 Part 5. The little Ophelia woke next morning from her healing sleep revived, and quite herself, she was so free from the feverish symptoms which had so much alarmed her mother overnight, that Udra thought she might venture to remove her at once to their home at Elsinor. The complete change proved the most beneficial thing that could have been devised. In the new scene to which she was introduced, the child acquired unwonted spirits. She gained more of the carelessness befitting her age. She lost that look of uneasiness and a resolution which had struck her mother so painfully at first. She seemed no longer oppressed by a vague solicitude and dread which had appeared to haunt her, and hang its weight on her spirits. The only time there was any trace in her of a recurrence to such impressions was when there happened to be illusion made to her past existence. She appeared averse from speaking or even thinking of the period she had spent at the cottage. She never reverted to it of her own accord, never mentioned any of the names of her former associates, or recalled any circumstance that occurred among them. And her mother, perceiving how distasteful the subject was, took care never to revive it in her child's mind. It was avoided altogether, the Lady Udra only regretting that she had ever been compelled to leave her little one in what had evidently been so uncongenial a home. Her chief care was now to surround her child with none but pleasant, healthful influences of person, scene, and circumstance. She kept her as much as possible in her own society, and in that of her father, the Lord Polonius, whenever his court duties permitted him to be at home. Her young son, Laertes, was with them for a period until the time should arrive for his going to the university. Meantime, masters were engaged, and the children pursued their studies together, though the Lady Udra chiefly superintended those of her little girl herself. She appointed the one of her own women to whom Ophelia seemed to have taken the greatest fancy to the child's particular attendant. Udra was a lively, good-tempered girl, and her cheerful companionship was one of the wholesome accessories by which the mother hoped to effect a removal of any sinister impression that might remain upon her child's spirits of bygone discomforts. The affection that now had full opportunity of taking its natural growth between father and child contributed greatly to the happiness of Ophelia's new existence. Polonius became dotingly fond of his little girl, and she in turn reverenced him with all deutious affection. She would watch for his homecoming, soon getting to know the hours of his return from attendance at the palace, and then she would set his easy chair and bring his slippers and the furred gown for which she exchanged his cord-robes when indulging in domestic ease, and then he would pat her cheek, or pass his hand over her fair young head, and say some fondling words of rejoicing that he now possessed so pretty a living toy at home as his little daughter, to beguile his leisure hours. He was a good-natured man, of a kindly disposition, with much original shrewdness and a great deal of acquired worldly knowledge. He was an odd compound of natural familiarity and assumed dignity, of affability and importance, of condescension and dictatorialness, of garrulous ease and ostentation. He was often jocular, and would twinkle his half-marry half-astute eyes, rubbing his hands with a chuckling air of enjoyment, as if he had not a thought beyond the relish of the immediate jest. But some time after, as if willing to show that it was the mere momentary unbending of the great statesman, he would knit his brow, lean back in his chair, with his hand supporting his chin, and look meditative. He used a pompous enunciation for the most part. But occasionally his epininated eagerness would run away with him, hurry him into forgetfulness of the main thread of his subject until he was brought subtly to a check, a pause from which he sought hasty refuge in the resumption of his didactic style. He was fond of parceling out his speech into formal divisions, of putting forth his opinions and set phrases. He was full of precept, sententious in speech, and uttered his axioms in an authoritative voice. He spoke preceptively. He would talk to his wife in manner of an oration, clearing his voice and pausing a little as if to bespeak full attention ere he began. He liked to see those around him performing audience to his dicta. He would address the guests at his table as if they were a committee or a board of council, and harangue rather than converse. He prided himself on great foresight and perspicacity. He ordinarily prefaced with a hem, and emphasized as he went on, with one hand in the palm of the other, or by reckoning off each claws successively on his fingers. He collected attention by canvassing glances, gathered it in by sharp espial upon those in whom he perceived symptoms of its straying, and kept it from wandering by a short admonitory cough. He was accustomed to ask in a triumphant tone when any prediction of his was ever known to fail in being verified by the event. He affected diplomacy and expediency in action, mystery and expression, craft and device. He had a habit of laying artful schemes in conversation, for entrapping those about him into betrayals of characteristics such as he described to them, and then would exalt in the proofs of his accurate judgment. You see, what did I say? He peaked himself on ingenuity encompassing his ends, and in their accomplishment preferred contrivance and cunning to the commonplace means of straightforward procedure. Policy was his rule of action—statement ship his glory of ambition. He would complain of the fatigues of office, of the onerous demands of a court life, of the cares of government, but secretly, official dignities, a courtier's existence and ministerial power formed the sum of his desires. His wife, the Lady Udra, understood his character well. But both her affection for the good qualities he possessed and her conjugal duty taught her to acquiesce in his peculiarities, for bearing to show any unmeet consciousness of them. She would gravely listen when he told her of some de-played plot he had, for bringing about what she, in her singleness of mind, thought might have been affected by much simpler means. She heard in silence, yet with attentive sympathy, his plans of ambition, his projects for advancement, and she took active interest in his schemes for the national welfare, even when she felt them to be more subtly devised than practically applicable. But she could not forebear smiling, though to herself only, when she saw him carry this system of policy into his domestic sway, when she saw him exercise his authority as husband, father, and master, by a sort of trick, when she found him securing her wifely obedience, that obedience which would have been spontaneously yield without inducement, by management and winning artifices. When she found him governing his children, ruling his household, regulating his affairs, nay ordering his servants by a calculated method of stratagem, she could do no other than smile. Beyond all else that provoked her smile, was to see how the innocence of childhood, the unconscious simplicity of his young son and daughter set at naught the diplomatist skill, frustrated and rendered null his intrigues by an ingenuous look or word. Instead of openly forbidding or reprehending certain deeds, he would lay snares for discovering whether they had been committed, and while the process was going on, his penetration was baffled by the artless behaviour of the children. His guile was futile against their candour, and was more frequently proved at fault than they. His sagacity was always aiming at detection, where no delinquency existed, ever bent on discovering some concealment where there was nothing to conceal. It was almost comic to see the searching frowned he would bend on one of those clear open countenances, held up to him in confident on reserve, conscious of no shadow of blame. The questioning eye, the shrewd glance, the artfully put enquiry seemed absurd, directed against such transparent honesty. In consequence of this system of their fathers, his praise was sometimes as mysterious and unexpected to the young laity's and Ophelia as his reproof. On one occasion he called them to him, and commended them highly for never having been into a certain gallery which he had built out into his garden, for the reception of some pictures, pequeted to him by a French nobleman, a friend of his, lately dead. Seeing a look of surprise on their faces he added, Ah, you marvel how I came to know so certainly that you never went in, but I have methods deep and sure, a little bird or my little finger. In few you need not assure me that you never entered that gallery, for I happen to be aware beyond a doubt that you never did, and I applaud your discretion. But we did go in, said Ophelia. What child? Poo! Impossible! Come to me! Look me full on the face! Not that she looked down or aside or anything but straight at him, but he always used this phrase conventionally when he conducted an examination. I tell you, you never went into that gallery, I know it for a fact. There is no use in attempting to deceive your father. I should have discovered it had you gone into that room without my permission. But did you not wish us to go there? I never knew you for bad it," said Layertes. If we had known you had any objection, neither Ophelia nor I would have. I never for bad it certainly," interrupted his father. But I had strong reasons for wishing you should not go into the room till the pictures were hung. You might have injured them. No, no, I knew better than to let heedless children play there, so I took means to prevent your entering the gallery without my knowledge. But we did play there, every day, father," said Layertes. Yes, said Ophelia. And I tell you impossible. Listen to me, I fastened a hair across the entrance. The invisible barrier is yet unbroken. So that you see, you could not have passed through that door without my knowledge. But we didn't go through the door, papa. We got in at the window, exclaimed both the children. We didn't know you wished us not to play there, so finding a space which the builders had left in one of the windows that look into the garden, we used to creep in there and amuse ourselves with looking at the new pictures. We did no harm, only admired. Time went on. Layertes was now a tall stripling, was sent to Paris, then famous as a seat of learning. The motives which swayed Polonius in the choice of the university to which he decided upon sending his son were characteristic. He owned to his wife that he should have preferred sending the youth to Wittenberg, where the king's son was a student. Such an opportunity for intimacy with the prince being a great temptation. But there was a certain personage, highly influential with the court of France, who had exacted a promise from him that Layertes should be educated at the University of Paris. And as it was of the utmost importance that the friendly relations with France which he had established during the period of his envisage there, should be carefully maintained. He resolved that nothing should interfere with his sons being placed at college in that country. Ophelia grew into delicate girlhood, ever quiet, ever diffident, in her retiring gentleness and modesty, but serene and happy, a tranquil spirited maiden, unexacting, even tempered, affectionate, one of those upon whom the eyes and hearts of all near dwell with a feeling of repose. Her father now began to look forward to his long cherished hope of introducing her at court, where he beheld her already attracting his sovereign's gracious notice and winning the favour of the queen. He imparted his views to his wife, adding that all Ophelia wanted was a little forming in manner to render her presentable, and to that end he intended cultivating for her the acquaintance of a young lady, daughter to a friend of his, the Lord Cornelius. Udra ventured the pardonable motherly remark that their young Ophelia was perfectly well bred, a gentlewoman in every particular. An air of nobility distinguishes her mean, and the look of unruffled content in the blue depths of those violet eyes, revealing the sweet placidity of her nature, gives a crowning grace of self-possession and ease that might become a princess. If a court atmosphere of the royal presence be our child's destiny, she seems fitted for them by nature. Aye, aye, by nature, but art may do somewhat, art may do much. Polish, refinement, a conventional breeding in manner, an air of the world are attained only by associating with those accustomed to move in courtly circles. The Lady Thyra, daughter to my friend Cornelius, having lost her mother when quite a child, has been early habituated to receive guests, to preside over her father's establishment, in few to enact betimes the centre of a distinguishable circle. To promote a friendship between this young lady and our daughter will be to play Ophelia beneath fittest tutelage, in the very school to form her for the future station she will fill. Is this young lady Thyra unrestricted in her proceedings, choosing her own associates, complete mistress of her conduct in herself? Quite the best associate, thank you, my lord, for our daughter. May there not be risk as well as advantage in the companionship. What but advantage can there be, good my lady? The lord Cornelius enjoys the royal confidence. He will rise to highest honours in the state. I foresee, trust this brain of mine, I foresee, I say, that when an envoy to Norway shall be needed he will—but no matter. Where was I? Oh! His wealth is ample, and he allows his daughter well-nigh unlimited command of his means and fortune. What more would you have? No more. Nay, not so much. Her power, her position, I doubt not—tis herself, I mean. Is she? Tut, tut, lady mine—interrupted Udra's husband, with a wave of the hand, which she well knew to be of final significance. She is in all respect what I could best wish for my girl's friend. The lord Cornelius is as anxious as myself for the improvement of the acquaintance. And it is my will that henceforth the family shall be intimate. Let it be looked to. My coach shall be ordered forthwith, my lord. I will wait upon the young lady with our daughter without delay, since such is your wish," said the lady-wife, dutiously, adding to herself, "'I will hope that it is no more than a mother's anxiety, which makes me see a groundless sphere in this friendship. The lady Thyra may be all that I could desire in heart and mind, for my Ophelia is associate. At all events I shall now see her myself, and judge." As far as judgment could be formed in a first visit, all that Udra saw of Cornelius's daughter that morning led her to rejoice that so pleasant an intimacy as this promise to be should have been begun. The young lady was evidently the petted child of a proud father who knew not how to refuse her anything. But this indulgence did not seem to have spoiled her, and that alone spoke greatly in favour of her natural disposition. She was neither imperious nor willful. There was none of the insolence and manner or impatience of control which might have been generated by such a course as hers of irresponsible self-government. She received the lady Udra with much gentle grace, and with a tone of respect in her welcome, which showed that having been so long her own mistress had not destroyed that deference which youth o'ed a superiority of age and experience. She was sprightly, without hardness. She was easy, without forwardness. She was self-possessed without a spark of self-conceit in her demeanor. There was a tone of good-breeding in her every word and gesture which showed that she was accustomed to much society. But there was that in her manner which bespoke goodness of heart as well as courtesy of tongue. There was an unrestrained freedom in her mode of speech which told plainly how habituated she was to the expression of her opinions and feelings before numbers. But there was something also that revealed how little need there was for reserve in any of her thoughts or sentiments. She was obviously kind-natured as well as complacent, affectionate as well as affable, amiable as well as polite. As for Ophelia, she was charmed with her, and the young lady Thyra seemed no less one by the modest sweetness of Udra's daughter. A mutual and strong attraction at once subsisted between the two girls, and after their first introduction to each other they became as rapidly and completely intimate as the fathers could have desired. Soon no mourning was spent apart, and Thyra, intent upon enjoying her new friend's society uninterruptedly, made a point of receiving Ophelia alone, and of appointing her usual visitors in the evening only henceforward. She could assume a pretty tyranny, a kind of playful despotism when she chose. It sat well on her, and her friends submitted to it, well pleased, as only another grace in the graceful Thyra. There was so much of feminine elegance in what she did, and said, that it seemed her natural prerogative to have all yield to her. She was not willful, but she liked to have her own way, and it was so pleasantly asserted, so inoffensively insisted on, that no one dreamed of denying it her. She was so winning while she dictated, so obliging in the midst of her exactions, so really thoughtful of the feelings of others while she affected to be thinking only of her own, so truly kind, while she also pretendedly selfish, that all loved to obey her behests, and indeed it was generally found in the end, that they were prompted by a consideration for the general pleasure, as well as for hers in particular. You know, sweet friend, we could not find the way to each other's hearts, were we to meet in a crowd every day, instead of thus familiarly, unrestrainedly, doing and saying exactly what we pleased while together, as we do now, do we not? Had she to Ophelia as they sat together in Thyra's pleasant room, her own peculiar room, which was spitted up with every graceful luxury a young girl's taste could suggest in its adornment, and looking out as it did upon the gardens by which her father's mansion was surrounded, its windows shadowed with trees and flowering climbers, it was in all respect the ideal of a lady's bower. Besides, I mean you to know something of the people you will meet before you come among them, since you have owned to me with that charming simplicity and frankness of yours, that you feel some awe at the thought of encountering strangers. I have so little seen of strange faces, said Ophelia. My father's guests are chiefly men high in office, counsellors of state, grave and dignified personages, and my dear mother, thinking one so young could not as yet derive advantage from their conversation, allowed me to keep our own apartments when there were visitors. You shall hear all about mine ere you are introduced, and then they will be no strangers to you when you see them. You will be acquainted with them beforehand, and it's a great advantage, let me tell you, to have this key, knowledge of the character, previously to looking upon the face. Those who have none of your novice modesty would often be feigned to get possession of such a treasure as this same key. Is it quite fair that I should have the advantage you speak of, Thyra? Never fear, thou dear scrupulous novice. Those very people could they know that their characters have been discussed would be the best pleased, so that we are but thought of, talked of, our self-esteem is satisfied, to be unnoticed, to be of such insignificance as to be left uncriticized, that is the staying most difficult for human pride to endure. Then pray indulge them and me by some of your strictures, said Ophelia, smiling. Let us hear what biting things your amount of malice can allow itself to utter, and yet your lips slanders itself if it be a slander of others. Nay, no slander, truth, nothing but truth. Come, with whom shall I begin? Me thinks I'll commence at once with the highest, and so get the most dangerous part of my task dispatched first. Our sovereign and his queen have honored my father's house with their presence, but I may not, of course, count their majesties among my visitors. The king's brother, however, Lord Claudius, is not an unfrequent guest here, and he—you've been presented to their majesties? You know the king's person? The queen's? Tell me some what of them. The king is a grave-looking man, warlike and noble in his bearing, full of dignity and command, and looks, as indeed he is, the accomplished soldier and ruler. The queen is very beautiful, both in face and person, graciously condescending in the kind notice, and encouragement she accorded to myself, a young girl undergoing her first presentation. And what of the prince, their son, Lord Hamlet? I have heard my father speak of him as a student of great repute. He says that he has won high academic honors, and that if he were not of royal birth he could make himself illustrious as a man of learning. Nay! He's even too much of the scholar for my taste," said the lively Thyra. He has dark, reflective eyes, which would be beautiful, but that he allows them to become absorbed in musing and speculation, instead of letting them discourse agreeable things. He has a handsome mouth, which he resigns to a meditative idleness when he might give it its natural action and pleasant converse. He is thoughtful when he should be amusing. He is absent when I want him to be attending to what I say, or to be inventing something to say to me. All this is owing to his studious habit, which moreover will if he don't take care spoil his figure, for he's inclined to fat, and a fat gentleman, though noest, even though he be a prince, can never form a lady's ideal of a man. What sort of man must he be, to embody Thyra's idea of manly perfection? said her young friend. Nay! I cannot tell, not I," replied Thyra with a momentary embarrassment, then recovering herself she went on. Not such a man as my lord Claudius assuredly. He comes next to tell thee of, there's something marvellously unattractive to me about that lord. Though he be of blood royal, he looks not noble. And though his lineage be high, he hath not lofty in his mean. And yet I cannot tell what ails me that I should not approve him. He is full of suavity, and is assiduous in his courtesies and attentions. But they are too much on demand to seem very spontaneous. You shall catch him gnawing the hilt of his dagger in moody silence, and the next instant shall see him all smiles and ready adulation. His face changes too voluntary sudden for sincerity. He'll shift you his manner from sad brow to jesting, from abstracted to attentive at a moment's bidding. I never feel at ease in his company, and care not if he never came here again. But my father considers the visits of the king's brother an honour to our house, and so I receive him with as good a grace as I can muster. Thyra, like a good daughter, makes her own inclining spend to those of her father," said Ophelia. You give me too much credit for filial submission, I fear. Returned she with a slight blush and a laugh. My father has hitherto given such free course to my likings that I can scarcely think he would wish me to fashion them by his. And yet I know not. She paused, then resumed. There is the Lord Voldemonde. But he is my father's friend, not mine. His forty odd years and his wise head claim affinity with sage or maturity than I can boast. He is no associate for my giddy self. Then there are Marcellus and Bernardo, two young officers of the king's guard, true soldiers, light-hearted, pleasant rattle-pates, with more valor than knowledge, more animal spirit than mental acquirement, but with all very agreeable companions, and their uniforms are a great help to make my saloon look bright and gay. You tell me chiefly of your gentlemen guests. Have you no ladies among your visitors, dear Thyra? Ah, true! There is no lack of ladies to make our parties complete," said Thyra. But one court lady is so like another court lady, that as I was giving you an insight into the character of the people you will meet, I naturally left out those who seldom can boast of much distinctive feature in that kind. But I am waxing impertinent, methinks. There are, in good sadness, some sweet women among our lady-friends, but thou wilt find out those for thyself. They are not among the formidable strangers I had to tell thee of. Let me see. Who else? O, I, there are Osric of Stolzburg and Erich of Cronstein, two lords whose estates adjoined that of my father. You will often meet them here. Are they of the formidable class I may expect to see? asked Ophelia. Truly, I know not why I class them together, for they differ in every particular, save in being provincial neighbours of ours. When we are in the country, they are our constant guests. But the one is a youth, the other is a man. The one is boyish, the other manly. The one has mature ideas, the other no ideas at all. The young lord of Stolzburg is a coxcomb, while the lord of Cronstein is—is—well, perhaps something very nearly ideal we spoke of there now. Thira paused a moment with a little conscious laugh, while she stole a glance at Ophelia's face. But she saw it looking so quiet, so girl-like innocent, that she went on. Perhaps it is from the contrast between these two lords that the one appears to me so greatly above the other. It is not everyone who finds Cronstein so gifted or Stolzburg so inane. One great advantage in public esteem the latter possesses over the former, which is that his domains are extensive, his land unencumbered, his positions exclusively within his own power, while the other lord has a magnificence of taste, which has led to rather a perfuse expenditure, and it is whispered that his estates are deeply mortgaged. This report has blunted worldly judgment and dulled the edge of its discrimination in awarding the palm of merit between the two. General opinion lackeys the rich lordling, and can scarcely allow the personal dessert of the accomplished but acre-dipped Cronstein. Certainly it is that my father and I differ widely in our estimate of their respective attractions. He favours the one, while I—while you judge the lord of Cronstein to be the superior man—however he may be the poor lord—said Ophelia simply, filling up the pause in her friend's speech. Yes, dear novice, rejoined Thyra, with another smile and shy glance at the quiet unconscious face. I must call thee novice, dear Ophelia, thou seems to me so none like new to all worldly thoughts and ideas, thou art a very child still, I do believe, though that grave face and sedate air of thine make thee seem a woman—a wager now, thou hast scarce obtained the dignity of teens. You guess my age accurately, dear Thyra? I have scarce seen years enough to give me a claim to equality of friendship with you, who must be well nigh half a dozen summers riper and wisdom than I, but I can make up in loving respect for thee, what I lack in befitting qualities to give me claim upon thy liking. We will love and confide in each other entirely, as friends should. And be of all the greater mutual benefit for what there is dissimilar between us, said Thyra. My social experience shall help you in learning to face strangers, and thy novice candor shall teach me the beauty of unworldliness. Let me commence the lessons I am to give by initiating you in the mysteries of chess, now the most fashionable of games. Is it so much played? I knew you were fond of it, for I see the board stand ever ready, but I knew not it was in general favour. Yes! For some time it was banished from court after that fatal game, famous in our Danish chronicles, when the sovereign dynasty was changed by a choleric blow with a chessboard. But of late the taste has revived, and the game is pursued with greater zest than ever. We have some skillful players amongst us. The Lord of Cronstein is masterful at it. He was my instructor. When we were last at my father's country seat of Rosenheim, we played together daily. And you are doubtless now, a well-skilled player yourself, dear Thyra. I fear you will find me an unhopeful scholar," said Ophelia. You are ingenuous, you are artless, you are unsuspicious, dear girl," said Thyra, looking at her earnestly with affectionate admiration, and those seem unpromising qualities for attaining proficiency in a game where stratagem and connivance are main requisites. But vigilance, patience, are also wanted, and these you have for certain. For noticing that my chessboard is always at hand bespeaks an observant eye, and watchfulness may secure success when over-eager craft rushes into the jaws of an uninspired checkmate. But come, let us begin. At this moment an attendant entered. I can see no visitors to-day," Thyra said impatiently as she ranged the pieces on the board, signing to the servant to withdraw. See that I am denied to every one, and say that I receive this evening. I stated such to be your ladyship's orders," said the attendant. But my lord would take no refusal. He bade me carry up his name, and beseech that your ladyship would see him, for that he hath knew as which. Then why does not announce his name, Sira? Interrupted the young lady. Who is it? The lord Eric of Cronstein, madam, was the reply. The colour flushed into Thyra's face, but she said in a composed voice, that composure and command of voice which courtly breeding teaches, give entrance to my lord of Cronstein, he doubtless brings intelligence from Rosenheim, from my father. Then as the servant quitted the room, she added, I make an exception in this visitor's favour, dear Filia, because I think thou wilt feel curiosity to see one of whom we have been speaking so much. Your report was too favourable not to induce a wish to know him," replied she. I shall be glad. He is here," said Thyra. Her manner showed so much agitation, so involuntary a delight, such blushing joy, that it could not have failed betraying her secret to one more verse than such tell-tale symptoms than her young companion. But Ophelia perceived in it only the pleasure and animation with which a friend preferred to others, for his estimable qualities would naturally be welcomed. Besides, her attention was principally engaged by the newcomer. Not only did the description she had recently heard cause her to look at him with interest, but there was something in his appearance which struck her with a singular impression, as of something remembered, something long since seen. She continued to gaze upon the face and figure as though they were a pictured image of some shadow in her memory. So complete was this effect of his appearance upon her, that she kept her eyes fixed upon him with almost as unreserved a regard as if he had indeed been a portrait, instead of a living man. For him he was too much engrossed by the greetings that took place between himself and Thyra, to perceive the attention with which the young lady's stranger was looking at him. Presently, however, her friend, recollecting her duty as hostess, performed the ceremony of introduction. He bowed courteously, and was about to resume his conversation. When something in the cursory glance he had bestowed upon Ophelia, seemed to strike him also with a vague sense of recollection, he hesitated, looked at her, but seeming to obtain no confirmation of his passing fancy from what he saw. On this second view of the tall, slight figure before him, he went on with what he was saying to the Lady Thyra. He asked after all their mutual town acquaintance, told her how dull Rosenheim had appeared after she had left it for Elsinor, but said that he had made a point of paying his duty there regularly to the Lord Cornelius, who had charged him with loving messages for his daughter, on hearing that he was about to ride to the Metropolis. My lord, your father, desired me to say that he trusts many days while not elapsed, or he joins you here in Elsinor. But meantime, as I am returning to Rosenheim, he bade me ask you for a packet of papers, which— You return to Rosenheim, my lord. When? How soon? was Thyra's hurried enquiry. Immediately! I am compelled. Indeed, I must. My presence just now is indispensable at my own poor place," he said, in reply to the mute reproach conveyed by her eyes and by the tone of her voice. But it will not be so for any time. The estate-hair long reverts incontestably, too. He paused in the low-toned but eager explanation he was pouring forth, but Thyra seemed satisfied with these few broken words. For adverting to the packet he had mentioned, she said, But these papers my father requires, my lord, did he say where they were to be found? He bade me tell you you would found them in the ebb and cabinet by his study chair, lady. This sealed packet, with which he charged me for you, contains the key, together with more precise directions for your guidance. I will seek them at once, my lord, since your return must needs be immediate. But remember," she added with the resumption of vivacity, Your friends in Elsinore will look eagerly for your coming soon among them again, your stay at Rosenheim must be brief as may be. My own wishes will limit its duration to the shortest possible span, believe me, lady. They abide in Elsinore even while necessity chains myself elsewhere. His eyes followed her, as she withdrew to fetch the packet, and when she disappeared, he turned in an abstracted manner to the table on which the chessboard stood, and played mechanically with one of the pieces, twirling it round and round upon its circular foot. Suddenly he seemed to remember that he was not alone, and that he owed some courtesy of attention to the young lady who sat there so silent and so still. He was about to address her with some slight remark, when upon raising his eyes towards her, he found hers fixed upon his face. Her look was so steadfast that it perplexed the gentleman, man of the world as he was. He took up the chess-man and idled with it against his lip, in embarrassment of which he himself hardly understood the source. A slight incident will sometimes prompt a struggling memory, while vainly striving to help itself by recalling more important clues. The form of the ivory piece caught Ophelia's eye, and suddenly she exclaimed, The knight, the white horse, I remember, the wood, Lord Eric, aye, that was the name, I recollect it now, it was you, then, who, hush, can it be possible? Was the hasty exclamation as he looked round to see that no one was near. Steff, he muttered, the unopened rosebud by all that strange, how came she here, how came she to be there? You never returned, after Jutha became so altered, so ill. You never knew that she died. The lip blanched to well nigh the whiteness of the chess-man that had lately touched it. I knew you would be sorry for her when you came to hear of it. You were kind to her, you liked her. Poor Jutha. Be silent, I conjure you young lady. Do not speak that name again, it can do no good, it may do fearful harm. Mischief, misery, more evil than you can conceive or ever could repair. He looked round again in great agitation and anxiety. Do not name her here I entreat, I implore. His manner, so earnest in its hurried supplication, had its effect upon Ophelia. But she answered in her own quiet way. I have never mentioned her. She is unknown here. She had almost faded from my own thought as had your face and person. I hardly remembered you. I was a little child then, at nurse in that remote country place. Her ingenuous look, her simple unconsciousness as she spoke, plainly told the man of the world that this innocent girl had no suspicion of the share he had had in the unhappy Jutha's fate. His dark secret was safe. Could he but hope that she would never revive his victim's name? Never repeat the tale of his forced visits to others more clear-sighted, more experienced than herself. He summoned all his address to his aid. He told Ophelia how she herself had grown out of his knowledge, that he should not have recognized the little rustic she then appeared in the beautiful maiden, the young lady of noble birth and distinguished heir whom he had present beheld. He added some flattering allusion to her family, said that her father the Lord Polonius was known to him by reputation as a statesman whose services were of the highest value to his country, and concluded by adroitly making it his request that she would never allude to any circumstances of their former meeting as it was important to him, for reasons which he could not immediately explain, that he should not appear to be already known to her. More Ophelia could well signify her acquiescence with his wish, Thyra reappeared. Eric of Cronstein tarried not long after he had received the packet from her hands, promising to deliver it faithfully and speedily, he took a graceful leave of the two young ladies, and withdrew. They both remained silent for a considerable space, each occupied with her own thoughts. Then Thyra, rousing herself from her reverie, said, Forgive me, sweet friend, that I am such dull company, so ill-fulfill my part of your hostess and entertainer, come, now for our first study of chess. Part 6 The Quiet Chess Mornings, the brilliant social evenings enjoyed with Thyra, made Ophelia's time speed pleasantly away, while she could not but observe that at all seasons, at all hours, Eric of Cronstein was ever the favourite guest of her friend. When others were excluded, he was admitted. Before others arrived, he was already there, and after others had retired, he lingered, and always his advent and his stay were welcome. By his adroit management, this was not markedly apparent to the world, but to one in such close companionship as Ophelia, it could not escape notice. Once it was an evening when there was no assemblage of friends, the young ladies were deep in the absorbing interest of Thyra's favourite game, while the lord of Cronstein stood by, as was his frequent won't, leaning over the back of her chair, watching the lesson she gave, suggesting the best moves on either side, and aiding the fair teacher with his superior knowledge. It grew late, and the game was not yet ended. Their excitement strengthened with every moment, for in the interest of the trial of skill, Cronstein had insensibly come to prompt Ophelia's moves exclusively, so that, in fact, Thyra and he were now playing against each other. Her cheeks were heated, her eyes sparkled, as a chess-player's will when the antagonism is at its height. At this moment the lady Ophelia's coach, with Reynaldo, her father's confidential servant, and Gouda, her own woman, to attend her home, were announced as having arrived. Can it be so late? I had no thought of the hour. My lord, however unwillingly, you must be inhospitably bidden good-night. We must play out the game to-morrow," said Thyra. We cannot leave it unfinished. Sleep would be impossible with the fate of that game undecided," exclaimed Eric, impetuously. The lady Ophelia will give orders that the equipoise shall wait. My mother especially bade me return without delay, when she should send for me this evening, said Ophelia. It is my father's intention to take me with him to the palace to-morrow, to present me to their majesties. And he desired that I would be with him to-night, ere he retired to rest, that he might speak some words of counsel he had to impress upon me. I may not, Tarry. Good-night, Thyra. Good-night, my lord. Thyra, in returning her leave-taking, evidently expected that the lord of Cronstein would retire at the same time, but he, declaring that the game of chess must be played out, in order to let Ophelia know its decision on the morrow, threw himself into the chair she had just quitted, showing that he was resolved to stay. Thyra, in pretty blushing confusion, partly eagerness and pleasure, partly hesitation, submitted to his arrangement, and reseeded herself at the chess-table, bidding her friend be sure to let her see her immediately on her return from her first court visit. In one of the large apartments of the palace on the following day sat a lady, surrounded by her attendant ladies, working at a tapestry-frame. In a deep-embaid window, at some distance from her, stood a man, leaning just within the recess, regarding her earnestly from beneath his bent brows and drooping lids. Not a bend of her handsome head, not an inclination of that polished throat, not a sweeping line of those white-falling shoulders, not a curve of those voluptuously rounded arms, or a single movement of her ample but finely molded figure, as it inclined over her work, escaped the eye so greedily noting every particular of her luxuriant beauty. Several admiration lurked in the looks with which he stealthily devoured her person, while all the while his attention was apparently devoted to feeding and playing with a hawk which sat upon an ornamented perch in the recessed window where he leaned. The man was Claudius, the king's brother, the lady was Queen Gertrude. The weather had been unusually warm, the soft afternoon air crept in by the open windows, and through the apartment there reigned the silence that grows with a sense of enjoyment and refreshment. It had for some time been preserved unbroken, safe by the drawing through of the tapestry stitches and the occasional restlessness of the hawk, pecking and biting at the teasing finger, when one of the attendant ladies exclaimed, �His Majesty the King, madam!� Gertrude rose to receive her royal husband. He came to tell her of letters that had arrived from Wittenburg, bringing news of fresh academic honours attained by their son Hamlet, one from himself containing loving and dubious greetings to his parents, with tidings of his health and welfare, and other dispatches from the royal forces engaged in Northern warfare which had terminated in conquest to Denmark. The king concluded by saying that so much happy intelligence arriving on one day deserved marking by some token of remembrance, and that he had brought one in the shape of a gemmed bracelet, which he prayed her to wear as the gift not only of a proud and happy father, and of a rejoicing monarch, but as that of a loving husband. As the king fondly lent over the beautiful arm presented to him, that he might clasp the jewel upon it, a sharp inward groan burst from the lips of Claudius. �My brother� exclaimed the king, �I did not perceive your presence. Are you not well, my Claudius?� he added, approaching the recess where he leaned. �That cry you could not suppress, your change of colour, your face is pale, man, you are in pain. I have more than once noted that ashy hue steel upon your face. Tell me, tell your brother what you ale. An old wound, a hurt, tis nothing� he answered, looking down. Or if� and he turned to the king with a ghastly attempt to smile off his embarrassment, it is but what reminds me that I have been a soldier, and long for an occasion to efface the old wrinkle with a few new scratches. It has scarred over, air properly healed, it must be looked to,� said the king. �It will never heal� the other muttered bitterly, writhing as he withdrew from the hand laid in brotherly kindness on his shoulder. �Our own leech shall examine it� the king said in his gentle but earnest manner. �You must not thus neglect health most dear to us. Your grace shall pardon me. No leech-craft may avail, tis beyond the physician's skill. I have learned to think it cannot be relieved. I will school myself to be more patient, more silent, endurance. You shall hear no more such weak betrayals. �Sweet Gertrude, come hither, use you your womanly persuasion with this refractory brother of ours to have his hurt examined. I will not believe it beyond cure.� As the queen advanced in obedience to her royal husband's bidding, and approached the spot where they stood, the king took her hand and placing it on his brother's arm said, �I expect no less from the gentle power of my Gertrude's words, which as her loving husband I am free to confess� he said, as he regarded her with an affectionate smile. �Then that I shall find on my return they have won our brother to our wish. The summer afternoon woos me forth to walk awhile in mine orchard. Meantime prosper you in your suit, my queen.� He left them thus standing beside each other, Gertrude's hand where he had placed it on his brother's arm. But when the king had left the apartment, she withdrew her hand and retired a pace or two from her close vicinity to Claudius. He breathed hard, and there was almost a fierceness in the tone with which he uttered the words, �He bade you sue me, madam? Your suit? Your will? What have you to urge? Let me hear you plead. You plead to me. But come! What is it? �Your wound, my lord, consent that it shall be looked to. There might be relief.� He turned abruptly and looked at her as he said, �You would have it relieved, cured.� �Assuredly, my good lord, our leech is renowned in skill. He will, I doubt not.� Again he interrupted her. I speak not of the leech. But this old wound of mine, this deep-seated, scorching pain here, this corroding torture ever gnawing in and in till vitality itself is the prey, would you have it relieved, cured, if relief and cure were in your own gift? He dropped his voice to a whisper as he uttered the last few words, though the whole conversation had taken place in a low tone, which could not reach the spot where the attendant lady sat, round the tapestry-frame at the farther end of the room. Gertrude said, in a manner as natural and unconcerned as she could make it, �Can you doubt it, my lord?� willful misunderstanding sometimes betrays deepest consciousness. Claudius felt this as he looked at the varying cheek which belied the assumed composure of manner, and saw that she knew his full meaning. Then pity me, this wound is probed to the quick, its festering smart is tented past concealment of the anguish I endure when he makes me the witness of his licensed endearments. He hurried on, hissing serpent-like, his torrent of scarce suppressed, passionate words. Can I calmly see him fondle that arm which I so many times have thirsted to press to these throbbing lips? A loving husband, forsooth. Why his is a tame affection which can leave a wife to go sleep in the shade of a cool orchard, while mine is a burning passion that consumes me. Arder such as mine befits a loving husband, not the pealing caresses of that dotard. �My lord, remember you of whom you speak, of your brother, your king, my husband! I, madam, your husband, your loving husband!� He ground his teeth muttering a curse. The very hem of your garment stirs me to more adoring warmth than he is capable of feeling from the possession of all that he hath in right of loving-husband-ship. He presumed to add, as he clenched within his hand the end of a light drapery which formed part of her attire. �You presume on my forbearance, my lord,' exclaimed the queen, �you cannot believe that I will listen longer to such rash speech!� She would have withdrawn from the recessed window, but perceiving that a portion of her robe was within his grasp, she feared lest the movement might attract the attention of her ladies to this circumstance, and so betray to them what was passing. A various trifle such as this will suffice to sway the conduct of a weak-sold woman. At this moment an attendant entered to announce that the lord Polonia sent his daughter, the lady Ophelia, craved audience of her majesty. �Conduct them to the presence chamber,� said the queen, �I will receive them there.� The edge of robing was still detained for an instant, then she felt it suddenly released and she was free to go. She moved away from the side of Claudius, without suffering her eyes to look towards him, and attended by her ladies she left the apartment. As she proceeded along a gallery of the palace on her way to the state chamber, one of her train of ladies exclaimed, lifting the end of the embroidered drapery which floated from the queen's shoulders, �See here, madam, some treacherous doorway hath torn away a fragment from your majesty's attire. The piece is fairly wrenched out. Lack! The beauty of the robe is marred. �Get other attires ready. I will exchange these anon when my lord Polonia shall have taken leave�, said queen Gertrude. It must needs have been some unheeded violence of a closing door or other like accident. Tis no matter. �A passing sweet temper hath her majesty, to regard the wreck of such embroidery as that without so much so fretful word�, thought the lady in waiting. �And so you found our queen no less gracious than I had painted her to you�, said Thyra to Ophelia, when next the two friends sat together to discuss the grand event of court presentation. She was indeed all that a young creature could desire of considerate and encouraging. She condescended to make it her express desire that my father would bring me frequently to the palace in future. And while thou hast been basking in the sunshine of royal smiles and court favour, poor I have been yawning in the vapid atmosphere of phoppery and folly, of cockscomery and pretension. �Ah, I can tell, then, who hath been my guest this morning, Thyra. Young Asric of Stolzburg was not. He hath never thy good word I know. Doth he deserve one? Is he not an insufferable frost, an intolerable bubble of emptiness? He thinks to play the accomplished gentleman by effecting modish phraseology and adopting fashionable whims of speech. See how he minces his mother tongue in his mispronouncings. Let me arrange your layship's men for you, the knots, baships, poems, and so. You shall take none other than the red, a blushing foil to your lash-ship's fingers, your lash-ship advances your king's poem, to his well. The forward varlots suffers capture in a trice for his presumption. �In a trice! In a trice!� interrupted Ophelia, laughing at her friend's imitation of the young Lordling's manner. �True! In a trice for his presumption!� this same game of chess your lash-ship favours with so much of your lash-ship's good locking, his exceeding dainty sport, have ingenious devos, very subject to contravence, very suggestive to skill, a most pleasing pastime and a very exacting encounter, but your lash-ship is playing oddly. Have a caret will be a drone game!� and thus was my morning droned away with his foolish buzzing and wasp-like impertinence. �Nay, he is but a butterfly, it is thou who art waspish, Thyra, to be vexed with so harmless an insect!� he does but flutter to and fro displaying his gay-painted coat, vainly and vain, but leaving no venom and flicking no sting. �But I tell the Ophelia there is sting in his presence for me. My father, hath I know, set his heart on bringing about a match between this silly fly and myself. Now though I do not believe that young Osric hath one thought of the kind for all his hoverings round me, yet I fear lest an inkling of my father's wish to generate that which his own brain could scarce originate, an idea, and that idea the one of wooing me to be his wife. �Thou dost not desire to be a wife, Thyra? I say not that,� said Thyra, blushing, �but I desire not to be Osric's wife.� I will tell thee honestly, dear girl, there is a man whose wife I could wish to be, whose wife I hope to be, a man whom I love and who loves me, a man whom it is an honour to love, and whose love it is a pride to have won. But this man cannot ask me to become his wife until the redemption of his patrimony from mortgage shall give him a right to claim me openly of my father, and meantime you cannot wonder that I should wish to keep all suitors at a distance who might win his consent before my lover himself, dear, come forward to seek it. And this lover is, no other than Eric of Cronstein, you surely must have guessed our attachment, you who have seen us so much together, dear friend. You forget that I have inexperienced eyes. That I am, as you call me yourself, dear Thyra, quite a novice in such matters� said the smiling Ophelia. You are innocent simplicity itself, sweet friend, as a girl of your years should be. Still I thought she must have seen how it was with Eric and myself. We have exchanged hearts. We are plighted to each other by the most solemn vows. He is more than once told me he looks upon me as his affianced bride, his wedded wife. I regard him as my husband, and feel that no power on earth should make me give myself to any other than Eric of Cronstein. He tells me that less than half a year will see him reinstated in full possession of his estates, and that then he can ask me of my father with good hope of success. Until that period, therefore, tears of the utmost importance our secret should not transpire. But I could not have felt true to the confidence I have professed in my friend Ophelia had it longer been withheld from her. The young girls embraced lovingly and heartily, as Thyra received the assurance that her secret should be faithfully preserved. Some months had elapsed since the last conversation. One evening, as the friends sat together, the hours grew, and with them the impatience of Thyra. She was expecting Lord Eric, who had promised to come, but still the time for his appearance went by, and he came not. His visits now were generally at a late hour, but night drew on, and yet he came not. Ophelia's attendant arrived with the coach to fetch her home, and she left her friend pacing to and fro in the grounds by starlight, unwilling to abandon the hope of his coming even then. But as Ophelia reached the garden gate, and was about to step into her coach, she perceived Trasco, Lord Eric's servant, he entered the grounds, and she could see him deliver a letter to her friend, who placing it in her bosom hurried back to the house. Next morning at an early hour Polonius entered the apartment where his wife and daughter were, and by the ostentatious perturbation of his manner, evidently desire that they should ask what was the matter, the Lady Udra dutifully did so. He told her that he at that moment received intelligence of a circumstance which had occasioned great consternation certain quarters. It was reported that Lord Eric of Cronstein, whose affairs were long suspected to be in an embarrassed state, was discovered to be utterly ruined, that he had accumulated debts of large amount, that he had gambled away his patrimonial estate, that he was not worth a farthing, and that in order to escape from the crowd of demands which pressed upon him, he had, last night, under favour of darkness, embarked in a vessel bound for the archipelago. His creditors were outrageous, and Polonius added that he had reason to believe many gentlemen of high rank were among the most furious against him, on account of the numerous debts of honour which were thus left uncancelled. I confess I cannot feel much concern for them. They are probably for the most part little better than himself. Gamblers and spend-thrifts," said Udra. "'My dear, your virtue makes you hard upon fashionable follies,' said her husband. Conscious of our own integrity, we should be lenient to others more exposed to temptation. You can scarcely judge of those which beset young noblemen of spirit, and with means at their own disposal. But their spirit sometimes leads them to use means not at their own disposal. This Lord Eric of Cronstein, which he staked at the gaming-table sums that were not in his rightful possession, was guilty of more than folly. He acted basely, unjustly. As if my memory serve, I have heard this same Lord of Cronstein accused of even worse vices than gambling. It is whispered that he is a libertine, a practised seducer. "'My good lady, how often must I caution you against giving credit to whispers, and hearsay, when they affect the character of those in high station? It is the vice of the envious to slander those with whom they cannot aspire to be equal. Besides, you are too strict, too austere in your judgment of such matters. These are scarcely more than pardonable heirs, faults and follies to be expected in a handsome young fellow of his rank and age. As I have understood, this Cronstein is not so very young. He has reached years that ought to be of discretion very long since. I, well, it may be so. I know not of my own personal knowledge. But I must not tarry here. I must away to a privy council meeting that sits this morning. His Majesty laid his gracious commands on me to let him have, without fail the help of this poor brain of mine. He is pleased to think it of some little avail and weighty questions that concern the state. Well, well, it may be so. It may be so." Away hurried the courtier, and the silence that ensued after his departure was first broken by Ophelia's asking her mother, "'What did you mean by calling Lord Eric of Cronstein a libertine, a seducer? I never heard the words.' The Lady Udra looked at her daughter with a tender earnestness. The better for my an innocent child that she has never heard them, never known their meaning. Better still could she have remained in ignorance ever more of their evil import. But my Ophelia will soon be a woman. She will mix with the world. She will encounter the ill as well as the good that exists there. She will find that men's natures are compounded of vice as of virtue, that they are capable of sinful and harmful deeds as well as highest and most meritorious actions, that they often times work mischief instead of benefit, woe instead of wheel, and that guile frequently lurks beneath the most specious seeming. To guard her against such sinister assailants, to his needful she should know the nature of her danger, a danger most imminent in the sphere to which she is destined, a court. Gradually then, and very heedfully, did this tender mother lift the veil from her young daughter's mind. She told her how the selfishness of man frequently under the pretense of love for his victim sacrifices her innocence, blasts her good name, betrays her to shame and misery, and then leaves her to ruin, to utter perdition. Disgrace, pollution, wreck of fair honour, peril of body and soul following the track of such a villain's footsteps, wherever his fatal admiration chances to light, said Udra vehemently. And such deeds are called fashionable follies and pardonable errors of youth. The world is charitable in the allowances it makes for the worker of all this evil, though severely tyrannous to the injured party. But let the multitude be tolerant, as it will, to the titled libertine. I, for my part, must ever hold deliberate seduction as one of the most heinous of crimes, and continue to manifest my abhorrence of the seducer in proportion with my estimate of his guilt. I hold it to be a base-guilt, a cruel guilt, tis the advantage taken by knowledge of ignorance, by selfishness of generosity, tis the infliction of deadly injury beneath the mask of feigned love, tis cowardice and treachery in one, and in the vilest form, shame, double shame on the betrayer rather than on the betrayed. But such a betrayer, a libertine, a seducer, you believe Lord Eric of Cronstein to be? Such I have heard him described, by one, two, who thought she was doing him honour, fixing another feather in the cap of his gentlemanly qualifications, in ascribing to him such a character. A man of gallantry is, I believe, the polite term, a gallant action truly, to win the trust and love of a poor maid, and then requite her with destruction. My poor friend! And this is the man she deems worthy of all esteem and liking, to whom she has given her whole heart, exclaimed Ophelia, it will be best kindness to her now to reveal her secret to you, my mother, that we may have your experience and counsel to aid her. Can we not save her from committing her fate irrevocably to such a man's care? But he is gone. Still the knowledge of his worthlessness will help to console her for his loss. Hastily she told her mother of Thyra's attachment for Cronstein, of all she knew of him herself, of her former meeting with him, of his request that she would not revert to it, and then, as the story of Jutha was unfolded, owing to the recent better knowledge she had acquired, it struck herself with a new significance, while to the Lady Udra it revealed a fearful tale of sorrow and wrong. I should have been with thee, my child, told at the time as it occurred and as it then struck thee to a mother's ear all might have been well. A child should ever have at hand her to whom every scene, every event, together with the ideas they may engender, can be confided. Not even yet, with much mischief may be prevented. We will hasten to your friend Thyra, to warn her against the evil she can avoid, to comfort her in the grief she will have to endure. Part 7 On arriving at Cornelius's mansion they found from her attendance that the Lady Thyra had not yet left her room. She lies late ordinarily, dear mother, let us seek her in her chamber. Her friend Ophelia is privileged to come to her rooms at all seasons, even when she is, as now, a slugga-bed. She went at once to the sleeping-apartment. She saw at a glance that Thyra was not lying there, but as she was retiring, a something within the curtains at the bed's foot caught her eye. It was the figure of her friend, half hidden among them. Ophelia went gently forwards to embrace her, but as she extended her arms to wrap about Thyra's form, it swung heavily away from her, a mere heap of inanimate matter, an image, a course. It was the dead body of Thyra, hanging where her own desperate hand had stifled out life. Near to her was afterwards found a paper with these words. My father, forgive your lost child. O lost, lost indeed, every way lost. You destined my hand to one whom I could not love. I pledged faith, affection, honour, all to one whom I loved only too well. He whom I so fatally trusted has proved false. He fled. What has left me but to die? Deal indulgently by my memory for the sake of what I was to you. When an innocent child at your knee, your blessing rested on my head. Let the thought of me as I was then be all that shall live in your remembrance of—Thyra. When Ophelia was lifted from the floor, where she had fallen prostrate, she was in strong convulsions. The shock she had received produced a severe illness. For a long space she lay in the utmost danger, now wandering in delirium, now sunk into a heavy stupor. From one of these deep sleeps she once awoke, stretching forth her hand feebly, and uttering a faint word or two. Her mother, who had never quitted her side, perceived the movement and bent over her to catch the sense of the murmured sound. Is the king dead? I trust not, dear one, he is absent in Norway, and the last dispatches brought intelligence of his safety. Me thought I saw him dead, said Ophelia. I have been dreaming strangely. Her mother spoke soothingly, striving to compose and divert her attention from dwelling upon this. She smoothed and arranged the pillow beneath the feverish head, and put some cool beverage to the parched lips, whispering the wile, loving, cheerful words. But Ophelia reverted to the theme, and her mother, finding her inclined to speak and that she did so with none of the agitation which marked her words when she wandered, let her muse on, thus half aloud. He seemed dead as I saw him, though he moved before me, waving his arm toward them. He pointed to them as each appeared. Of whom do you speak, dear child? Of those figures, those women. It was down by the brook, among the reeds, beneath the willow. Not the stream in the wood, but the brook yonder which flows into the castle moat. That solitary spot, all rush-grown and shadowy, where the water creeps on sluggish and low, margined by rank grass and river-weeds. You remember?" Her mother gave token of assent. It was there she sat, the first figure that I saw. The night was obscure, the clouds scutted a thwart the sky, the moon's light struggled feebly through them. There was a veil of haze upon tree and shrub and brook, but I saw her plainly, and knew her at once, though her long hair fell drooping over her knees as she sat. I knew her before she shook it back, and wrung her hands, and moaned over the little white face that lay upon her bosom. It was dootha, mother." The Lady Udre would feign if prevented Ophelia from proceeding, but she feared to do harm by checking her and her evident desire to speak on. I would have gone towards her, but my feet were rooted to the spot. While close behind me there gradually shaped itself into substance, a form that seemed to grow out of the shadowy night air. It became the distinct semblance of the king, as I saw him ride to the Norwegian wars in coat of armour, and with truncheon in hand not long since. Save that his face and lieu of being lighted with hope of conquest, lifelike and animated, was pale and all amort, ghastly and set in death. He turned this one visage full upon me as he pointed to the figure of her who sat lamenting, and then she vanished. Dear Ophelia, thou shalt not recall these sad images. Let me tell thee, dear one of thy father, who—but there were two others I saw. One was my poor Thyra. I knew her by a terrible token, and Ophelia's voice became nearly extinct as she added. Her livid throat, mother, and there was a space between her feet and the ground as she glided past me. A moment's pause, and then Ophelia went on. But she faded out of my ken also as the mailed figure again stretched forth his pointing hand. The wind sighed amid the reeds. The heads of nettles and long purples were stirred by the night breeze as it swept on mournfully. The air seemed laden with heavy sobbing. Then I saw one approach whose face I could not see and whose figure I knew not. She was clothed in white, all hung about with weeds and wildflowers, and from among them stuck ends of straw that the shadowy hand seemed to pluck and spurn at. The armed royalty waved sternly, but as if involuntarily commanded by yet a higher power than his own will, and then the white figure moved on, impelled towards the water. I saw her glide on, floating upon its surface. I saw her dimly among the silver-leaved branches of the drooping willow as they waved around and above her, up buoyed by her spreading white garments. The mother shuddered as her eye fell upon the white night-gear of her child telling the vision. But at this moment Polonius softly entered the room, having heard from Gouda that his daughter had awakened better, and that she was talking more collectively than she had done since her illness. He was soon busily engaged in his half-fussy, half-kindly manner, chiding Udra for indulging Ophelia with too much license of speech, and making many remarks equally sapient and facetious on women's love of talk, their proneness for confabulation and gossip. They will let each other talk rather than not have talked toward," said he. But you, lady-wife, and you, my girl, must be patient yet a while, and let rest and perfect silence do their work. Quiet is restorative. Give it its full trial, besieged you." Thanks to Udra's tender nursing, Ophelia was restored to health. But a more severe blow than any she had yet sustained now awaited her. Death, which had spared herself, took her mother from her. It is true that the anguish of sudden separation was not theirs. For some time Udra lingered. Hers was a gradual decay, without pain, and without loss of faculty. She was able to give her child those councils which should best protect her in her approaching entrance upon the world's experience, while the daughter was permitted the comfort of yielding the gentle ministerings, the loving tendons which best alleviate sickness and suffering. The anxious mother would often recur to the nature of the perils, which most peculiarly threaten the young maiden introduced for the first time to the society of men of the world—men, her superiors in rank, as an artful experience—and from the exercise of which art to her prejudice no conscientious scruples would deter them. The mother thought it behoved her in a special manner to guard Ophelia by this pre-knowledge of the dangers that would environ her, when left alone as she felt her child must soon be, with no female guidance, no other protection than her own heart. And how was this heart to counsel her, were it not previously fortified and instructed by an understanding of its probable hazards, and of its best sources of defence against them? Udra deplored the necessity that existed for thus forestalling in her daughter's mind an acquaintance with the existence of vice, but she felt it to be a necessity, and she did not shrink from the performance of her duty. She consoled herself also with the reflection that to learn the nature of vice is not to become acquainted with vice itself, or the practice of vice. That to know of evil is not to know evil. That to perceive the perils of sin is no allurement to sin. On the contrary, she felt that a virtuous nature as instinctively shrinks from the pollution of crime, as purity recoils from mingling with impurity. There subsists mutual repugnance to combine. She therefore hesitated not to point out evil to her young daughter, as the surest means of averting it. "'But not only, my child,' Udra once said, "'have I to caution you against the viciously disposed young men. Even with their best simulation there is something that betrays itself of such men's real propensities, to act as a warning and a repellent to one of pure inclinations. There is Claudius, the king's brother, for instance, a licentious, unscrupulous man, who unless my instincts have played me false, and done him grievous injustice, would be restricted by no consideration of honour or duty in the pursuit of his desires. From such coarse homage as his, were it offered to her, my child's own delicacy and native good feeling would at once prompt her to shrink. It is the good, the gentle, the refined in manner, the accomplished in speech and deportment, the cultivated in imagination and intellect against whom my daughter must also learn to guard her heart, lest such qualities betray her into a premature gift of that heart fatal to her peace of mind. Tell me, my child, it is to your own mother you are speaking, remember. Tell me if you know one thus distinguished." Ophelia was standing behind the large chair in which Udra reclined, so that her face was unseen. But as she leaned over and kissed the waned cheek, her mother felt the glow she could not behold. Since I have heard that his highness the Lord Hamlet has returned from Wittenburg, said Udra, I have always believed that you, dear child, could not fail to note in him the maturity of those excellences, of which I remember he gave such fruitful token in earliest youth. Even then I could foresee what the future man would be, from the nobleness of nature, which shone conspicuous in every word and deed of the young prince. He was in truth a royal child, a noble boy, and as he grew into manhood I still marked, on each of his successive returns to Elsinor, how worthily he fulfilled the promise of his boyhood. Such a mind and heart as his, seen as they are through those dark expressive eyes, now full of intellectual fire, now softened by sensibility, seen as they are through his most beautiful smile, a smile peculiarly his, so gentle, yet so arch, so pregnant of meaning, so persuasive in its sweet fascination, can scarcely fail of winning for him the favour of any woman whom he should seek to interest. But must the yielding him her favourable thoughts be so fatal a surrender, for the woman whom he could truly love? whispered Ophelia. For her whom he could love, truly, and in truth love, know, assuredly know, said Udra. Were woman well convinced that she had indeed become possessed of his true affection, she would but exchange a mutual treasure in the full bestowal of her heart's best feeling upon such a man as Hamlet. But let her be sure—entirely sure of his love for her—let her be aware that his thought is as deeply fixed upon her as hers could be upon him, ere she allow her own to occupy itself too curiously with his merits. Let her securely know that his heart is firm sat in constancy and truth towards her, ere she weakly suffer her imagination to become enamoured of excellences, only too well calculated to inspire a passion which, if hopeless, would be fatal to her peace of mind. Thus it came that, from her mother's warning at this time, as from her father's and her brother's admonitions at a subsequent period, Ophelia had the perils which awaited her in her future life at court peculiarly impressed upon her mind. After the Lady Udra's death, both the King and the Queen made it their study by their tenderness and almost parental kindness of attention to the motherless girl to lighten the affliction of her loss. They were, in their behaviour to her, rather like affectionate and gracious friends than her sovereigns. They showed by their eagerness to have her as much as possible with them that they would feign act the part of loving relations by her, and she soon learned to regard them with as fond an attachment. The Prince Hamlet joined his royal parents in their attempt to soften the grief of Ophelia, and in this gentle task his own growing preference for her gained strength and fixedness of purpose. His kindness and sympathy were enlisted in her behalf, his refined taste was attracted by her maiden beauty, his delicacy of feeling taught him to delight in her innocence, her modesty, her retiring diffidence, his masculine intellect found repose in the contemplation of her artless mind, her untaught simplicity, her ingenuous character. His manly soul dwelt with a kind of serene rapture on the sweet feminine softness of her nature. As time went on, tokens of his increasing regard awoke a responsive feeling in her breast towards him. But while this fair flower of love was springing up between them, near to it lurked an unsuspected rankness of growth the foul unwholesome weed of a forbidden passion. It happened that a coarser of matchless breed was sent from a distant court as a present to that of Denmark. The king bestowed the gift on his son Hamlet, and one morning Queen Gertrude and Aphelia were leaning from the balcony of a window overlooking the courtyard of the castle, that they might watch the prince as he went through the varied paces, and tried the several merits of the high-metalled horse. The interest of the sight absorbed them wholly. Their eyes were riveted upon the animated scene below, and they were unconscious that any one was in the room near them, when Claudius stepped close to where the queen was bending forward, and standing just within the open window that led onto the balcony, a few paces behind her, he murmured, "'This has slipped from your Majesty's arm.' She turned and saw that he had just picked up from the floor her bracelet, which he held towards her but not within reach. "'Will your grace receive it at my hand?' he said, without tendering it any nearer, but holding it, as it were, in a manner of allure, that she might step within the room from the balcony. She did so, saying, "'I thank you, my lord, for the pains you have taken, that I should not lose what I prize so highly.' "'You may requite them,' he said, yonder silken trifle, that heaving ribbon, blushing and fragrant, a carnation set midst lilies.' He continued, pointing to a crimson knot she wore upon her bosom. "'Shall be rich ransom for the jewel.' "'Were it not for the young girl so near to us, for whose innocent sake I indulge you with this lowered voice, my lord, you should not dare speak thus?' said Gertrude, glancing towards the balcony where she had left Ophelia. I rejoice in her presence, or in ought else, that procures me this concession, this chance. Could you know the fever of solicitude which I have watched for such a precious moment? Could you know the anguish of seeing you ever near, yet ever removed from my—my lord, I entreat, I insist, no more!' Give me the bracelet. Not without its ransom. The last token was torn from you. This I am resolved shall be yielded of your own grace, accorded to me by your pity. That womanly heart, could it only know how sorely I need comfort, would not refuse me its compassion. He saw that she could not hear unmoved an illusion to his unhappiness, offspring though it was of a criminal passion. From such a woman as Gertrude the sight of the influence her beauty had upon his senses excited involuntary interest. There was that in her voluptuous nature which responded instinctively to the luxurious ardour of the passion he had dared to conceive and avow. Instead of in her heart resenting and by her manner repelling the boldness of his warmth, instead of resisting its effect upon herself and repressing its expression in him, she could not help yielding to the secret guilty pleasure of knowing it to exist. She allowed herself to contrast its unhallowed fire with the pure love of her wedded Lord, and sensually judged the one seemed superior and fervor to the other. The wife who admits such thoughts, so judging, is already adulterate in spirit. Yet still her feeble soul struggled to preserve a show of virtuous indignation at the insult of his admiration. "'Know you to whom you speak, my Lord? Do you remember that I am a wife?' she said and replied to his last speech. Too fatally, and that you are not mine.' He struck his forehead with his clenched hand. "'Cease, sir, think that I am your brother's, your queen. You strain our patience. And do you owe me no indemnity for that which I have shown in my long silent torture? Let me have the token I covet, or I keep the gem. You abuse your advantage, my Lord.' "'Misery breeds selfishness,' he replied. I have bided too long and bitter, hopeless misery, to neglect the one poor gain within my power. Grant me the silken toy.' I dare not let my husband miss his gift from my arm,' said the queen hastily detaching the ribbon. "'Neighbored as this has been a thousand times more precious,' he exclaimed, as he snatched the breast-knot to his lips and returned her the jewel. In a week of that time the realm of Denmark was thrown into dismay by the sudden death of its monarch. The good king, so it was reported, while sleeping, as was his afternoon won't, in the orchard which formed part of the palace grounds, had been stung by a serpent, and from the venom inflicted by the wound he had instantly sickened and died. Air the nation could recover from its consternation, and while the rightful air to the crown was plunged in filial grief, Claudius seized the crown, and caused himself to be proclaimed king. So artfully had all his plans been laid, so resolutely and so promptly did he carry them all out, that he established his claims to the succession, or rather fixed himself firmly in the possession of his usurped dominion, before the public voice on behalf of its lawful prince could be upraised to dispute his pretensions. Scarcely had this first bold step been securely taken when it was followed up by the solemnity of coronation, and shortly after by the ceremonial of marriage between the reigning monarch and his late brother's widow. The habitual acquiescence with which royal proceedings are for the most part regarded by the populace could hardly restrain the expressions of amazement and dissatisfaction which these events excited. But they occurred in such rapid succession, were carried with so high a hand, and were executed so peremptorily, that they passed without open murmurs, without attempted opposition. Moreover the lavish splendour with which the two rites of royal marriage and coronation were solemnised, had their effect upon the vulgar mine in causing them to be regarded with curiosity and interest, rather than with reprobation. Claudius knew the full advantage of investing his royal proceedings with the glare of pomp and ostentation, as a means of dazzling the public eye, and he omitted no circumstance that could blind its judgment. He caused the rumour of the surpassing magnificence which was to mark the approaching ceremonies at the Danish court to be spread far and wide, and among the many attracted from a distance to witness so gorgeous a scene, young Laertes, Ophelia's brother, came from France, that he might be present. He was pleased with this opportunity for spending some time with a sister whom he so tenderly loved, for though during their life they had been much separated, yet in those intervals that they had been together, he had learned to appreciate and love the modest worth, the affectionate nature of this gentle being. Besides, they had been in the habit of corresponding with one another by letter, and thus the attachment between them had been maintained and cemented. To this means of intercourse he reverted when, the regal pageant concluded, Laertes prepared to return to France. As he bade her farewell, he prayed her to let no long time elapse, or he should hear from her. And she, in her own quiet though earnest way, in her own simple sincerity of manner replied, Do you doubt that? Watch to this with sequent, thou knowest already.