Volume 4

Chapter 1

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds

Make deeds ill done! Hadst not thou been by -

A fellow, by the hand of Nature mark'd,

Louted, and sign'd to do a deed of shame,

This murder had not come into my mind:

Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause,

When I spake darkly what I purposed,

Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face,

Or bade me tell my tale in express words,

Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off;

And these, thy fears, would have wrought fears in me.

SHAKESPEARE

The lovely orphan was no sooner conveyed from the castle, than the Marchese appeared to labour under such an oppression of spirits, as no change of circumstance, or of place, promised to remove.

Though he would willingly have spared himself this new cause of remorse, by confining Laurette in a convent at the instigation of the inhuman steward, he had at last determined upon her death. Offended pride and disappointed hopes taught him at first to reflect upon it with indifference, whilst the apparent necessity of committing this horrid deed, to conceal the perpetration of another not less criminal, actuated him still more powerfully; yet, probably, even these arguments would not have possessed a sufficient portion of energy and persuasion to have effected so sudden a resolution, had he not beheld in the person of Paoli a wretch, whose mind, as well as aspect, indicated him a villain, marked and selected by Nature for the accomplishment of the most daring and bloody purposes; who being entirely unrestrained by conscience, was ever ready to espouse the cause of iniquity, for the sake of temporary advantage; and from a long acquaintance with all the arts of intrigue, was enabled to direct the weaknesses and vices of others to his immediate interests.

Three days had passed since Laurette's departure from the castle, during which period a thousand internal conflicts destroyed the repose of the Marchese, and lacerated his guilty bosom. He awaited with a dreadful kind of impatience the return of Paoli. The sun of the morning arose to him without exciting one sweet or pleasurable emotion; and, as if anxious to escape from his penetrating and reproachful beams, he frequently retired into the deep clefts of the rocks, or the rude narrow glens of the mountains, as if alarmed lest his very thoughts should have witnesses; but, though he dared not trust himself to visit those scenes which were once rendered interesting by the soft form of her, who was now the patient victim of his cruelty, her beautiful image, adorned with all its innocent and unassuming graces, was continually presented to him, even in the wild and lonely recesses he had chosen. Since she had now paid so dear for her offence, remorse and tenderness rapidly succeeded each other; and sensations, as new as they were agonizing, were excited in his breast. Conscious that to the mind diseased, no state is so insupportable as that of suspense, he became still more impatient for the return of his steward, though it was impossible he could communicate any intelligence of a cordial nature, since he equally dreaded to hear that Laurette was assassinated, or had effected an escape, as such an event could not take place without the interference of another, which must inevitably lead to a discovery productive of the most alarming consequences.

Four days had now elapsed, and still he did not return; something the Marchese imagined must have happened to occasion this delay, and sensations still more afflictive and terrible passed through his disordered mind. Unable any longer to endure the pressure of his uneasiness, which was now rendered still more acute by a thousand memorials of her whom he had thus sacrificed to ambition and unjust resentment, he adopted the resolution of repairing to the castle of Elfinbach, in hopes that a new succession of objects might effect a change of idea. This plan, as soon as formed, was communicated to Ambrose, who was commanded to attend him thither and leaving orders for Paoli to follow him immediately on his return, the Marchese proceeded on his journey.

After a dreary and melancholy ride over barren heaths and rugged precipices, the travellers arrived at this desolated castle, which, from the heavy rains that had recently fallen, and the high winds which had blown down the rampart-wall, and shattered the easements, appeared more than usually gloomy. The Marchese surveyed it for a moment in silence, and then alighting from his horse, asked eagerly for the Signora, and was directed into one of the saloons.

He found her alone, engaged in some household employment; and being surprised at his sudden return to a place not at present rendered fit for his reception, she looked chagrined and embarrassed. The restless agitation of mind that was so strongly delineated on the features and manners of the Marchese, did not elude the observation of the Signora, though the cause was inexplicable. She would have demanded the reason of this conduct, but the reserve, with which he repressed every inquiry she ventured to make that could lead to the subject, occasioned her to desist.

She did not mention Laurette till the following day, fearing lest this mysterious sadness was the effect of her coldness, and might be increased by reverting to the cause; but anxiety to gain some information respecting her lovely young friend overpowering every other consideration, directed her simply to interrogate him concerning her health. The name of Laurette, uttered by the Signora, roused him from that state of stupor into which he had fallen. He started, and confusion for the moment prevented him from framing a reply, till at length recalling some portion of that studied composure, that masterly command of feature, for which he was once so deservedly eminent, he informed her, without recollecting that he had not answered her first question, that Laurette had proved herself unworthy of his future protection, by having escaped secretly from the castle, unknown to and unobserved by any one.

The Signora now imagined that she was acquainted with the whole: every thing that the Marchese had uttered relative to her escape, appeared probable, when she recollected the boldness, and even aversion, with which she had uniformly repressed the ardour of his passion. But in what part of the province could she find an asylum that would defend her from the power of her lover, or elude the vigilance of his researches, should he be disposed to continue his persecutions, was unanswerable. Her unprotected situation filled the mind of the Signora, as she reflected upon it, with new terror; but afraid of betraying too much emotion in the presence of her Lord, she abruptly quitted the apartment, that she might consider it more deeply in secret.

The Marchese now believing that he had convinced his Casiera that Laurette had deservedly forfeited all claim to his protection from having voluntarily quitted the castle, less frequently came into her presence than before, still endeavouring to find that repose he had lost amid the wildest scenes of Nature, which his dark discoloured imagination rendered still more dreary.

Day after day passed in a state of mournful solicitude, yet Paoli was not announced; 'the attempt, and not the deed', was dreadful! If the bloody business was transacted, what could have detained him? A thousand terrible surmises now agitated his breast; his nights continued to be sleepless, and, before he had been a week resident at the castle, his pallid countenance, and his emaciated limbs, foretold alarming consequences!

A strange account of noises heard in different parts of the mansion, and of spectres being seen gliding through the galleries at the dead hour of the night, was now circulated among the domestics! The Signora was informed of it, and, willing to remove what she termed causeless superstition, endeavoured to convince them of the absurdity of allowing themselves to be deluded by imaginary terrors; but the arguments she made use of to quiet their apprehensions were ineffectual. Ambrose averred, that he had met a figure clothed in white, gliding through the corridor, who, without accosting him, vanished apparently into one of the deserted apartments! The female servants, who were procured by the Signora from the nearest village, to assist in cleaning the castle, each declared they had seen the same spectre, exactly answering to his description, in different situations, and had all formed the resolution not to stir alone in the night, nor even in the dusk, each declaring that she had rather meet a wild beast than a spirit!

The Signora's woman, being the only one among them who had not caught the contagion, proposed, if any one would accompany her, to explore every room in the castle; but no individual in the family being courageous enough to assist her in her researches, she was compelled to abandon the design, though not without branding all, particularly Ambrose, with the imputation of cowardice.

The Marchese in the meantime, though kept in total ignorance of the affair, through the express orders of the Casiera, appeared to suffer more internal horror than any of the servants. His meals were short, and his answers, when any one addressed him, were far from the purpose, and usually uttered with an aspect of displeasure. At some times he seemed lost in the gloom of silent thoughtfulness, whilst at others his strong expressive features were distorted by emotions; and with his arms folded upon his breast, and his eyes fixed with a vacant stare upon some object he was unconscious of beholding, his whole frame appeared to suffer some dreadful convulsion. He usually retired early to his room, but seldom to his bed: he never courted the sweet influence of sleep, for he knew that it shunned the blood-stained couch of the murderer, and descended only on the lid of unoffending innocence.

Chapter 2

What man dare, I dare;

Approach thou, like the rugged Russian bear,

The arm'd rhinoceros, or Hyrcanian tyger;

Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves

Shall never tremble.

SHAKESPEARE

The room, which was selected by ambrose for his Lord immediately on his arrival, was on the northern side of the edifice, and from its remote situation, as well as from the circumstance of that range of apartments having always remained locked during Madame Chamont's residence in the mansion, had long fallen into disuse. It was a large dreary looking chamber, partially hung with tapestry of no common workmanship, representing a group of grim and ghastly figures habited as knights, with their spears, bucklers, and other implements of war. The bed, which was composed of crimson damask, was so much faded and discoloured with age, and the curtains that hung loosely from the high canopied tester, had been so long a prey to the moths and the night-flies, that the windows were no sooner opened, after having been closed for near twenty years, than they fell into fragments. A few faded portraits, in the costume of the thirteenth century, and large old-fashioned mirror, whose massy gilt frame appeared to have withstood the assaults of ages, were the only ornaments this apartment contained, if those could be called ornaments, which, instead of relieving the eye, tended to make the correspondent gloom of the whole more dreadfully impressive.

This room Ambrose endeavoured to convince the Signora was less exposed than any other to the fury of the winds, and upon the whole a more comfortable asylum than any other which the castle contained.

The Marchese, in any other frame of spirits, would have been shocked at its desolate appearance; but horrors were now become familiar to him, and taking a lamp and book, he usually retired to it early; and if he ever closed his eyes, this transient respose was obtained in a large antique chair, covered with green damask, that was placed by the side of the fire.

The Signora, believing that this increasing malady was chiefly the effect of sleepless anxiety, ventured one night, unknown to him, to put something in his wine of a soporific nature, whose effect being almost instantaneous, occasioned him to retire to his chamber still earlier than before.

Scarcely had he entered the room before he perceived a soft composure stealing upon his spirits, and contrary to his late custom, threw himself upon the bed, and yielded to a transient slumber. But the comfort of serene sleep was denied him; for his guilty soul conjured up strange and dreadful images, not less appalling than his waking terrors. He imagined that, for some crime committed against the ecclesiastical powers, he was consigned to the dungeons of the inquisition within the authority of Rome, where he remained in hourly expectation of being summoned to the secret tribunal -- a tribunal where mercy, and even justice, are for ever excluded, to confess what must doom him to immediate death, or have that confession extorted from him, by means more dreadful than the human mind could conceive, by inflictions more excruciating than the annihilation of existence. He awaked; it was but a dream, and sleep still overpowering him, he closed his eyes, and again yielded to its influence. The dreadful vision still continued; he was now conducted by two of the officers belonging to this hopeless prison, through dark subterranean passages, to the secret tribunal. The grand inquisitor, with the three persons that formed the tribunal, were seated on a lofty elevation. He arose when he entered, and eyeing him with a dreadful kind of minuteness, proceeded to judgment. The charge against him was read; it spoke of murder and sacrilege. His accuser was called; it was a Monk, of a meek and saint-like appearance, clad in the holy vestments of his order. He came forwards; the trial proceeded; the facts alledged against him were incontrovertible, and the tribunal, in a loud voice, demanded his confession. The excessive agitation of his mind now released him from the fetters of sleep, and starting from the couch, in an agony not to be described, he pronounced the word 'Confess.' 'Confess,' repeated a voice apparently proceeding from a distant part of the room, in a tone at once deep and impressive. The Marchese's alarm increased; a sound was certainly heard that echoed his words, and surprise and terror for the moment deprived him of utterance. But a desperate kind of courage was at length communicated to his mind, and in an accent not less firm, though more furious, he retorted, 'Confess what?' 'Confess what?' returned the same voice, delivering the last word in a tone of deeper emphasis -- 'Dost thou ask what?' The sensation which the Marchese now experienced, was little short of distraction; it could not be an illusion, and he would have sprang from his couch to have investigated this mysterious affair, and to have discovered, if possible, from whence the tones proceeded; but throwing his eyes wildly around, he perceived a tall, dreadful-looking figure moving slowly from one of the angles into a remote part of the chamber. The lamp was extinguished, and the dying embers refused to administer the smallest portion of light; but the moon-beams that penetrated through the half-decayed curtains, dimly discovered the figure.

With a countenance, on which extreme agony of soul was faithfully delineated, the eyes of the Marchese continued to follow the terrifying phantom, who, without appearing to observe him, moved pensively along beneath the dim Gothic arch of the casement, in a kind of white robe or cassock, which descending beneath the feet, swept mournfully along the ground. A hood of the same colour covered its face, and shaded the ghastliness of its features. The castle bell now tolled one; the spectre stopped, turned, and in a few moments advanced with a quickened movement towards the bed. The desperate courage which the Marchese had assumed, now vanished; he threw himself back upon the pillow, his breath shortened, the cold dews paced each other down his forehead, he veiled his face, which exhibited a cadaverous paleness, with the coverture; and stifled groans, and irregular respiration, were all the symptoms of remaining existence!

In a few minutes he heard a rustling kind of noise towards the feet of the bed; the curtains were soon afterwards undrawn, and had not the alarm attendant on conscious guilt, wrapped him in obscurity, he might have seen distinctly the form of the spectre bending silently over his couch.

In this situation he remained till the light of the morning dissipated the gloom that had veiled his dreary apartment; when venturing to divest himself of his temporary covering, he perceived that the phantom, which had excited such alarm, was vanished, though the door of the chamber was still fastened.

This remarkable incident now completely engaged his attention; and having communicated the affair to Ambrose, who was become a kind of confident since the departure of Paoli, he contrived, with his assistance, to remove the tapestry with which the apartment was hung, that by these means they might be enabled to explore every part of the wainscot, and to discover if any secret entrance was concealed behind this grotesque covering; but no door, or any other possible method of gaining admission, appeared, or any thing that could act as a clue to conjecture. Still more perplexed and agonized, the mind of the Marchese became a prey to superstitious terror. Afraid of being alone, yet ashamed of acknowledging his weakness, he suffered a tumult of distracting apprehension, which no effort of fortitude could subdue.

Chapter 3

Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth;

But either it was different in blood,

Or else misgrafted in respect of years,

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,

Or if there were a sympathy in choice,

War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it.

SHAKESPEARE

Enrico had been prevented from visiting Laurette to his promise by a second letter from Italy, which acquainted him with the increasing indisposition of his Colonel, and convinced him of the necessity of his quitting Germany immediately, if he was desirous of preventing the danger of seeing him no more. The grateful heart of the young Chevalier felt a severe pang of self-reproach when he perused this epistle, and willing to repair this fault of omission with all imaginable speed, he wrote to inform Laurette of the occasion of his absence, and commenced his journey. As the Signora was removed from the castle at the time this letter arrived, it unfortunately fell into the hands of the steward, who, after intercepting and reading it himself, discovered the contents to his Lord. Thus the two lovers mutually upbraided each other without any actual cause, and felt, through the meanness and vices of others, the most poignant regret and solicitude.

As soon as Enrico had reached the borders of Italy, he made the best of his way to Pietola,* the customary residence of the Marchese de Martilina when disengaged from the duties of his station.

Here he arrived but just in time to receive the last sigh of his revered patron, and to bathe the almost lifeless hand that was extended to welcome him with his tears! Perfectly sensible, though unable to give his thoughts utterance, the Marchese gazed with silent tenderness upon his young favourite, till the vital spark, which had been long expiring, was extinguished, and he fell into the arms of death as into a quiet slumber. The serenity displayed by this great and good man at the hour of death, sufficiently evinced that his life had been blameless: it was the cloudless evening of a tranquil day; no ruffling gales disturbed the calm of his soul; all was comfort and repose.

The affectionate Enrico felt as if he had lost not only a friend, but a parent; and when he followed the adviser and protector of his youth to his last mournful receptacle, he suffered an agony of distress, which required a more than ordinary effort of fortitude to subdue. Endowed with that exquisite perception of pain, or pleasure, which is annexed to extreme sensibility, he found it difficult to tear himself from the place which contained the sacred remains of his friend; till anxiety to gain some intelligence relative to Laurette's silence, which was as mysterious as alarming, determined him to remove from Pietola without further delay, and to set forwards for the castle of Lunenburg.

Having given orders to Anselmo for the horses to be prepared, which were to convey them into Germany, he visited, for the last time, the grave of his much-revered Colonel; and after having indulged the sacredness of his sorrow in secret, was walking silently from the spot, when he was accosted by the nearest relative of his deceased friend, who, with much courtesy of address, requested an audience.

Enrico bowed assent, and following his conductor to a place appointed for the purpose, was informed that the Marchese di Martilina had bequeathed to him a thousand Louis-d'ors per annum, as a pledge of his friendship and esteem. The heart of the noble Chevalier overflowed with effusions of gratitude, which no eloquence of language can express, as this event was recited; tears of tenderness and regret rushed into his eyes, and having thanked the Signor for his information, with a gracefulness of expression peculiar to himself, he retired to indulge the luxury of his feelings in secret. Enrico had accidentally heard that his much-lamented Colonel had accumulated a considerable share of personal property, besides those ample estates he possessed in many parts of the Continent, which devolved to the male heir; but he never flattered himself into the supposition that he should be remembered in his will, though on former occasions he had experienced many proofs of his benevolence. A mind more sanguine and disinterested than his own might, indeed, have collected some circumstances to favour such an opinion; as the Marchese had no near relation living, and consequently his immense possessions descended to a distant branch of the family, to whom he was not much attached, whilst the ever-increasing partiality he had discovered for the amiable Chevalier wore the most promising aspect in his favour.

This worthy Nobleman had never formed a matrimonial connexion, owing to his having experienced a severe disappointment in the early part of his life, which directed him, as the most effectual way of subduing it, into the service of his country.

New avocations now retarded the journey of Enrico for a few days; but more than ever anxious to behold the charming object of his affections, whose fair form too frequently obtruded itself into his thoughts, as well as to learn the cause of her silence, as soon as suitable arrangements were made respecting pecuniary affairs, he proceeded on his journey.

The tender melancholy which pervaded the heart of our hero, was not unmixed with pleasing sensations, when he considered himself as advancing towards that mansion, which he had reason to imagine was inhabited by her, whose presence was sufficient to compensate for the loss of every other valuable connexion, and who, he flattered himself, would mingle the breathings of affection with the blushes of retiring diffidence.

He recollected that he now possessed a competency adequate to all the comforts, if not the luxuries, of life, which, though by no means equal to the merit of the person beloved, was yet, he was convinced, far beyond her desires, as it would, at least, place them, would she deign to listen to his proposals, above mediocrity; but when his mind reverted with painful concern to his lost parent, whose destiny was yet veiled in obscurity, a cloud of premature sadness overshadowed his future prospects. Was she present to congratulate him on his new accessions, and at the same time to confer upon him her orphan charge, how pure, how unmixed, would have been his felicity; and how exquisite would have been her sensations when empowered to bestow such happiness!

Lost in these reflections, Enrico proceeded silently along; nor could the loquacity of Anselmo, who endeavoured to direct his attention towards those 'cloud-capped' temples, decayed edifices, and lofty columns, which on every side decorate the Italian landscape, giving sublimity to beauty, withdraw him from thoughtfulness.

Having proceeded for many leagues along the winding borders of the Po, by means of a gondola they crossed the Adda that communicates with the Lago di Como, celebrated by Virgil under the name of Lake Larius, which issuing out at the extremity, loses itself in that river, the grand receptacle of all others, except the Adige, that washes the vernal and fruitful soil of this romantic country. Had Enrico's mind been entirely disengaged from nearer interests, with what solemn emotions of awe and admiration would he have contemplated the scene before him? The vast range of Alps, which serve as a barrier to divide France and Germany from the Italian states, rose in irregular and misshapen forms, some towering till their summits were lost in perpetual obscurity, whilst others were broken into so many steeps and inaccessible precipices, that the traveller, surveying them with that kind of enthusiasm which is peculiar to the admirers of stupendous imagery, feels an affecting kind of horror stealing irresistibly to his heart.

After passing with much difficulty these dangerous acclivities, the soul of Enrico became more animated. Every step he conceived brought him nearer to Laurette; and though still far distant, he imagined the wintry landscape, as he passed the boundaries of Germany, exhibited a less saddened appearance. Hope again brightened his prospects, and scarcely submitting to the delay of stopping for necessary food, he redoubled his speed. A few days brought them within three leagues of the castle, and having proceeded thus far, the travellers were compelled, from the darkness of the night, to put up at a small cottage on the road, meaning to prosecute the remaining part of their journey on the ensuing mornmg; but Enrico had of late suffered so much mental, as well as bodily fatigue, that he was obliged to remain at the cottage some hours longer than was his intention, and also to take something of a medicinal nature before he was enabled to proceed; though his impatience arose almost to agony when he recollected how inconsiderable was the distance which separated him from Laurette, and yet that he was prevented from being with her, without having even obtained an assurance that she was still in safety. Towards evening, however, the symptoms, which had threatened him with severe indisposition, abated, and, unable to endure the idea of procrastinated happiness when his lovely enchantress was so near, he determined to proceed; and, after bestowing upon the owners of this little asylum many testimonies of gratitude, they continued their journey.

It was night when the travellers arrived within sight of the mansion, and new sensations assailed the mind of Enrico as he surveyed it. From what had passed, he had every reason to believe that he must encounter the displeasure of its possessor by venturing into his presence without a previous invitation, who had never once hinted a desire of being known to him on any former occasion; but the force of his attachment soon weakened these unpleasant surmises, and as nearer interests succeeded in his thoughts, he wondered how they had ever troubled him. When Enrico had reached the high wall which encompassed the castle, his heart beat high with expectation. He attempted to open the arched door which had before given him admission; it gave way to his touch; and desiring Anselmo to attend to the horses till he received orders to the contrary, he advanced rapidly through the grounds. The moon, which before gave only a pale and uncertain light, now shrunk beneath a cloud, and it was with much difficulty that he was enabled to proceed through the numerous shrubberies and low coppices, which were every where scattered around. The path he had chosen, though the most direct one leading to the portico, was winding and irregular, frequently intercepted with small clumps of juniper, almond, and pomgranate, or with knots of variegated evergreens, which, in a more favourable season, perfumed the air with their fragrance. When arrived at the principal entrance, he knocked, but the summons was unanswered; he listened, but no step was to be heard; fear and mistrust, with a thousand melancholy accompaniments, were now communicated to his mind. He surveyed the front of the edifice; no lights appeared at the windows. He ascended the solarium,** and looked through the glass door that opened into the terrace-parlour, which the Signora d'Orfo and her fair friend formerly occupied when alone; but it was deserted, and even the lamps, which used to be hung in the balconies, were removed. Impatience now arose to the most painful solicitude; he knocked again and again, but without better success, and at length becoming desperate by this cruel disappointment, endeavoured to scale the wall inclosing the court which led to the portal. After many ineffectual attempts, he succeeded in his desires; but the enterprise was a dangerous one, and as he alighted on the other side, something placed there for the purpose lacerated his leg. The pain, though acute, was disregarded; but the blood, which flowed fast from the wound, obliged him to apply his handkerchief as a bandage to the part till assistance could be procured. This accident, though it retarded the execution, tended not to subdue the energy of his resolves. He bounded instantly towards the door, and knowing that a bell, resounding through one whole wing of the building, was here the signal of approach, he repeated the alarm, and in a few minutes had the consolation of hearing footsteps approaching slowly along the hall. The door was now opened by a male servant, whom Enrico never remembered to have seen during his former residence in the castle, who, after surveying him with surprise, demanded his business. In a voice rendered tremulous by emotion, he inquired for Laurette, and was informed that she had eloped from the mansion without the knowledge of the family, and was gone no one could tell whither.

To describe the sensations of the unfortunate Chevalier at this moment, would demand powers of expression beyond the utmost eloquence of language. He rushed into the castle in spite of the efforts of the domestic, who endeavoured to prevent his design, and hastening along the hall, stopped at the door of the saloon. He attempted to open it, but it was locked. The Marchese and the Signora were then assuredly removed, and whither must he go for information. The servant, by whom he was admitted, having never seen him before, being entirely ignorant of his intentions from the circumstance of his scaling the wall, as well as the wildness of his looks, took him for a maniac, and had left him to pursue his own inclinations only whilst he acquainted his fellows with the adventure.

Lost in bewildering conjecture, Enrico stood with his eyes unconsciously fixed upon the deserted apartments in a state of total inaction; for surprise had deprived him of the power of exertion, and made him sensible only of his own misfortunes and disappointment. One solitary lamp, suspended from the ceiling in a central situation, which cast a dim and partial light, scarcely dissipated the gloom that was every where visible; but his mind was too much wounded to feel the effect of accidental events, though all around appeared melancholy, hopeless, and blank as his destiny.

The few remaining domestics now crowded about the forlorn traveller, some to demand his business at that lone and silent hour, and others to prove the truth of the assertion, by discovering whether he was really touched with insanity. Extreme agony of mind prevented Enrico from immediately undeceiving them; but recollecting the necessity of recalling some portion of that resisting fortitude, which love only could have weakened, he repeated his inquiries with all the calmness he could command, and finally, by declaring his name, endeavoured to make himself known. This avowal roused one of the women that followed in the rear, who elevating her lamp as she advanced nearer, for the purpose of examining his countenance, let it fall suddenly from her hand, exclaiming, in evident astonishment, that it was indeed the Chevalier Chamont. Somewhat animated by the certainty that he was remembered, at least, by one of the domestics, Enrico made a second attempt at recomposing his spirits; and having requested that she would indulge him with a few moments' conversation alone, she opened the door of the terrace-parlour to give him admittance, whilst the rest stole silently away.

Fanchette, which was the name of the servant, possessing much natural kindness, was easily prevailed upon to give him an audience; and when she beheld his wild, unsettled appearance, and the many symptoms of distress which marked his dejected features, compassion was so warmly excited in her bosom, that, had it been in her power to have offered him consolation, she would have bestowed it with pleasure.

The Marchese, as well as Ambrose, had confidently affirmed that Laurette had voluntarily escaped from the castle ever since her departure, and had taken much pains to circulate this report among the servants; and as she had not been seen by any one but Paoli and Ambrose after having left the pavilion, the probability of the assertion was apparently justified; though Fanchette observed, that the steward's quitting the castle at so early an hour in the morning, without giving some previous intimation of his intentions, appeared somewhat mysterious. The sudden removal of the fair orphan, in whose fate all were interested, had been a subject of surprise and conjecture in those apartments appropriated to the use of the servants ever since the event had taken place. Various opinions were received and propagated, which were faithfully recited by Fanchette; but from these nothing was to be gathered that might lead to a future discovery. Plunged still deeper in despair, the disconsolate Enrico could scarcely be prevailed upon to continue in the castle during the night, so anxious was he to commence his pursuit of Laurette, however hopeless the attempt.

Having at length reluctantly assented to Fancliette's wishes, who kindly applied something of an healing quality to his leg, which was found upon examination to be very slightly injured, Anselmo's horses were ordered into the stable, and he into the kitchen, to partake of a comfortable repast, and the warmth of a blazing fire. Enrico's mind was too much disturbed with internal conflicts to attend to the wants of Nature, and throwing himself upon one of those sofas, on which in happier times he had often sat with Laurette, he yielded to all the melancholy forebodings of his agitated breast.

* This place is celebrated by ancient historians under the name of Andes, and is rendered famous from its having given birth to Virgil. It is only a small village, or hamlet, about a league from Mantua.

** Terrace walk.

Chapter 4

Oh thievish night!

Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious ends,

In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars

That Nature hung in Heaven, and fill'd their lamps

With everlasting oil, to give due light

To the misled and lonely traveller?

For their way

Lies through the perplex'd path of this drear wood;

The nodding horror of whose shady brow

Threats the forlorn and wand'ring passenger.

MILTON

Unable to obtain even a moment'S repose, Enrico arose with the dawn of early day, and being determined to go instantly in search of Laurette, roused his servant from a comfortable sleep into which he had recently fallen, with orders for him to prepare to accompany him on his new expedition. Anselmo hastily obeyed the summons, and the unfortunate travellers, being again mounted, commenced their hopeless journey.

It was a dreary December morning, and the grey heavy mists that loaded the atmosphere brought on a cold and drizly rain. The woods were now disrobed of their honours; no choral harmony resounded through the desolated branches; all was melancholy, repose, and silence! With no guide but chance, and without having obtained any intelligence that could serve as a clue to discovery, the wretched Enrico traversed the barren hills and humid values, in a state of mind that partook of agony. A thousand vague conjectures passed across his mind as he continued to ruminate upon the subject. Sometimes he imagined that the Marchese had conceived a passion for Laurette, and had adopted this plan at once to separate her from the Signora, and to deceive the domestics; at others, he conceived it probable that she had made a voluntary escape to avoid falling a victim to his artifice, which, he naturally believed, had been already exerted for the accomplishment of her destruction. But why was the promise she made to him on parting disregarded? Why did she not inform him of her danger, and accept of his protection? A slight emotion of indignation accompanied this reflection; she might be false, her affections might be another's, or, what was still more probable, they might never have been his.

This apprehension brought with it a pang more acute, but it was only momentary. He recollected the touching expression of her countenance when he tore himself from the castle, the sweet languishment of her charming eyes as they followed him towards the portico, and the tears and speaking blushes that graced her last innocent farewels. These had been indelibly impressed upon his memory ever since he had parted from her in every distressing emergency; and amidst all the cross accidents and unexpected calamities which he experienced, these sweet remembrances conveyed a cordial to his wounded spirits.

Thinking that some information might possibly be obtained from the peasantry, should they have providentially taken the same road as the lovely young fugitive, they did not permit a village or town to escape their inquiries; -- but no one had seen any person the least answering to the description; and a few incoherent words, accompanied by a stare of idle curiosity, was frequently the only answer they received. Wounded where he was the most vulnerable, the distracted Chevalier suffered the keenest anguish that circumstance could inflict: it was too deep for utterance; but the wildness of his aspect, and the settled paleness of his countenance, discovered the inward working of his mind.

As it advanced towards mid-day, the rain gradually ceased, the sun looked meekly from the south, and a cold driving wind assisted in dissipating the mists, which had enveloped the faded features of the landscape. As Enrico surveyed the cheerless face of Nature, and contrasted it with its summer appearance, he could not forbear applying this melancholy change to his own more desolate situation; and sighing deeply as the idea occurred, he turned involuntarily round to contemplate the whole of the prospect, and observed, as his eyes glanced towards those vast mountains that rise in all forms and directions in this picturesque country, that which he had once rambled over with Laurette, crowned with the rustic church. A thousand mournful reflections were now communicated to his mind: -- where was the sweet wanderer gone, who appeared like the Hebe of that secluded retreat? If alone, how could she avoid danger? And if conveyed away by stratagem, how was it possible she should escape from it? The more he reflected upon the subject, the more improbable it appeared that he should ever meet with her again; yet he steadily resolved never to relinquish the pursuit, since life without her, who could only make it desirable, would be a tasteless potion.

Several leagues had been traversed without any material event, in which time no intelligence had been obtained, though they stopped at all the inns and cottages on the road, as well as at the convents, to renew their inquiries.

Anselmo, who was naturally volatile, preserved throughout the whole of the journey a respectful silence. He perceived that his

beloved master's uneasiness was too deep to be diverted from its source, and could only be removed by the success of the enterprise, or by the slow, but certain, effects of time. Knowing with what reluctance he stopped to obtain a sufficient portion of food, the wary servant had procured unknown to Enrico three flasks of Florence wine, the best that part of the country afforded, which he secured in his wallet, to be in readiness in case of emergency.

About the middle of the third day the travellers left the direct road, and struck into one which took a different direction. This path was more rugged than the one they had left, lying for a considerable way among gloomy forests, desert heaths, and rocky precipices. No human abode, except a few solitary huts, appeared within the reach of vision, whose rude inhabitants were chiefly employed in leading their goats from the shrubby tops of the mountains to the tinkling of a bell, or the soft breathings of a flute, or in seeking for the moss-lined nest of the marmot amid the clefts of the rocks. These wandering rustics were frequently addressed by Anselmo; but his interrogatories were usually answered with rudeness, or at best with incivility.

The scene now gradually became more barren; yet, though destitute of the accompaniment of trees, it was still highly interesting and charming to the admirers of romantic imagery. Large masses of granite scowled beneath the eye, and mountains, whose crested summits penetrated into the clouds, considerably augmented that sensation of solitary sublimity that overwhelms and astonishes the mind of the spectator.

The melancholy air of neglect and depopulation, which was on every side discernible, unenlivened by sun, threw a melancholy calm over the spirits of our hero, though they tended not to subdue the energy of his soul. As the evening advanced, a dark line of threatening clouds, rolling in vast volumes round the heads of the eminences, were productive of an effect, at once awful and sublime, which was heightened by the scream of the eagle returning to her lofty abode, or the repeated cries of the kestril, or the wurchangel,* sated with the triumph of rapacious pursuit.

Anselmo, alarmed and intimidated at the gloomy appearance of Nature, aided by the approach of night, looked wistfully around for some hospitable retreat; but they had now passed near a league beyond the huts of the peasantry, and no place of security was to be seen. The path, which had long wound among the mountains, now directed them by a precipitant descent into a deep and extensive valley, bordered with wood, and interspersed with lakes. Though this new scene afforded more appearance of vegetation than those they had quitted, the entangled thickets being occasionally intermingled with a variety of dark firs and evergreen oaks, still it wore an aspect of melancholy and desolation; the luxuriance that clothed the lofty side of the glen being no where else perceptible, whilst the uncultivated mountain and the frowning precipice were still the principal objects of this lonely, yet sublime landscape, rising into the most majestic and yet terrifying forms that imagination could conceive. A branch of the Danube, rushing impetuously over several large fragments of broken rock, only disturbed the universal silence, rendering the effect of the whole more awfully impressive, as it foamed with dreadful and inconceivable rapidity through the intervals between the masses of rock that formed the bed of the torrent. It was with much difficulty that they were enabled to proceed through this deep and rough glen, rendered dangerous by the advance of night, and the motion of this boisterous stream, which rushed impetuously in a series of broken cascades, till it precipitated itself, with the force of a cataract, into the bosom of the parent river. They now continued their way, through long and winding sheep-walks, towards the extremity of the valley, till they reached the border of a small clear lake, which again intercepted their path. Here amid long grass, weeds, and rushes, the solitary bittern had long fixed her abode, who having shaken off her autumnal indolence, was seen rising in a spiral ascent, filling the air with her cries, till she was lost in the immensity of distance. Night, which now closed in, brought them to the edge of a forest, dark, dreary, and almost inaccessible. As they advanced, the gloom became more profound, and the clouds, which had long been gathering over their heads, discharged their humid contents: even Enrico felt appalled, and turned to descry, if possible, some place of security. Anselmo was still more anxious to obtain an hospitable shelter, but no vestige of habitation was to be seen; and the latter, encouraged by the example of his master, ventured, though reluctantly, to proceed. A path cut in the forest directed them along till they had reached that dreary and unfrequented spot, known to the traveller by the name of the Jammer Holtz, or Wood of Groans, situated near the Ghorde. This place, which cannot fail of exciting in the occasional visiter a sensation of fear and horror, did not lose its accustomed effect, and they were each for the moment irresolute whether to venture into the interior of the forest, or to return towards the skirts of it, and await the approach of morning.

Anselmo, though he disdained the imputation of cowardice, pleaded warmly for the former plan, observing that there were several trees, whose interwoven branches were capable of affording them security from the storm; and that in such a situation they would be in less danger of becoming a prey to banditti, or to the beasts that infested the deserts. Impatient of delay, Enrico did not yield immediately to the proposition; but was giving it a second review, when Anselmo perceived a light glimmering through the wood at no considerable distance from that part of it in which they were stationed: it cast only a faint gleam, and from the waving of the trees was seen only at intervals; yet they were soon convinced that it proceeded from a taper, and not from one of those watery exhalations, which in low boggy grounds frequently leads the traveller astray. Elated by this unexpected adventure, they dismounted, and tying their horses to the stump of an oak, advanced towards the place. The storm was now past, and the moon, emerging from a cloud, threw her soft light upon the tops of the trees, and discovered half hid, among the unfoliated branches, the shattered wing of a hunting villa. It appeared to have been once a stately structure, but now exhibited an air of extreme neglect and desolation. Part of the portico was still visible; but the pillars, which were broken and decayed, scarcely supported its roof. A small court led to the door, which was scattered over with masses of the ruined edifice. It had once been paved; but the stones were so much broken, that several self-planted trees had established themselves in its area, which exalted their tall heads above the mouldering walls that inclosed them. A light still gleamed from a window, and having with much difficulty made their way through the heaps of rubbish that on every side obstructed their path, they arrived at the entrance, hoping in this long-neglected spot, which, doubtless, from the circumstance of the taper, contained some solitary inhabitant, to gain admittance for the night. Anselmo advancing first, heaved a large rusty knocker, whose sullen sound was awfully reverberated through the building, but no answering footstep approached. Again they repeated the summons, but no one appeared; nor was any sound to be heard but the deep murmurs of the wind, which blew in rising gusts round the decayed mansion, and the loud roar of a distant cataract. In a few moments the light receded, but no human being was visible; and half-despairing of success, the unfortunate travellers walked round the edifice to discover if it was possible to obtain admission at another door; but no other entrance appeared, and they were returning hopelessly towards that which they had quitted, when a deep groan, proceeding from a kind of grate, or loop-hole, again riveted their attention.

'Some one is suffering here,' cried Enrico, recalled from his abstraction by this new incident, 'and Providence has, perhaps in mercy, conducted us to this place for their deliverance. Let us make another attempt, and if we are still unsuccessful, we will address the prisoner, and, if possible, afford assistance.'

Anselmo did not wait for a second command, but sprang hastily round, whilst Enrico lingered for some moments behind, with his eyes fixed in astonishment upon the ivyed arch of the window, in hopes, as the moon still shone full upon it, of being able to discern the unfortunate sufferer who had thus interested his compassion. The groan was not repeated; but, assured that it was not fancy, having heard it distinctly in the pauses of the wind, he determined not to leave this melancholy abode till the affair was investigated. Grown desperate by delay, Anselmo again thundered at the door, and on hearing a slow measured step advance towards the entrance, called loudly to his master. Enrico instantly appeared, and the door being opened by a being, whose aspect indicated the extreme of guilt and wretchedness, they were asked who they were, and what had directed them thither? Enrico, after informing him that they were benighted travellers, who requested a lodging for the night, put a ducat into his hand, and besought admittance. The haggard wretch, whose meagre countenance was distorted by a long connexion with vice and misery, having already the splendid present in possession, would have closed the door upon his necessitous guests, had not our hero, who was aware of his design, assured him that if he would allow them to remain there during the night, he would present him with twice the sum on their departure.

This was a bribe too considerable to be rejected, and having thrown open the door, which he had held half closed in his hand, they were admitted into the interior of the structure. They then proceeded through a long dark passage, in which opened two doors on contrary directions, that on the right leading into a large desolate hall, and the opposite one into a kind of kitchen, which the stranger observed was the room usually inhabited by himself, and the only one with which they could be accommodated during their continuance in the mansion. This miserable apartment contained no other furniture than a few broken chairs, an old worm-eaten cupboard occupying one of the angles, a Norway oak table, whose grotesque frame was cut into numerous devices, and an ancient time-piece, which was erected as a fixture, and seemed, from the antiquity of its appearance, to be nearly co-existent with the building. There was no fire, though it was the middle of winter, and the room consequently rendered intensely cold by several apertures in the wall, which admitted the bleak winds of the east. Anselmo complaining of the chill air, besought the stranger to kindle a fire upon the hearth, and also to prepare them some refreshment. Masehero, which was the name of the host, eyeing him askance as he made the request, replied sullenly that he had no food in the house, except a few barley cakes, and a dish of goat's milk, which were both of them stale and unpalatable. Enrico desiring that he would bring these, and also some wood to kindle a fire, the stranger took the lamp from the table, and withdrew. Anselmo knowing that his master's thoughts were partly absorbed in a new subject of astonishment, proposed that they should engage their host in conversation during the greater part of the night, and take an opportunity of searching the mansion when he was overpowered by sleep.

'How can this possibly be effected?' replied Enrico, hastily; 'if he has an important secret in his possession, it is unlikely he should be so little on his guard as to disclose it. Force is the only means that can be adopted with success: and though I should unwillingly spill the blood of a wretch like this, if innocence can by no other method be released from the grasp of oppression, we must submit to necessity.'

'I have something in my wallet though,' returned Anselmo, rising with a look of self-complacency, 'which, if properly applied, may be of use notwithstanding, as it sometimes brings to confession as completely and instantaneously as the most acute tortures of the inquisition.'

Enrico turned to him with a look of inquiry, and could not forbear smiling when he saw him select from his store two flasks of wine which he had thus fortunately procured. The matter was now hastily determined; the liquor was to be presented to Masehero, who would doubtless receive it with pleasure, and if it failed in the design of making him sufficiently communicative, it would, at least, from its inebriating qualities, lull him into a state of insensibility, till they had explored the different apartments in the ruin, and had accomplished their design.

In a short time the gloomy and sullen inhabitant of this miserable abode returned with a log of wood, and a bundle of sticks. There was no grate remaining; but throwing the fuel upon the hearth, a fire was instantly kindled, and his guests, who had been long shivering with cold, drew close to the blaze. The barley cakes were then placed upon the table, with a small bowl of goat's milk, and a large old horn, to be used as a drinking vessel. Anselmo, who was too hungry to be nice, eyed them with satisfaction, whilst Enrico, though little inclined to partake of this coarse, unpalatable fare, attempted to eat. The wine was then produced, and the stranger was requested to taste of it. He assented. It was a liquor he had been long unused to. The lineaments of his face seemed to lose their hardness, and he began to join in the conversation. Enrico demanded if the mansion contained any other tenant? and being answered in the negative, discontinued the inquiry. Finding from his name, as well as from his accents, that he was an Italian,

Anselmo availed himself of this discovery, by claiming him as a countryman, and asking several questions concerning his family and former residence; but the recluse was too wary not to elude his inquiries, and soon convinced his guests that he had previously determined never to unfold any particular with which they were at present unacquainted. The wine now went cheerfully round; Masehero drank plentifully, and was soon so much elevated as not to perceive that Enrico and his servant, after having taken a very small quantity, were satisfied with only raising it to their lips.

Accustomed only to spare and meagre diet, it soon arrested his faculties, and before he had drained the second flask, he fell back on his chair, and closing his eyes, sunk into a fast sleep. The success of the design elated the spirits of our travellers, who anticipated with pleasure the full accomplishment of the project they had so artfully imagined. Anxious to commence the pursuit, Anselim arose from his seat, and taking the lamp from the table, moved it slowly towards the corner, in which Masehero was placed, to observe if his slumbers were sound. The lids of his eyes did not move, and being convinced that he was perfectly insensible, he was going to make a sign for his master to proceed, when he perceived a small dagger just appearing beneath the cloak of the stranger. The policy of securing this instantly occurred, and drawing it carefully from its concealment, he presented it with an air of triumph to his master, telling him, at the same time, in a low voice, that he was ready to accompany him. Enrico, having extended his arm to grasp this instrument of death, started when he examined the blade, which was apparently rusted with blood. He, however, repressed the expression of his astonishment, and desiring Anselmo to follow him, quitted the room, without neglecting the necessary precaution of fastening the door on the other side, which was easily effected by means of a bolt. This, from long disuse, could not be managed without some little noise; but the loud breathings of Masehero convinced them that he still slept. Having previously secured the lamp, they advanced along the hall, and departing through a contrary door, which directed them into a long vaulted passage, they were enabled to find their way through many intricate windings to a stone stair-case. These steps, which were mouldering into ruins, led them into a wide dreary gallery, in which opened several rooms. Anselmo, being naturally superstitious, followed slowly behind, and as the hollow gusts of wind hurried through the deserted passages, expected every moment to see the form of a spectre gliding into the remote corners; but ashamed of confessing his fears in the presence of his master, he remained silent, whilst Enrico took a general survey of the old chambers through which they passed. All that had hitherto fallen under their observation were unfurnished. The casements were gone, the walls were in several places decayed and mouldered into dust, whilst the yarrow, the nettle, and other weedy shrubs, which had taken root in the interstices of the broken stones, were seen waving through the apertures. Birds of prey had long lived unmolested in this dreary building, and seemed, from long possession, to have laid claim to the most considerable part of it. The sight of the lamp, however, put many of them to flight, whose screams resounding through the whole range of apartments, had a dreadful and solemn effect. Unappalled by these terrors, Enrico reached the extent of the gallery, and undrawing a rusty bolt, opened the door of the only room which had not before fallen under his notice. This chamber was of a triangular form, low, gloomy, and extensive, containing nothing like furniture except a small mattress at the farther end of it, a stool, and a broken table. A high narrow grate was the only means of admitting the light, and from the whole of its appearance, it seemed to have been originally intended for a prison. Being well assured, from the direction of the window, that this was the room from whence the groan proceeded, Enrico desiring Anselmo to wait without the door, advanced towards that corner where the mattress was laid, and beheld, to his unutterable astonishment, the figure of a female, whose face was covered with a veil, apparently asleep! Enrico's breast now throbbed with new emotion; his heart beat quick, his limbs trembled, and a feverish heat pervaded his whole frame. Having proceeded within a few steps of the bed, he placed the lamp upon the floor, and turning the veil gently aside, beheld the pale, yet lovely, countenance of Laurette! She started, but did not awake, and never did Enrico discover so much self-command as at this moment. Rapture and tenderness struggled in his breast, and scarcely could he stifle those feelings which would have prompted him to clasp her wildly to his heart, and awaken her to a sense of unexpected happiness. But a moment's reflection was sufficient to convince him that such a conduct might be attended with danger; joy might operate too powerfully upon a frame enervated by sorrow, and he prudently resolved to send Anselmo to watch by her till she awaked, and gently to prepare her for an interview; yet, after having thus determined, he could not deny himself the luxury of gazing once more upon her beautiful face. Her slumbers seemed now to be tranquil, yet mournful visions had recently been presented to her fancy, for her cheek was still wet with tears.

As he stooped to take up the lamp, which he had placed by the side of the mattress, he observed a small book, bound in red leather, that he instantly knew to have been his own, and which he recollected to have left at the castle of Lunenburg. He took it up, and saw on the blank leaf that she had been attempting to sketch his likeness. Memory had been too faithful to its task not to portray his exact resemblance, and charmed with this new proof of her affection, all his senses were absorbed in delight and rapture.

Fearing Laurette should awake, and endure an agony of surprise, which, during her present state of indisposition, might overpower her faculties, and plunge her again into insensibility, he receded towards the door, and calling Anselmo gently forwards, who had remained in the passage whilst his master explored the apartment, he informed him who the prisoner was, and instructed him in what manner to proceed.

The delighted servant could scarcely suppress the acknowledgment of his joy, and taking the lamp, with a heart bounding with rapture, promised strictly to observe the rules which had been prescribed; and entering the chamber, placed himself as far as possible from the mattress, but in such a situation, that he might easily observe her motion. Enrico, in the meantime, waited impatiently in the gallery, whilst love, tenderness, and astonishment took possession of his mind. How she had been conveyed thither, by whom, and for what purpose, was as marvellous as inexplicable; and the more he reflected upon the subject, the more intricate and wonderful it appeared.

'The wretch,' cried he,'who occupies the mansion, is undoubtedly an assassin! The dagger, rusted with blood, is an undeniable proof of it: was it then intended that her innocent life should be sacrificed? If so, who could instigate the wretch to so horrid a deed -- a deed so disgraceful to humanity, that none but fiends could reflect upon it without shuddering!'

Unable to solve this mystery, the mind of Enrico suffered a tumult of distracting surmises, till the soft voice of Laurette, that dear, that well-known voice, wrapped him in attention. She was uttering something in a tone of supplication, but the words were undistinguishable, for they were low and inarticulate; yet it was easy to ascertain that Anselmo was offering something of condolence, which she did not clearly understand. Still he listened in hopes of distinguishing her words, till he heard a faint scream, not expressive of terror, but of mingled surprise and rapture, which was instantly succeeded by the name of EnrIco, pronounced in those sweet, those melting accents, which had ever possessed such powers of enchantment over him. Unable to endure longer suspense, he did not wait to be recalled; but rushing precipitately from his concealment, darted into the room, whilst joy of the most ecstatic kind pained and agitated his breast.

Laurette had just risen from the mattress when he entered, and being weak, almost to fainting, was obliged to lean against the wall for support. As soon as she beheld him, from whom she believed herself separated for ever, her soft bosom throbbed with new emotion, and the powers of utterance forsook her; but as Enrico, with all the enthusiasm of affection, called wildly upon her name, her beautiful eyes were turned towards him with a look so full of affection and tenderness, that his feelings arose almost to agony.

'And is it possible,' cried Enrico, pressing her gently to his heart, whilst his words were almost stifled with transport, 'that I have at last found her whom I so hopelessly sought? Oh Laurette! from this moment one destiny shall unite us; we will separate no more.'

The fair captive attempted to reply, but tears of joy prevented her utterance; and as Enrico surveyed her pallid cheek, her thin

emaciated form, and every symptom of alarming indisposition, solicitude succeeded to rapture, and anxious as he was to be made acquainted with every particular relative to this mysterious event, he forbore making any immediate inquiry concerning it. As soon as the first tumults of joy were subsided, Laurette, who was unable to move without assistance, and whose delicate frame was still more weakened by this sudden, though joyful, surprise, sat down upon the mattress, whilst Enrico, after having dispatched Anselmo to convey the remaining part of the wine, and some of the barley cake, which had been left in the room where Maschero was confined, seated himself by her side, supporting her with his arm, which encircled her waist, whilst tears of tenderness and compassion fell copiously from his eyes, as he marked the ravages grief had already made upon her angelic countenance.

As soon as Laurette had taken a small quantity of the wine and cake, which Anselmo had fortunately removed without awakening his host, and had received fresh assurances from Enrico that she was safe from the power of the assassin, and that no danger was likely to befal him or his servant on her account, she felt considerably revived, and joined with her enraptured lover in returning thanks to Heaven for having thus sent her a deliverer. Anselmo could not forbear weeping for joy; his master's happiness was inseparable from his own, and he could not, nor did he attempt to conceal his transports.

Laurette, having convinced Enrico that her indisposition entirely proceeded from want of rest and necessary food, besought him to leave her alone, and in the meantime to endeavour to procure some sleep in one of the adjoining apartments, as she was assured from his appearance he was in want of repose, promising on his return she would gratify his curiosity respecting her present confinement. As it yet wanted some hours of day, he assented, observing it was more for her sake than his own that he was prevailed upon to leave her. Laurette rewarded his acquiescence with a smile, and pressing her hand to his lips as he bade her adieu, he quitted the chamber.

Anselmo recollecting that, in one of the unoccupied apartments, he had seen a large old piece of tapestry lying at one corner of it, which appeared formerly to have been used as a floor-cloth, assured his master that this would make a most excellent bed, and that he would engage, with the assistance of an old blanket that lay by the side of it, to make him a more comfortable one than he had enjoyed for some time. Enrico remarking that the assertion was by no means improbable, since his couch, in whatever situation, had of late been a thorny one, desired him to prepare it; adding, with a smile, that the knight, who came to relieve distressed damsels, must not be afraid of a few temporary inconveniences.

The tapestry being spread in several folds upon the broken floor of a remote chamber, which was selected by Anselmo from the rest, because the walls were more entire, Enrico lay down to rest; but as joy is as great an enemy to repose as grief, he did not feel the least inclination to sleep. His servant, at his desire, partook of the bed he had so judiciously formed, as well as of the tattered blanket, which served them both as a covering.

In this situation they remained till the morning dawned faintly through the narrow shattered lattice of their room, which was so fringed with weeds, that the sun was scarcely ever admitted.

* Or great butcher bird. -- See Pennant.

Chapter 5

Can such things be?

And overcome us like a summer's cloud,

Without our special wonder!

Blood will have blood;

Stones have been made to move, and trees to speak:

Augurs and understood relations have,

By magpies, and by choughs and rooks, brought forth

The secret man of blood.

SHAKESPEARE

Anselmo's mind not being harassed with such a variety of strange surmises as his master's, he sunk into a quiet slumber, from which he did not awake till it was light; when, having forgotten the reality of his situation in the visions of his fancy, he could not forbear uttering an exclamation of astonishment; but soon recollecting the past, he turned round to inquire of Enrico in what manner Maschero was to be disposed of, who would probably soon become sensible to his confinement, when he beheld with amazement that his master had quitted his side. Starting instantly from the bed, he hastened into the gallery, where he soon discovered him taking a general survey of the building; endeavouring by these means to beguile the tedious moments that must elapse before Laurette would again admit him into the interior of her prison.

As they passed along one of the apartments, whose barred casements looked into the court, they perceived a board to shake under their feet, which, on examination, was found to be loose and unfixed.

'This is surely a trap-door,' cried Anselmo, with evident astonishment, 'which leads into some strange, and still more dreary, place. Let us explore it, Signor; who knows but we may find some hidden treasure.'

Enrico made no reply; but desirous of being convinced whether it was really a door, and if so, to what part of the ruin it led, attempted to unclose it. He was not long unsuccessful, and on heaving up the board, discovered that it opened upon a flight of steps, which being steep, broken, and decayed, perfectly corresponded with the rest. These they immediately descended, and soon found themselves in a dismal old chamber, which contained, amongst a considerable quantity of lumber, a large oak chest.

This, on opening, they perceived to be empty; but the lid was no sooner closed, than it occurred to Enrico, that, from its external appearance, it probably contained a false bottom. Having communicated his thoughts to Anselmo, the chest was again examined, and the suspicion ascertained not to have been groundless. The artfully-contrived board was speedily removed, and our travellers beheld, to their mutual astonishment, the plumed helmet of a warrior, a military habit, with several other articles of dress, stained with blood; an unsheathed sword rusted by time, and a cross of the order of St Julias. Enrico started with an emotion of horror as he surveyed them, whilst Anselmo observed, with a shuddering sensation, accompanied by an expressive shake of the head, that there had been some foul play there.

'Gracious Heaven!' exclaimed Enrico, recovering from the stupor of amazement into which he had been plunged, 'What do these garments mean, and with whose blood are they stained?'

Anselmo, who had been examining them severally as his master spoke, took up a piece of linen, which seemed to be connected with the rest of the apparel; this was literally dyed in gore, and as he extended his arm to display it to Enrico, it dropped into pieces with age.

'The unfortunate being who owned these things' cried Anselmo, piteously, 'has long since been at rest. Can you conjecture, Signor, whose they could have been?'

'Your question is a strange one,' returned Enrico, 'since I cannot possibly ascertain to whom the ruin belongs, much less can I form any idea of its present possessor; and even could that be discovered, I should still be as far from the point as to the murder committed in it.'

'But one may form some kind of a notion about it, Signor?'

'Indeed! then you have more penetration than I have, who am unable to form any judgment upon the subject.'

'I do not mean to insinuate that I have more penetration than you, Signor. Do not mistake me; but it is reduced to a certainty that blood has been spilled-ah! and in this very place; the garments are here to attest the truth of the assertion.'

'There is sufficient testimony of that,' returned Enrico; 'but I thought you was endeavouring to discover the authors of this assassination, and was applying to me for assistance.'

'That was not the case, Signor; you never will understand me without I speak directly to the purpose. The whole of the affair then is this: If you think as I do, you will from these evidences believe, that this old building belongs to some great man, who keeps it as a kind of slaughter-house, that when any one offends him, or stands in the way of his advancement, he may send him to an eternal sleep without making any one the wiser.'

Enrico appeared thoughtful, but made no reply; and Anselmo, having replaced the bloody garments in the chest, disposing them in the same manner as before, followed him up the steps. Scarcely had they reached the trap-door leading into the chamber, before a loud knocking at the outer gate filled them with new astonishment.

'Mercy upon us!' cried Anselmo, 'the ghost is surely coming to revenge himself upon us for disturbing his old clothes; for what human being would think of coming to such a place as this? If it is man, I can soon do for him; for I have a weapon here,' resumed he, taking the rusty dagger from his girdle, 'that will do his business quickly -- ah! and one too that, by the appearance of the blade, seems to have been well employed; but, if it should be a spirit, Oh Sancta Maria! Signor! what can we do with that?'

Enrico, without waiting till Anselmo had concluded his harangue, walked towards the window which opened into the court, and beheld, to his unspeakable surprise, four armed men taking a survey of the edifice. At first he imagined them to have been banditti, who infested the woods in the night, and were accustomed to inhabit a part of the building during the day; but the appearance of him who seemed to direct the motions of the rest, indicated nothing of the kind.

The alarm was now repeated, which being aided by the yells of Maschero, who had just discovered his confinement, had altogether a dreadful effect. Afraid that Laurette, from being ignorant of the cause, might be disturbed and affrighted, Enrico ran hastily to her room. She was just awake, and seemed better. The knocking still continuing, she inquired the cause; and on his assuring her that nothing was the matter, and that he would speedily return to her, she consented to be left.

Not knowing whether the intentions of the strangers were hostile or otherwise, Anselmo took the dagger from beneath his cloak, whilst Enrico, clapping his hand upon the hilt of his sword, in an attitude of defence, proceeded towards the door.

The person, who appeared to be the leader, advanced first with a stately and dignified air. He seemed to have passed the autumn of life, for locks of grey shaded his forehead, and his face was marked with the lines of age. Struck with the benignity of his aspect, Enrico raised his hand involuntarily from his sword, and courteously bowing, offered him admittance. The stranger, after surveying him a moment in silence, turned to the men, and said, 'There must be some mistake; this is not the person we were taught to expect.'

'May I be allowed to understand the motive of this visit?' cried Enrico, addressing himself to him who was evidently the superior, 'possibly I may be enabled to solve this difficulty.'

The stranger gave an assenting nod; and then desiring the men, who had accompanied him, to await his orders in the wood, followed his conductor into the hall; not without frequently turning an inquiring eye towards the place from whence the cries of Maschero proceeded.

'I will unravel this mysterious affair immediately,' resumed Enrico, finding his new acquaintance was much interested in these expressions of distress, 'when we have reached a place convenient for the purpose.' His guest again bowed, and continued to follow him.

The only seats they were able to find, were two large stones which had fallen from the ceiling at the farther end of the hall, but by these they were tolerably well accommodated; and the stranger having again fixed his eyes upon the intelligent countenance of our hero with new astonishment, requested to be made acquainted with his name; and since it was impossible that neglected solitude could be his residence, by what strange combination of circumstances he had been directed thither.

Enrico did not keep him in suspense. He related his name, at least the only one he had ever known, that of Chamont, and informed him briefly of the most interesting events of his past life, as far as was connected with the subject upon which they had touched; including the mysterious manner in which his mother had disappeared, Laurette's residence with the Marchese, her precipitate retreat from the castle, though in what manner had not been investigated, and how strangely, how miraculously she had been discovered in the prison of the ruin; which little narrative he concluded, by declaring the means that had been employed to intoxicate the assassin, who, he had every reason to believe, meditated her death, though he had at present taken no desperate method to accomplish it.

The stranger could scarcely wait for the conclusion; but throwing his arms round the neck of Enrico, he exclaimed, in an agony of joy, 'Are you then the son of Madame Chamont, the noblest, the most amiable of women? And shall I, by presenting you to her after this long, this hopeless absence, be enabled to discharge some part of that vast debt of gratitude which I owe her. Behold in me the Conte della Croisse, the once wretched La Roque, who, but for her interference, must have perished in a dungeon.'

Enrico's amazement increased; he had never heard the name of Della Croisse uttered by any one except Father Benedicta; and the little he had been able to gain from what that Monk had inadvertently dropped, was so wrapped in obscurity, that no opinion could be formed upon the subject. But as the Conte's exclamation indicated that he was not only formerly known to his mother, but was actually acquainted with her present place of residence, his raptures could not be repressed; and falling at the feet of his venerable guest, he besought him with tears to inform him immediately where his revered parent was removed, and whether he could not instantly be with her. Della Croisse's heart melted within him when he beheld these effusions of affection; and so much was the sensibility of his nature excited, that it was some time before he could command his feelings sufficiently to comply with the request. But finding his auditor could no longer endure a state of suspense and anxiety, he informed him that Madame Chamont was in a place of security not many leagues distant from the wood; and that he might soon have an opportunity of being introduced to her, and of bestowing upon this excellent parent that unexpected and exalted happiness which his presence would inevitably confer.

'Having been recently apprized,' continued the Conte, 'of the alarming situation of the lovely young captive, with whose fate I find you are already acquainted, I brought a carriage to convey her from this place to the convent in which Madame Chamont has found a secure asylum.'

'My mother is then safe in a convent,' repeated Enrico, rapturously.

'She is,' returned the Conte; 'and not having remained resident there long enough to have commenced Nun, according to the established rules of the Institution, will have no objection to remove from it.

'I have many circumstances to unfold,' continued Della Croisse, 'in which you are materially interested, and must therefore request you will allow me a patient hearing.'

Enrico bowed assent; but fearing lest Laurette should be uneasy at his absence, excused himself for a moment before the Conte began his recital, and hastened to her apartment. She had been expecting him for some time with a degree of painful anxiety; but his presence soon relieved her from uneasy apprehension, and after having taken, at his desire, a small portion more of the wine and cake, which had been left on the preceding night, he again quitted the room, with an assurance that he would return to her as soon as suitable arrangements were made relative to their intended departure.

The cries of Maschero still continuing to resound through the edifice, producing a melancholy and dreadful effect, Enrico found it necessary to silence him, by asserting that, since his criminal intentions were discovered, his only hopes of obtaining that mercy he had so little reason to expect, rested upon the compassion of his judges, and the purity of his future conduct.

This had the desired effect, and Enrico, being anxious to hear the important incidents which were shortly to be unfolded by the Conte della Croisse, again seated himself upon the stone by his side, and besought him to proceed.

'As it is necessary,' replied the venerable guest, 'that we should remove from this place as speedily as possible, I shall relate all briefly. You are, doubtless, informed that your birth is supposed by all, even by your mother, who is, notwithstanding, Virtue herself, to have been illegitimate.' Enrico shuddered, and looked surprised.

'You are, I say,' added the Conte, 'universally considered as the illegal offspring of the Marchese de Montferrat.'

'Impossible!' returned Enrico impetuously. 'Who dares to asperse the character of my mother?'

'None, none,' replied the Conte, 'can cast a shade upon her spotless reputation: I would myself defend her with my life from the shafts of calumny and malice; grant me but patience, and you shall hear the whole. The Marchese de Montferrat is your father; you are his lawful child, and consequently the next heir to his title and possessions.

'Great Heaven, is it possible!' cried Enrico, lifting up hands and eyes in astonishment; 'and is this mystery but just unravelled?'

'The death of a wretch,' returned the Conte, 'who has been long initiated in all the arts of cunning, and who has long secretly sought my destruction, could only have unravelled it. The monster to whom I allude, is the Marchese's steward; you are assuredly acquainted with his character?'

'Is Paoli then dead?' interrupted Enrico.

'The same,' replied Della Croisse. 'That death, he so long meditated against me, he received at my hands: I met with him by accident, or rather by the direction of an interposing Providence; for to attribute such events to blind chance is impious. He attacked me; I was fortunately armed, and being aware of his infamous design, before he could disengage the stiletto from his cloak, plunged mine into his heart. He groaned, and fell; but his breathing convinced me he was still alive. Little as he merited compassion, I found my breast was not steeled against its influence; and ordering my servants, who were not far behind, to convey the assassin to an inn, I followed him, and sent for assistance. The wound was pronounced mortal; but the effect was not instantaneous, as it allowed time for the confession of his crimes. He informed me that Madame Chamont was placed in a convent, whither she was to have remained for life; in which seclusion more than ordinary restrictions were exercised over her. That, by the express orders of the Marchese, she was not permitted to write from the cloister; and the more effectually to prevent the circulation of letters between her and her son, she was taught to believe that he had been killed in an engagement, and that Laurette, her adopted daughter, was already united to a young Nobleman, selected for her by her guardian.

'He then informed me,' resumed the Conte, 'that this fair young creaturewas the daughter of the Conte Della Caro, whose father was murdered in a wood by a wretch hired for the purpose by order of the Marchese de Montferrat, who, if he died childless, was the next heir to his estates; but as the Contessa brought forth an infant soon afterwards, it was necessary that this also should be removed. Some qualms of conscience seizing upon the Marchese at this time, prevented him from sacrificing the child; but as to secrete it was indispensably requisite, he found means of doing this so efficaciously, that no one suspected his design, every body supposing that the infant expired with its mother, who lived only to give it birth. Some peculiar circumstances had, he added, induced the Marchese to believe the mysteries respecting her origin had been unfolded to Laurette; but who the person was who had obtained and conveyed this intelligence could not be ascertained, as no one, he had imagined, had gained any certain information upon the subject. This, together with her beauty and inimitable accomplishments, instigated him to offer her his hand, as a means of securing the secret to themselves; but, contrary to his expectation, this was resolutely refused, and finding from another conversation with her, and the discovery of a picture, bearing the resemblance of her mother, the Contessa della Caro, that she had been previously made acquainted with the secret of her birth, he had at last determined upon her death.

'He then declared to me,' continued the Conte, 'whither she was conveyed; at the same time giving me so minute a description of the assassin employed, as to render a mistake impossible. Not expecting, therefore, to meet any other being than the forlorn and guilty wretch I was in search of, you may easily conceive my astonishment when I beheld you, apparently an inhabitant of the ruin, at the time of my arrival.' -- Here the Conte remained silent, and Enrico, after acknowledging his gratitude for the active part he had taken, and expressing his surprise at the interesting events that had been recounted, demanded in what convent Madame Chamont was now resident, and how the legality of her marriage with the Marchese de Montferrat was to be proved, since the person, by whom the confession had been made, was removed by death.

'The convent in which your mother is placed is not far from this place,' returned the Conte; 'she is in a society of reformed Benedictine Nuns, of the congregation of Mount Calvary, and has probably before this time entered into her noviciate state. As to the priest who officiated at the marriage, being already acquainted with his name and place of abode, there will be no difficulty in securing him as an evidence, who will bring undeniable proofs of the truth of the assertion.

'As to the murder committed on the body of the Conte della Caro,' resumed the Conte, 'it must, if possible, be consigned to oblivion, the offender being not only the husband of Madame Chamont, but your father; and as the fair orphan may easily assert the justice of her claim, without making so dreadful a disclosure, through the evidence of the woman who acted in the capacity of nurse, the wife of Paoli, whose testimony will be sufficient to vindicate the proceeding, and who will be ready to appear in case of necessity.'

Enrico shuddered at the idea of the Marchese de Montferrat, who, he was now convinced was his father, being brought to justice, and inquired eagerly if it could not be prevented.

'Easily,' replied Della Croisse, 'if the offender will criminate himself in a private confession, and restore Laurette to her rights, by bestowing her upon you, and by investing you in his possessions, at least the principal part of his property, on your nuptials, and in the rest on his decease. But from what I was enabled to gather from the last words of Pauli,' continued the Conte, 'the Marchese does not consider your mother as his lawful wife; the steward having expressly received orders from him to procure a person under the assumed habit of an ecclesiastic to solemnize the marriage, instead of which, from some secret motive, he applied to a secular priest, probably from this consideration, that should the Marchese be induced to deny him pecuniary assistance, he might, by disclosing the affair to him after his union with the lady whom he afterwards married, procure large sums by keeping the important secret. But this never happening in the course of his stewardship, the Marchese, he confessed, was yet ignorant of the truth; but the priest being yet alive, to whom I might instantly apply, the fact would easily be proved. The unfortunate wretch also acknowledged,' resumed the Conte, 'that he had artfully instigated the Marchese to the murder of Laurette for some time before the measure was adopted, fearing lest he should succeed in gaining her affections, and by another connexion involve him in new difficulties, as he had, he declared, suffered continual fear and apprehension during the lifetime of the reputed Marchesa, lest the former marriage, through the confession of the priest who united them, should be publicly attested. The person, he likewise informed me, who was employed to assassinate Laurette, was his brother, a native of Italy, who had consented to execute the bloody business, according to his engagement, in consideration of a splendid reward. That it was their intention to have murdered her, as she slept, on the night of their arrival at the wood, but that grief and terror had prevented her from yielding to repose; and being each unwilling to undertake the task allotted to them, during his continuance with Maschero, they had mutually agreed to leave her to perish by famine, having previously determined in what manner the body was to be disposed of, which was to be entombed in an obscure part of the forest. The wretch, who was necessary to the crime, whom he had acknowledged for his brother, he commended to my mercy; and having particularly directed me to this place, soon afterwards expired in inexpressible agony and horror.'

Enrico, who had listened with increasing amazement, now arose from his seat, and stood for some time transfixed in astonishment. The scenes of complicated guilt and depravity, which had been thus wonderfully unfolded, quite overpowered him; and when he connected the tender name of father with these enormities, the blood crept cold through his veins, and a chilling sensation disordered his whole frame. But as soon as his thoughts glanced upon Laurette and his mother, dwelling upon the rapture the latter would experience on seeing him, tears of affection and tenderness fell fast from his eyes; and requesting that the Conte would liberate Maschero, and deal with him as he thought proper, being in haste to depart, he flew again to Laurette, who had been long impatiently awaiting his return.

Lost in doubt and perplexity, her spirits were now nearly exhausted; and unable to form any conjecture concerning the person below, from what she had heard, besought him to acquaint her who he was, and what was his business. Unwilling that she should suffer even a transient suspense, Enrico, after some little preparation, informed her all that he deemed necessary for her to know, concealing every thing for the present which could excite uneasiness, and even disclosing the joyful part of the intelligence with the utmost circumspection. But when she was convinced that her dear-lamented friend was in safety, and that there was a probability of her soon being with her, joy could no longer be restrained, and tears of tenderness and affection flowed fast upon her cheek.

Fearing the effect of these indulged transports upon so delicate

a frame, Enrico endeavoured to calm them by an assurance, that nothing should prevail upon him to remove her immediately, but a promise on her part to become more tranquil.

Whilst Enrico remained in the prison with Laurette, Maschero was released from his confinement by the Conte della Croisse, on his solemnly declaring that he would never again participate in a crime of such magnitude. The punishment for capital offences by the German laws, being so much worse than death itself, was held in utter abhorrence by his lenient accuser, the wretch who has committed them being doomed to wear that external brand of infamy which precludes, through a miserable existence, the possibility of a return to virtue; that probably, had he been instigated by no primary consideration, he might have been tempted to have declined a prosecution without reflecting that by this clemency he would be espousing the cause of vice, and violating the laws of justice.

Enrico had hitherto mentioned nothing to the Conte of the strange discovery made in the old chamber previous to his arrival; and having now every reason to believe that the Marchese, his father, was materially concerned in the murder, evidently committed either in or near that place, determined to avoid it. The bloody clothes found in the chest were once, he imagined, the property of the Conte della Caro, who was said to have been massacred in a wood, and whose body was either buried or concealed in some part of the ruin. But Anselmo, not being aware of his master's intention, and being anxious to disclose to the stranger all the wonders of the place, conducted Della Croisse, in his absence, through the trap-door leading to the apartment, and displayed to him the object of their mutual surprise.

The Conte examined the sword, helmet, and garments severally, without being able to ascertain the unfortunate possessor; but he no sooner discovered the cross of the military order of knighthood, than he was convinced that they originally belonged to the Conte della Caro, who, he recollected, from Paoli's confession, was declared to have been assassinated in a wood or forest. Deeming it imprudent, however, to give Anselmo admission into the secret, he ascended the steps, observing that the person, to whom those bloody garments had belonged, was probably murdered by banditti, who, after having interred the body in some adjacent place, had secured the clothes of the deceased to prevent detection.

Anselmo appeared not perfectly satisfied with the conclusion, but made no reply; and Della Croisse having returned again into the hall, desired he would inform his master that the carriage had been waiting for a considerable time at the skirts of the wood; and since all preliminaries were adjusted, he was in readiness to depart.

Enrico, attended by the beautiful Laurette, soon entered the room; and as she leaned gently upon his arm for support, there was something so lovely, so interesting, in her appearance, that as Della Croisse continued to gaze upon her with a mixture of pity and admiration, his eyes were suddenly filled with tears; and scarcely could he subdue his feelings sufficiently to answer the meek effusions of her gratitude, which she bestowed upon him.

The party now quitted the ruin, and the armed men, who had attended the Conte for the purpose of securing the assassin, were discharged without executing their design. Enrico remembering the ducats he had mentioned to Maschero as the price of their admission, on a promise, solemnly delivered before them all, that he would quit his present residence immediately, and endeavour to become an useful member of society, did not withhold them. Laurette being supported, or rather carried through the wood, was placed in the carriage with the Conte and Enrico; the horses were consigned to the care of Anselmo, and the whole party, thus relieved from fear and anxiety, commenced their journey.

They travelled leisurely through the day, frequently stopping for refreshment, as Laurette's weak state required the most strict care and attention. In the evening they arrived at a small inn on the road, not more than two leagues from the convent, where they were enabled to procure a suitable person to attend upon Laurette, and comfortable accommodations for the night. -- During their continuance in this place, Della Croisse acquainted Enrico with the melancholy incidents of his past life. He also related the manner of his having met with Madame Chamont at an inn, as she was travelling from the hills of Mount Jura into Germany; expatiated with gratitude upon her amiable conduct towards him and his daughter; the still greater obligations she had conferred on him afterwards by saving him from a miserable death; which little recital he concluded with a relation of that part of her story which was immediately connected with his own.

Enrico listened to all with a painful concern, and thought every moment an age till he could throw himself at the feet of that beloved parent, from whom he had been so long, so strangely separated.

Chapter 6

Bring the rath primrose that forsaken dies,

The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine,

The white pink, and the pancy freaked with jet,

The glowing violet,

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,

And every flower that sad embroidery wears.

MILTON

Rest and nourishment had so happy an effect upon Laurette, that she was enabled to prosecute her journey on the ensuing morning without much apparent fatigue. The vehicle which had conveyed them thither, was stationed at an early hour near the door of the inn, and our travellers felt their hearts bound with new sensations of pleasure when they entered it.

As soon as they were seated, Enrico besought Laurette to acquaint them with all that had happened to her previous to her quitting the castle; and also by what chance the letter which he had written to her, remained unanswered.

The epistle he alluded to, she assured him, was never received; and as letters very rarely miscarried, they were both internally convinced that it had been intercepted. She then proceeded to inform him of the strange events which had taken place during his absence; what she had suffered from the unremitting assiduities of the Marchese, his cruelty, his threats, when she repeated her resolution of rejecting him; the conference overheard in the pavilion, and the unaccountable manner in which she had been forced from the chamber.

Enrico listened with the most earnest attention as she continued her little affecting narrative, which was frequently interrupted by her auditors with exclamations of surprise and horror, particularly in that part of it which treated of the conversation supported between the Marchese and Paoli in the room of state.

When the steward had conveyed her, she added, about a league from the mansion, he endeavoured to dissipate her fears by an assurance of protection, solemnly declaring that the Marchese had no intention of sacrificing her life; but had determined to place her in a convent till he could think of some other method of disposing of her more congenial to his inclinations. -- This, she acknowledged, had the desired effect, as she now imagined that a new plan had been adopted, less terrible than her former surmises had suggested, and the circumstance of being confined for life in a cloister, since she now believed herself separated for ever from her earliest and tenderest connexions, produced reflections unattended with regret: but her late sufferings occasioned such languor and indisposition, that they were obliged to alight at a small inn upon the road. A fever was the consequence of these repeated alarms, which confined her for some days to the place, during which time she was attended only by a woman of a very unpromising aspect; a surgeon, resident in an adjacent village, and Paoli, who expressing the utmost impatience for her recovery, seldom quitted the room.

'Ah Laurette!' interrupted Enrico, 'how providential was this illness! But for such an event, the benevolent exertions of the Conte della Croisse, as well as my own efforts, to inform myself of your situation, might have been fruitless.' The fair narrator directed a look of gratitude towards Heaven, and then continued her recital.

'As soon as I was able,' resumed Laurette, 'to leave this inn, which presented very indifferent accommodations, we pursued our journey; and firmly assured, from what Paoli had advanced, that I was going to be secluded in some religious retirement, I made no farther attempt to interest his compassion, or obstruct the prosecution of his purpose.

'On the evening of the second day after our departure from the inn, he informed me, that I should be at the end of my journey that night. Again my fears began to take alarm; I looked wistfully around, but no convent appeared. Night hung her glooms upon the landscape, but still no hospitable asylum was to be seen. I now began to imagine I had been deceived; apprehension succeeded to hope, and a thrilling sensation of horror almost deprived me of reason. We then entered the precincts of the wood, whose wildness and extent appeared dreadful. The sterile sublimity of the rocks, which I had hitherto contemplated with awful admiration, receded from my view. The deafening sound of the cataract softened in a sad murmur; the wind moaned among the trees, and the hollow sighs, that it sometimes uttered, seemed to lament my approaching fate. As we entered the wood, the moon threw a pale, uncertain light upon the eminences; but no sooner had we arrived near the centre, than her beams were entirely excluded; briars and entangled thickets frequently intercepted the path, rendering it not more dreary than dangerous, and voices, heard at intervals in the silence of night, filled me with new terrors. At length a light was seen streaming through the trees, proceeding from a distant window. I inquired to whom it belonged, and was informed it was a house not far from the convent, which would accommodate us with lodgings for the night. Thither, incapable of making resistance, I suffered myself to be conveyed. Maschero gave us admittance; and

having conducted us to the liabitable part of the ruin, brought some food. I attempted to eat, but could not; and pleading lassitude and indisposition, requested to be directed to my room. Maschero led me to an apartment, and after eyeing me with a malignant kind of curiosity, withdrew, leaving me, at my desire, the lamp he had carried, which I considered as an invaluable treasure. As soon as he had retired, I began to examine the door, in hopes of discovering some possible means of fastening it; but none appearing, I yielded without restraint to the impulse of my feelings, which were now too violent to be subdued. When I had indulged the first paroxysms of my sorrow, I advanced towards the window, to take a minute survey of my situation, and to ascertain if there was any apparent possibility of escaping from it, should I be deserted by my artful conductor, and left in the power of Maschero, whose unprepossessing appearance had given me justly the idea of an assassin.

'After a night passed in the utmost distress and anxiety, I was again visited by this emaciated figure, whose aspect had excited at once pity and terror. He entered without seeming to recollect that the room contained any other inhabitant, and after setting a pitcher of water and a cake upon the floor, would have instantly withdrawn; but I prevented his design by inquiring whether Paoli was arisen; and being answered in the affirmative, ventured to ask if he had mentioned any thing relative to our intended departure?'

"You are at the end of your journey, I believe," replied Maschero, with a malignant smile; "and since the person who brought you has thought proper to leave you, must make yourself contented where you are."

'What I suffered from this intelligence cannot be easily imagined, or rather what I suffered a short time afterwards; for having fainted, I was not immediately conscious of what had passed. As soon as I recovered, I found myself again alone. The door was fastened, and the pitcher and the barley-cake were placed by the side of the mattress upon which I had fallen. My distress now admitted of no increase, death appeared unavoidable, and I now began to consider in what manner it was likely to be executed. Sometimes I conceived it probable that Paoli had only absented himself for a few days, for the purpose of transacting some business in that part of the province, and meant to return at the expiration of that time, and to fulfil his intention. At other times, I imagined it likely that I was designedly left to perish, either by poison or famine; and that the steward intended to wait at a convenient distance, till after my decease, that he might have the satisfaction of conveying the intelligence to his Lord.

'Two whole days passed in this manner without any material

event, in which time no creature approached the melancholy chamber selected for my apartment. Hunger had obliged me to take a small portion of the cake, with which my inhospitable host had supplied me; it was coarse and unpalatable; but being ready to sink for want of food, I was compelled to have recourse to it. The next day this pittance was exhausted, and I soon discovered that it was not the intention of my gaoler to present me with more, who having closed the door upon me when I was in a state of insensibility, meant never more to break in upon my solitude with a repetition of his services.

'As night advanced, I felt my indisposition considerably augmented; a death-like faintness was communicated to my heart, and placing myself again upon the mattress, I endeavoured to resign myself to my lot. At last a loud knocking at the outer door roused me from my seat. I started, and proceeded towards the grate; but the gloom prevented me from distinguishing any object, though I had no remaining doubt but that it was Paoli, who was come to witness the completion of his dreadful purpose.

'Some hours passed in the utmost solicitude, till wearied Nature could no longer resist the attacks of sleep. With what succeeded this period,' resumed Laurette, 'you are already acquainted; but the extent of my gratitude you cannot easily comprehend.'

The look, which accompanied the conclusion of the narrative, was perhaps more expressive of her feelings than any thing she could have uttered: and those bestowed upon her by Enrico displayed more of compassion, affection, and tender concern, than the most forcible language could have conveyed.

The spires of the convent were now discovered above the tops of the trees, and the most pleasurable emotions succeeded. It was a stately Gothic edifice, inclosing an extensive area. The walls, which were at a considerable distance, were strengthened at the angles by small square towers, which were partly in ruins; and these, together with the whole of the out-works, though formed of the most ponderous materials, were crumbling into dust, and were overrun with mosses, lickens, and other weedy incrustations, which gave it rather the appearance of a deserted than an inhabited mansion.

When the party had arrived at a large stone arch, leading into the grounds, they alighted from the carriage; and having crossed the lawn, were met by a Friar at the gate, who came forwards to receive them. Of him the Conte della Croisse made an inquiry concerning the Superior of the convent, and learned from him that the greatest part of the building was inhabited by a society of Monks, who were also Benedictines. This he considered was no unfavourable circumstance, as Enrico and himself might easily gain admission into their order, should their enterprize not be conducted with the facility they desired: whilst Laurette might remain resident in the convent till Madame Chamont had obtained permission to leave it, and could do it without a breach of propriety.

Whilst the Conte continued in conversation with the Friar, the tolling of a bell, proceeding from the chapel, which was situated somewhat remote, fixed the attention of the travellers. Della Croisse inquired the occasion of it, and was told that a Nun was going to be professed.

'You will find some difficulty in gaining an introduction to the Superior,' resumed the Monk, 'till the ceremony is performed. Would it not be better to defer the execution of your intention till afterwards; and in the meantime, by mixing with the multitude, you may be gratified with a view of the solemnities. Some of the sisters are already proceeding towards the chapel, and if you will grant me permission, I will accompany you thither.'

From what the Monk had declared, it appeared probable that the Abbess would not indulge them with an audience till the profession was over; and after thanking him for his courtesy, they agreed to the proposition.

The congregation was not at present assembled, and the Friar having conducted them along the eastern aisle, placed them on a bench of black marble, which was fixed near the altar, and then left them to join a procession of Monks, who were commissioned to attend.

As soon as this religious had retired, the party contemplated, with surprise, the magnificence and beauty of the chapel. It was supported by pillars of Carara marble, of the most exquisite workmanship. The niches of the walls were adorned with images of the saints and martyrs, the performances of the most celebrated artists, and taste and greatness of design were every where evident.

The organ was loftily situated in a gallery built for the purpose: it was composed chiefly of ebony, and ornamented with curtains of crimson velvet, which were curiously wrought with flowers of gold and purple. The altar was decorated with a profusion of wax-tapers, interspersed with vases, containing frankincense, and other costly perfumes. The table was covered with an embroidered cloth, which was worked by the ingenious hands of the vestals in the most chaste and sacred devices. A large crucifix was erected in the centre, which was supported on one side by an image of the Virgin, and on the other by that of Saint Agatha. The altar-piece was the last supper, by Michael Angelo, which was surrounded by a number of large medallion-paintings, by the most admired artists, representing the deaths and sufferings of the martyrs.

When they had paused for some minutes, to take a general survey of these splendid decorations, they observed two of the Friars hastening towards the aisle, to which they had been con-ducted on their arrival. They were habited as Benedictines; but their garments being made of coarser materials, bespoke inferiority of rank.

One of these religious spread a carpet, which he had brought for the purpose, in the centre of the chapel, whilst the other laid a pall at the steps of the altar. Soon after this preparation was over, a multitude of spectators assembled, which curiosity, or some not less active principle of their natures, had directed thither, who, having placed themselves in the most eligible situations, awaited the commencement of the sacred rites.

The funeral-bell, which had been for some time tolling, now ceased, and the loud peals of the organ were heard in its stead. A train of Monks, attended by their Superior, then advanced, who moved slowly along the aisle; and the ceremony of the entrance, which was not more striking than impressive, began. First came the novices, strewing the floor with the most beautiful evergreens, preserved and reared for the purpose; then the Lady of the convent, Iattended by the Nuns, according to their order, with her mitre, and in robes of state; and lastly, the fair devotee, who was come to take the sacred, the indissoluble vow, which was to seal her inevitable doom. She was conducted, or rather supported, by two of the sister

hood, who, with a slow and solemn pace, led her towards the centre of the chapel, each bearing a lighted taper in her hand. The music now ceased. A buz of indistinct voices was heard for the moment, which gradually grew fainter, and then died into silence. Our travellers, having eyed the procession with a kind of painful curiosity, now left the place on which they had been seated, and mingled with the throng. In vain did Enrico endeavour to recognize the features of his mother; for the veils of the novices were so artfully folded, that their faces were entirely concealed.

As soon as the procession had reached the steps of the altar, the Superior of the monastery addressed the devotee in an exhortation replete with unaffected grace and eloquence, to which she gave the most fixed and earnest attention. The easy dignity of his manners, the deep pathos of his voice, and above all, the sublimity of his doctrines, so affected his audience, that the whole congregation listened to him with devout astonishment.

As soon as this was delivered, the sister, who was to take the veil, advanced between two others of the Nuns, to make her profession. Her voice was at first tremulous; but as she proceeded, it naturally regained its powers; and having answered some questions which were proposed by the priest, respecting the time of her initiation, she knelt before him, and made her profession, which was delivered with the most admirable articulation, and classical elegance.

The prayers appointed for the occasion were then read, in which the Abbess and the rest of the Nuns, as well as the Monks who attended, joined with much fervency, and apparent devotion. As soon as these were concluded, the officiating priest came forward, and having laid the proper dress of the order upon a small marble table erected on one side of the altar, began to assort them; whilst the Lady Abbess took the noviciate veil from the fair devotee, and prepared to enrobe her in black. -- When this covering was removed, the eyes of the spectators were withdrawn from the priest, and fixed with a gaze of curiosity on the sister. It discovered a very lovely face, full of the most interesting expression. It was pale, but it was beautiful, and received lustre and character from a pair of dark blue eyes, whose fringed lids shaded a complexion of the most dazzling whiteness; whilst the extreme delicacy of her form was rendered infinitely more attractive from being finely contrasted with the long sable robe descending far beneath the feet, the garb, in which the reformed Benedictine Nuns of the congregation of Mount Calvary are clad.

As soon as the eternal veil was substituted in the room of the noviciate one, and the broad belt and the rosary were adjusted, the priest dipped the consecrated brush in the holy water, and, after having repeatedly crossed himself, sprinkled the devotee, who being then reconducted to that part of the chapel where the rest of the sisterhood were assembled, remained for some time at her devotions. Whilst this ceremony continued, the most solemn breathing strains issued from the organ, which seemed to wrap the souls of all present in a divine enthusiasm. These were succeeded by the choral voices of the Monks, whose deep tones were softened and harmonized by the sweet sound of female strains occasionally joining in and improving the melody. -- These rites being over, the professed arose from the place in which she had been kneeling, to undergo that part of the solemnity which appeared to the spectators more awfully impressive than the rest. She was attended as before by two of the sisters, who having led her into the centre, receded a few paces back, whilst she threw herself, with a degree of collected earnestness, upon the carpet. Thus humbled to the dust, she imprinted a kiss upon the earth, to express her humility and lowliness of heart, as well as to signify that she had now totally relinquished the pomps and vanities of the world, to whose follies she was henceforth dead. The body of the fair votarist was now covered with a pall, as if the spark of life, which had animated it, was extinguished for ever; whilst the burial service was chaunted to the notes of the organ, assisted by the vocal powers of the Nuns, Priests, and Friars, whose wrapt souls seemed to be as much elevated above the world, and its trifling concerns, as if they had already shaken off the gross mould that inclosed them.

As soon as these lofty strains had ceased, the vestal was reconducted to her place; and after some time spent in prayer, in which she was devoutly joined by the Priests, Sisters, and whole fraternity of Monks, the consecrated wafer was administered, and the awful solemnities of the church in the rites of the Sacrament began. The devotee having received it with an aspect of collected meekness almost angelic, arose, and having kissed the robes of the officiating Priest, she bowed herself, with inimitable grace, before the crucifix, breathing at the same time a repetition of her vow. She then embraced the rest of the sisterhood, and was conducted by them to the Lady Abbess, who saluted her with a maternal smile, and afterwards to the novices, who received her with the most cordial affection; while a number of rose-lipped girls, fair and beautiful as angels, who were resident for a convent education, strewed flowers over them as they passed along to the last ceremony, that of the coronation, emblematic of that crown of glory, which is promised as a reward to those who, after suffering continual trials and mortifications, are admitted into the regions of felicity.

When this was over, the bleeding cross of Mount Calvary was hung in her bosom, whilst the chaunted hymn, which seemed to utter forth celestial sounds, rose into deep and choral harmony. All present, being wrapped in undivided attention, appeared to have forgotten that they were among the inhabitants of that world, above which they felt so strangely elevated. As the strains died into cadence, which seemed to have proceeded from no mortal touch, the procession of Nuns and Friars, attended by their Superiors, retired in the same order in which they had entered; and our travellers, who during these ceremonies had secluded themselves as much as possible among the crowd of spectators, emerged from obscurity. As the novices, who followed in the rear, moved slowly from the chapel, Enrico observed them with peculiar attention, endeavouring to discover Madame Chamont, but without success. Many were tall and graceful like her; but there appeared so great a similarity, from being dressed exactly the same, that one was scarcely to be distinguished from another.

Delay now became painful, and the whole party being anxious to obtain some information relative to the best manner of proceeding, walked rapidly from the chapel; and having reached the great gate leading to the principal court belonging to the brotherhood, soon beheld, to their satisfaction, the Friar who had given them admittance on their arrival, standing with two of the Fathers of the Benedictine order in the portico of the monastery.

The Conte instantly advanced to them, and after politely interrogating them concerning their rules and institutions, repeated his foriner inquiry respecting the Abbess. The Monk received him as before with the most easy courtesy of manner; but on his requesting to know if there would be any impropriety in desiring an immediate audience with the Superior, was advised to defer it till she had given her charge to the sisterhood -- a ceremony never dispensed with.

'If you have any thing important to learn from, or to disclose to the Abbess,' resumed the Monk, 'your arrival this day may be termed unfortunate; as when the solemnities of our church are over, the day is uniformly dedicated to innocent festivity, in which the Superior herself condescends to join. A feast is always prepared on this occasion in the refectoire of the convent, at which she also presides, and a number of Friars, particularly those of the Benedictine fraternity, and pilgrims are admitted. No business of any kind is allowed to be transacted this day, which is rendered not only sacred, but glorious, from its having entitled a beautiful spirit to that eternal reward, which will be conferred upon those, who, from motives of piety, resign the follies and vanities of the world.'

'But if I only interpose in the cause of oppressed innocence,' returned the Conte, 'and endeavour to steal some hours of sorrow from the heart which has too long felt its influence; if my business is to bestow comfort upon those, from whom it has been long withheld, surely this cannot be called an intrusion upon the rites of their festivity.'

'These arguments will have but little weight on the present occasion, I fear,' replied the Monk, thoughtfully; 'and, perhaps, if your request is forwarded with so little discretion, it may meet with a refusal, or, if otherwise, not with that degree of attention which it may merit. If you will take my advice, you will remain here to-night. In this monastery the stranger and the pilgrim are always received with hospitality; and, although the mode of life we have embraced excludes us from what are generally esteemed the comforts of life, we have at least the power of bestowing them upon others. And as to the Lady,' continued the Friar, turning a look of inquiry towards Laurette, 'I will introduce her to the convent, where she will be allowed to remain till the morrow.'

Laurette courtesied meekly, and having thanked the Father for his attention with that elegance of expression peculiar to herself, awaited the result of the conference. Upon mature deliberation, the plan, which was marked out for them by the Friar, was adhered to; and the carriage being stationed at the outer gate, it was mutually agreed, that the party should remove to some inn, or cottage, capable of affording them accommodations till the evening, when they proposed to accept the kind invitation of the Monk, who promised to introduce them on their return to his Abbot, a man of exemplary goodness and piety. Doomed a little longer to suffer the pangs of procrastinated happiness, our travellers again entered the carriage, and soon arrived at a small, but cleanly, hotel, in which comfortable situation they obtained the rest and refreshment they required.

Laurette being much fatigued, at the joint request of Enrico and the Conte della Croisse, consented to retire, and to endeavour, at least, to obtain some repose; but the exquisite sensibility of her nature prevented the approach of sleep; the idea of Madame Chamont, and the scene she had just witnessed, which called forth all the soft, as well as all the sublime emotions of her soul, pressed too much upon her thoughts; and though she wished to steal into a transient forgetfulness, that by salutary rest she might be better enabled to meet, with becoming fortitude and composure, the tender scene that awaited her, she found it could not be effected; and when informed that the carriage was in readiness to convey them to the convent, she arose without having once yielded to repose, and prepared to obey the summons.

Having satisfied the master of the hotel, they drove from the door, and arrived at the gate of the monastery just as vespers were concluded.

The benevolent Friar, who had been some time in waiting to receive his guests, advanced forwards to meet them, and having conducted them into a lofty apartment adjoining the refectoire, introduced them to the Abbot. By him they were welcomed with that superior kind of courtesy, which is not always attached to the manners of the recluse; offering them at the same time an asylum in his monastery till the business which had directed them thither was accomplished; and also to conduct Laurette to that part of the convent inhabited by the Nuns, where, he assured her, she would meet with all due respect and attention, which, he observed, alluding to her languid appearance, seemed to be necessary. Laurette, who considered that if she prolonged her stay at the monastery after what the holy Father had said, she might be looked upon by the fraternity as an intruder, after many acknowledgments of gratitude, consented to accompany him. As they crossed the spacious area, which directed her so near to her long-lost friend, all composure forsook her; and she looked round with solicitude, in hopes of being able to distinguish her among a party of novices, who, with their veils partly drawn aside, were walking, as if in earnest conversation, along the winding paths of the shrubberies.

As soon as she had gained admittance into the interior of the cloister, a message was sent from the Abbot to the Superior, requesting that she would take a female stranger under her protection till the ensuing morning. An answer was immediately returned expressive of the most hearty welcome, which was delivered by one of the pensioners, who, attended by a Nun, came to conduct her into the parlour of the convent.

Music, heard from a distant part of the edifice, convinced Laurette that the festivities were not over; and being unwilling to detain those who were constrained by situation to endure a life of austerity and mortification from the means of occasional enjoyment, she besought them to leave her alone; assuring the Nun, who was the most assiduously attentive to her, that she should be enabled to procure a sufficient degree of amusement from the novelty of the objects.

As it had been previously determined, that the Conte della Croisse, after having gained an audience with the Abbess, should unfold his welcome intelligence to Madame Chamont with all imaginable care and circumspection, Laurette resolved to conceal herself as much as possible from the rest of the Nuns; and having failed in her design of dismissing the sister, whose office it was more particularly to attend upon strangers, she pleaded weariness and indisposition, and requested to be conveyed to her apartment.

Chapter 7

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,

Sober, stedfast, and demure,

All in a robe of darkest grain,

Flowing with majestic rain,

And sable stole of cyprus lawn,

Over thy decent shoulders drawn;

Come, but keep thy wonted state,

Even step, and musing gait,

And looks commencing with the skies,

Thy wrapt soul sitting in thine eyes.

MILTON

As soon as Laurette arose, she received an invitation from the Abbess to attend her in the breakfast-parlour, which was delivered by the Nun who had directed her to her chamber on the preceding night, distinguished from the rest by the name of sister Monica. Having returned this mark of politeness with her accustomed grace, she followed her conductor down the principal staircase, and was ushered into the presence of the Superior, who arose on her entrance, and, with an air of dignified gentleness, offered her a place by the fire. Laurette blushed deeply at the awkwardness

of her situation, being thus led into the presence of a stranger without any previous introduction, who, she considered, might possibly form an opinion of her by no means to her advantage.

Having accepted her offer with a degree of modest diffidence, which rather augmented than detracted from the natural elegance of her manners, she awaited, with mingled anxiety and impatience, the arrival of the Conte della Croisse.

Her wishes were uot long protracted; for scarcely had they partaken of the morning's refreshment, before the Conte, attended by the Abbot, after a short message to signify their intention, entered the room. Laurette being aware of the necessity of leaving them alone, and observing that some of the Nuns, among whom was sister Monica, were walking in a grove of acacia and mountain ash, that overshadowed the edge of the lawn, which the window of the convent-parlour commanded, gained the Abbess's permission to retire, and hastened to join them, rather wishing for the moment to avoid Madame Chamont than to meet with her, lest the sudden surprise might be too powerful to be sustained with fortitude. It was a clear frosty morning in the beginning of December; the air was excessively chill, but the range of hills that almost encompassed the monastery, as well as the high walls which bounded the gardens, sheltered its inhabitants from those bleak and petrifying winds, which are so much dreaded in mountainous countries. The party of Nuns seemed to regard Laurette with a gaze of curiosity as she approached, frequently turning to observe her as she moved pensively through the avenues; whilst sister Monica, who was apparently solicitous to conciliate her esteem by the gentle offices of courtesy, advanced forwards to meet her, offering at the same time to show her all that was worthy of notice in the gardens, as far as the austerity of her rules permitted her.

Though secluded in this religious retirement from earliest youth, this Nun understood and respected the laws of politeness; and though there was much in the appearance of her new acquaintance to excite an interest in her concerns, she forbore to infringe upon them by minute interrogation. The rest of the Nuns having taken a contrary direction, Laurette was left alone with sister Monica, who beguiled the moments of suspense by leading her through the grounds allotted to the vestals, which displayed through the neglected wildness of the whole some vestiges of antique taste, perfectly in unison with the whole of the structure, which, she was informed, had formerly belonged to a suppressed society of a less modern institution than that of the reformed Benedictine Nuns of the congregation of Mount Calvary, which she learned, upon Inquiry, was newly founded by Madame Antonia, of Orleans, Princess of France.

By this communicative Nun Laurette was made acquainted with many anecdotes connected with the lives of several of the present mhabitants of the cloister, to which she listened with eager attention, being in momentary expectation of obtaining some intelligence relative to her maternal friend; but on her sad story the sister never touched, from which it appeared that she was either totally unacquainted with it, or that some primary cause prevented her from reverting to it. Though sister Monica possessed nothing of that childish levitv, with which the manners of youth are sometimes infected, there was a certain vivarnty of expression and a certain correspondent look attending it, unobseured by the gloom of a convent, which rendered her a very interesting and pleasing companion; and Laurette, who, from the natural gentleness of demeanour she displayed on a first introduction, had beheld her with partiality, now experienced an increasing sentiment of affection in her favour.

As they walked slowly through the gardens, Laurette could not forbear expressing her surprise at the wildness and neglect which was every where visible; at the same time remarking, that those places consecrated to religion which had hitherto fallen under her observation, had generally exhibited a very different appearance.

'This will easily be accounted for,' returned the Nun, 'when you are informed that the Superior of this convent, though in other respects almost unexceptionahie in every species of goodness, allows her mind to be contaminated with one vice, whose baleful influence deprives her of that respectful regard which would otherwise be paid to her virtues; namely, that of an inordinate love of wealth. This feverish and ever-growing desire has been productive of many serious distresses, not only to those who are under her immediate protection, but extending also to herself. It has occasioned her to exist in a state of continual warfare between duty and inclination. She is sensible of the danger of this augmenting attachment; but wants firmness and zeal to subdue it. This foible, or this vice,' resumed the sister, 'for it deserves no softer appellation, has not only blunted the natural edge of her sensibility, which I have frequently heard her declare was too acute to be endured, but it has weakened her judgment, and by constant and guilty indulgence has checked the active benevolence of her nature, which might otherwise have been directed to the noblest purposes. But I am wandering widely from my subject,' continued the Nun, sportively, 'and must endeavour to return to it.' She then gave Laurette an accurate account of every curiosity the gardens contained, which were numerous, and from the antiquity of appearance which the whole of them discovered, might be said to merit observation.

Having rambled over a considerable part of the grounds, a walk, conducting them through several little picturesque windings, directed them into what the Nun termed the wilderness, which, from its disordered and uncultivated state, might be allowed to deserve the name which the recluse had bestowed upon it. A path was, however, cut among the trees; and several recesses, in which were placed seats of wood, or wicker work, frequently presented themselves. Laurette, at the desire of her friend, took possession of one of them, and was informed by her that this little melancholy retreat was a favourite resort with the greater part of the society, who were probably walking towards the contrary end, or had seated themselves in one of those little summer recesses which were made for their accommodation. 'Some of them I hear not far distant,' resumed sister Monica; 'speak low, or they will overhear our conversation.'

She had no sooner made this remark than the sound of approaching voices proved the truth of the assertion; and two Nuns, the one in her noviciate state, and the other in her veiled one, moved

slowly beneath the thick plantation of firs that guarded the entrance, and then advanced towards the arbour in which they were seated. Laurette did not immediately perecive them, till her new acquaintance pulling her gently by the sleeve, said, 'They are here. This nearest the recess is she who was professed yesterday; and on the contrary side is sister Juliana; they are inseparables; if we remain here a moment we shall see them pass.'

She had scarcely ceased speaking before they came up close to the arched tree under which Laurette and the sister Monica were seated. As soon as they had arrived within a few steps of the bench, the newly-professed Nun, after having given them a transient survey, courtesied meekly, and passed on; whilst her companion, who was much taller, moved pensively by her side with a mournful and dejected air, without once lifting her eyes from the ground on which they appeared to have been riveted. She had now, however, advanced many paces before she turned, and raising her veil, that entirely covered her features, discovered a face which Laurette imagined, from the cursory survey she had obtained, was Madame Chamont's. But the hasty manner in which the veil was replaced, and the obscurity of her own situation did not allow her to be certain. Scarcely had she recovered from the agitation this incident had occasioned, before one of the pensioners advanced with a hurried step towards the sisters, and addressing herself to the novice, informed her that she was wanted immediately in the apartment of the Superior, where a person, whose business was of merit, was in waiting to see her.

'To see me!' returned a voice, which Laurette instantly discovered to be that of Madame Chamont, though it was rendered tremulous by surprise; 'who can want me?' The pathetic energy of her articulation, and the corrected sadness of her manners, as she turned towards the messenger, pressed forcibly upon the heart of Laurette; and but for the necessity of submitting her inclination to the dictates of prudence, she would gladly have thrown herself into her arms, and have acquainted her, without reserve, with the happiness that awaited her.

As soon as the Nuns had retired from the wilderness, Laurette ve ntured to inquire of sister Monica how long the novice, to whom the message was delivered, had been resident in the convent; and was informed somewhat above a year.

'Do you know any thing of her story?' rejoined Laurette.

'I am not in her confidence,' returned the sister; 'but this circumstance, as it does not detract from her worth, does not lessen her in my estimation, as she has doubtless some secret reason to justify the strict silence as to her former life, family, and connexions, which she has hitherto preserved; and, notwithstanding this secrecy, she is more beloved than the rest of the sisterhood, though though I do not imagine any of them, not even the Nun to whom she is most attached, are better informed upon the subject than myself.'

They had now passed through the wilderness, and were conducted by a gentle descent into a little rocky recess, which appeared like a natural cave. This perfectly coincided with the rest of the grounds; for the entrance was so wild, that it was with difficulty they were enabled to proceed. After some little exertion they, however, accomplished their design; and entering this little romantic dell, placed thernselvcs upon a stone seat, which was encrusted with moss, whilst the number of weeds, and self-planted shrubs, that waved from the brow of the arch, contributed to the correspondent gloom of its appearance. Here they paused for some moments, listening, with tender, yet melancholy sensation, to the murmur of a tinkling rill, which was heard falling in gentle meanders among the channels of the neighbouring hills. There was something in this soothing sound which reminded Laurette of the past, of those days of juvenile delight, which she had spent at the castle of Elfinbach, whose spacious domain contained a wild and solitary spot riot unlike her present situation, where she had often listened to the sad cadence of a waterfall in the stillness of the evening. This brought to her recollection the feelings connected with these memories, the numerous hopes, fears, and anxieties that had oppressed and agitated her bosom, and the gloomy hours of retrospection which she had afterwards suffered when those days were remembered.

Wherever we have a kindred melody,

The scene recurs, and with it all its pleasures and its cares.

But the future, since she had now a generous protector who would never forsake her, presented only visions of happiness; and at times she found it as difficult to support that uniform calmness of mind, which ever accompanies the greatness in the midst of expected felicity, as to endure that appalling malignity with which fortune had hitherto treated her.

As soon as they had retired from this lonely dell, they proceeded through a vista towards the western lawn, which presented nothing worthy of attention, except a large ancient cross, which was erected in the centre. When arrived at the base of this sacred memento, sister Monica numbered the beads upon her rosary, and then prostrated herself before it; whilst Laurette, after bowing humbly as she advanced towards it, paused for a few minutes to examine the figures which were represented upon the pedestal, and the rudely-formed characters, which age had long since obscured, and now nearly obliterated. The steps, 'which holy knees had worn', were almost sunk into the earth; the stones were fractured and discoloured, and overgrown with several vegetable encrustations; and though preserved by superstition from actual decay, were broken and deranged by time.

Whilst Laurette stood musing upon the impossibility of saving even these vestiges of holy record from the oblivious grasp of age, and the meek Nun with bended knees was invoking the shades of the departed, those long since mingled with the dust, to look down upon her, and to assist her weak endeavours after piety; a novice, unperecived till she had reached the side of Laurette, summoned her into the apartment of the Superior. Though she had been for some time in expectation of a similar address, a tremulous sensation took possession of her frame, and sister Monica observing the sudden change of her complexion, which from being more than usually pale, was instantly suffused with blushes, and that shortness of respiration proceeding from extreme solicitude, offered her arm, which Laurette gladly accepted, as she advanced with a quick, unequal pace towards the door leading to the cloisters. Having crossed these, she stopped for a moment to recollect her spirlts, and heard, as distinctly as joy and agitation would permit her to hear, the voice of Madame Chamont, elevated into notes of transport. Impatience could now no longer be restrained, and pushing open the door with a kind of gentle violence, she soon found herself locked to the bosom of her long-lost friend. Any attempt to do justice to the feelings of the beautiful orphan, of Enrico, or even of the Conte della Croisse, who had just witnessed a scene as tender, and if possible still more touching, when he introduced to his amiable benefactress a son whom she had mourned as dead, would be vain. Rapture broke forth into tears, and it was brig before the charming Nun could believe the happiness that awaited her was not visionary, before she could assure herself that she was not still under the influence of some enchanting dream, from which she feared to he awakened to a sense of former distress. It was not immediately that Laurette was conscious that the room contained any other inhabitant than Madame Chamont: even Enrico was absent from her thoughts, and the tender glances which lie frequently conveyed to her whilst he saw more than filial affection expressed in the fine language of her eyes, were, perhaps, for the first time since they had been bestowed upon her, unobserved or disregarded.

Chapter 8

But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloisters pale,

And love the high-embowed roof

With antic pillars massy proof

And storied windows richly dight,

Casting a dim religtious light.

MILTON

The Conte Della Croisse, when admitted into the convent, after a formal introduction by the Abbot, was left alone with the Superior, who received him with that stately kind or politeness which is usually attached to the station she filled. As soon as he was seated, he began to open the occasion of his visit, and fixing his eyes upon her as he continued the subject, with the minute attention of a physiognomist, he perceived that her countenance relaxed with no symptom of pleasure when he mentioned the necessity of Madame Chamont's quitting her retirement immediately, to assert the legality of her claims, should any new difficulties arise to render her presence indispensable. Having entered into a full explanation of the subject as far as the nature of the case required, preserving at the same time a scrupulous reserve as to those events in which she was entirely uninterested, he requested an audience with his fair benefactress, and politely demanded her dismission, since he had already proved that all proceedings against her had been hitherto illegal. As soon as the Abbess had recovered from her surprise, she endeavoured to convince the Conte of the impossibility of yielding to his desires unless the intricacies of the affair could be unravelled, since she had nothing to depend upon but the bare assertion of a stranger, which she considered as insufficient to prove the justice of his claim. From the intelligence which the Conte had received from Paoli in his dying moments, he knew that a considerable sum had been paid into the hands of the Abbess on Madame Chamont's entrance into the convent, which accounted in some measure for the many insurmountable obstacles which were thrown in the way of her departure.

Being perfectly aware of this, he took the most effectual method of silencing her scruples, by convincing her that the sum, which was consigned to her care for the benefit of the sisterhood, would never be recalled; not forgetting to assure her, upon his honour, that he would himself indemnify her from any loss she might sustain; and, moreover; would venture to affirm, that if she would assist in forwarding their design, Madame Chamont, when reinstated in her rights, would richly compensate her for every proof of kindness and attachment she had discovered, since she was unequalled in generosity as well as every other mental perfection.

The Conte's arguments had the desired effect; and as the Abbess listened with complacency to these eventual advantages, she became gradually reconciled to the person by whom they were offered; yet, to enhance the value of the obligation, and also to persuade her new guest that she was not actuated by mercenary considerations, she thought proper to propose a few more objections, which being delivered with less energy than the former ones, were easily removed by the Conte, who anxiously availed himself of every turn in his favour.

After much courtesy of address on the part of Della Croisse, aided by a little well-timed flattery, agreeably and delicately administered, which the Abbess was too young to receive with displeasure, the requested interview was granted; and the noble Conte, whose generous heart overflowed with the most lively effusions of gratitude, was permitted to prepare Madame Chamont for that scene of delight she was shortly to experience, and afterwards to contemplate the effect of joy, the most exquisite in the completion of newly arisen hopes, when she clasped her long-lost son to her maternal bosom! Such scenes of ecstatic bliss cannot he justly delineated by the feeble hand that attempts to sketch them; nor can the mind, which has not been disciplined in the harsh school of adversity, form an adequate conception of them. A sudden alteration in the manners of the Abbess, after Madame Chamont's introduction to Enrico and Laurette, was evident to all. The apprehensions which her avarice had excited being lulled to repose, there was room for the exercise of those sympathetic virtues which Nature had implanted in her mind; and now that her interest was no longer at war with her inclination, she did not arm herself against their influence. Anxious to remove any little prejudices which she considered might yet lurk in the mind of the Conte, she paid the most marked attention to her guests, giving Laurette an invitation with more than ordinary kindness to remain in the convent till all preliminaries were settled relative to their departure, not omitting to repeat her permission for Madame Chamont to resign her protection when the nature of her concerns rendered it necessary.

The Conte and Enrico now began to form plans as to the best method of proceeding; and, after a second investigation of the subject, determined to leave the ladies at the convent, whilst they went in search of the priest by whom the marriage was solemnized, who they learned upon inquiry had left his residence in Turin, and had entered into an order of Franciscans not many leagues from Saltzburg. This was a circumstance much in their favour, as it prevented them from traversing a number of barren mountains and rocky precipices, which would have considerably impeded their progress. To prove the truth of Paoli's assertion, without taking this Friar as an evidence, whose testimony would alone be sufficient for the execution of their purpose, would, they knew, be impossible, even should they find the Marehese more favourably disposed towards them than, from his former conduct, they had reason to expect. To allow Madame Chamont and Laurette to attend them on such an expedition, unless the Marchese should intimate a desire to see them, would, they also considered, be highly imprudent, since their reception might be far from a pleasant one; though, by alarming the fears of the Marchese, it appeared probable, since he was now entirely at their mercy, that he would be glad to embrace any terms of reconciliation that would be offered him, rather than suffer his crimes to be exposed.

As soon as they had informed the ladies of their newly-concerted plan, they recommended them to tlie matronly protection of the Superior; and, attended by Anselmo and two of the servants belonging to the Conte della Croisse, commenced their journey.

As soon as Laurette was alone with Madame Chamont, she related every interesting event that had befallen her since she last parted from her; and requested, in return, that she would acquaint her with every thing that had happened to her since she had been forced from the castle, as this had long been a subject of painful surmise.

'You are already informed, my dear child,' replied the amiable Madame Chamont, 'of the principal incidents of my eventful story: and what I have to relate will, therefore, appear but like a repetition of what has before been recited; yet, as you desire it, I will indulge you with pleasure.

'You may possibly remember that, on the evening of my departure, Paoli proposed, as soon as vespers were concluded, that I should accompany him along the decayed side of the edifice, that he might consult me respecting the repairs; and you may probably recollect that I acceded rather reluctantly to the proposition, though at that time I was incapable of ascertaining his intention, which was, after conducting me to a remote part of the structure, to deliver me into the hands of three ruffians, who, having covered me with a veil so thick as to exclude every object from my view, placed me upon a mule, and conveyed me, regardless of my cries, through the deepest recesses of the woods, when, having arrived at a small inn, situated at the extremity of the forest, we stopped without alighting for refreslnnent. As soon as we had reached this place, one of the men, whose aspect indicated him less ferocious than the rest, assured me that I had nothing to fear, and promised, that if I would follow striefly the rules he should prescribe, that he would engage to conduct me to some place of security. This kindness, in a man of his profession, filled me with astonishment; and though I could scarcely believe him sincere, I ventured to assure him of my acquiescence.

'"You have then nothing to do," resumed the ruffian, "but to remain silent. Any attempt to liberate yourself by your own exertion, or any endeavour to interest the compassion of others, whom we may accidentally meet with in our way, will render my scheme for your preservation abortive. Appear resigned to whatever may be your destiny, and leave the rest to me."

'His companions, who had remained a few moments behind to finish their refreshment, now approached towards us, preventing by their presence all further communication; but being somewhat re-assured by these promises, my spirits gradually revived; and mindful of the injunctions I had received, I preserved an uniform silence. We travelled all the next day and the following one without obtaining any rest, till, from fatigue and indisposition, I could scarcely proceed. My companions frequently stopped upon the road to procure some food, of which they always ofiered me a part; but never ventured to alight, probably having some material reason for this precaution.

'It was not till near midnight that, after two days' harassing journey, we arrived at the place of destination, which was an ancient dreary habitation secreted in a wood. The impenetrable veil that was thrown over my face did not allow me to distinguish the road; but I was no sooner sat down that it was removed, and I found myself in a large grass-grown court, with three ill-looking men, whose persons I had only partially seen.

'Scarcely had I obtained leisure to reflect upon my situation before a loud hallo, given by one of my companions, brought to the door of this melancholy abode a being, whose appearance had more in it of savage ferocity than was expressed in the countenance of my conductors. Terror and consternation now almost overcame me, and so weakened was I for want of sustenance and rest, that, had I not leaned against the trunk of a tree, I must have fallen.

"You have no farther to go at present," cried one of the men roughly, "but if you will follow your host into the hall, he will give you some supper; for since you have eat so little upon the road, you must doubtless be in want of refreshment."

'Finding there was no alternative, I obeyed; and the men, having fastened their mules to a tree, entered the room into which my conductor had directed me. Obliged to submit to the necessity of mixing with this horrid group, I endeavoured to reconcile myself to my lot; but no soonerr had I partaken of a small portion of the bread and milk, which was prepared by our host, than the indelicate jokes, that were occasionally mingled with their loud peals of laughter, determined me to abandon their society; and addressing myself to the person of the house, whose name was Maschero, I desired to be directed to my apartment.'

'Holy Maria!' exclaimed Laurette, in a tone of astonishment, was you then at the Jansmer Holtz, the abode of the assassin? Could it be the intention of the Marchese that you also should be sacrificed? If so, tell me briefly, I beseech you. how your escape was effected.'

'From what has since happened,' continued Madame Chamont, 'I have no reason to suppose that the Marchese had any design upon my life; but not to keep you longer in suspense. I will hasten to the conclusion of my mournful narrative.

'I was then shewn into a large dreary-looking room, whose appearance was sufficient to impress terror upon a mind not already occupied by this dreadful sensation; but what more than any thing alarmed my fears was the certainty of not having any means of fastening the door. My conductor did not forget, however, to secure it, with the assistance of a bolt, on the other side. 'As soon as I was alone, a thousand melancholy conjectures passed along my mind; and unable to compose myself to sleep, I paced the room for some time in silent agony, frequently starting as the old boards shook beneath my feet; and imagining I heard other steps beside my own, and saw grim and ghastly figures gliding into remote corners. These apprehensions were augmented by other noises, for which I could not immediately account, but which struck me with more terror and dismay than I am able to express. Deep groans were apparently uttered from an upper apartment, and screams, which I was assured did not proceed from the nocturnal revellers, whose voices, which I could yet sometimes distinguish, broke upon the stillness that pervaded the room: I did not, however, long suffer these imaginary terrors, which were not less appalling than my real ones, being soon convinced that the sounds I had heard were occasioned by a considerable number of owls that inhabited the ruinous part of the building.

'I had not suffered more than an hour the forlornness of my situation before the man, whose unexpected compassion had awakened my gratitude, entered the apartment. I trembled as he approached; but my fears were gradually dispersed when he assured me, that if I would bestow upon him and his associates all the money and valuables I had about me, they would not leave me to perish as was their original design, but would convey me to a convent not far from the wood, where I might easily obtain admission.

' "You were then employed for the basest of purposes," cried I, astonished at his having made this avowal; "and you have agreed, no doubt, for some considerable reward to take away my life, which, if not more than ordinarily useful, has at least been innocent. Can you, after such an acknowledgment, hope to obtain mercy?"

"The proposal I have made," interrupted the ruffian, "is at least merciful; and if you refuse to accede to it, you are no longer an object of compassion. But I have no leisure to parley, therefore be swift. What is that gem upon your finger?" resumed the ruffian; "take it off, and let me examine it."

'It was a ruby presented to me by my mother of considerable value, and unable to bear the idea of parting with this little sacred memento, I refused to yield to his wishes; at the same time delivering my purse, which contained no inconsiderable sum. He counted the ducats with a look of sullen dissatisfaction, and then demanded, in a stern voice, if I was determined not to relinquish the jewel. Afraid of irritating him by repeating my resolution, I endeavoured to interest his pity, by informing him that it was the gift of my last surviving parent, from whom I had been long separated, and as; such was invaluable.

"If it is more precious to you than your life," replied the ruffian, maliciously, "you may assuredly keep it; you are certainly at liberty either to accept the couditions, or to reject them."

'Finding that nothing less than the ruby would bind him to my interest, since the sum in the purse was insufficient for the gratification of his avarice, I was compelled to yield to his threats, though not without shedding many tears at the sad necessity which obliged me to part with it. 'The light of the morning now dawned dimly through the grate of my prison, and soon afterwards I had the satisfaction of quitting my gloomy abode to pursue my journey. Melancholy as was the prospect before me, it was less dreary than on the preceding night, and a small portion of that hope, which never totally abandons us, returned with all its cheering accompaniments to my heart. When I arrived at the convent, the Abbess left her room to receive me; but what was my astonishment when I discovered from her conversation that I was an expected guest. It was now easy to investigate the truth even through the obscurity which veiled it. The men were employed by the Marchese, or rather by Paoli, in obedience to the commands of his Lord, to convey me by stratagem into this religious asylum; and the wretches, selected by the steward for the purpose, taking advantage of my fears and ignorance of their in-tentions contrived to rob me of the little property I possessed.

'Scarcely was I settled in my new habitahon, when the arrival of Paoli was announced, who came to makesome arrangements respecting my board. He was closeted for some hours with the Superior; but the result of this conversation was kept a profound secret.

'As soon, as he was gone I discovered, from the behaviour of the Abbess, that she had been induced, through the insinuations of the steward, to form an unfavourable opinion or me, as she never addressed me with that maternal affection which characterized her deportment towards the rest of the sisters; arid when her eyes accidentally met mine, I observed they were usually turned from me with an expression of contempt, and sometimes of horror, that penetrated my heart. That Paoli had uttered much to my disadvantage, to excuse the infamy of his proceedings, was evident; but of what nature were the aspersions he had thrown upon my reputation, was not easy to be discovered. Often did I half resolve to lay the ease before the Abbess, as well to excite her compassion with a relation of my misfortunes, as to absolve me from the crimes imputed to me by my enemies. But an irresistible impulse withheld me for a time from putting this fluctuating design into practice; and another unexpected event relieved me from the indispensibility of again adopting a plan, which, from the probability of being accused of adding dissimulation to treachery, wore rather all unpromising aspect.

'One day, as I was sitting alone in niy cell, a message was delivered to me by one of the novices, desiring my attendance at the grate. The surprise this incident excited almost overwhelmed me; hope had so long sunk beneath the horizon of my prospects, that I believed it impossible the morning of joy could ever more dawn upon them; a faint sickness was communicated to my heart, and it was with difficulty that I was enabled, even with the assistance of a Nun, to reach the appointed place. It was late in the evening when I was summoned to the grate; hut the dusky hue of the twilight did not prevent me from distinguishing that the person in waiting was Pali. His figure was too strongly impressed upon my mind to allow me to mistake it; arid knowing that a tongue like his could convey no welcome intelligence, I surveyed him for a moment with a look of silent abhorrence, but without uttering a word, till at length disengaging something from his cloak, which I soon discovered to be a letter, "I am come," cried he, with a malicious smile, "to bring you news of your son; this paper will inform you of the whole" - I took it with a trembling hand, and desiring the Nun, who accompanied me, to elevate her lamp, opened it in haste. The first words which met my eye were these:--

'Y our son, having been called into actual service, has lately died in consequence of a wound received at the battle of Prague; and your adopted daughter, in obedience to the will of the Marchese de Montferrat, her guardian and lawful protector, is contracted to a young Venetian nobleman. Any future inquiry after these persons will therefore be useless." -- The paper now dropped from my hand, a dimness came before my eyes, and I fell lifeless on the pavement. The cries of the Nun who attended me, brought others to my assistance; and on recovering I found myself on a bed in one of those apartments which are allotted to the Superior, with two of the sisters, who were seated by my side. One of these I soon perceived was sister Agnes, the Nun who was professed the day of your arrival, and the only one to whom I had singularly attached myself.

'It was long before my health was re-established, and probably it would have been still longer, had not the Abbess, who soon learned the cause of my sorrow, assisted, with the utmost kindness and attention, in the recomposing of my spirits. During the first three months of my captivity, the use of pens, paper, and every other implement of writing, was denied me; and so strictly was I guarded, that had I been inclined to attempt an escape, I should have found it impracticable. But after this melancholy event I was treated with more gentleness than before; and not feeling any desire to be delivered from confinement, since every earthly tie was dissolved, I endeavoured to conciliate the esteem of my associates; and being entirely disengaged from all worldly concerns, resolved to dedicate the rest of my days to the exercises of religion.'--

Here Madame Chamont concluded her recital; and scarcely had Laurette expressed her sense of the obligation, before the Lady of the convent entered the room. The conversation now turned upon more general subjects till the bell rang for dinner; when the party, retiring from the Abbess's parlour, joined the Nuns, who were assembled in the refectoire.

The rest of the day was passed by our heroine and her earliest friend in a state of tender thoughtfulness. The absence of Enrico and the Conte, as well as the motive of it, now the raptures of the meeting were over, threw a soft shade upon the spirits of Madame Chamont. The interview, which was shortly to take place between them and the Marchese, had something in it peculiarly touching. Her son was gone to claim him as a father; her spotless reputation was shortly to be cleared from those cruel aspersions with which it had been tainted, and how these important matters were to be conducted was a subject for continual reflection. Laurette did not consider it so deeply; happiness was alone presented to her in the visions of her fancy; the Marchese, she believed, would not only confess, but repent of his crimes. What he had meditated against her was already forgotten; and unsuspicious of the murder of her father, she knew of little else that could be laid to his charge. To walk together through the cloister in the ealin hour of twilight; to wander among the massy pillars which supported its arched roof; to mark the holy devices upon the dim gothic windows, was a charm the most congenial to their feelings; and often did Madame Chamont and Laurette steal away unobserved to enjoy that melancholy kind of pleasure, which scenes of this kind never fail to excite in devout and susceptible minds. With what pious sensations did they pace the burial-ground of the convent, divided only from that appropriated to the Monks by a terrace-walk bordered with cypresses! How many of the sisters, who, after having lingered out a life of solitude and penitence in that religious retirement, were now, they considered, numbered with the dead! The second evening after the departure of the Conte and Enrico, the chapel-door being left open after the evening prayers, they went, attended by two of the sisters, to see an ancient stately monument, which was erected to the memory of the convent's Foundress, who from her exemplary conduct was reputed a Saint. It was composed of black marble, and was situated on that side of the chapel which was nearest the altar. It was almost encompassed with some others, which had since been creeted to the memory of several of the former Abbesses, which, though less splendid, were also ornamented with a number of religious devices.

The privilege of being interred in the chapel was only granted to the Superiors, the Nuns, whatever might be their rank, being always buried without. Laurette could not forbear heaving a profound sigh when she reflected upon the vanity of human distinctions and as she returned slowly towards the cloister, she frequently turned to survey the simple graves of the Nuns, which were covered with high grass, and bordered with evergreens; it being one. of the rules of the institution that, after the profession of a vestal (an event which had recently taken place) for the novices to replace the flowers and shrubs used in the ceremony in the same baskets in which they were originally gathered, and then to leave them at the foot of the altar till the vigil is at an end: as soon as the festivities are over, the train of Nuns proceed from the convent to the burial-ground, and being met at the chapel-door by the novices bearing the baskets, strew them upon the graves of their departed friends, chaunting at the same time a requiem for the repose of their souls. This being concluded, the vesper service is performed; after which the sisters are allowed either to return to their cells, or to remain in the gardens till the tolling of the second bell.

Chapter 9

Better be with the dead,

Whom we, to gain our place, hate sent to peace,

Than on the torture of the mind to lie

In restless agony.

SHAKESPEARE

Near a week had elapsed since the departure of Enrico and the Conte before any news respecting the success of their embassy arrived. During this painful interval Madame Chamont's mind became a prey to causeless anxiety. Joy arid sorrow had so uniformly succeeded each other in her past life, that she could scarcely forbear dreading the future; for having enjoyed so lately the raptures of unexpected felicity, experience had taught her, that, in the general course of human events, she might probably suffer the reversc. Long schooled in affliction, her disposition, though it remained unsoured by disappointment, had lost much of its sanguineness; and she sometimes doubted if, when at liberty to return to the world, whether she should acquit herself to her satisfaction, whether her weakened spirits cou!d support that elevation of rank to which she must shortly aspire, with the bustle of society, and all those accompaniments of greatness, which in high life are so seldom dispensed with. Respecting the interview between the Marchese and her son, she indulged a variety of vague conjectures. It was their first meeting; and what would be the result of such an event? Anxiety was increased by reflection, and all the tender, the indescribable sensations of the mother were called into action.

From this state of suspense she was, however, relieved by a letter delivered by Anselmo, who, as soon as he had entered the gate, inquired eagerly for Madame Chamont, arid was directed to the convent parlour. Having received it with breathless anxiety, she retired to her apartment, and finding it bore the signature of Enrico, unfolded and perused it in haste. It contained only a few lines; but these were sufficient to quiet her fears concerning the effect of their journey.

'We have at present,' says Enrico, 'met with no material obstacles to retard the success of our undertaking. The priest, who was the principal object of our search, was easily found; and on a strict investigation, we were mutually convinced that he also had been made the dupe of designing villany, and was by no means accessary to the plot, which appears to have been entirely conducted by Paoli.

'The Marchese has already entered into a full confession of his crimes. He seemed, on our introduction, to endure much internal affliction; for never did I behold remorse and acute anguish more forcibly delineated than when his eyes met those of Della Croisse. This self-condemning conduct induced us to proceed in the affair with as much gentleness as possible, though we did not omit the necessary information relative to the legality or his first marriage, and Laurette's providential release from captivity and expected death! This intelligence, as it served to assure him of her safety, seemed to take an oppressive weight from his heart; though the starts of agony, which frequently convulsed his frame when his distracted mind reverted to his past crimes, were altogether more dreadful than the imagination can conceive.

'But I am wandering from my original intention,' continues Enrico, 'which was only to state the policy or your leaving the convent immediately. Anselmio, who is the bearer of this incoherent epistle, will procure you a carriage from the Kaiser,⁽¹⁾* which will convey your charming companion and yourself to the castle of Elfinbach, our present place of residence, and of late the abode of the Marchese: perhaps it may be prudent to add, that it is his request also, who, if we may judge by appearances, is anxious to obtain the forgiveness of those he has injured. I need not entreat you to prepare for an interview which may demand some exertion and fortitude, as I am convinced your own superior understanding will instruct you in what manner to act. I wish it was in my power to add, that the Marchese's sincerity and repentance are likely to be proved by the purity of his future conduct. But, alas I fear it will be otherwise; his constitution seems to have yielded to intense sorrow, and much is to be feared from its baleful influence. I mention this,' resumes Enrico. 'for the purpose of hastening your departure from the convent, as well as to acquaint you with what may happen. Let nothing prevent you from commencing your journey immediately.'

When Madame Chamont had communicated the contents of this letter to Laurette, she gave orders for Anselmo to make every requisite arrangement; and being informed in about an hour that the carriage was in readiness, she took an affectionate leave of the sisterhood, and, attended by her fair charge, pursued her way towards the castle.

After a few days' journey, in which no event happened worthy of attention, they came within view of the mansion, whose rude, deserted appearance brought to the recollection of Madame Chamont the ideas it had first excited; and when they arrived at the great gate leading to the outer court, her tears flowed fast and unrestrainedly, as her memory reverted to the scenes she had wit- nessed since she last quitted it.

The death-like silence, which seemed to prevail throughout the castle as they advanced within a few paces of the portico, aided these uneasy sensations; and already had they reached the door of the great hall, which was thrown open for their reception, without having met with any inmate of the mansion. At last one of the servants belonging to the Marchese crossed the hall with a hurried step; and on being accosted by Laurette, stopped to hear her commands. She inquired for the Chevalier Chamont; and the servant having conducted them into one of the apartments which they had formerly occupied, ran to inform him of their arrival. They had not been many minutes in the room before Enrico entered. His demeanour was mild, but dejected, and his face, 'like to a title-page, foretold the nature of some tragic volume'. Madame Chamont, who, from the hints dropped in the letter, too well guessed the cause, after a fruitless attempt to recompose her feelings, inquired tremulously if they had arrived too late?

'The Marchese is yet alive,' returned Enrico; 'but we must not flatter ourselves with delusive hopes -- he is evidently dying. To me and to the Conte he has made a full confession of his enormities, and may Heaven, in consideration of his sincere, though late repentance, pardon his atrocious crimes! A Carthusian Priar, who has been with him more than two hours at confession, is so shocked with what has already been related, that he has twice left the room without giving him absolution, though, as his decease is hourly expected, I hope he will be wrought upon not to postpone it.'

Madame Chamont, who now found it necessary to resist the native softness of her heart with all the fortitude she could command, endeavoured to mitigate the keenness of her sensibility by the most vigorous exertion; whilst Laurette attempted to support the sinking spirits of her friend with an external appearance of firmness, the effect of painful effort. Since it was impossible for them to be introduced to the Marchese during his engagement with the Monk, the party resorted to the saloon, where they were soon joined by the Signora d'Orfo, whose unbounded joy on beholding Laurette could only discover itself in tears. She would have made a thousand inquiries concerning her mysterious departure, and the events that had taken place since that memorable æra, could she have sufficiently commanded her voice; but surprise, for she had not been taught to expect her arrival, and the settled melancholy that was depicted upon the countenances of all present, prevented her interrogatories. After about an hour spent in painful reflection, the Conte della Croisse, with the permission of the Marchese, came to conduct Madame Chamont and Laurette into the chamber. Night and solitude combined to assist the pensiveness of their feelings, as they advanced with a slow, unsteady pace through the long winding galleries which led into thc apartment; and as Della Croisse laid his hand upon the door to give them admission, Madame Chamont's spirits so entirely forsook her, that she was obliged to lean against one of the pillars of the corridor for support. A look from Enrico at length inspired her with new fortitude, who, taking a hand of each, led them to the side of the bed on which the Marchese was laid.

As soon as he was conscious of their presence, which was not immediately, a deep groan agitated his frame, and an expression of guilt and horror was marked in his wildly-looking eyes, which language can but feebly convey. 'GreatHeaven!' thought Laurette, as she surveyed, with mingled pity and astonishment, the emaciated form before her, 'look down with compassion upon this afflicted being suffering in the last hours of existence the agony of an awakened conscience; and Oh soften the rigour of thy justice with the effusions of mercy!'

Madame Chamont's grief was silent, but it was deep; she frequently attempted to articulate, but could not; low sobs prevented her utterance, whilst her soft eyes were directed eloquently towards Heaven with a look that was almost angelic; yet, anxious to convince the Marchese that she came to offer him her forgiveness, and also to assure him that nothing of enmity lurked in her bosom, she extended her hand to grasp his, breathing at the same time a prayer for the repose of his soul. Charmed with the manner in which this favour was bestowed, he pressed it fervently to his heart; his ghastly countenance lost much of its dreadful wildness, whilst his hollow eyes, which before glared with deep and inbred honor, gradually softened till sorrow, deep and immoveable, was the only expression that remained.

As Madame Cliamont and Laurette continijed to kneel, though without addressing him, the Marchese gazed alternately upon each, but was unable to speak. They, indeed, appeared like two ministering angels come to offer consolation to a soul bowed down with the weight of its own irremediable crinies. But the awful distance at which he was thrown from them, sealed his lips in silence. Their countenances were irradiated by innocence, whilst his was depressed by guilt; and now that adversity had brought conviction to his heart, he experienced the weakness, the imbecility of vice when opposed to the innate dignity of virtue.

At length Madame Chamont broke silence, and in language the most simple and pathetic, pronounced her forgiveness; dwelling likewise with energy upon the promises of the Gospel in a stile so unassuming and elegant, that her auditors listened with interest and emotion, whilst the Marchese, at the same time that he found his whole attention irresistibly attracted by the consoling truths she had uttered, felt his hopes insensibly revive; and, after having received the pardon of all present whom he had injured, he became gradually more tranquil; though, when his eyes glanced upon Laurette, something was evidently brought to his recollection, from the influence of which he would gladly have escaped; and when he beheld the gentleness of her demeanour, and saw the anxiety she discovered for his happiness, he observed her with a kind of wrapt astonishment, as if he scarcely believed that a being so injured could bestow compassion upon its persecutor.

The interview was short, but affecting. The Marchese, as soon as his sufferings would allow him command of language, addressed himself to all present witli the most pathetic energy, expressing forcibly the high sense he entertained of their unexampled goodness, who could thus bestow pardon upon a wretch whose crimes had been productive of such accumulated misery. Shortness of respiration, and sorrow at the recollection of the past, prevented the Marchese from proceeding, and being unable longer to support himself, he sunk back upon his pillow; a cadaverous paleness overspread his face, whilst his quivering lips, which were parched by the violence of his disease, appeared to be on the eve of closing for ever. The scene now became insupportably painful, and Enrico perceiving that his mother and Laurette were much affected, would have conducted them from the room; but the Marchese being aware of his design, gently recalled them, and fixing his dim eyes alternately upon his son and Laurette, added, 'You have long loved each other with an affection as pure as it has been lasting: I only have been the means of rendering this attachment unfortunate; and let me, as the only atonement I can offer for my past offences, bestow you on each other.'

Laurette, not expecting such an address, bent her blushing cheek towards the ground, whilst Enrico pressed her unresisting hand to his breast, as he leaned over the bed with an air of melancholy attention listening to the words of his father.

The Marchese paused for a moment, and then proceeded:

'Let him, whose crimes and weaknesses have clouded the days of juvenile affection with premature sorrow, now sanction your future happiness.

'Sanction did I say!' continued the Marchese, interrupting himself; 'have I hitherto sanctioned any thing but vice; and is it not virtue to disobey a wretch like me? But can you not, Laurette, meek-suffering angel! as you contemplate the virtues of the son, forget the vices of the father?-- the fiend, who would have been thy murderer, from having consented, after many struggles, to thy death, as well as to-.' Here he stopped -- his wandering eyes became fixed in horror - his limbs shook - he struck his hand forcibly upon his forehead, as if a pang had forced it there - and then, apparently exhausted, sunk again upon the bed!

Enrico, finding that quiet and repose were necessary, conducted the ladies from the room, whilst the Conte della Croisse remained with the Marchese, who soon afterwards fell into a short slumber.

When they had descended the stairs, they were met by the Confessor, who, with his cowl over his face, was moving thoughtfully along on his way to the Marchese's chamber.

Enrico first observing the Father, addressed him for a few minutes aside; whilst Laurette, hoping in this holy Friar to behold her early instructor, the lather Benedicta, surveyed him attentively. The subject he had entered upon, seeming to engage all his powers of attention, prevented him from being conscious of the presence of any other than the person to whom he was speaking, till accidentally turning aside his cowl, she perceived, with amazement, the long pale visage of her mysterious visitor. Her presence, in the moment he beheld her, seemed to operate as powerfully upon his feelings; for his cheek reddened, and his whole frame suffered a slight convulsion; yet he remained silent, following her with his eyes till she had reached the door of the saloon, where the Signora was in waiting to receive her.

Had not the mind of Lairrette been entirely occupied by the scene she had just witnessed, this singular incident would have excited her curiosity, arid possibly she might have taken some pains to have unravelled an affair which had long engaged her in deep reflection. But compassion for the fate of the wretched Marchese, whose suffering she had so recently contemplated, was so forcibly impressed upon her memory, that the recollection of past events, as well as of past wrongs, were entirely obliterated from her heart.

As soon as Enrico had ended his conversation with the Monk, he entered the room, and endeavoured, with an assumed composure of address, to bestow comfort and consolation on the rest of the party. The night was passed by all in a state of tender dejection, each retiring to their apartments with a persuasion that the Marchese could not survive the following day, as he every hour betrayed new symptoms of approaching death.

In the morning Enrico and Madame Chamont were summoned into the Marchese's chamber as soon as they were risen; and Laurette, having disengaged herself from the society of the Conte and the Signora d'Orfo, felt an irresistible inclination to take a solitary walk through the avenues, being willing to indulge the luxury of her feelings amid the scenes of her earliest youth - scenes which memory presented with more pathetic interest to her heart, when she compared what had happened when resident there, with the long train of adversities which had followed in the rear of her former felicity.

No sooner had she crossed the lawn, on her way towards the vista, than she observed the mysterious Monk moving slowly beneath the leafless branches of a chesnut in the attitude ofdeep reflection. The hints he had once given her on a subject of so much importance to her happiness, as he had so positively affirmed; the portrait he had delivered with such solemn injunctions, with the various inconsistencies which had hitherto marked his conduct, now crowded upon her mind; and since she bad nothing to fear from the persecutions of those who had formerly been her enemies, she resolved, instead of avoiding him as before, to throw herself in his way, that she might demand what motive had instigated him to such a singular mode of proceeding.

This was no sooner determined on than she advanced with a quickened step along the avenue through which the Father had passed beheld him stationed at some distance apparently lost in thought.

The sound of her steps did not rouse him from his reverie till she had arrived within a few paces of the tree under which he was standing, when starting as from a dream, lie seemed to survey her with astonishment and painful emotion, but without speaking. Laurette's newly-acquired courage now forsook her, and anxious as she was to have these mysteries unravelled, she was unable to address him, and slightly courtesying, passed on in silence. She had not proceeded many yards before a sigh, which seemed as if it would rend in sunder the breast that heaved it, again recalled her attention. She turned - it was the Monk, who, without moving from the place in which she had left him, stood gazing upon her with a rapt and earnest regard.

'He has certainly something to relate,' thought Laurette, 'which materially concerns me, and why should I fear to know it? His conduct has hitherto been inexplicable; but that by no means implies that it is always to remain so; besides, he seems to be unhappy, and who knows but I may have it in my power to comfort him?' -- Thus released from the dominion of fear, she returned again towards the Monk, who observing her approach, threw his hood back upon his shoulders, and advanced a few steps forwards; then, as if a sudden pang had seized him, he stopped, fixed his tearful eyes upon the gniund, and again drawing his cowl over his face, as if struggling to conceal an excess of tenderness, turned round, and leaned upon his staff.

Compassion, as well as curiosity, now warmed the heart of Laurette; and unable any longer to resist the amiable impulses of her nature, she ventured to intnidc upon the sacredness of his sorrow by asking him why he wept. Her words seemed to have the effect of electricity, and so much of tenderness and pity was mingled with his astonishment, that Laurette felt her bosom throb with new emotion; and anxious, though fcarful, to enter upon a conversation whose prelude appeared to have occasioned extreme distress, she at length besought him to inform her who he was, and why he bent his eyes upon her so piteously without unfolding the cause.

'Oh my daughter! my daughter!' cried the Monk, clasping her wildly to his heart, 'Heaven, who alone is acquainted with my sufferings, knows what I have endured; since, without a possibility of assisting you, I have left you alone to contend with the adversities of your fate.'

Amazed at a conduct she could by no means explain or excuse, Laurette disengaged herself from his embrace, and being terrified at the raptures he had betrayed, for which she could not account, was irresolute whether to remain with him till her curiosity was gratified, or to return to the castle; till the Monk, after having wiped away the tears that had fallen plentifully upon his cheeks, proceeded --

'Dear orphan of her whom I so early lost, caust thou forgive him who ought to have defended thee from the shafts of misfortune for having thus forsaken thee? And wilt thou, by listening patiently to his recital, acquit him of premeditated wrong?'

'Alas! what mean you, holy Father?' replied Laurette, interrupting him; 'how have you wronged me, and what claim have I upon your protection who never knew you?'

'An undoubted claim,' replied the Monk, emphatically -- 'the claim of a child upon a parent.'

'Upon a parent!' exclaimed Laurette. 'Oh Heavens! are you then my father?'

'I am not thy father,' returned the Monk, mournfully; 'but, as being the last surviving parent of thy beloved, yet unfortunate, mother, am bound to thee by the most sacred ties. From a long residence abroad I was supposed to be dead; and on my return from imprisonment and exile, was marvellously directed to this place.'

Joy and astonishment now animated the features of Laurette. To find a relation of her mother in the mysterious Monk was an unexpected blessing; and the idea of having it in her power to soften the remembrance of the past, to tranquillize the future, and to sooth the infirmities of age with the sweet affections of her nature, was a source of immeasurable delight; and she besought him to inform her of those past events which he had described as replete with misery.

An advancing footstep, which proved to be Enrico's, put an end to the interview; and the Monk, having given her his permission to acquaint her friends with what he had unfolded, immediately on the decease of the Marchese, she retired. As Enrico attended her along the avenues, he perceived that her spirits had been much agitated; but fearing to distress her by an inquiry into the cause, he only rallied her gently on her love of solitude, and her secret confidence with the Father, and then conducted her into the terrace-parlour. Here she found Madame Chamont alone, and in tears; for her last interview with the Marchese had much afflicted her: having witnessed his repentance, she now lamented that death would so shortly prevent him from proving the sincerity of it. He had delivered her a packet with his dying hand, expressly commanding that it should be opened on his decease, as it contained papers conveying particular orders concerning the manner of his interment. This parcel he presented with his blessing, conjuring her at the same time to forget the unhappy wretch whose vices had proved so injurious to her repose, and to endeavour to prolong her life to augment the happiness of her children, who possessing the advantage of her precepts and example, would reach the summit of virtue.

The day now passed silently towards the close. The physician, by whom the Marchese was attended, having declared soon after their arrival that his patient could not survive many days, they were in momentary expectation of his death. The Monk, his Confessor, who had hitherto denied him absolution, was called in towards evening to administer the last Sacrament, and a few hours after midnight the soul of the Marchese, after repeated struggles, took its flight into the regions of eternity.

When this melancholy event was commumeated to the family, they suffered for a time the severest distress; but knowing the necessity of exertion, each assisted in consoling the othcr, till by repeated endeavours they at length became reconciled and resigned, through the not presumptive hope that his repentance, though late, would be finally accepted.

Chapter 10

Now let the sacred organ blow

With solemn pause, and sounding slow;

Now let the voice due measures keep,

In strains that sigh, and words that weep.

MALLET

A few days after the death or the Marchese, Madame Chamont, now Marchesa de Montferrat, mindful of his last injunctiun, opened the packet, so solemnly delivered, in the presence of the Conte, Enrico, and Laurette, to examine the contents. It contained several papers relative to the estates seized upon in the lifetime of their rightful heir, the orphan daughter of the Conte della Caro, the testimony of which was sufficient to prove the legality and justice of her claim, and thereby to reinstate her in her immense possessions, should she refuse to unite her fate with that of Enrico. Other papers were also inclosed, which were penned by Father Paulo, the priest, who attended for the purpose during the illness of the Marchese, in obedience to the will of the Conte della Croisse, acknowledging Julie de Rubine, long known by the name of Madame Chamont, to be the lawful wife of the Marchese de Montferrat; and the youth, hitherto called the Chevalier Chamont, to be his legitimate son and heir to the titles, as well as the estates of his deceased father. Then followed the will, which, after a properarrangement of the landed property, placed Julie, hisacknowledged wife, in undoubted possession of all the personal property, amounting to an astonishing sum, excepting only a few legacies, which were to be paid at the expiration of a month; one to the Conte della Croisse, the rest to a small number of broken dependants, who had hitherto partaken of his bounty. The rest of the writings contained some particular orders relative to his funeral, which he requested might he conducted with as much privacy as possible; and as he had no wish to be conveyed into Italy, for the purpose of being entombed with his ancestors, he desired that his bones might be laid quietly in the conventual church belonging to the Carthusians; that no monument should be erected to perpetuate his memory to futurity, but that every thing should be conducted with as little ceremony as possible.

As soon as all these affairs were properly adjusted, the remains of the Marchese were interred according to his desire in the church of the convent of St Angelo, which was about a quarter of a league from the castle. The new Marchesa, Enrico, Laurette, and the Conte della Croisse, attended as mourners. The service for the occasion was read by Father Benedicta, who delivered it in a stile so moving, that the least affected of the audience could not refrain from tears. When this ceremony was concluded, and the body consigned to the dust, a sermon was presented from the centre of the church, replete with all that simplicity and energy of expression which the solemnity of the subject required, and ornamented with all those peculiar graces of eloquence, for which the accomplished Monk was so deservedly eminent. It spoke of the reward of the just, and the excellence of all unpolluted conscience. The subject was of too affecting a nature to be introduced without exciting emotion Laurette sobbed aloud, whilst the widowed Marchesa drew her veil over her face to conceal her tears from observation, as she leaned upon the arm of her son. The whole congregation, which consisted chiefly of Friars and Lay-brothers belonging to the monastery, and a number of the rustic inhabitants of the adjacent villages, listened with undivided attention as the Father proceeded, who dwelt upon the Divine promises concerning the fate of departed penitents in a manner that seemed to diffuse peace and comfort around. As he continued, the audience crowded still nearer; a saint-like devotion was portrayed on every countenance, and hope, which before had afforded only a pale and tremulous beam, now burst forth with unclouded radiance. The path leading to eternal happiness appeared no longer inaccessible; fear was succeeded by confidence, and sorrow by resignation. This discourse was followed by a deep and solemn strain attuned to the notes of the organ, which was full, harmonious and sublime, such as was calculated to impress deeply upon the mind the important truths which had been uttered.

This being over, the congregation dispersed, and the party returned to the castle in a state of tender melancholy, not altogether unpleasing, each disposed to reflection on the vanity of human desires, and human attainments.

On the following day Laurette availed herself of the Monk's permission, and acquainted her friends of what he had already disclosed relative to his mysterious appearances, and with every other event worthy of notice, displaying at the same time the picture of her mother, the Contessa della Caro, which she had till this period carefully concealed. However highly the fair orphan had been estimated by her amiable preceptress previous to this recital, the circumstance just mentioned, as it discovered that no threats or afilictions, however terrible, possessed suflicient influence to induce her to forfeit the promise thus sacredly delivered to the Father, was a convincing proof that she had early united all the winning delicacies of her sex with a certain dignity of mind not usually connected with youth and inexperience: that her son had made so excellent a choice was not the least of her comforts, and she looked forwards to the consummation of their happiness with a great degree of tranquil delight. Enrico's eyes beamed with every virtuous sensation of which the human mind is susceptible as the Marchesa dwelt upon her praises, and anticipated with impatience that hour which would complete his felicity by bestowing upon him the charming reward of his fidelity.

Father Benedicta did not long delay his visit of congratulation and condolence, but came attended by the Monk, who had acknowledged himself the near relation of Laurette, whom he introduced to the Marchesa and the rest of the family by the name of Father Andrea. From this Friar the pious Carthusian had heard of the many strange occurrences which had lately taken place at the castle, and waited anxiously till he could clasp his dear friend, the unfortunate Della Croisse, to his breast without a breach of propriety. The meeting was joyful, yet affecting; for busy memory recurred with melancholy minuteness to the fatal incidents of their past lives, the follies which had disgraced their earlier years, and thus planted thorns in their future paths. So true is it, that the mind, though escaped from the dominion of vice, dwells with pain upon the recollection of those hours which have been dedicated to licentious pleasures.

In the edifying conversation of these devout Friars the family spent much of their time, and gained from their religious, as well as moral discourses, many solid advantages; Peace was soon established among them, and comfort and joy, the reward of virtuous endurance, came in her train. The Signora, whose affectionate attention to Laurette, though she had been deprived through artifice of the power of assisting her, was remembered with gratitude, and detained not as a domestic, but a friend: and as soon as suitable arrangements were made, agreeable to the will of the deceased, the Marchesa, whose delicacy would not permit this truly-accomplished woman to consider herself as a dependant, presented her with a very considerable sum as a reward for her services to the Marchese, which she desired her to receive not as a bounty but a debt, gently intimating that the Marchese would have been aware of the justice of this measure, had his mind been sufficiently collected to have considered it properly. This piece of generosity was accepted as it merited, with unbounded gratitude; and in such society as she now enjoyed, the Signora felt that heaven had made her ample amends for all the former discomforts of her lot.

Nor was Dorothee, the faithful servant of the Marchese, who had been so injustly discarded, nor Margeritte, nor Lisette forgotten; these had all taken refuge in obscure villages, which they gladly quitted to be again received into the service of their long-lost and much-lamented Lady. Blessed with an ample fortune, the Marchesa could now indulge with impunity the diffusive generosity of her nature; and it was with no common degree of delight that she beheld the same virtuous principles which she had early instilled into the minds of her pupils, now blossoming in maturity, bestowing upon their possessors those undescribable sensations of happiness, which exalted benevolence can alone experience.

After more than a month spent in the castle since the death of its former inhabitant, it was deemed requisite for Enrico to be presented at Court, that he might take possession of the Italian estates annexed to the title those in Germany being the sole property of Laurette, now Contessa della Caro, in right of her mother, the daughter of a Bavarian Noble, an heiress of immense fortune. The Conte della Croisse offered to attend him on this expedition, which, in the present situation of affairs, could not be dispensed with, and as soon as necessary anangements were made, leaving the ladies at the castle till their return, they quitted this ancient mansion, and commenced their journey towards Italy.

Father Andrea, who, in the person of Laurette, recalled the image of her beloved mother, frequuently gazed upon her with tears; and so much acute anguish did her memory cost him, that it was long before he could trust himself again with the subject, or reply to Laurette's anxious request to hear something of his story.

'We will waive it at present, my child,' was his customary answer. 'Perhaps a short time may enable me to be more explicit.' -- This was sufficient to repress the inquiries of our heroine, though not to stifle her curiosity, who felt an ardent desire of being acquainted with the destinies of her unknown parents.As Enrico wished her to remain in ignorance of the murder of her father, he did not fail to signify this to the Monk previous to his departure, who strictly promised never to disclose it, since distress, unattended by any advantage, would inevitably be the result of such a declaration. But though averse to gratifying her desires immediately as to any particular events that had befallen him, Father Andrea would oftentimes accompany Laurette through the long galleries in the castle, which were ornamented with the portraits of her family, and inform her for whom they were designed. The painting in the oriel so strikirigly resembled the miniature that she wore in her bosom, he passed by in silence, but did not forget to explain the next which was allegorical, and but for the apparent difference in the age, strongly characterized the equestrian statue erected in the inner court. This magnificent column, he informed her, was placed there in honour of himself by his daughter, the late Contessa della Caro, who having never heard from him since he had been engaged in a battle, which had proved fatal to many, supposed him to have been dead; and by means of an original portrait left at the castle, which was drawn in the early part of his life, to gratify her filial affection had ordered it to be copied agreeable to her own design, giving it, instead of the wrinkles of age, the blooming graces of youth. From this intelligence it was easy for Laurette to account for the attitude of the figure which was the next in succession, since it was evident, from the position of the picture, that it was designed to represent the affectionate Contessa weeping over the tomb of her lamented Father.

'How elegantly is sorrow expressed!' thought Laurette, not allowing herself to introduce so delicate a subject. 'What languor - what softness is in these eyes - how beautiful is the tear that trembles beneath the lid!'

Could the fair orphan have known, whilst she was internally bestowing praises upon the portrait, the near resemblance that it bore to herself; had she been conscious that her form was still more attractive than that on which she gazed, and that her features, if not more exact and regular, were of a more bewitching kind; that her eyes were not less brilliant, and the whole of her figure not less lovely, she might have accused herself of vanity as she lavished these deserved encomiums upon the insensible object of her admiration. But she was the only person who remained ignorant of her external perfections, though, had she known their extent, this conviction would not have detracted from her worth, since she valued not too highly these accidental advantages, either to be elated by the possession of them, or depressed by the revense.

Laurette, having received her education in the castle of Elfinbach, and spent, under the guidance of the present Marchesa, some of the happiest hours of her life in this gloomy mansion, retained for it an affection which she believed it impossible for her to experience for any other residence, however evident its superiority in point of beauty and accommodation. The shades, the groves, and the mountains, had been familiar to her from childhood, and a thousand tender memorials were connected with them all. Nor was the Marchesa de Montferrat less attached to this dreary abode, though a considerable part of it had fallen into ruins since she had quitted it last; and but for its amazing extent, they would have found it difficult to have discovered a sufficient number of rooms for the accommodation of their household.

The rampart-wall had fallen entirely into fragments, and the northern side of the structure was crumbling fast into dust; yet the greatest part of thc building, though not uninjured, was able to resist the inclemencies of the weather; and the rooms which they usually occupied, though they might have been presented to the curious as models of antiquity, when animated by the blazing fire and the social board, wore an appearance of more than modern comfort.

Chapter 11

Beauty alone is but of little worth;

But when the soul and body of a riece

Both shine alike, then they obtain a price,

And are a fit reward for gallant actions.

YOUNG

When Enrico and the Conte had been absent some weeks, their return was daily expected; and as it was determined that the family should then remove to the mansion on the Saltzburg estate, till the castle of Elfinbach was made fit for their residence, Laurette besought the Monk, whose spirits were less oppressed than before, to perform his long-neglected promise before she quitted the seat of her ancestors.

'What relates merely to myself,' replied the Father, 'may be less interesting than you imagine. A life which has chiefly been spent amid the bustle of Courts and the clang of arms, though it may be marked with some affecting incidents, does not usually form a pleasing narrative: I shall therefore pass the greater part of it over in silence. I have before informed you that your mother was a native of Germany, and that my name was Ferdinand Baron Neuburg.

'It was in the reign Rodolph, the son of Maximilian the Second, that I first entered into the service of my eountry, which at that time suffered not only from internal commotion, but was involved in wars with the Hungarians, and disturbed with the difference between this Monarch and Mathias his brother, to whom he finally ceded Hungary and Austria.

'Under the patronage of Rodolph, who regarded me with the most flattering attention, I became skilled in every military art, and received many enviable proofs of his attachment; but scarcely was I enlisted among the number of his favourites before an unfortunate affair deprived me of this flattering distinction. In the Empress's train was a young orphan beauty, whose name was Augusta, of a noble but reduced family, who had received her education under the sanction of her Imperial Mistress, and was introduced at Court much earlier than damsels of rank usually are. Any attempt to portray the extreme loveliness of this fair young creature, would convey but an imperfect idea of her charms, as it was not so much the graces of symmetry, or the bloom of complexion, though in these she excelled in an eminent degree, as it was a certain delicacy of sentiment and ingenuousness of mind, discovering themselves in every movement and action which diffused such universal enchantement.

'To see frequently the lovely Augusta, without feeling the influence of her charms, would have justly exposed me to the imputation of stoicism, particularly when I perceived that she bestowed upon me a decided attention whenever I presumed to address her, not less grateful to my affection than my vanity. As she was always about the person of the Empress, who distinguished her with peculiar marks of her favour, seldom a day passed at Court which was not rendered interesting by the object of my admiration and I observed, with no common share of delight, when compelled, under the banners of the Duke of Bavaria, to lead a detachment of the Imperial armies into Hungary, that there was a transporting melancholy in her deportment, which seemed to intimate that she suffered the keenest apprehensions for my safety.

'My absence from Vienna was not long; the rebel armies were soon routed, and I returned once more to lay my laurels at the feet of my Master.

'You are brave, Ferdinand," cried Rodolph, rising graciously to receive me, "and I would fain think of something to bestow as a reward for your valour, something adequate to your worth I know you are not mercenary, and either I mistake, or you are not ambitious, yet you would not disdain to receive a recompence from your Sovereign. I would raise you to the rank of General, did not your extreme youth stand in the way of your advancement; but this is a difficulty which time will remove, and an honour that may be conferred at some future period. If in the meantime I can serve you in any other respect, you have only to mention your request; and if it is within the bounds of possibility, it shall be granted."

'Deprived of the power of utterance by this unexpected generosity, I could not for some moments express the warmth of my gratitude. Rodolph perceived my emotions, and finding I had something to ask, conjured me not longer to deprive him of the power of obliging me, but to name my request.

'It was not immediately that I could form a reply; when I did, I touched upon the subject nearest to my heart, and asked, as the reward of my services, the hand of Augusta. Scarcely had I pronounced her name before I observed art expression of uneasiness and displeasure in his countenance which alarmed and perplexed me; and as I continued to expatiate on the ardent affection I had long conceived for this beautiful maid, he eyed me with a disordered air; and after assuring me that this was a recompence not in his power to bestow without the permission of the Empress, who would unwillingly part with her, and that these were affairs in which he always considered it prudent to remain neuter, he left me to all the chagrin and mortification that grief and disappointment could inflict.

'As soon as I was awakened from my astonishment to a sense of my hopeless situation, I naturally imagined that Rodolph was himself the lover of Augusta; and this surmise was soon afterwards confirmed.

'It was in commemoration of a victory formerly gained by the Emperor, Charles the Fifth, over the French King, Francis the First, that a society of German Nobility assembled to partake of a sumptuous banquet, given by the Duke of Bavaria in honour of this interesting event. Being included among the number of patriots, I endeavoured, as much as possible, to conceal the mortification I had lately experienced under an aspect of assumed gaiety. The conversation, though it was chiefly on the cabinet and the field, was lively and unconstrained; unbounded hilarity universally prevailed, and, after many attempts to obtain a temporary animation, r finally succeeded, though my heart was still occupied by one favourite object-the image of Augusta. As soon as the dinner was concluded, the wines sparkled on the board, and the exhilarating draught went round. The name of Rodolph was given - his praises echoed through the room. The flames of my loyalty had been somewhat extinguished, yet I accorded with the rest; I acknowledged him brave, noble, and warlike; I would have added disinterested, but my heart contradicted the assertion.

'The Empress was then given; her virtues were applauded, and encomiums, that would have enhanced the reputation of the immaculate Portia, were bestowed, or rather lavished, upon her. Then followed the Princes of the Blood, excepting only Mathias, whose disaffection to his Sovereign justly excluded him from this honorary attention; and then the Nobles in general, particularly those who had distinguished themselves in the Senate or the Camp.

"We have hitherto confined our attention to the brave and the virtuous," cried a young soldier, who was seated at the right-hand of the Duke, because accidentally related to him. "Shall not beauty come in for its share? has it not hitherto been offered as the reward of military glory, and shall we not exalt its praise? Let us then," resumed he, filling high the sparkling goblet, "drink to the matchless Augusta, the brightest gem of the Crown - the rose of Vienna!"

'I raised the cup to my lips, but scarcely could I keep it from falling; her name penetrated my soul, and brought with it a thousand uneasy sensations. The mirth of the assembly now became boisterous; the name of Augusta was frequently repeated, and it was easy to discover that sire was universally considered as the favourite of the Emperor. My distress now became too deep for conccalrnent, and without offering any apology for my conduct, I quitted the company abruptly, that I might converse with my own soul in secret, and reconcile myself, if possible, to my disappointment.

'In vain did I endeavour to combat my affection, or to convince myself that she merited the oblique aspersions that had been thrown upon her character; her modesty, her unexampled beauty, the dignity of her demeanour, the retiring delicacy of her manners -- all pleaded eloquently her cause, and seemed to reproach me for having even listened to a conversation tending to deprive them of their influence.

'A few days after this event I was summoned into the presence of the Emperor, who received me with an affected satisfaction, which displeased me, because I easily discovered that it was not genuine. After having accosted me with his accustomed familiarity, he praised my former exploits, and concluded with making known his intention of sending me on another expedition into the precincts of Hungary. The coldness with which I received this proposal, for I was a stranger to the arts of dissimulation, offended him; but he cautiously avoided a verbal confession of his displeasure, still endeavouring to conceal it under an appearance of cordiality. He saw he had injured himself in my esteem, and considered that from the intestine divisions of his country, for many had secretly espoused the causc of Mathias, it would be a politic measure to regain it. Easily penetrating his design, I shrunk from the meanness of it with contempt; yet the strength of my local attachment determined me to defend my country, though I now no longer regarded with partiality the man who was reputed its father.

'Having acceded to his desires, I once more quitted Austria, but not till I had first accomplished an interview with my Augusta, by means of a confidential dependant. This was with difliculty effected, as native modesty for some time prevented her from according with my desires; but affection finally triumphed, and in accents which are indelibly impressed upon my memory, she acknowledged herself concerned in my welfare. Still, however, I was dissatisfied and restless; what I had heard at the banquet, with what had fallen under my immediate observation, gave room for conjecture; yet scarcely could I summon resolution enough to make it known. To hint my suspicions, to throw a shade upon her conduct which, if spotless, must so tenderly wound a heart incapable of depravity, would, I considered, be raising an insurmountable bar to my hopes. Yet to remain in a state of suspense, to endure the idea that her affections were devoted to another, to feel the possibility of doubting whether they were my own, was a reflection that brought with it the most acute anguish; and at length I resolved to free myself from these inquietudes by a disclosure of my halfindulged surmises.

'The result of this conference placed her worth and honour beyond a doubt, and occasioned me to depart with a full determination of returning as soon as possible to Vienna, and of renewing my suit. Released from these visionary distresses, I commenced my military tour. Success crowned our endeavours -- the enemy retreated as far as Buda - the General of the Hungarian forces, after a severe and sudden attack, laid down his arms -- victory seemed on all sides to decide for us -- and, every way fortunate, we returned to the metropolis loaded with spoils and honours.

"Surely," cried I, "Rodolph will no longer refuse to bestow upon me the lovely Augusta. If my former deeds in arms have not entitled me to so rich a reward after this change in his favour, he will no longer slight my services but will confer upon me this mestimable maid, the only return I shall require, or deign to receive.

'Full of these warm, these sanguine hopes, whose only tendency is to mislead the judgment, I arrived at Vienna, and took the first opportunity of throwing myself before the throne of Rodolph, whose arms were open to receive me. flut before I had time fully to acquaint him with the extent of my good fortune, or to repeat my request, I perceived a fixed expression of melancholy in his countenance, so nearly connected with despair, that my heart glowed with every sentiment of compassion. He observed it, and endeavoured to force a smile upon his features, as he congratulated me on the success of my undertaking; but it was a smile that had more in it of internal sadness than of tranquillity. Finding that he listened to me with a divided attention, and being unwilling to probe the wound he seemed recently to have received, I left him with an intention of seizing a more favourable moment of winning him to my interest. Scarcely had I removed from his presence before Count Wallestein, a courtier in the train of the Empress, crossed my path. I inquired of him the cause of this universal silence which seemed to reign throughout the Court; and was informed, to my unspeakable grief and astonishment, that my Augusta was no more; that she had been attacked with a severe disorder soon after I left Austria, which in a few days proved fatal! The anguish I endured at this moment can be scarcely conceived; the Count saw it, and offered something which he meant for consolation, at the same time convincing me by his manner, rather than his words, that he had been acquainted with the attachment subsisting between me and Augusta.

'This unexpected calamity occasioned me to consign myself to solitude for the space of some weeks, during which time I allowed no one to intrude upon the rights of my sorrow, chusing rather to reconcile myself to my misfortunes iii the solitude of my closet, than to attempt to procure consolation amid scenes of dissipation. Peace being soon afterwards proclaimed, I now felt disengaged from all earthly pursuits; and, after much consideration, determined to bid my adieu to my Sovereign, and to retire into one of those castles occupied by my ancestors in the Dutchy of Bavaria. This resolution was at first strenuously opposed by Rodolph, who held forth the most alluring promises to divert me from a project by no means favourable to his interests: hut finding I was not to be wrought upon by the sophistical arguments made use of in his defence, he left me to pursue my own inclinations with many marks of displeasure, without even hinting any thing as to a reward for my former services. I had already made every necessary arrangemerit for my intended expedition, and was preparing to bid a long adieu to those scenes of illusion, which, from the prejudices of education, and the force of habit, had long occupied my thoughts, and was ruminating in silence on the new plan of life I was going speedily to adopt, when my reflections were disturbed by Count Wallestein, who having been long a concerned spectator of what was passing in my heart, besought me, instead of prosecuting my former intentions, to accompany him on a little rural excursion through Switzerland and Savoy.

"I know the nature of your feelings too well," resumed the Count, "to propose, what is usually recommended as a restorative to a wounded mind, scenes of levity and dissipation. These generally fail in their effect, and if otherwise, the remedy is too frequently a dangerous one; yet, though I mean to discountenance this method of subduing the pang of severe distress, I by no means approve the mode of conduct you have recently, and I may add, too hastily adopted. You are at present too young to bury yourself in total inaction; the duties of your station require exertion, and he who believes he can discharge them in solitude, suffers his judgment to be deluded. Much may be done, I acknowledge, in the narrow sphere of domestic arrangements; sorrow may be made to smile, and poverty to feel the diffusive power of benevolence. Virtue and content are said to inhabit the path of rural seclusion, and, like the wild flowers that decorate the forest, thrive best, amid the unfrequented shades of Nature; yet in situations like these, our sphere of action is too much contracted to lead to any high attainment in virtue. It is in society only that our power is equal to our inclination; and trust me, the blessings it bestows make ample amends for those little wayward accidents in human life, which will occasionally happen to the most fortunate however ardently they may endeavour to escape from them. Let me then," resumed the Count, "prevail upon you to renounce a plan which secludes you from the participation of pleasure, without retaining power sufficient to indemnify you from partaking of that joyless portion of bitter disappointment, which inevitably lingers in the cup of human life."

'These and other arguments, seducingly delivered, at last prevailed upon me to accede to the proposal, though I secretly resolved, on my return from this rural expedition, to quit Vienna, and to repair, at least for some time, to the seat of my ancestors. A few days after this event we commenced our journey towards Switzerland, meaning to perform it by easy stages, that we might occasionally loiter amongst the most picturesque scenes of this romantic country. It was now the beginning of June, and the heat not sufficiently intense considerably to retard our progress. Every object that presented itself was enrobed in that sublime simplicity which characterizes these charming regions, whose imagery is at once lofty and impressive, lilling the mind that contemplates it with the most exquisite emotions. Having coasted the Alps, whose snow-capped summits were half obscured in the clouds, viewing from these lofty eminences every unadorned beauty which the most glowing imagination could portray, we arrived at a beautiful village beneath the Alpine steep of a precipice, near St Julian in Savoy, whose prospect was bounded by a fine range of hills retiring into remote distance, which, being covered on one side with fine woods and vineyards, formed a striking contrast with the naked sublimity of the uncultivated side, deformed, or rather aggrandized by huge masses of frowning rock, rising in the most romantic directions.

'We did not reach this village till near an hour after sun-set for as we proceeded leisurely along the glen on our way thither, we frequently paused to survey the rich vermeil hue left upon Mount Blanc, long after the sun had receded from the horizon, which fired the whole western hemisphere with the most glowing tints, till the blue mist of the twilight stole meekly upon the scene, and the moon sailing silently towards her destination, commenced her reign of tranquillity. Fatigued with traversing these immense mountains, which it was impossible to avoid, I proposed taking our nightly rest at a small inn, situated about a quarter of a league from the village, which, however, appeared to be near; hut the Count objected to the proposition, assuring me that the village was an object of too much importance to be neglected, since it possessed more natural beauty than many others which had attracted our attention; and as we were now at such an inconsiderable distance, he must insist upon our reaching it that night, intimating a desire that, for the sake of variety, we should leave our carriage and mules at the inn, and descend gradually the mountain till we had gained the object of our ramble. Feeling no inclination to contend with him in a matter of so little importance, I acquiesced; and having disposed of our mules and attendants agreeably to his desire, we advanced towards the hamlet, which consisted of a number of small white cottages, remarkable for their neatness and beauty, almost surrounded with mountains. In this sylvan spot the simple children of Nature, whose habitations were enclosed by these almost inaccessible barriers, seemed to repose in uninterrupted quiet, and to be equally removed from the cares and distresses of life. The song of the herdsman, the bleat of the lamb, or the carol of the hasty-footed passenger, tended to wrap the mind in that pleasing kind of melancholy, which rural sounds and rural objects never fail to inspire, when the heart is sufficiently at ease to be susceptible of these amiable impressions.

'Having examined all that had hitherto fallen within the sphere of our observation, we proceeded, by a little winding path, along a gentle descent, till we reached a cottage so peculiarly beautiful, that our senses were for some time absorbed in admiration. It was small, and of exact proportion; and so much taste was displayed in the grounds which inclosed it, that it appeared like the retreat of some sylvan deity, who had exhausted all the beauties of nature to harmonize her favourite residence. A little lawn led to the door, which was ornamented with several fltnciful shrubberies, intermingled with a variety of those many-coloured flowers, wilieli enamel, and perfume with their odours, the flinty bosom of Savoy. A wood wound along its side, through which a stream, that had spent its fury among the rocks, was dimly and but at intervals seen through the deep-foliated branches that hung over it, whose sound died away in a gentle murmur, as it retreated from this beautiful dwelling to form a lake in front of the village.

'As we drew nearer to the cottage, a strain of music, so soft, so sweet, that it seemed to proceed from no mortal touch, came faintly to our ears in the silence of the night. It appeared to possess the powers of enchantment, for we were unable either to return or to proceed. Whilst we still listened, it paused, and then, accompanied by a voice which was melody itself, struck into another measure. The Count eyed me with a look of secret triumph, and then desired me to follow him. I obeyed in silence till we arrived within a few steps of the door, when I demanded in what manner he intended to introduce himself to the fair syren who had thus riveted our attention.

"Your curiosity will soon be gratified," returned the Count, with a smile, which was attended by a look I did not comprehend. "You have nothing to do but to follow my steps, and be assured the adventure will terminate to your satisfaction." While he yet spoke, the voice ceased, the music sunk into cadence, and low sobs, broken, but distinct, were heard in its stead.

"What can this mean?" cried I, interrupting him. 'Can sorrow have found an asylum in this sweet abode? If so, where call we look for tranquillity?" The Count, without vouchsafing a reply, advanced towards the window from whence the music was heard, and encouraged by his example, I followed slowly along. The casement was thrown open to admit the cool breeze of the evening; but a shade of fine lattice-work, which was over-canopied with the clematis integrifolia, eglantine, and a number of variegated evergreens, concealed the inhabitants of this beautiful little cottage from the gaze of the passenger. Whilst we yet paused to observe the tasteful simplicity of its aspect, a rough breeze wafted aside the foliated covering, and discovered a female, clad in a white robe, bending gracefully over a harp. Her fine flaxen locks, which descended to her waist in the most luxuriant tresses, were simply confined with a ribbon passing over her forehead, and fastened, without the appearance of art, in a loose and airy manner. A thin veil, of the slightest texture, covered her face, to which imagination now gave all those charms of expression, all that softness of eolour which glow in the mind of the painter, the poet, and the lover. In a few moments she arose, replaced the harp by her side, and then heaving a gentle sigh, advanced towards the window.

'Ashamed of being seen thus watching her movements, as the breath of the zephyr allowed me partially to observe her, I receded some paces back; but before I could conceal myself behind the interwoven branches of the clematis, she drew up the lattice-work with an intention of closing the casement, and gave us a full view of her person. Her veil was yet over her face; but as the Count approached nearer to the window she uttered an exclamation of surprise, and threw it back upon her shoulders. I caught the tones of her voice; but scarcely could I convince myself that I was still in existence, when, raising my eyes from the ground, I beheld in the beautiful recluse my beloved Augusta. To convey a just idea of my feelings at this moment would be impossible; I shall therefore pass them over in silence, observing only that she received me with those speaking tears, and blushing smiles, which convey more eloquently than words the genuine force of affection.

'As soon as I was a little composed, I desired the Count would explain this eventful mystery, since it was evident that to lead me to this spot was a preconcerted scheme, and that he was acquainted with the strange circumstance which had given rise to the report of her death.

"You are right, my dear Ferdinand," returned the Count, whose fine countenance was irradiated with a smile of benevolence; "I have been the chief performer in this little drama, and if you will give me a patient hearing, I will instantly explain my motive for having thus led you from joy to grief, and from grief to happiness. You are not ignorant of the passion that Rodolph cherished for Augusta, which he, however, long concealed from her; but this unfortunate prepossession increasing with her beauty, he was led, by slow progressive measures, to the attempt of conciliating her affections, which he had some hopes of effecting. Your attachment to his favourite, and the benignant glances which she sometimes cast upon you, gave him more serious uneasiness than he had ever before experienced. This accounts for a behaviour which before this discovery was uniformly different, and for the manner in which he precipitated your departure into Hungary.

"No sooner had you left the Court of Vienna than the Empress observed his emotions in the presence of Augusta, and instantly guessed the cause. In this affair she displayed less of that exalted magnanimity of conduct than she had formerly discovered on every other occasion. Her affection for Augusta was transformed into the most deadly hate, which instigated her not only to withdraw her protection, but to inflict some punishment as severe as undeserved. hitherto I had been honoured with her confidence in affairs of equal importance; and fearing, lest the violence of her passions should plunge her into some unexampled error, I called a little dissimulation to my aid, and entering warmly into her feelings, promised to assist her design. Fortunately at this crisis Augusta was so much indisposed as to be obliged to remain in her apartment. This was favourable to my purpose; and during her confinement I prevailed upon the Empress to allow me to spread a report of her death, and also to permit me to convey her into a convent, which would effectually prevent her from being either seen or heard of more. Having undertaken the management of this affair, I contrived to inform this fair victim of unjust resentment of these newly-concerted measures; at the same time assuring her, that if she would assist my enterprise, by wearing an appearance of joy in the presence of the Empress at being allowed to end her days in a religious retirement, instead of devoting her to a conventual life, I would only remove her for a short time to a little romantic retreat in a remote province till I had acquainted you with her situation, who, I was convinced, would gladly liberate her from solitude. Since to leave the Court had been for some weeks the primary wish of her soul, she gladly consented to the proposal, and was immediately conveyed hither. In the meantime the report of her death was circulated so successfully by the Empress and her confidential dependants, who had bound themselves by oath to an eternal silence upon the subject, in consideration of a great reward, that none entertained any doubt of its reality. A coffin, attended by all the ladies of the Court, who knew not but that it contained the body of their companion, was interred with all the rites of burial; and so artfully was every thing conducted, that the Emperor, the Nobles, and the whole Court, were completely deceived.

'As then, you must allow," resumed the Count, "that I have acted the part of a friend, you will pardon me for having permitted you to taste of calamity, since without the bitter ingredients of life, the sweets would be deprived of their relish; and as you will have the justice to allow that the few weeks of separation, which were necessary for the furthering of our scheme, have been more than counter-balanced by the joys of meeting, you have now nothing to do," continued the Count, directing a playful smile at the blushing Augusta, "but to obtain the hand of this fair wood nymph, who, if I have any skill in physiognomy, bestowed her heart upon you almost before she knew she had one. A priest may easily be procured, by whom the ceremony may be performed, and your own prudence, as to secrecy, will instruct you how to act."--

'The path being thus cleared, half the difficulties were removed; and having renewed my suit with all the ardency of the sincerest affection, she soon consented to bestow upon me the happiness I sought; and a priest being engaged, I was soon permitted to address her by the endearing appellation of wife.' - The Monk now paused for a moment, to give a tear to the recollection of his former happiness, and then proceeded --

'As soon as the marriage was solemnized, we repaired, attended by the Count Wallestein, to this castle, in which I spent many years in uninterrupted felicity. Heaven blessed us with a daughter soon after our marriage, and the important secret remaining still undiscovered, I removed occasionally to Court during the reign of Rodolph; but my absences from the castle were never long, serving only to augment the happiness I enjoyed in the society of my wife and daughter. At last, however, it pleased Heaven to deprive me of my much-loved partner, though not till she had seen her daughter eligibly and happily united to the Conte della Caro, an Italian Nobleman, who accidentally saw her as he was making the tour of Europe, and who, on my consent to their marriage, promised to allow his bride to spend half the year in this castle, to which she was singularly attached. Thus deprived by death of my Augusta, I felt once more an inclination to travel, and to resume, if occasion required, my former profession, that of arms. Mathias had now succeeded to the empire; and though by no means attached to this haughty Prince, I determined to defend my country, now suffering from a confederacy called the Evangelical League, which was, however, counterbalanced by an host equally formidable, the assembly of the Catholics.

'Those who have courage to take an active part on either side when a kingdom is divided against itself, are encompassed with innumerable dangers, and few there are that escape persecution. Some trifling inadvertency, which I could never perfectly understand, was alledged against me, which was blackened with so many malicious insinuations, that, without any formal accusation, I was conveyed by stratagem from the kingdom, after having rendered it many services; and having found means of escaping from my persecutors, was confined in a prison by order of Mathias, who recollecting that in the reign of his brother I was no friend to his unjust pretensions, eagerly listened to the calumnious reports which were circulated by my enemies for the accomplishment of my destruction. In this miserable situation I remained near two years, and then, without any reason being publicly given for this, or for my mysterious confinement, I was as strangely released. Thus emancipated from captivity, I resolved to leave the intrigues of Courts, and the uncertainty of arms, to the young and the fortunate, and to return again to my former residence. Having put my intention into practice, of resigning for ever a military life, I returned to the castle of Elfinbach, anxious to clasp to my heart a daughter from whom I had been so unjustly separated. But what was my grief, when I was informed that both she and the Conte were dead, the latter being slain by a party of banditti, or some other as lawless wretches, which caused the death of the lovely mourner, his widow, soon after she had given birth to a daughter, who, it was supposed, had died with her! Though I had no suspicion of the falsehood of the report concerning the fate of the infant, having never heard any thing to the disadvantage of the late Marchese de Montferrat, who I knew to be the nearest relative of the Conte della Caro, and consequently the next heir to his estates if he died childless; yet I could not forbear sometimes listening to reports which were circulated, though not generally believed, in the neighbourhood of Turin (whither I afterwards repaired) respecting a female infant, which was sent to nurse by the Marchese de Montferrat, believed by some to have been the daughter of the Contessa della Caro. This instigated me to call on the woman who had accepted the charge; but, except a numerous family of her own, she had no child in her care; and her replies were at once so simple and so artless, that I easily credited her assertion, which tended to convince me that all reports upon this subject were founded in error. Weary of a world in which I was left al~e and unfriended, I finally determined to find out some secure and peaceful asylum, where I might terminate my days in peace and solitude; and at length fixed upon a little alpine spot amid the mountains of Switzerland, which was merely a cottage. In this melancholy retreat I remained many years under an assumed character and name, leading literally the life of a hermit, till a very singular dream, joined with an ardent desire of visiting my former dwelling, induced me to quit my retirement.

'It was one night, when I had fallen into a sleep much earlier than usual, that I thought a person approached me as I slept, and bade me to repair without delay to the castle of Elfinbach, for in that mansion the offspring of the unfortunate Conte della Care was receiving her education, and that it depended upon myself not only to reinstate her in the possessions of her ancestors, but to save her from misery and from death. This visionary address was so deeply impressed upon my mind, that it was long before I could recompose my spirits, or convince myself it was but a dream. At the same hour the next night the command was repeated; the same figure appeared to me again in the visions of my sleep, bidding me depart, and watch unobserved the movements of the present inhabitants of the castle; not openly to declare what I had been told, but to wait the effects of time, which would eventually unravel all. This repetition of the last night's adventure determined me to adhere to the advice delivered; and having procured the habit of a white Friar, the better to protect me from danger and impertinence, I commenced, in the character of a ghost, my nightly watchings. I soon, however, discovered means of informing Ambrose that I was mortal, and from him gained an accurate account of what was passing in the castle, and what had happened before I reached its boundaries. From what he affirmed, I had every reason to believe that my dream was founded on truth, though it was riot sutflcient to lead to a certainty.

'To the chapel I had free access, continued the Monk, 'at every hour of the night, and also to the burial-vault beneath, which I entered by means of an outward door opening behind the headless statue erected at the extremity, where I frequently spent some time in conversation with Ambrose, or, when alone, allowed myself the sad indulgence of weeping over the remains of my beloved Augusta, which were entombed in that place.

'When I beheld you, which was not, in spite of my utmost endeavours, till several weeks after my arrival, the resemblance you bore to your mother, convinced me you was her child; and thinking it necessary to warn you of your danger whilst in the power of the Marchese de Moutferrat, I delivered you her picture, and meant to have disclosed the secret of your birth, and then to have offered you my protection; but was prevented by the interference of Paoli and your sudden removal. Not knowing whither you was conveyed, till after the return of Ambrose, which did not happen till a considerable time afterwards, I suffered the most restless anxiety for your safety. His presence, however, when lie came to discharge the domestics, relieved me from apprehension, though the information he gave me determined me to go immediately in quest of you. Not knowing the exact situation of the castle in the principality of Saltzburg, I was obliged to repeat my inquiries; and being at first unsuccessful, was directed by chance, or rather by Providence, into the chapel of a forsaken abbey, which you afterwards entered, attended by a stranger of a dignified and amiable aspect, who proved to be the present Marchese. His presence prevented me from addressing you as I should otherwise have done; but by following you along the mountains, I had soon an opportunity of discovering your place of residence. After this event, I frequented the castle of Lunenburg as I had formerly done this, but without obtaining the accomplishment of my desires. Soon afterwards I learned from Ambrose, whom I largely rewarded for this intelligence, that you was sent into a convent on the borders of Italy, and that the Marchese had retired in extreme perturbation of spirits and distress of mind to the castle of Elfinbach. Knowing, if this was the ease, which I had no reason to doubt, that I might be enabled by some means, during your year of initiation, to contrive your escape, could I inform myself of your place of destination, I repaired again to this ancient and almost deserted mansion, entertaining some hopes that, with the assistance of Ambrose, I might repeat with success my supernatural appearances, and thus surprise and terrify the Marchese into confession; since it was now evident, from the whole of his conduct, that he had concealed, and usurped the rights of, a defenceless orphan. rn this attempt I succeeded, and by the assistance of a trap-door, so artfully contrived as not to be perceived by the most careful observer, gained the interior of his apartment, and so well accommodated myself to his own guilty feelings, that the disorder of his mind hourly increased, and was followed by an alarming disease, attended with many dangerous symptoms. This occasioned him to send for a Confessor from the Carthusian monastery, that he might have an opportunity of unburthening his conscience.

'I was fortunately at the abbey of St Angelo at the time the message arrived, in the society of Father Benedicta, with whoni, under my assumed habit, I had accidentally formed a superficial acquaintance, and whose worth and goodness led me to esteem his character long before I was personally known to him. As to learn the substance of a confession, which appeared to promise much important information, was of the utmost consequence to my future interests, I formed the resolution of attending as Confessor, as I knew the severity of the ecclesiastical rules would effectually prevent my obtaining this knowledge, however necessary, by any other means. This induced me to make my intention known to Father Benedicta relative to my plan of personating a Carthusian, though without disclosing to him that I was not really a Friar; and with some difficulty, after making my reasons partly known, prevailed upon him to supply me with a habit of the order.

As the Marchese had not signified a desire that any particular Friar should attend, I was readily admitted, and soon learned the cause of his remorse; but the purport of this singular confession I consider myself as bound, by the strictest ties of religion, as well as of honour, strictly to conceal, and should consider myself as culpable by the laws of justice, if I suffered myself to reveal it, as if I had taken the indissoluble oath administered in the period of initiation, which binds to eternal secrecy as to the nature of confessions.

'When the Marchese had completely unburthened his conscience, which was not till my third visit, and it was proved, after the arrival of the Conte della Croisse, that you was in a place of security, which appeared to take a considerable weight from his heart, I sent one of the brotherhood to bestow absolution, not being empowered to perform this ceremony myself, to whom also the substance of the confession was repeated in tbe same manner as before, though from the appearance of the Monk, which perfectly corresponded with my own, tbe Marchese was not conscious of the deception.

'As soon as these ceremonies were properly adjusted, I informed Father Benedicta of the artifice I had employed; and having thrown aside the habit I had formerly worn, substituted that adopted by the Carthusiaris; and entering juto the convent of St Angelo, agreeable to mv former intention, took the name of Father Andrea.

'With all the rest, my dear child,' rejoined the Monk, 'you are already acquainted. I have now related to you all the material mcidents of my past life, which for many years has been marked with severe misfortune; but Heaven, in your preservation and happiness, has bestowed some sweeteners of my melancholy existence, and I receive them with gratitude.'

Chapter 12

Swift o'er the lyre's harmonious strings

His magic hand the minstrel flings;

Obedient to the sprightly sound

The dancers' quivering feet rebound:

Diffusing wide their silver rays,

Aloft the sparkling lustres blare:

While milder emanations flow

From love-enkindling orbs below.

SALMAGUNDI

The Marchesa and Laurette did not neglect, amid the newly-acquired happiness that surrounded them, to visit their amiable acquaintance, the Abbess of the Order of Penitents, who received them with every proof of the sincerest affection. To her society they devoted many of the intervening hours passed in the absence of Enrico and his venerable friend, finding in her conversation all that elegance of expression, and delicacy of sentiment, which rendered her as charming as respectable, even in the midst of age and infirmities.

It was now the latter end of May, and the season remarkably fine. The groves and the woods were again clothed in the most delightful verdure, whilst the hedgerows, which displayed that luxuriance of foliage ever perceptible in this fertile country, were now beautifully embroidered with honeysuckles, and overhung with the blushing wreaths of the rosa canina; all Nature seemed to have awakened to joy and harmony! With what emotions of delight did Laurette now wander along the borders of that river, whose bank had formerly been the scene of infant pastime, recalling fondly to her recollection the years that were past, and alternately weeping and smiling at the vicissitudes of fortune! How charming was it to bring back, with the aid of memory, every interesting event in that uninformed period of existence, when hope revelled in the heart unchecked by disappointment, and joy suffered no decrease from gloomy retrospection! It was after one of these sweet lonely excursions, which she had commenced in the absence of the Marchesa, who had taken an early walk to the convent, that she observed at some distance four horsemen advancing towards the castle, which on a nearer view she discovered to be Enrico and the Conte della Croisse, attended by Anselmo and another of the domestics.

Tremblingly alive to every sensation of pleasure, she bounded swiftly from the mountains, and before the travellers alighted, arrived at the portico. As soon as Enrico observed her, his eyes beamed with inexpressible rapture, whilst love, in the most lively colours, was depicted on his countenance.

The usual expressions of congratulation on meeting again being over, which were accompanied, on the part of Enrico and Laurette, with those melting looks of unspeakable affection which lovers only understand, they were joined in the terrace-parlour by the Marchesa, and soon afterwards by the Signora d'Orfo.

When the travellers had partaken of a little refreshment, they were requested to relate the success of their journey, which, they soon convinced their hearers had been every way fortunate; since proofs of the legitimacy of Enrico's birth had appeared sufficient to silence the claim of any other person, should an attempt to discountenance the justice and truth of the fact be hereafter made.

'Yet my happiness is at present incomplcte,' cried Enrico, casting a look of tenderness upon the timid blushing Laurette; 'will not she then, who has it exclusively in her power to bestow on me the felicity I ask, deign to confer it? Can she doubt the strength of my affection, or refuse to reward it, after having received so many testimonies of its permanency?'

'She does not mean to prevent, or even to procrastinate your happiness,' replied the Marchesa. 'She is above dissimulation; and as I have hitherto been allowed to influence her actions under the character of a preceptress, she will grant me the privilege of naming the day. Will you not, my lovely pupil,' resumed the Marchesa, with a smile of ineffable tenderness, 'give me this new proof of your dutiful acquiescence, the last I may have cause to demand?'

Laurette blushed deeply; and, having assured her beloved friend that any request of her's would have the force of a command, permitted her, after a little gentle reluctance, to name the same day on the following week.

Enrico's joy on this occasion could only discover itself in tears; every wish of his soul was gratified, and it now appeared impossible, to his delighted imagination, that sorrow could ever again become an inmate of his breast.

The week now passed rapidly towards the close, which was employed by the Marchesa and the Signora in preparing for the intended marriage, which was to he attended with all that diffusive hospitality, so strikingly exhibited in the character of the former, and which she had now the power, as well as the inclination, to display.

Enrico and Laurette, in the meantime, found an inexhaustible source of delight in traversing those sublimc and beautiful regions in which the castle was situated. The trackless mountain, whose rocky glens were encrusted with moss or enamelled with wildflowers; the impenetrable forest, sacred to the foot of the adventurer, were objects of curiosity and wonder, which they were never weary of contemplating or admiring, among which every day presented, from the variety of their productions, some new subject for investigation.

At last the long-expected day, which was to ratify these solemn vows already registered in heaven, arrived. The officiating priest was the Father Benedicta, who, at his own request, had the felicity of receiving the lovely bride at the hand of Father Andrea, in the chapel of thc castle, by the name of Laurette Contessa della Cano, and of bestowing her upon Enrico Marchese de Montferrat.

The ceremony being performed in the morning, the remaining part of the day was dedicated to rural festivity; and every luxury was procured in honour of this event, that the country, within some leagues of the mansion, could afford. The nuptials were, indeed, not celebrated with the lofty appearance of courtly personages, as none, except the family at the castle, could boast of a noble origin; the rest of the company being composed of the tenantry and uninformed inhabitants of those humble cottages, which were - variously dispersed on the banks of the Rhine, who concluded the evenirig of this joyful day with a dance upon the lawn, to the lively notes of the guitar and the hautboy; each returning laden with presents to their homes, and pouring out blessings upon their hospitable entertainers.

Nothing could exceed the happiness of Father Andrea, when he beheld the felicity of his children thus hourly increasing. He seemed to have forgotten already all his sorrows, and looked up to Heaven with pious gratitude, which had thus recompensed his patience and sufferings, long after lie had ceased to expect a temporal reward.

Inured to solitude, and naturally attached to it, the young Marchesa never wished to stray beyond her native mountains; she had formed no ideas of happiness beyond them, and it was not without some reluctance that she quitted the castle of Elfinbach, the abode of her childhood, to repair to the mansion on the Saltzburg estate till the former one was rendered more habitable. This was, however, a necessary measure, as a considerable part of the fabric was so much decayed as to form but an uncomfortable asylum. On this expedition she was attended by the whole of the family, except the Conte della Croisse and the Fathers, as the former had determined upon visiting his daughter at Augsberg during their absence from the castle, and the Monks were obliged to remain in the convent of St Angelo.

In this modern and luxurious mansion, which to the elder Marchesa had all the charms of novelty to recommend it, they prolonged their stay till the castle of Elfinbach was made fit for their residence, which seemed, from having been long known as well as from the circumstance of its having been the seat of Father Andrea when dignified by the title of Baron Neuburg, and of the late Contessa della Caro, to have a prior claim to their regard. Laurette had already resolved to return to it, and quit it no more; and Enrico, whose every wish centered in her happiness, had adopted a similar resolution, being not less attached to it than the beautiful Marchesa.

During their continuance at the castle of Lunenburg, the generosity of this noble family was so unbounded, that on leaving it they were followed for a considerable way by a large number of the peasantry, who crowded about their carriages with tearful eyes, showering blessings upon them as they repeated their adicus. How delightful were these simple effusions of gratitude to those on whom they were bestowed! And who that has a mind capable of reflection, and a heart of feeling, would exchange those noble impulses of our nature, which direct us to acts of Godlike benevolence, for the chillness of unsocial grandeur? And how can it be truly estimated what they lose, who suffer themselves to be deluded into an opinion that the bold pre-eminence of rank and state can compensate for the absence of those amiable aflections, which teach us to conciliate and to deserve the love of others?

As the weather was more than usually favourable, they travelled leisurely towards the castle, Enrico and Laurette occupying one of the carriages, and the elder Marchesa and the Signora the other, frequently stopping, and sometimes alighting; when any thing particularly attracted their attention.

On the evening of the third day they arrived at the castle of Elfinbach, which wore a much more comfortable appearance than when they quitted it last. The rampart-walls, the turrets, and buttresses, were repaired, and the fallen fragments, which before were only partially removed, were cleared from the courts, which, with the whole of the grounds, were new mown for their reception.

The Monks seized the first opportunity of welcoming them home, and a few days afterwards the happiness of the whole partv was materially augmented by the presence of the Conte della Croisse, who informed Enrico, soon after his arrival, that he had long secretly formed a resolution of entering into the convent of St Angelo; and having taken leave of his daughter, was come purposely to fulfil his intention.

'The crimes of my youth,' resumed the Conte, 'stand yet in terrible array before me, and the only atonement I can now make for my offences, is to dedicate the remaining part of my life to prayer and penitence. Hitherto I have been irresistibly withheld from the execution of my intention; for the designations of Providence are uncontroulable. It was the will of Heaven that I should continue in society, to become an instrument of punishment to the guilty, and to rescue innocence from the grasp of oppression, relieving myself by these means from a debt of gratitude, which I should otherwise have found it impossible to have discharged; but the end being accomplished, why should I longer defer the prosecution of my purpose, since I am already bending with years, and, in the common course of nature, cannot reasonably expect to continue much longer an inhabitant of this world?'

Enrico finding that his friend was bent upon this new project, and being secretly gratified on his having fixed upon the convent of St Angelo for his future abode, did not attempt to dissuade him from his design but gained, or rather wrested a promise from him, that he would remain in the family for the space of a month. Often in the society of Laurette and Enrico did the penitent Della Croisse fix his eyes upon them with an expression of earnest tenderness, as he witnessed their mutual affection, whilst busy memory reverted to the scenes of his youth, and presented the image of his Helena, with all its amiable accompaniments, to his mind. When reflecting upon her, his thoughts would frequently glance upon Laurentina, she whose Circean charms had accomplished his overthrow, arid dwell with painful regret upon the recollection of his complicated enmes and misfortunes.

'Learn from my fate, my children,' he would sometimes say, addressing himself to the lovely pair, 'the danger of venturing on the borders of vice. I was once virtuous as you are; but one fatal error, one unsubdued passion, plunged me irito irremediable guilt; yet not aware of my danger, even when on the brink of a precipice, I believed I could return at discretion to the path of rectitude; but when once tempted to deviate from the principles of truth and honour, how soon is every amiable impression obliterated from the heart, how soon does vice by familiarity lose its deformity! Yet what an inexhaustible source of felicity is an untainted conscience, and how eternally connected are guilt and misery!'

Often, as he thus movingly addressed them, did he melt his audience into tears, who endeavoured, with all those gentle assiduities, which sensibility like their's knew so well how to bestow, to delude him into a transient forgetfulness of his past crimes; and sometimes attempted to convince him that the purity of his present conduct, aided by the sorrow he expressed for what could not be recalled, was sufficient to atone for the errors of his youth; and that the irregularities into which he had been precipitated through the artifice of others, were not so much to be attributed to his faults as his misfortunes.

Anselmo, whose faithful attachment to his master had rather increased than diminished, was, in consideration of his former services, exalted to the rank of steward, which the generous Marchese contrived to make both an easy and lucrative post.

Thus restored to joy and tranquillity, the inhabitants of the castle of Elfinbach enjoyed the most uninterrupted felicity. -- Enrico, whose dutiful impulses prompted him to the most benevolent exertions, set apart annually a third of his princely income for charitable purposes; and his mother, following his bright example, adopted a similar plan. None that entered the portals of this hospitable mansion departed without calling down blessings from Heaven upon its owners.

Della Croisse, at the appointed time, repaired to the convent of St Angelo, and entered into the severe order of the Carthusians, where he found, in the purified conversation of his early companion, the pious Benedicta, and that of Father Andrea, all the consolation he was capable of receiving. -- Whilst blessed with health, virtue, and innocence, the Marchese and Marchesa, in the bosom of their amiable family, experienced the most refined sensations of happiness; and anxious of possessing it themselves, felt a Godlike pleasure in dispensing it to others. They were blessed with a numerous offspring, lovely as themselves, and presented, in the whole of their lives to the reflecting mind of the moralist, a striking instance of the imbecility of vice, and of the triumphant power of virtue.

FINIS

1. Ceaser. The sign invariably used throughout Germany, which occasions it to be generally substituted in the room of that word in the German tongue, signifying an hotel, inn or post-house. [Parson's note. Ceaser is sic in text.