 Volume 1 Chapter 5 of Bungie Castle by Elizabeth Bonhote. It was the intention of Bertrand to open the door of the subterranean passage, which communicated with Medingham Castle. But before they proceeded far, something rushed past them several times. It was rapid, and their candle threw so feeble a light on the walls which surrounded them that they could not discover what it was. They hurried on till they came to the square leading to the dungeons when their attention was arrested and their fears increased by the barking of a dog. They hesitated, looked with astonishment at each other, and stopped as if irresolute whether to return or proceed. In the meanwhile the little animal made its appearance, jumped and capered about, as it rejoiced at seeing them in its dreary habitation, and attached itself particularly to Rosaline, and seemed to recognize an old and beloved friend. Rosaline took it up in her arms, kissed and caressed it, but how to account for meeting with so beautiful, fond, and gentle a creature was not only a matter of surprise, but wonder. "'Are you sure, sister?' said Edwin, slyly glancing a look at the pale face and trembling lips of the terrified Madeline. Are you sure it is a real dog? May it not be one of the ghosts, who in such various shapes are said to haunt these gloomy regions, and disturb the peaceful slumbers of young maidens born perhaps two hundred years after they had left the world? This gentle reproof restored the roses to the fair cheek from which fear had driven them, while Rosaline declared it was really and truly the prettiest dog she had ever seen. Bertrand had looked thoughtful, agitated, and confused from the moment it appeared. "'This dog must have a master,' said Edwin, and that master must be somewhere near these cells.' "'Perhaps,' said Bertrand, some daring villain may have found entrance here, either with the hopes of plunder, or to accomplish designs against the castle. Let us therefore for the present give up attempting to explore the passage. It might be dangerous to unfasten a door, which is now our security.' "'Had we not better call for help?' said the again terrified Madeline. "'Not for the world,' interrupted Edwin. "'How should we be able to account to my mother for being in this place, without burdening her mind with ten thousand suspicions?' "'While telling her our reasons would most assuredly expose our venerable companion to the certain displeasure of my father. "'Do you?' said he, addressing Bertrand. "'No, if there is anyone a prisoner at this time.' The old man hesitated. "'I know but little. I apprehend it may be so. But I hope you will excuse my talking on a subject that—' "'It must assuredly be so,' said Rosaline softly to her brother, and from that cause proceeded the noise, which so repeatedly alarmed us. Again everyone stood for a moment, irresolute. Edwin, however, fearful of bringing his father's anger on Bertrand, and scorning to tempt the old man to betray a trust reposed in him, or any secret belonging to another, instantly formed his resolution to act with the utmost caution. He proposed to his sister and Madeline to return to the apartment as soon as Bertrand had pointed out the passage which led to the nunnery. On being shown the door, which might one day enable him to meet his Madeline, and open to give him a gleam of happiness, Rosaline snatched up the little dog, pressed him to her bosom, and vowed to release him from captivity. As soon as they had reached their own apartment, Bertrand, after promising eternal secrecy, took a respectful leave. Edwin accompanied him to his room, then returned to his sister's, and proposed instantly renewing their search. This is doing nothing, said he. All is still left to conjecture and uncertainty. If you mean to go again, said Madeline, why did you suffer Bertrand to leave us? From respect to my father and regard to the old man, he replied, for should we, my dear Madeline, make any discovery of consequence, with us the secret will rest secure, and should we be found out, on ourselves alone will fall the displeasure of Sir Philip. But by this procedure we empower no one either to betray his secrets, or our own. We will, however, carry back with us this little stranger, continued he, pointing to the dog, who was sleeping on a cushion which Rosaline had placed for him before the fire. And when we set him down, we will follow wherever he may choose to lead us. If he be attached to any miserable being confined in one of the cells or dungeons, we may depend upon his returning to his usual habitation. Once more the trapdoor was lifted up. Once more the party descended into regions like those of the grave, while the mouldering walls glittering with the do's a night, and rendered humid with the unwholesome damps of the situation, hung loose and disjointed over their heads, as if to threaten instant destruction. Turning into a passage which led to a contrary direction to that they had before entered, and which was somewhat wider and less dismal than the other, Rosaline sat down the dog, who ran nimbly away as if well acquainted with the path. They followed with the utmost caution, observing a profound silence. The dog went before them the whole length of the passage, then turned suddenly down a few steps at the bottom of which a door stood half open. He rushed in, and appeared to them to stop at some distance. Instantly they heard him growl and bark, and this determined them to proceed. They passed through two small apartments decently furnished, and just as they reached an inner door, at which the dog had demanded admittance, they saw it slowly open, and a faint voice appeared to chide the guiltless wanderer for his long, long absence, and then to caress him with fondness. Edwin, knowing if he hesitated to proceed the fears of his companions would increase by the delay, gently tapped at the door. For a minute all was silent, then he gave some louder raps. The same person very soon opened the door of whom they had caught a transient glimpse when he had granted admittance to the dog. He was evidently alarmed and in tremulous and terrified accents inquired who was there, what was the matter, and what errand brought them, at the same time brandishing a sword which he had hastily snatched from a chair which stood near him. Whoever you are, continued he, that have found a way to this den of misery, you may safely enter, unless you come to add farther oppressions and inflict additional woes on the head of an injured and guiltless sufferer. If you come with such diabolical intentions, be assured of this, I will no longer be a passive or silent spectator of such unheard of barbarity, but give up a life in his defense which cruelty has rendered a worthless sacrifice. Forgo then your designs, and know he will not long be either a burden or reproach to his unnatural parent and sordid oppressors. We come with no design to injure or oppress, said Edwin. We inhabit this castle, and we're led by the curiosity incidental to youth into these horrid regions. Chance conducted us into these apartments without knowing they were inhabited. We wish not to alarm or interrupt anyone, but of this be assured. If you will inform us how we can serve you, or render your situation more comfortable, we will gladly contribute all in our power to do so. Your countenance does not appear stamped with guilt, and your determination to protect the injured speaks a noble mind. The sword was instantly laid down. The door flew open, and they were requested to enter by one who told him his life and courage were only valuable so long as they would enable him to watch and protect the best and most beloved of masters. Reader, guess if it be possible, the surprise and astonishment of our trembling and compassionate adventurers, when they beheld an elegant young man whose countenance was as prepossessing as his situation was interesting, wrapped in a striped satin mourning gown which reached to his feet, with his hair hanging in graceful ringlets, and nearly concealing a face pale as death, lying on a kind of couch and to all appearance in the last stage of consumption. On the entrance of Edwin, he took but little notice, but on seeing Rosaline and her friend advance, he looked up, and attempted to rise, but was not equal to the effort and instantly sunk down in a state of apparent insensibility. Rosaline, more agitated and terrified by the whole of this unaccountable and affecting scene than she would have been at the sight of a ghost she had almost expected to meet, flew to support him. She was assisted by Edwin and Madeleine, and their united endeavour soon restored the poor sufferer to life and an imperfect sense of his situation. Having now no longer any fears, he fixed his large blue eyes on the strangers, wondered from once they came, how all this could happen, and to what blessed chance it was owing that he saw himself attended and consoled by two celestial beings, for as such he actually considered them. While the pure drops of genuine and the gentlest pity fell softly on his emaciated hand, he raised the precious gems of compassion to his lips, sighed deeply, then, looking earnestly in the face of Rosaline, with a smile of doubt and anguish once more sunk down in a state of insensibility, unable to bear the weight of his own agitated and contending feelings. The attendant, who had strictly observed the whole of this extraordinary scene, now approached to assist in recovering his master. Edwin hastened to his sister's apartment to procure proper restoratives. They were applied with their usual success, and the change they produced gave new life and spirits to all around, particularly Rosaline, who concluded they arrived merely to witness his dying moments, and to hear him breathe his last sigh. She was still supporting his languid head on her knee, his hand rested on her arm, his eyes were fixed upon her face, his lips moved, and the words kind, consoling angel, were all they could understand. What can this mean, said Edwin? Who is your master? Who brought him here, and of what crime has he been guilty that he is sentenced to such a place as this? I am bound, replied the servant, by the most solemn oath to silence and secrecy. By complying with these conditions, I obtained leave to attend him. Were I at liberty to speak, I could a tale unfold would tempt you to curse the world, and even detest those claims which bind man to man. You would be ready to forego the ties of nature and shun society. Time will. It must develop the whole of this mystery. But my father, said Edwin, your father, sir, like my dear unhappy master, is blameless and innocent. He has been deceived like many others. But why, cried Rosaline, are you thus shut out from the world and banished society? Why, if innocent, is not this poor sufferer placed in a situation more likely to restore him to health? Why thus cruelly deprive not only of liberty, light, and air, but of every other necessary comfort? A higher power has willed it should be so, said the stranger, whose unreserved manner superior language, honest and open countenance, found an instant passport to their hearts, confirmed their belief, and banished every suspicious doubt of his sincerity. Are you involved in the crimes of which this gentleman is suspected? inquired Madeline. No, madam. My only crime is my attachment to him. I am here by my own voluntary choice, and where they took convey him a thousand fathoms deeper in the earth, I would not, unless I were compelled, ever leave him till his noble and guiltless soul was summoned to appear before a more just and merciful tribunal than he has found on earth. A thousand blessings on you, cried Rosaline, a tear trembling in each expressive eye, for showing this care and godlike compassion to one so helpless and oppressed. Brother, surely we may, without deserving reproach, unite our endeavours with those of this friendly stranger, to soften the pangs of misery and death, be they inflicted, by whom they may. You ought to do so, cried the lovely Madeline, whose gentle spirit was awakened into action by the scene before her. As fellow creatures and the children of the same almighty parent, it is our duty to assist each other, but we should do more, not remain coldly indifferent to sufferings which, if we cannot entirely remove, we may in some measure alleviate. And we will do so, cried the generous and animated Edmund. You too, my honest fellow, turning to the servant, shall share our kind offices. You deserve the thanks of every good Christian. And to be immortalized for your faithful attachment to one so helpless and unable to reward you. But how is this? Observing the invalid had sunk into a gentle and quiet sleep, like the peaceful slumber of an infant. This has been the case for some weeks. His spirit's depressed by the corroding anguish which preys upon his mind, his body has become a victim to the conflict, and the soul of my master will soon, by quitting this earthly tenement, escape the farther persecution of his enemies. Much, much as I love him, I should rejoice at his release. The words trembled on his tongue, and the tear of manly compassion rolled down his cheek. Has he no one to attend him? said Rosalind, looking at him with eyes that beamed with all the heavenly animation which at that moment throbbed around her heart. Has he no advice? Only such as I can give him, madam, poor and ignorant as I am. He has never been allowed any other physician or better tutor than myself. But I trust if the Almighty would again restore him to health, he would now meet with those who would assist in performing a task for which I was never calculated. Has he no bed to sleep on? cried Rosalind, gently removing his languid head upon a cushion that laid on the couch, without awakening him. There is one in the inner apartment, but this being the most comfortable in airy room, he will not leave it. I will fetch some pillows. She did so. They were instantly placed under his head. Still he slept, as if he were never to awake again. In the morning, said Rosalind, at the foot of the stairs, which you will find by turning to the left at the end of this passage, I will leave some few trifles and comfortable cordials which I hope will be of service. And tomorrow night, at about this time, you may expect us again, said Edwin. I hope your master will then have shaken off this death-like slumber, and be able to converse with us. Perhaps he may, replied Albert, the name of this faithful servant. But he never talks much. I had taught him to read, but they took away our books, and since that time I am afraid he has lost the remembrance of the little knowledge he had of reading. He has lately learned to play a few simple tunes on the lute. That sometimes amuses him. We will bring you some books, said Rosalind. And surely, Edwin, you and I can assist Albert in the delightful task of restoring by friendship what has been lost by cruelty. Albert informed them they were regularly served with their meals, but never saw the person who brought them. All intercourse with anyone being forbidden to prevent the possibility of discovery or escape. But, he said, they had better food and more indulgences than had been allowed them in their former prison, which consisted of only one room. The party now retired with the utmost caution, lest they should disturb the apparently peaceful slumbers of the prisoner, and deprive him of his only refuge from misery. Before they parted, Rosalind and her brother, actuated by the same generous feelings in behalf of this unfortunate young man, and his equally unfortunate companion, satisfied, should there be found anything in their conduct to condemn, which they could not bring themselves to think, in their present situation, there was much to pity. Resolved to unite in their endeavors of relieving their miseries, and softening the rigors of a confinement of which they knew not the cause. But they were told the object who had most excited their compassion was innocent, and therefore they determined to think him so till his own conduct, or an explanation from any other quarter, proved him otherwise. It is true they had nothing on which to found their belief but the word of a stranger, and him they found in the humble capacity of a servant. But though a stranger, he had by his simple, modest, and unaffected language, given ample proofs, in their opinion, of his sincerity. They now left the cells, and retired instantly to bed, dreamed of the prisoner, and sometimes imagined they could distinguish his groans. In fact, they thought and talked of him, and him only. Early in the morning Rosaline carried every little nice city she could procure, and left them at the foot of the stairs. Then hurried back to her room not daring to stop and make inquiries, lest the person who supplied the object of her pity with his daily food should discover and betray her benevolent designs. Madeline was now making a rapid progress in her recovery, and was every hour in fear of receiving a summons from the Abbas to return to the nunnery. Edwin participated in all her fears, and lamented in the language of tender affection, the cruel necessity which compelled her to leave the castle, protesting neither walls nor vows should long divide them, and swearing to release her from a situation which, though sanctioned by religion, only bigotry superstition and priestcraft could justify, which he knew would not only destroy all his prospects of happiness, but as he could not disbelieve the fascinating hopes he had not absolutely been forbidden to cherish, the happiness also of a beloved object dearer to him than life, without whom fortune, honor, prosperity, and youth would be robbed of all their value. The next day accompanied by Bertrand, Edwin stole by another entrance into the lower recesses of the castle, not mentioning a word of the prisoner, and carefully avoiding that quarter in which he was confined. They first explored the subterraneous passage leading to the nunnery, and found fewer impediments in their way than they expected. They easily gained an entrance into the chapel, having fixed upon an hour when they knew all the fathers and nuns would be engaged in their cells. They found the opening under the organ, and in that part of the chapel appropriated to the use of the nuns, the door being concealed from observation by a very curious tomb belonging to the ancient family of Digi. They entered next the passage leading to Medingham Castle, and determined to see the whole of it. Here they met with many difficulties. In some places huge stones had fallen from the walls. In others the archway was so low they were almost obliged to crawl, while toads, snakes, and various kinds of reptiles impeded their progress. When at length they reached the end of this wonderful labyrinth, the production of labor and art, they found themselves close to the Balingam of Medingham Castle, and under a strong macchiolated and embattled gate. They now discovered another short passage which was terminated by a door that opened to the outer ballyam, and through which the cavalry could sally in any case of emergency. They ventured cautiously to look around them. Edwin's mind, however, was chiefly occupied by one dear object, and he secretly rejoiced at having found the means of escaping with Madeline, should the obstinacy of her parents, or the ambition of his own, leave him no other resource. He, likewise in the course of the day, but unaccompanied by any one, opened the door on the staircase leading to the south tower. He felt a kind of repugnance at taking this step, but determined, as matters were now circumstance, to go through the whole of this unpleasant business at once that nothing might be left to conjecture. He also recollected that it would not only put an end to that restless curiosity which had long dwelt upon his mind, but enable him to judge whether it would be possible to remove the dying prisoner into a more airy and convenient room without the hazard of discovery. This wing of the castle he knew was totally unoccupied, as in his boyish days he had frequently and at all times gone that way to the ramparts to lodge his playthings in a secret apartment in one of the highest towers, and never in his peregrination had met with a human being. On attempting first to open the door, he was a good deal startled at the noise it occasioned, and was almost buried beneath the heap of cobwebs and dirt which fell and enveloped him in a cloud of dust. Some birds, too, that had here found a sage asylum, flew in terror around him. Not willing to disturb them more than was necessary, he unfastened a narrow casement to give those opportunity of escaping who wished to obtain their liberty. He then stole softly and cautiously across the room to an opposite door, which opened without any difficulty, and he entered a second apartment, much larger and more commodious than the first. It was hung with ancient tapestry on which thyme and moth had made many depredations, but in some parts of it the full-length figures remained perfect, and the colors retained some of their beautiful shades. He soon discovered that it represented the most striking and interesting scenes in the well-known history of Hero and Leander, from his first seeing her in the Temple of Venus at Seftos in Thrace till the last closing scene of their unfortunate loves. The figures of the lovers were fine and in excellent preservation, and the tapestry was of so superior a kind that it gave as full force and expression to the faces in drapery as the finest painting could have conveyed. The Temple, the Palace, the Turret, and the Hellespont, upon whose waves the rising and setting sun were alternately reflected, with the downy swan in snowy dignity which was seen laving on its bosom, were admirably depicted. The nurse or attendant of the faithful hero stood at full length on the edge of the water, which gently undulated near the walls of the Palace, pointing to the waves and as if in the act of telling her fond impatient mistress her lover was coming, while she, with modest sweetness, seemed fearful of stealing a look at the element which contained a treasure-dearer to her soul than the whole of her ambitious father's dominions. In another part he saw the lifeless body of Leander and the despairing hero in the act of throwing herself into the Hellespont, which had unfortunately proved the grave of her lover. Edwin stood a long time silently admiring this pathetic tale. It had an instantaneous effect upon his feelings. It served to remind him of the difficulties he should have to encounter in his attachment to Madeleine, and he could have kissed the senseless portrait of the old Egyptian woman for her kind and faithful attentions to the persecuted lovers. In the middle of the rooms stood a square table on which were carelessly spread a number of papers. Four massy silver candlesticks were likewise placed upon it, each of which contained a wax candle that had never been lighted, and an old writing to which was annexed a vast many seals laid folded up under them. This, he concluded, was the mystic bond which held in captivity the restless spirit it was supposed to confine, Edwin opened and attempted to read it. In some parts the writing was defaced, and the whole of the language so unintelligible he very soon replaced it in its former situation, imagining that, if the ghost was not to regain its liberty till the bond could be read, it would rest in peace forever and suffer others to do the same. In the chimney stood an antique grate that had once been bright and still showed some of its brilliant features through the rust by which it was enveloped. A few chairs were standing here and there, but they were falling to decay, and then he opened another door which led him into a vaulted chamber in which replaced the tattered remains of a bed that had been handsome and could be repaired. A book of devotion was lying upon it. The windows were high and narrow, admitting but little light, notwithstanding which they were secured by iron bars of immense thickness so strongly that had they been lower it would have been impossible for the arm of the strongest man to remove or shake them. This led him to conclude it was originally designed for the security of prisoners of rank, its distance from the ground precluding any communication with the people on guard, and he shuddered as he recollected how many, like the poor prisoner in the cells, might have lingered away their wretched existence in this very apartment in the hopeless expectation of meeting with a release. He next carefully searched in every part of the room to discover if there was not a more secret entrance, but found none. He put the key into his pocket as he had before done of that trapped door, and in the morning, unobserved by Bertrand, had the precaution not to lock the door of the subterraneous passage, leaving it well secured by the bolts and bars which were on the inside. He now hastened to replace all the rest of the keys in the repository from once he had taken them, and was satisfied those he retained in his own possession would not be missed by his father or anyone else. After this he returned to join the family, and said not a word of what he had seen, nor the plans which floated in his own mind in consequence of the morning peregrinations he had taken. End of Chapter 5. Recording by Patty Cunningham. Volume 1, Chapter 6 of Bungay Castle by Elizabeth Bonhote. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Patty Cunningham. In the course of the day, Rosaline asked a thousand questions, with a parent indifference, of declivering, including the nature of consumptive cases, their symptoms, progress, et cetera, and how people ought to manage themselves in regard to diet, who were confined in damp regions of a dungeon, or are mirrored in the narrow precincts of a prison. To all which she received such plain, direct, and experienced dancers as she cherished hopes would enable her with the approbation of heaven, to be the humble means of restoring to health or a more promising degree of convalescence. The interesting object whose secret sufferings have stimulated her to make these unusual inquiries, and what gave new life and added energy to her benevolent hopes, was the arrival of a letter from Sir Philip to Lady de Morny, in which he was reluctantly obliged to inform her that his stay in London was unfortunately prolonged, and he was sorry to find his absence from the castle was likely to be protracted a considerable length of time from the slow progress of the law and the difficulties thrown in the way by his opponents. This account would have given her pain a few days before. It was now a source of pleasure, which produced the most sanguine expectations of preserving, under providence, the life of a fellow creature, or at least, of rendering its closing scene less hopeless and more comfortable. A sensibility like that which was lodged in the bosom of the artless and innocent Rosaline, I would wish all my sex to possess. So far from tempting her to run from misery, it led her in search of it, and when found, it awakened every gentle passion of the mind into immediate and resolute action, while the fictitious feeling, the affected sensibility of a modern miss, is confined to kicking, fainting, or squalling at sight of a wretched object, and the little they may really have will evaporate in the trouble of acting their part so as to impose on the minds of others an unjust sense of their own delicate and extreme compassion. How much might men as well as women add to the dignity of nature by never tempting to destroy her? In the formation of man God lent his own image. How would it astonish? How would it excite the indignation of the most unenlightened savage, if he met with any one so foolish as to suppose they could improve that image by the ridiculous distortions and grimaces of affectation? And how would he be diverted? How could he see the devoted slaves of fashion, so disguised the human form, that the head is frequently increased to twice its original size, the waist sometimes dwindled to a span, at others entirely lost, then again restored with such protuberances as even to render the character suspected? And at times our modern bows and bells are seen so completely in masquerade, that it is a matter of some difficulty to distinguish one sex from the other, a circumstance that might be attended with ludicrous, if not dangerous, consequences. As the spirits of Lady DeMorney were much depressed by the receipt of Sir Philip's letter, everyone exerted themselves to amuse her. They sung, they danced, and the tail went merrily round. De Willows and De Clavering appeared unusually animated, and Hugh Camelford feared the worse for their exertions. They roused the fiery blood of the brave Cambrian, and then cooled it again by a well-turned compliment. They likewise so powerfully assailed Elwyn to give a dinner he had long promised them, that the following day was fixed for the treat, and his apartments were prepared for the ladies, the gentlemen with one voice agreeing not to go without them. They also entered into a Confederacy to drink till they had emptied the miser's last bottle, determining to have one good frolic, as they despaired of ever obtaining a second at his expense. Madeleine received a few lines from Agnes De Clifford to inform her that by what she could learn from one of the old nuns, the Abbas expected her return to the nunnery the following week, as Father Anne Selm had signified his disapprobation of her longer absence. This gave great concern to the young people, which did not pass unobserved by Lady de Mourney, who gently blamed them, adding, as they had been so long indulged with the company of their friend, they ought to submit to the will of the father without repining or reluctance. After a day which appeared to Rosaline the longest she had ever lived, the hour arrived in which they were to revisit the dark abode of misery and oppression. They found Albert impatiently waiting for them in the passage near the foot of the stairs, almost despairing of their return. Everyone carried something for the use and gratification of the prisoner. Edwin was loaded with books. Madeleine, with sweet meats, wine, and cakes. Rosaline was some white meats and soup. She had likewise prepared a reviving mixture from a recipe of declavorings extracted from a variety of healing herbs admirably calculated to restore health and spirits to the fragile frame of the language sufferer. Albert informed them that his master considered the whole of what had passed the preceding evening as a dream. He had repeatedly mentioned the good and consoling angels who had condescended to visit the couch of a wretch who, almost from his birth, had been an outcast from society. And notwithstanding he assured him he would see them again, he could obtain no credit to his assertion. Not divert his mind from the idea that it was a warning from heaven merely to prepare him for a summons before its awful tribunal. "'Hasten, my good friend,' said Rosaline, and undeceive him by letting him know we will wait here to convince him, if he will receive us, that we are mere mortals like himself. Albert did not stop for a second command to execute a commission he eagerly wished. They followed him. The little dog ran out and greeted their arrival with every testimony of joy it was in its nature to express, and they were requested to walk in the moment they reached the door of the apartment. They were not only surprised, but highly gratified at observing the visible change for the better which a few hours had made in the countenance of their new friend, whose dependence on their good offices for many of the necessary comforts of life and total seclusion from the world made very forcible claims on their hearts. He arose on their entrance. Edwin flew to embrace him. Madeline held out her hand, which he gently pressed between his, but observing that Rosaline's was likewise extended, he dropped the hand of her friend and eagerly caught hers as if he were afraid it should be rested from him. I would feign tell you what I feel at this moment, said he, faintly and fearfully, but I do not know a language to make myself understood. This I know, that yesterday I wished to die and be forgotten even by Albert. But now I think, if I could have you always with me, stealing a look at Rosaline, hear you talk and see you smile, I could be content to live for ever, even in this sad place. If all other women are like you, how charming must be the world in which Albert says there are a vast many. I have often told him, and he knows why, that I never should like a woman. Here he smiled expressively on Albert. I thought they were all very cruel and very ugly creatures. Therefore I concluded, when I first saw you, that you were angels, or kind and celestial spirits who came down from heaven to receive my soul and carry it to a place of rest. Indeed my good sir, said Rosaline, you were never more mistaken. We are like the generality of our sex, but much inferior to many. We broke in upon you unexpectedly, and you judged merely from feelings too highly raised which originated from surprise, and were in part confirmed by the effect they had on the susceptibility of your nature and the seclusion of your situation. I must now entreat you to take a few spoonfuls of a mixture I have brought you. I am afraid it is not very pleasant to the taste, but I hope and trust it will be conducive to your recovery. She poured some into a teacup and presented it to him. He drank it immediately. Then they produced the more grateful treat they had brought with them. He ate a little cake and some sweet meats with an avidity and greediness that shocked them. Said they were very fine, and much better than the liquor. Edwin next gave him some books which he opened with eagerness, seemed vastly delighted with the Prince, but shook his head on finding himself unable to read their contents. He turned over a few of the leaves and seemed a good deal chagrined. Edwin explained their titles and gave him a few outlines of the works. Albert can read them, said he. I hope you will soon be able to read them yourself, replied Edwin. We will join with Albert in instructing you. Ah! cried he, shaking his head. You will soon grow weary of one so ignorant, so dull as I am. His eye glanced at Rosaline. I belong to no one. I have no friend but poor Albert. He will not leave me to die alone in such a place as this. My dear sir, said Albert, talk not of dying the very first hour you were beginning to live. I yet trust we shall see many happy years. He looked melancholy, whispered something they could not perfectly understand, and appeared wholly lost in his own painful reflections. Edwin again addressed him. At hearing his voice he started, and gazed on him with a wild and vacant stare as if he had never seen him before, looked at his dress, then at his own. Seems struck by the contrast, and a faint smile came over his features, but it was the smile of internal sadness. It will not be thought superfluous, perhaps, if we stop a few moments in order to describe, as well as we are able, the face, the person, and the dress of this unfortunate young man. His complexion, from never having been exposed to either heir or son, was whiter and more delicate than that of Madeleine. His large blue eyes were shaded by deeply fringed eyelashes, and arched with eyebrows which the nicest pencil of the painter could not have improved. His face was oval, his nose aquiline, and his mouth so exquisitely formed as to give grace an expression to all the other features. He was much thinner, but some inches taller than Edwin. Yet the whole of his appearance showed that confinement and ill health had stolen, in their thievish and destroying progress, many of the natural graces from his face and person. His hair waved in careless ringlet over his forehead, and hung down some length on his shoulders. He was still wrapped in a loose morning gown, wore slippers, and his linen was of the finest texture. With some difficulty, but not without the assistance of Albert, they drew him by degrees into something like conversation, but he did not appear perfectly to understand all they said, and when they mentioned the days beginning to lengthen, the increasing and reviving influence of the sun, the beauty of the moon and stars, he sighed, wished he could see and admire them as other men did, and inquired if they thought any but himself and Albert were denied so many of the blessings which he had been told God had given for the use and benefit of all his creatures. Edwin replied, painful as it was to recollect, he had no doubt but at that moment thousands of the fellow mortals sustained even greater hardships and deprivations than himself. Must you and these sweet creatures ever do the same? He hoped not, but fortune was so fickle in the favors she bestowed, and everything so uncertain, it was impossible to tell what might or might not happen in the course of a few years. It is surely very strange, said the prisoner, and I think those people whose hard hearts and hands contrived and made prisons are the most proper, indeed the only persons who should be forced to inhabit them. This observation produced a general smile which they hoped would pass unnoticed, but it did not escape him, and he said, while a faint color flushed his cheek, he knew he was very ignorant, but he begged they would not despise him for so great a misfortune. After this he only ventured to ask a few questions, but at the moment of doing so seemed to shrink into himself, and to be astonished at his own temerity. This shyness and reserve they trusted would wear off as he became familiarized to their visits in conversation. They therefore took no notice of his absence or timidity, but endeavored by every attention to draw him from his own painful and humiliated reflections, and by a few well-timed praises strove to give himself confidence. After staying as long as time and the nature of their visit would permit, and giving proper directions to Albert in regard to the medicines and nourishing restoratives they had brought with them, they reluctantly arose to depart. Observing their design he held his hands before his eyes to prevent his seeing them go, and exclaimed, Don't, don't leave me, I cannot bear it, I never, never shall see you again, you will forget me, you will leave me forever. His extreme agitation alarmed and affected them all. They knew not how to go, and yet to stay longer might risk a discovery. Speak, Rosaline, said Edwin, and if possible quiet these distressing apprehensions. Rosaline, as soon as she could sufficiently command the tone of her voice, took hold of his trembling hand, which was cold as death, and gently entreated him to hear her with composure. He looked at her with passive acquiescence, and she proceeded to assure him that it was their united and determined intention to repeat their visits as often as their own and his situation would permit. But that, for his sake particularly, they were under the necessity of acting with caution, and carefully guarding against the possibility of a discovery. If he were so much affected when they left him, they must visit him less frequently than they wished. Ah, no, no, do not think of me or what I may feel, that is of no consequence. Only say you will come again and again. On my honor we will, and continue to do so while you remain an involuntary resident in this castle. I am satisfied, said he, sighing inwardly as he spoke, then fixing his eyes on Rosaline. If you would come every day, talk to me, and look at me thus gently, if you would continue to pity my weakness and pardon my ignorance, I should not think this a prison but a paradise, and could be content to end my useless days in this dungeon. This pathetic address Rosaline could not acquire sufficient resolution to answer, and while her heart felt intolerably oppressed, the silent tears which stole softly down her cheek explained the nature of her feelings. Madeline, finding the scene was become too painful, rose and bade him good night. Rosaline gently withdrew the hand which for some moments had been clasped in his, and Edwin, seeing the necessity of immediately retiring, tenderly bade him farewell. Finding they were resolute to depart, he dropped on his knees by the couch and concealed his face in the pillow. They insisted on Albert's not leaving his master, and hurried back to their own apartment in a state of mind difficult to be described. Carrying with them a variety of feelings, which though new and painful, they wished should be retained in their remembrance. As it was now two hours beyond their usual time of going to bed, the great clock having struck the awful hour of twelve, Edwin, without stopping to make any comments on the scene that had so recently occurred, instantly took his leave. Madeline put on her night-clothes, and after talking a few minutes, sunk into the leaden arms of sleep. Not so her friend, sleep deserted her pillow. In vain she sought and wished for its approach to obliterate new and uncomfortable sensations. It was extremely odd that the image of the prisoner haunted her imagination with such persevering obstinacy that, notwithstanding she closed her eyes, she could not exclude him from her mental sight, and what was still more strange and unaccountable, though she saw he was less polished than those with whom she was accustomed to associate, without education, and entirely ignorant of the world, a prisoner for she knew not what, yet still she thought and was extremely angry with herself for so doing that he was the handsomest man and had the most prepossessing and elegant form she had ever seen. His manners, too, could anything be more captivating than the manners of this uninformed son of nature, whom cruelty and unjustice had amured in the dungeons of her father's castle. A few hours sleep might, and she trusted would, restore her to a more just and rational way of thinking. If not, he who caused her judgment to mislead her would perhaps be the means of its returning to its proper function. We will now therefore leave her to try an experiment which has often produced as powerful an effect, and stealing the mind by a temporary oblivion from the objects of its sudden partiality has likewise stolen by the dawn of the succeeding morning all recollection of woes which in a moment of unguarded susceptibility had found a passage to the heart. Whether it had this convenient, so horrific, and benumbing property on the mind of Rosaline we are not now at liberty to declare. But if it should not we hope some of our readers will make allowance for the unfashionable taste of a young lady who lived so many ages before themselves, who was unhackneyed in the devious paths of life with a mind unvitiated by pride or the pangs of envy and who had seen little or nothing of the world beyond the precincts of the castle she inhabited. The next day everyone prepared with high glee for Elwin's promise treat and puzzled themselves with various conjectures as to what kind of feast the miser would set before them. Bertha and Hugh Camelford were very busy after something which those who saw them concluded would be productive of myth or mischief, no two dispositions being more likely to succeed in a cause for which their humorous talents were calculated. While poor Elwin, in secret but unavailing regret, lamented too late his yielding folly in having been prevailed on to comply with what he termed a very foolish and unreasonable request, vis for so many people to dine at his expense. But this he wisely kept to himself well knowing if the party understood his sentiments it would expose him to their whole artillery of wit and ridicule. He therefore made all the preparations for an excellent dinner, but his caution, busy looks, anxiety and distress promised a much higher entertainment than his repast could afford. The company assembled at the proper time and were seated in due form and order, Lady de Morny at the head and Elwin at the bottom of the table. When having helped most of the party, Camelford requested him to send him a slice of a large raised pie which made a distinguished figure. Bertha cried out with well-affected terror. Don't touch it. I am sure it is enchanted. I saw the crust move. Child, cried Lady de Morny, what do you mean? What I say, madam, for indeed it was lifted up. Take care what you are a pout, Elwin, said Camelford, or pie-god, you may cut off the head of a conjurer who has jumped into the pie in honor of your feast. Suppose we let de Clavering dissect him, said de Willows. He is undoubtedly the best hand at cutting up his own species. De Clavering, who suspected some joke, cautiously raised up one side of the crust, when, to the astonishment of the party, out jumped a squirrel. Happy in having regained its liberty, it sprang across the table and immediately made its way into Edeliza's pocket, where it was accustomed to fun for shelter. She was shocked at the danger from which her favorite had escaped, caressed the little stranger, and rejoiced at seeing it unhurt. Everyone was surprised and alarmed at the unexpected appearance of poor pug, while the terror of the master of the ceremonies was somewhat increased, when he saw a dish of blanc-mange, which one of the ladies was beginning to help, fall, and a variety of the most beautiful shapes dissolve into water. This produced a general and hearty laugh. Find deceptions, these, said Camelford. I suppose we shall find in the rest of the pie's life cats and talks, then see little Perse turned into a pillar of salt. As to pug, he declared by cot, Tafie Jones and the Typhil. He never saw a coat run swifter on his beloved Welch mountains, and he would bet five hundred kinnies he would not be peat if put in potly fear. The dishes were removed, and those originally ordered, now brought on to fill their places, which, if not altogether productive of so much mirth, served to gratify a more craving and importunate sense. Elwyn, however, was highly provoked and mortified at the tricks which had been played on him, and swore, if he could discover the perpetrator, he would insist on an apology or compel him to take a little cold iron. That, said Declaboring, would be rendering your hospitality to profuse. It would not only produce matter for conversation, but in all probability furnish me with a job that might puzzle or improve me in the art of surgery. And as nature has entailed so many diseases on us poor mortals, me thinks no reasonable man would wish to increase them. But were it not for the unreasonable, said Dewillows, you gentlemen of the Lancet and Gallipot, would not find sufficient opportunities to employ your genius and give such proof of your surgical skill and abilities. Oh, my poor potty, said Hugh Hamilford. I hope their abilities never will be tried. Petter to eat squirrels as Elwyn would have tempted us to do, than be cutting up one another for pies and pasties. Dehuntingfield, unfortunately, whispered to Rosaline that he never saw her so unusually serious. Adding, he supposed she was thinking of matrimony, and advised her to begin her attacks against Elwyn, while the generous and hospitable fit was upon him. For, if she permitted it to evaporate, Plutus, in all probability, would again render every avenue to his heart inaccessible to the power of love. This remark brought the roses to her cheeks. She, however, denied having formed any design on one whose predominant passion set every other at defiance, and declared herself perfectly guiltless of all such hostile intentions. The hint, however, was sufficient to put her up on her guard, and she exerted herself to prevent any further observations of the like sort. Madeline now satisfied that the heart of Edwin was as much the slave of the tender passion as her own, and, beat responsive to her every wish, would have relished the cheerful scene, had she not, in the very moment of enjoyment, recollected it was the last time, for perhaps a long, long tiresome period, that she should make one of the happy party. Edwin, who guessed the nature of her feelings, sympathized too much with her to be more at ease. Declavoring, who observed them both, gave a humorous dissertation on the powers of sympathy, and executed its effects. The day, however, passed pleasantly, and the evening concluded with a dance, in which the lively Bertha was permitted to join, and had her favorite Hugh Camelford for a partner. Edwin withdrew with the ladies at an early hour. The rest of the gentleman returned with Elwin to his apartment, much against his inclination, and did not leave him till they had literally fulfilled their agreement of emptying the miser's last bottle. Then, consigning him to the care of his servant, with difficulty, found their way to their own rooms. Neither Edwin nor his sister, however, had forgotten their unfortunate friends. The former had stolen an opportunity of conveying a few nice things to the dungeon, had delivered them to Albert, and spent half an hour with his master, promising to renew his visit in the evening accompanied by the ladies. This threw a gleam of joy over the countenance of the prisoner, who assured him he would not again distress them by showing so much reluctance at parting. Albert was pressed by Edwin to enforce the necessity of his master's endeavoring to recover all that he had lost of his reading, and by that means acquire a proper and useful knowledge of the customs and manners of the world, which would be absolutely essential to the rendering it pleasant, should he ever obtain his freedom, and become an active member of society. I shall find but little trouble, sir, replied this excellent servant, in doing that which my poor master has himself been so anxious to accomplish ever since he saw you and the sweet ladies who have made our situation in comparison comfortable. Nature had kindly done much for him. Education, scarcely anything. Now I foresee all will be right. He is roused from his lethargy of desponding misery, and laments his own ignorance in language that show him truly sensible of it. He has insisted on being better dressed against the evening, and the book has not been five minutes out of his hand since you left him. I will give you all the assistance in my power, said Edwin, and fortunately at this time my father's absence renders the design less hazardous. I have likewise another plan in my head, which I hope will not only greatly contribute to his comfort, but do much towards the more perfect re-establishment of his health, which I now begin to think is not quite in the hopeless state the alarming situation in which I first saw him led me to imagine. Edwin next inquired of Albert how his master's wardrobe was furnished. I recollect, said he, you mentioned his desire of changing his dress. I can supply him with anything he wants. In that respect, sir, my master has no occasion to tax your bounty. Toys and fine clothes were never denied, and for a long time they had their influence and served to amuse him. Good God! said Edwin, that this mystery could be explained. Albert shook his head, and immediately withdrew. In the evening Edwin, his sister, and Madeline visited the prisoner. But if they were surprised before at the happy alterations a few hours had produced in his looks, how much more so were they now at observing the still greater progress in the improvement both of his health and spirits? He was dressed in the most fashionable style of the times, with an elegance and neatness that astonished them. Every part of his dress was such as was only worn by persons of the highest rank. His clothes richly trimmed, his stockings silk, and his shoes fastened with gold clasps. At the approach of Rosaline and her friend, his eyes sparkled with delight. In fact, he appeared like one raised from the grave by a miracle, new-fashioned and created. It was visible to all the party that his chief attention was directed to Rosaline. He watched her every look, and the language of his artless soul was easily read in every expressive and animated feature. They were now tolerably cheerful, his fear, reserve, and timidity began gradually to wear off. He even ventured to address a question to Madeline, and to gaze with tender earnestness on her friend. Edwin, with an arch smile, reminded them it would be time to retire, when Rosaline had given proper directions respecting her patient from whose rapid recovery he foretold she would reap such honors as would firmly establish her reputation as the first female physician in the world. And as to the best the most gentle of her sex added the prisoner, blushing deeply as he ventured to express his gratitude, I owe her more than life, more than a truce with your thanks my good friend cried Rosaline, now blushing in her turn, and prove you value your endeavors to render you more comfortable by taking the utmost care of yourself and by not permitting your mind to swell on any circumstance likely to agitate and distress you. He promised to be directed by his friends and to follow strictly all their injunctions. Again they could not prevail on themselves to leave him till the night was pretty far advanced. On receiving a promise from Edwin to visit him again the next morning, and one from the ladies to be with him in the evening, he saw them depart without any violent agitation. Yet a visible gloom and reluctance pervaded his features, not to be concealed by one who never had formed an idea that it was either necessary or possible to disguise the feelings or disavow the sentiments of the heart. Happy state of unspotted, unsuspecting integrity, when no pangs of guilt harass and corrode the mind with unceasing anguish, we can scarcely prevail upon ourselves, when we recollect its incorruptible advantages, to think such an enviable portion of internal peace, dearly purchased even with a loss of liberty. For amidst all his sufferings, our hapless prisoner could not recall an action that hung heavy on his mind, or that awakened the scorpion sting of a reproaching conscience. His life might justly be compared to the spotless pages of a book whose leaves no blot had yet defiled, but which remained properly prepared to receive the fairest and most lasting impressions. The expected summons for Madeline's return to the nunnery arrived. However reluctant to obey so unwelcome a mandate, she was obliged to comply. The parting between the lovers was attended with many uncomfortable and unpleasant feelings. Melancholy presentments were encouraged, which increased the distresses of the moment. She could not leave the prisoner without shedding many tears. She even envied his situation, and when she compared it with her own, it did not appear so hopeless and solitary. He still retained one faithful friend, and had lately met with others, who if not so long known, were equally attached to him. He would likewise see Edwin every day, while she, a muirred in the horde of all of a nunnery, as inimical to her felicity as those by which he was surrounded had till then proved to his, would be denied even the soothing influence of hope. That ignisphatis of the mind had deserted its post, and left it open to the sad encroachments of fruitless and unavailing regret. Most severely did she now condemn herself for ever having quitted the holy asylum, in which, if she had not found happiness, she had never felt such conflicts as those she now endured. Lady Demorne and Rosaline accompanied her to the nunnery, and delivered her up to the maternal care of the Abbas, and the protection of Father Anselm. They both appeared pleased and satisfied with her ready compliance with their commands, and rejoiced to see her look so well. They had suffered great anxiety on her account, and the father, who had visited her frequently during her indisposition, and had cherished but few hopes of her recovery, now told her he trusted she would not more wish to forsake their holy sanctuary. As he doubted not, her illness was a penance inflected by Providence for leaving it at a season so particularly appropriated to the sacred duties of the church. Rosaline, before she left the nunnery, accompanied Madeline to her cell. The Abbas having granted her this indulgence. Here they unobserved, gave way to the sad luxury of tears. They wept on each other's bosom, and the sobbing Madeline, deft to the soothing consolations of her sympathizing friend, requested her to present Edwin with her grateful acknowledgments for his many kind attentions, and which in the moment of parting she was unable to express. She hoped he would not forget her, and begged his sister to assure him that, if she were compelled to take the veil, she should retain his image in her heart, though her life were dedicated to the service of her God. She likewise cautioned Rosaline to beware, and guard against the sly and dangerous intrusions of love which brought with them innumerable sorrows, and never to encourage hopes as she had done, which she feared would end in disappointment and misery. Rosaline knew these hints alluded to the prisoner. The blush which tinged her cheek convinced her friend that she was perfectly understood. Indeed, she had before ventured to tell her that, in her attentions to relieve the miseries she commiserated, she might become too tenderly a sharer in them, and in freeing the captive from his fetters, might herself be enslaved. Rosaline thanked her friend, but denied the caution being necessary, and instantly took her leave in order to put an end to a conversation which now became unpleasant, and gave her more pain than she chose to acknowledge. The evening, as may be supposed, passed slowly and heavily at the castle. Rosaline felt unfeigned regret at the departure of her friend, and Edwin found in her absence the deprivation of happiness. Yet, as it was unavoidable, he determined as much as possible to conceal his distress from the prying eye of suspicion, and to employ every hour he could command in the service of the unfortunate prisoner, to whom he felt himself irresistibly and unaccountably attached. But Edwin, amidst his family at the castle, was not less internally wretched than poor Madeline, counting her beads in her silent and solitary cell. At the usual time Rosaline and her brother revisited the interesting object of her compassion. He expressed such rapture at seeing them, and made so many acknowledgments for their friendship that their minds became insensibly harmonized and their attention engaged. Edwin now for the first time proposed removing his friend from the dungeon to the haunted chamber, which no one dared approach, and which we before mentioned as having an entrance from the south tower. Rosaline obtained permission of her mother to keep possession of the apartment into which she had accompanied Madeline. Therefore they thought his removal could be easily accomplished without any risk of a discovery. It was agreed that Albert should attend the cells in order to take away the provision regularly carried there. All these matters settled. The following evening was appointed for the accomplishment of their purpose. At the same time Edwin cherished the most sanguine hopes that, with the assistance of Albert, and by means of the subterraneous passage, he might sometimes obtain a stolen interview with Madeline. The next night Edwin, his sister and Albert, accompanied the prisoner to his destined apartment. But to describe his gratitude and joy at finding himself in a situation so comfortable and airy would be impossible. Everything was new and delightful, and in the morning when the light, which but dimly enlivened his chamber on his arrival, broke in upon his astonished sight, his raptures were alarming, and his faithful attendant, with the utmost difficulty, prevailed on him to confine them within the bounds of moderation, and cautiously to indulge himself in looking at objects so surprising, but to other people so familiar, that they seldom could spare a moment to contemplate them. When he viewed the sun from one of the windows of his room rising in its utmost splendor, had not Albert prevented him, he had fallen on his knees and worshipped the brilliant luminary. He observed the birds with ecstasy as they lightly skimmed through the boundless regions of the air, and listened with a kind of throbbing agitation as the lark warbled forth her morning orations, and, not till he had shed tears, could he reduce his feelings to any degree of composure. He admired the trees. His eyes rested on some of the distant hills, and he told Albert he did not think the world had been so large and fine a place. He next amused himself with looking round his apartment, and at every little interval gave way to the effusions of genuine transport. Can it be wondered that so helpless a being should feel on experiencing such a change more than mere language could express? Liberated from misery by the benevolence of strangers, a thousand comforts bestowed which he had disparate of ever tasting, his gratitude was as unlimited as his joy, and I am sure all my readers will pardon him for still continuing to think his benefactors more than mortal, yet at times he could recollect, with a sigh of trembling regret, the dangers to which they expose themselves in order to make him happy. Their parents, too, might shut them in a dungeon for their disobedience. These reflections fortunately abated the fervor of his high rot feelings, or in all probability he would have brought on a return of those complaints which had so much interested his young friends on his behalf. In a few hours he became more composed, and endeavored to remark everything around him with serenity. As he was now situated, Edwin and his sister could see him several times a day without inconvenience or danger, and to guard against any surprise they had taken care to lock the door at the foot of the stairs, strongly fastened it within side, and concealed the key that none of the family might wander that way. In the evening a new scene presented itself to the side of the prisoner. The moon and stars were pointed out to him by Edwin. At first he mistook the moon for another sun, less brilliant, but as beautiful. The stars he called little suns and attempted to count their number, and while his eyes were raised in silent rapture to the spangled firmament he inquired why so much more pains had been taken to decorate the heavens for the night when mortals slept, than for the day when all nature was awake to wonder and adore. So delighted was he with the somber beauties of this all astonishing scene, that it was with the utmost difficulty, after Edwin left him, that Albert could prevail upon him to think of retiring to rest. No sooner, however, was he convinced that his faithful attendant had lost in the arms of sleep all remembrance of those scenes which kept him waking, than he softly stole to the window where he remained till the do's of night and the cold blasts of an easterly wind drove him again to his bed. The few necessary articles which had been allowed him in his former abode were now removed to his present one, and such added, as would tend to his comfort and convenience. As his food in the dungeon had been conveyed to him by means of a turning cupboard, his having vacated it could not be known so long as Albert attended at the proper times to receive it. And Edwin, having shown him another secret way, which led from under the stairs in the south tower to his old habitation, he would be able to go as often as he pleased without any danger of being discovered. It was now two months after the prisoner's removal before Sir Philip de Morny was able to fix a time for his return. A letter then arrived, in which he mentioned that by the end of another fortnight he hoped to reach the castle. He informed Lady de Morny that he should bring a friend with him for whom he had the highest regard, and he trusted she would make such necessary preparations for his reception as would serve not only to prove the sincerity of his attachment, but the high respect and esteem in which he was held by the rest of the family, telling her it was no less a personage than Baron Fitz Osborne, whose friendship had done him much honour, and in whose society he found pleasure. Lady de Morny, who perfectly understood by her husband's letter how anxious he was that his friend should be received with the utmost splendour and hospitality, gave such orders as she hoped would please the one and gratify the other. In the meanwhile the prisoner made such rapid improvements as astonished and delighted his useful instructors. He was indefatigable in storing his mind with all the knowledge the best authors could impart. With returning health his memory regained its former power, and all the natural and brilliant faculties of his mind recovered their usual strength, and proved he was endowed with more than common capacity and genius. His elegant form, animated features, the serene, ensnaring gentleness of his manners, and the mild sweetness of his disposition, unfolded themselves by degrees, and endeared him beyond expression to his friends. As a curious and rare plant guarded by the active hand, and watched by the careful eye of the gardener, raises or depresses his hopes at first putting forth its tender blossoms, till a kind and congenial season brings it to maturity, and its beauties suddenly bursting on the site prove an ample reward for his fostering care. So did the heart of Rosaline expand and rejoice at every proof the prisoner gave of the goodness of his disposition, and the superior excellence of his understanding. It was clearly visible to Edwin and to Albert that a mutual passion united the prisoner and Rosaline, while every fleeting hour served more and more to endear them to each other. Edwin, already entangled in the toils of hopeless love, and enduring all the pangs of despair and apprehension, trembled for the fate of a sister for whom he felt an uncommon degree of fraternal affection, but to whom he could not prevail on himself to mention a subject so delicate and distressing. The prisoner may no attempt to conceal his ardent love for Rosaline. It was an effort as far beyond his comprehension as his power, and though he made no formal declaration, every word, look, and action betrayed the situation of his heart. Of the world he was totally ignorant. Of marriage he had not even thought that being a subject on which they had never conversed, and his own situation, desperate and hopeless as it was, now seldom engaged his attention. Rosaline and Rosaline alone engrossed his every idea. While he saw her smile and heard the sound of her voice, he was contented and happy, and when she was absent, the wish of rendering himself more worthy and better able to converse with her stimulated him to pay unremitting attention to his own improvement and the instructions he received. But had he been assured he should see her no more, he would have sunk into the same apathy and indifference for life and its enjoyment from which her kindness had drawn him. After Madeline had left the castle, and before the return of Sir Philip, Edwin, at the utmost risk of discovery, which would have involved him in the object of his regard in danger and difficulties, prevailed upon her to grant him several interviews in the chapel of the nunnery. One night, Albert, having agreed to accompany him through the subterranean passage, the trembling nun met them at their entrance, and seated near the tomb which concealed the door, listened to the vows of her lover. Equally reluctant to part, they sat longer than usual and heard footsteps in the chapel. Madeline rightly concluded it was one of the friars come to say mass for the soul of a nun lately dead. When the ceremony was ended he departed, and, as the door closed after him, the resolution of Madeline revived. She knew if they had been discovered, even the life of Edwin would not be secure, and that she should instantly be compelled to take those vows from which there was no release but death. Her own imprudence and the danger to which her lover was exposed struck so forcibly upon her mind that after he left she could scarcely acquire courage to return to the nunnery. And as she passed the awful and silent receptacles of the dead, she was almost led to think she heard a friendly voice warn her never again to be guilty of so sacrilegious a crime. She glided quickly by the grave of the nun who had been interred but a few days, and even imagined she could perceive the earth-move. She had no sooner reached the cell into which she hurried without daring to look to the right or the left, lest she should see the frowning spirit of some departed sister, than she fell on her knees and earnestly entreated forgiveness of the Holy Virgin. The next morning, far from finding her terrors abate, they feigned still greater ascendancy over her mind by hearing that Father Anselm had been making inquiries about some footsteps he had observed in the chapel when he went to early prayers. Recollecting the unguarded warmth of Edwin's temper and the eager tenderness with which in an hour of yielding softness he prevailed upon her to indulge him with these stolen interviews, she was fearful of acquainting him that it was her determination to grant no more, she wrote to her friend Rosaline and entreated her to persuade her brother not to make any attempts in future to see her in the chapel. But to them she left the power of procuring as many opportunities as possible of meeting without danger. She sincerely lamented, being obliged to deprive herself of the company of a lover to whom she was tenderly attached, and for whose sake she was becoming an unwilling votary in the service of her God. This letter was instantly communicated to Edwin by his sister. He could not at first be easily reconciled to a measure so repugnant to his feelings, but Rosaline added her entreaties to those of Madeleine, and pointing out the necessity of it he became more willing to observe the greatest caution and to practice the most rigid present self-denial in order to secure his future happiness. She reminded him that it was now four months before Madeleine would enter on her year of probation, previous to which something might happen favorable to their wishes, observing that their mother could at any time prevail upon the abyss to grant Madeleine leave for visiting the castle. These arguments had so much effect that Edwin promised his sister to make no farther clandestine's attempts to see her friend till all other means were rendered impracticable. It happened about this time that Rosaline was prevented by a slight indisposition from visiting the prisoner for four or five days. At first his alarm and distress were unspeakable. It was scarcely possible to convince him that it was owing to ill health he did not see her, and his restless impatience would have now betrayed the secret of his heart had it not before been discovered. He neither ate nor slept. All his spirits forsook him. The sun was no longer admired. The moon and stars were deprived of their luster. He wished to shun the light, and had all nature been lost in universal chaos. It had been a matter of indifference now he saw not Rosaline. He wondered what he could have found to admire in any thing with which she was not connected. Albert observed his master was very busy with his pen, and in removing a portfolio from his writing-table, papers containing the following sonnets dropped on the floor. He read and copied them, and gave them to Edwin the next time he saw him. Though they were written by one who had never drank at the Parnassian font, love had given such pathos to the language of taste and nature that he was charmed, and could not prevail on himself to withhold such a treasure from his sister to whom injustice they belonged, and who, like another ephigenia, had in a manner raised a phoenix from the same inanimate materials of which a Simon had been formed. Rosaline, as she read the interesting proofs of genius and affection, which she wanted not to convince her she was sincerely beloved, shrunk from the agitated and trembling feeling of her own heart, which too well informed her he had nothing to fear from not meeting an equal return of regard. Absence has been as painful to her as it had proved to the prisoner, whom love had taught a lesson equally charming and delightful. Sonnets to Rosaline. Sonnet the first. Ah, what to me are birds or flowers? The sun's most radiant light. I pine away the lingering hours and sigh for endless night. Come, Rosaline, sweet maid on Rose's borne. Sweet as thyself, unguarded by a thorn. Sonnet the second. Fair Rosaline, why didst thou chase the gloom which late enveloped my benighted mind? Why didst thou snatch me from a living tomb to sigh my hopeless sorrows to the wind? Why was I caught in love's bewitching snare? Believe it thee gentle, tender, kind, and fair. Now thou art absent. My desponding soul has lost its wanted powers in sad despair. Reason no more my passion can control. Joy flies with thee, and not remains but care. The blessings thou hast given no more have charms, and my wracked mind is torn with wild alarms. With soothing words thou didst my cares beguile, taught me the page of learning to explore, banished despondence with a gentle smile, then left me solitary, sad, and poor. What's thou return, and to my prayer incline? Me thinks the dungeon's gloom would be divine. If I no more thy beauties must behold, death soon will free me from this painful smart. If a proud rival windy by his gold soon will despair and anguish break my heart. But though all cares, all sorrows should be mine, heaven shower its brightest gifts on Rosaline. Sonnet the third. No more for liberty I pine, no more for freedom crave. My heart, dear Rosaline, is thine, thy fond, thy faithful slave. First taught by thee I owned love's power, and yielded to my chain. Psy threw each sad and cheerless hour, yet blessed the pleasing pain. Sweet Rosaline, my heart is thine, it beats alone for thee. In pity to my vows incline, or set the captive free. Like a poor bird in his lone cage I pine and flutter round, sullen and sad and fruitless rage, yet still in fitters bound. RECORDING BY PATTY CUNNINGHAM VOLUME 1. CHAPTER VIII. OF BUNGY CASEL BY ELIZABETH BONHOTE THIS LIBERVOX RECORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. RECORDING BY PATTY CUNNINGHAM THUS STOOD MATTERS AT THE CASEL WHEN Sir Philip Demorney returned, accompanied by his friend, Baron Fitz Osborn, who was highly gratified by the cordial and respectful reception he met with, everyone vying with each other in their endeavors to amuse him. He assumed the most conciliating manners, appeared pleased and good-humored, paid the most flattering attention to the young ladies, and bestowed the warmest incomiums on their beauty and accomplishments. At the same time admiring, or pretending to admire, the mature graces of the mother, who had given to the world a race of women fairer than the first daughters of creation, and, to render the gift complete, had stored their minds with a fund of knowledge that could put philosophy to the blush at its own ignorance. Sir Philip assiduously courted the Baron, seemed to watch his looks, and to make it his whole study to oblige him, thought as he thought, and whatever he recommended, was sure to approve. Lady Demorney, seeing her husband so anxious to please, followed his example, not doubting, but he had good and sufficient reasons for what he did. She requested her children strictly to observe the same conduct, with which request. They all at first readily complied, and exerted themselves to entertain their noble guest. Edwin was honoured with particular marks of his favour and approbation. He promised his best interest to obtain him promotion in the army, when he found that was the profession for which he was designed. The Baron was nearly as old as his friends Sir Philip. In fact they had received the first rudiments of their education at the same school and under the same makers. And though their pursuits were alike, they had been thrown into very different situations, but ever retained a pleased remembrance of their boyish friendship and took every opportunity of keeping it alive and serving each other. The Baron, though large and robust, was neither clumsy nor forbidding in his appearance. His eyes were penetrating, he looked the warrior, and seemed formed to command and be obeyed. He was tall, and had an air of grandeur about him that bespoke the man of fashion. His voice was not unpleasing, but he was rigid and austere with his servants and dependents, and though upon the whole they found him a generous master. As he had nothing conciliating in his manner to them, they took every opportunity of abusing him, for though they durst not venture to speak before him, they made themselves amends when they joined their companions in the kitchen, by giving such traits of his character, as not only shocked them, but made them feel, with redoubled gratitude, the happy difference of their own situation. Rosaline, while she was compelled to treat her father's visitor with attention and respect, felt an invincible disgust whenever he addressed her and attempted to give specimens of his gallantry, which was often the case. But if he took hold of her hand, she shrunk from his touch, as she would from that of a snake, and trembled, she knew not why, if she saw him looking earnestly at her face. Edeliza laughed at and detested him. She slyly compared him with duellos, and wondered how nature could have contrived to form two creatures so different from each other. Bertha wished to pull off his ugly great wig, and to have it stuck upon one of the towers, observing that, if his frightful face were seen from another, no enemy would ever come near them. How were they all struck with sorrow, when they found he was to spend the whole summer at the castle? Rosaline, with more earnestness than usual, questioned her mother as to the truth of this report, but received only an evasive answer, that the length of the barrenstay depended on a circumstance not yet determined. I sincerely hope, my dear madam, whatever it may be, that it will at least prove unfavorable to his continuance here. My father may, and I dare say has, just reasons for esteeming him, though no one but himself can discover them. Everyone else dislikes him, and I shall most truly rejoice when he takes himself away. My dear girl, said Lady Dimorny, consider the barren's rank and the dignity of his character. I do consider them, she replied, as the greatest misfortunes that could happen to any one, unless accompanied with good humor and humility. But I think it particularly hard that other must suffer so many mortifications because the barren is a great man. Again she was requested by her mother, who could scarcely forebear smiling at the seriousness of her manner, to recollect that men of his consequence could not bring themselves to act as if they were upon a level with their inferiors. The more is the pity, said Rosaline. Therefore, my good mother, it would be unnecessary for me to consider anything about the barren's importance, since he thinks so much and so highly of it himself. But I do not see for my part why rank and fortune should tempt their possessors to assume so much on merely accidental advantages, or why people, distinguished as their favorites, should have a greater right to think and act as they please than those less fortunate. We were much happier and more cheerful before he came among us, and my father more indulgent. Your father, said Lady Dimorny, with the utmost earnestness, is, I have no doubt perfectly satisfied that he is acting right, and therefore you, Rosaline, must be blamable in the presuming to call his conduct in question. I insist, as you value his and my favor, that you never again address me on this subject, and let me advise you, if you do wish to be happy, to show no disgust to the barren, but receive his attentions with politeness and good humor. On saying this she withdrew, and left Rosaline struck dumb with surprise, to form what conclusions she pleased. She knew not what to think from this unusually strange and unpleasant conversation, and could not comprehend either her father's or mother's reasons for being so much attached to any one, whatever might be his ranks, who was so little-formed to excite any feelings but those of disgust in the minds of those unfortunate people whom he condescended to associate. She saw and lamented that, since the barren's arrival, neither declivering to Willow's nor Hugh Camelford came without a formal invitation from her father, while the reserve which prevailed in their parties banished all that enlivening conversation that once rendered them so pleasant. Her sisters, too, the dear Edeliza and the sweet Bertha, were kept under so much restraint before this great personage, they seemed almost afraid to speak. Rosaline, to shake off for a time these uncomfortable reflections, stole into the prisoner's room in which she seldom failed to find her brother. There she lost all remembrance of the barren, and in conversing with friends so dear to her heart, progressively recovered that native cheerfulness which was one of the most engaging features of her character. The sonnets which her brother had so recently given her not only served to raise her spirits, but had made an indelible impression on her mind. She smiled with something more than even her usual complacency on this love-taught poet. Of his tenderness and sincerity she could cherish no doubt. His honour and worth it was equally impossible to suspect. No one knew them better. No one estimated them so highly as herself. To suppose he could be less amiable, less deserving of her attachment, would have appeared to her a crime of the most enormous magnitude. Thus did the fond effusions of love throw a veil over the eyes of their artless votary. In order to give a fair colouring and to reconcile her to a conduct which, in another, her prudence would have taught her to condemn. But thus it is with too many erring mortals. When once they become the hoodwink slave of any predominant passion they are not only regardless of the world's opinion, but insensible to the secret admonitions of that silent monitor which they carry in their bosom. Rosaline at first acted merely from the generous impulse of pity and universal benevolence, but in so doing she admitted a guest to dispute with them a place in her breast, which neither time, reason nor prudence, could vanish thence. Our artless heroine was unfortunately the darling child of sensibility, and her mind so susceptible of the miseries and misfortunes of others that from the moment she discovered them they became her own. What then must be the poignancy of her feelings when she reflected on the dependent, helpless, and unprovided state of a lover dearer to her than life, who dared not disclose even his name, whose blameless conduct proved to her partial judgment that he suffered unjustly, and whose virtues could alone reconcile her to herself for having risked so much on his account, and entrusted her heart to the keeping of one whose situation precluded hope, who had declared he belonged to no one, a prisoner, a stranger without fortune or friends, yet think as she would these cruel circumstances after the strictest investigation acted as a talisman in favor of her lover. The life which she fancied under providence she had been the humble means of preserving, she concluded it was now her duty to render happy. Therefore, to deprive it of its value by affecting an indifference she did not feel was as far from her power as her inclination. Yet there were moments when she recollected, with the severest anguish, how much her brother as well as herself was acting in opposition to the designs and will of her parent. To deceive such parents was a thought which, in her most impassioned moments, she could not dwell upon. But love and sensibility had woven their web so close around her heart that she struggled in vain to disentangle herself from the bewitching snare. Sensibility, I have long thought, nine times out of ten, proves a source of misery to the generous and benevolent, and as often is merely the boast of the ignorant, who pretend to be overstucked with the milk of human kindness, and whose feelings are equally excited by the death of a husband or a lap dog. I am satisfied there is no blessing more earnestly to be wished for than a calm and composed resignation to the events of this life and all its complicated concerns. It appears rather in Irishism that to be happy we must become indifferent, but so it is. Real sensibility is of all burdens the heaviest to bear. Long experience and careful observation have convinced me too painfully of this truth. A thousand and a thousand times I have shed torrents of tears and felt the most tormenting anxiety for those who would have seen me with the most stoical apathy begging through the street for bread. The pleasures attending high-raise sensibility are so much overbalanced by the painful effects they produce that I protest I had rather be an oak or a cabbage than alive to such ever-varying and corrosive feelings which act upon the human mind as slow poison would upon the body. When Rosaline was going to bed, the servant who attended her, and who, from having lived some years in the family, was indulged in the habit of conversing familiarly with the young ladies, determined to get rid of a kind of confidential secret which had been entrusted to her by one of her fellow-servants. Laws, Miss Rosaline, said she, what think you that frightful old Baron come to your fore? As I live I should not have dreamed of anything so ludicursed. Came fore, replied Rosaline, why he came to see my father, to be sure. What else could be his inducement for visiting this stupid place? I thought I should pose you, Miss, cried Audrey, drawing herself up and giggling at her own consequence. Why, as sure as you be borned and christened, he come here to pick up a wife. If he can meet with one to please his own superannutated meagrems. And his man Pedro thinks as how a person I could name would suit him to a tee, but I thinks otherwise. Such an old, frumpish piece of crazy furniture says I will not suit any of the ladies that belongs to the noble genitors of Bungie Castle and its environs. You may be a mistaken dame, said the saucy fellow. If they suit my master, my master may suit them sure, for he is as rich, as rich as crazes. For heaven's sake, said Rosaline, what nonsense have you picked up? You must not presume, Audrey, to speak of the Baron in so disrespectful a manner. If my father and mother heard you, I am not sure that you would be permitted to stay another night in the castle. It would be a good story indeed, resumed the talkative Abigail, to turn away a servant for such an offence, as I have a soul which by the goodness of Father Anselm I hope to get saved. My heart bleeds for you, Miss, and I could claw out his ugly, staring eyes, for to think that you would be so sweet-tempered and kind and affable to your inferiors, should have to nurse his crazy old carcass. Tis vexing to, Rosaline had started up in her bed as soon as she found herself so strangely introduced with the Baron, and seeing that Audrey had taken up the candle in order to leave the room, gently called her back and begged some explanation of what she had heard, which she declared herself unable to comprehend. May happy you are, so much the better, said Audrey. Less said as soon as mended, as I have gone to the end of my line. I may be turned away if I assume to speak of the beautiful old Baron. Things will all come out in time. I can be speckful to my bedders. They that like an old husband let them have them, tis no bread and butter of mine. Good night, Miss. The Baron is a fine old gracious, and will make his lady marbly happy, saying this she left the room, and Rosaline was much too displeased to call her back a second time, but determined to question her still farther the first opportunity. The Baron came to the castle for a wife. It was too ridiculous to be believed, but if he did, he could not possibly think of uniting himself with her. Servants were ever prying into the secrets of their bedders, or forming such stories as only very ignorant people could think of inventing. She now went to sleep, forgot the Baron, and dreamed of the prisoner, whom her fancy represented as being released from confinement, and eager with the consent of Sir Philip to lead her in triumph to the altar of Hyman. To the delusive excursions of the soul, we will for the present consign her. But before we take leave of the inhabitants of the castle for the night, we will just take a peep into the kitchen, where around the blazing fire, spread on a hearth four yards wide, were seated several of the domestics, earnestly engaged in talking over the affairs of the family, each of them drawing the character of their master or mistress as the humor of the moment dictated, and giving their opinions of actions, the motives of which they knew so little, that they were just as able without a fair and candid examination. Sir Philip, it was said, was become quite proud and penorious, the young ladies troublesome, and Lady D'morny Cross, whimsical and suspicious. Suddenly the door burst open, and a young man, who had been for some time an assistant in the stables, tumbled into the kitchen, and with terror depicted on his countenance exclaimed, I saw it! I saw it! I saw the light with my own eyes. The ghost followed me up to the door, and then it vanished in a flash of fire. Shut the door or it may get in. This in a moment alarmed the whole set. They all crowded round the terrified man, and with one voice eagerly inquired what ghost, what lights he meant, and when and where had he seen them? After drinking a copious draught of ale, he became able to satisfy the curiosity he had excited, and told them, as he was coming from the stables, just as he passed the gate of the Inner Ballium, and was in within forty yards of the South Tower, he saw a light as plain as ever he had seen one in his life through one of the graded windows, and after it had disappeared a few seconds, it appeared again at a much lower window, flashed upon the wall, and smelt like sulfur. At the moment it vanished a second time, he saw something all in white, which he thought glided past him, but on looking behind him it was there also, and it had actually followed him till he fell into the kitchen. Then as sure as we are alive, said one of the grooms, Thomas has seen the ghost of the lady who died for love of the young officer that was put to death in the dungeons. I have heard my grandfather say a thousand times he must have died innocent, for he was bold as a lion till his last gasp. Well, said one of the women servants, I shall be afraid to stir out after dark if these confounded ghosts are again found taking their nightly rambles and prying into everything that is going forwards. I always knew, said another, this castle was disturbed ever since the great clock struck twelve twice in one night, for one on earth could touch it at that time if it had not been a spirit. Ah, said the third, no doubt there have been sad doings in the castle. Not since we came to it, replied an old gray-headed footman. My master has practised no deeds of darkness that would bring the dead from their graves. As to what was done before our time, that can be no business of ours, and I don't see how any ghost can have a right to frighten and interrupt, either by day or night, those who were never acquainted with it. Christ Jesus preserve us, cried one of the maids. I verily think I saw something glide past that door. Surely father and Selma should be sent for to give them absolution. There, did you not hear that rustling? I see and hear nothing, said the before-mentioned old servant, but what I wish neither to see nor hear. You are all a parcel of superstitious ignorant fools, and if my master should once find out what cowards you all are, he would soon compel you to give place to a boulder set. Come, come, let us go to bed and leave the ghosts to do the same. The old man led the way with a candle in his hand, and the rest followed, clinging to each other like a flight of bees, not one of them daring to be left behind, and the groom, who had really seen a light from the tower inhabited by the prisoner, was convinced he had seen a ghost that neither father and Selma, nor all the fathers in Christendom, could have persuaded him to think the contrary, and so much had it alarmed him that his terrified imagination had mistake his own shadow for the ghost following close at his heels, and it was with some difficulty he could be prevailed upon by his fellow servants to go to bed, lest he should see it again. The next morning, when Audrey went to call her young lady, Rosaline requested she would forgive her for having spoken so angrily the preceding evening, and with the most winning softness begged to be informed what she meant by coupling her name with that of the Baron. Audrey, who had never before seen Rosaline so much out of humour, had neither forgotten nor forgiven the affront of being prevented from disclosing a secret which she had for several days found very troublesome to keep, replied, I couples no one. Matches are made in heaven, or in the church, or at wakes. But I think for my part some are made in a much worseer place, and so she will think too who is tacked in holly-bands with the old Baron. But who do you think, my good Audrey, will ever be so unfortunate? Why will you ask me, miss? I must not speak my sentiments. We poor servants never knows nothing. But this I do know for certain, if I ever marries, it shall be to a young man, a pretty-looking man, good-humoured ones I loves. Something like Mr. Camelford. Not to an old crab, sourer than vinegar, who would not suffer me to see with my own dear eyes nor believe with my own natural senses. A crotch-paced toad, who would shut me up for life, may have if I liked a better or a younger man than himself, an accident I think that might happen. But how should the Baron find out what you thought? By going to a necromancer such old cattle are to the full as cunning as their black master, and might strike one dumb. That, to be sure, replied Rosaline, would be a heavy misfortune to those who were fond of hearing the sound of their own voice in preference to that of any other person. For my part, said Audrey, voice or no voice, I verily think something mindlessly bad after all will happen to this crazy castle. For Thomas last night saw lights in the south tower, and the ghost of a young woman followed him in such a hurry that if he had not ran as fast as a hound it would have stamped upon his heels. It went away like a skyrocket, and the smell of sulfur almost suffocated the poor fellow, who will certainly have a paralytic stroke. Lady DeMourney's bell now ringing, Audrey left the room, without having said half so much as she intended to do about the ghost, or unburdening her mind of a secret she heartily wished to reveal.