caroline, who heard him with surprise, "you are acquainted with the fate of your unfortunate king."

"He has received only the reward of his imprudence," replied the baron, "He was elected contrary to my opinion, and I may add my wishes, for without the ability to sway a sceptre, he had the ambition to aspire to it, and his royal relation of England has, undoubtedly, acted a just part, in abandoning him to his fate."

"I am not," said Caroline, "politician enough to contend this point with you. I can only express my sorrow for the unfortunate prince and his family; neither can I perfectly decide whether the conduct of James arises from his prudence or his pusillanimity: but setting aside the affairs of our own country, it is not possible you can have so secluded yourself from the world as to be ignorant of the great events which have taken place among the neighbouring nations?"

"It is not only possible, but true," replied the baron. "I have formerly mingled in courts, and carried on many intrigues of state, but am now disgusted with them, for reasons known only to myself. I have, in consequence, chosen this solitude, and I assure you am happier here, with your amiable aunt, than I was for some time before I retired."