CHAP. II.
Oft let me hear thy soothing voice
Low whisp'ring thro' the shade.Barbauld
It was in a fine autumnal evening that Clermont, seized with one of his usual fits of melancholy, abruptly withdrew from the cottage, and left Madeline to amuse herself as fancy might direct. Habit had failed of its usual effect upon her mind; for, on every return of her father's dejection, she felt as much distressed as if she had never before witnessed it. To endeavour to alleviate this distress, she now walked out and pursued her course along the margin of the river till she reached the old castle, o'er which the last beams of the sun now glimmered; its gloom rather invited than deterred her from entering it: passing, therefore, through its dreary courts, she ascended a flight of half-broken stairs that led directly to a large chamber which opened to a kind of rude balcony that stretched along one wing of the building. This was a favourite seat of Madeline's. The landscape seen through the intervening trees which rose before it never satiated her eye; upon every view some new beauty, some new charm, if possible more lovely than the last, was discovered by her.
The solemn shades surrounding her, o'er which the dusky hue of twilight was now beginning to steal, and the profound stillness of the air, only interrupted by the faint warbling of retiring birds, or the yet fainter sighing of the breeze among the trees, now and then intermingled with the hum of distant voices, by degrees calmed the painful emotions of Madeline's mind, and she became again, if not cheerful, at least composed.
"How sweet, how soothing (cried she) is this tranquil hour to the afflicted heart! it seems to give a respite to its cares, as it does to those of labour. How delightful to gaze upon the glories by which it is attended! to listen to the soft breeze that seems to die away amongst the waving trees, and the low carol of the peasant hastening to his cottage to enjoy the meal sweetened by contentment, and earned by industry."
Occupied by ideas similar to those which she had expressed, Madeline was almost abstracted from the scene which had inspired them, when her attention was suddenly awakened by an oboe from the valley; nothing could be more congenial to her present feelings than its melody, and she listened with exquisite delight; her spirits alternately rising, alternately sinking, as the sounds swelled with grandeur on the air, and tremblingly died away, till only their faint echo amongst the mountains could be distinguished: at last they ceased entirely; but, as if unwilling to relinquish the pleasure they had given her, she immediately began singing the beautiful air she had been listening to, and with which she was well acquainted. She however soon ceased, imagining that she heard a low voice beneath the balcony repeating her words. Somewhat startled, she hastily arose, and looked over it; but no object was visible, and all again was silence. Her fancy, she was then convinced, had deceived her, and her composure returned in consequence of that idea; but the night being now far advanced, she delayed no longer quitting the castle.
The next evening her father again left her to herself. Slinging her lute across her arm, with which she was wont to amuse herself in her moments of solitude, she again proceeded to the castle, and sought her favourite seat; but scarcely had she gained it, ere the following lines, penciled on a smooth white stone that had once formed part of a supporting pillar to the door of the chamber through which she had passed, caught her eye, and filled her breast with inexpressible surprise.
the lines.
Midst grass-grown courts, the "ivy mantled tower,"
Where legends say afflicted spirits mourn
O'er the sad records of departed power,—
I restless watch for dewy eve's return:
For then the chantress of the woodland vale
Awakes the echoes of the dreary pile,
With sounds that o'er my tortur'd soul prevail,
And all its cares and agonies beguile.
The evening star, the pale moon's silver ray,
I raptur'd hail, that gives her to my gaze:
Her form, her smile, harmonious as her lay,—
The mild expression of her angel face.
Should this weak record of ill-fated love
E'er meet her eye,—ah, may one tender tear
Be shed for him, whom fate forbade to prove
His ardent passion or his truth sincere!
Ah! may she pity then, compassion is his claim,
'Tis all he dares to ask—'Tis all he hopes to gain.
The moment Madeline had read those lines, she recollected the voice which she fancied she had heard the preceding evening, and was convinced her ear had not then deceived her.
A stranger, she was sure, had visited the ruins, for to none of the inhabitants of the valley, all the rough and illiterate children of industry, could she ascribe them; neither could she avoid believing them addressed to herself; not from any conscious superiority of charms over the rest of the village maids, but from a conviction that they never visited the castle, on account of the superstitious dread they entertained of it.
An idea that the person who wrote the lines might be loitering about the ruins, now struck her; and she instantly determined to quit them. Scarcely had she done so, when she heard the sound of a step in the adjoining chamber; she hastily bent forward, and looking through the little arch which led to the balcony, she perceived a man gliding from the opposite door into an obscure corner of the room; there was just sufficient light within to enable her to perceive he was a stranger: her heart beat quick; she trembled, and shrinking back, regretted the thoughtless temerity which had exposed her to danger, by tempting her to visit the lonely pile at such an hour.
That it was the author of the little sonnet she beheld, she could not doubt; but the tender sentiments it expressed could not inspire her with sufficient courage to bear the idea of throwing herself entirely into his power, which, by attempting to leave the castle, she must do, her only passage being through its innermost recesses; she deemed it safer therefore to continue in her present situation, where there was a chance of not being observed, and of obtaining assistance by crying out if she should find it necessary, either till she was assured the stranger had departed, or that some hope of protection presented itself to her view.
Eagerly she listened for some sound from the valley, that might inspire this hope, but in vain; by the silence which reigned over it, interrupted only by the barking of cottage dogs, as if they bayed the moon, she was at length convinced that care and industry had already retired to repose.
he late hour to which her father prolonged his nocturnal rambles, and the timidity of their servant, gave her little reason to hope deliverance through their means: scarcely suffering herself to breathe, she continued a long time in a state of greater agony than she had ever before experienced. At last she heard a step; but her almost fainting spirits were soon recalled by a conviction that it was not approaching her; and in the next minute she caught a glimpse of a figure (the same she was sure she had seen in the chamber) descending a winding path near the balcony. Her strength and courage immediately returned, and with a quickness that scarcely permitted her to touch the ground, she left the castle, and reached the valley by a different path from that which the stranger had taken. She had scarcely quitted it, when a sudden rustling among the trees behind her induced her to look back, and she perceived him slowly emerging from the midst of them. The speed of Madeline was now if possible increased, and, faint and breathless, she gained the enclosure before her father's cottage. As she fastened the little gate, she paused and leaned over it, but almost instantly retreated from it to the house, discovering the stranger to be within a few yards of it.
Her father was not yet returned; and the maid, busied in preparing the supper table, took no notice of her agitation. The idea of security soon restored Madeline's composure; she then resolved not to acquaint her father with the incident that had alarmed her, least it should agitate, and render him uneasy, if at any future time chance prevented her returning home as soon as he expected. She also determined not to visit the castle again till she was convinced the stranger had forsaken it, nor even then at so late an hour as she had hitherto done; to know who he was, to have a perfect view of him, she could not help wishing.
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, when her father withdrew to the vineyard, Jaqueline, the servant, entered the room; she was a faithful creature, much attached to Clermont and Madeline from the number of years she had lived with them, and now appeared with a face full of importance.
"Lord, Mam'selle, (cried she) I have been wanting to speak to you this long time; I have something to tell you that will so surprise you! I dare say, if you lived to be an hundred, and were all that time guessing, you would not find it out."
"Very likely (said Madeline, taking up her work); so do you save me the useless trouble of trying to do so."
"Why this morning (began Jaqueline) before the sun was risen, I went down to the river to get a pail of water, and there I saw the most handsomest young man I ever beheld in my days."
Madeline dropped her work, and fastened her eyes eagerly upon Jaqueline's face.
"Claude Dubois and Josephe le Mure, though counted so handsome, and to be sure they are the best looking young men in the village, (resumed Jaqueline) are not to be compared to him. So, as I was saying, I found him standing by the river looking so earnestly at this cottage, as if there was something or somebody in it he wanted to discover. God bless my soul, says I to myself, if he should be looking at it with any bad intent!—for you know, Mam'selle, there are people wicked enough to go about the world trying to do mischief; so I laid the pail upon the bank, and, thinks I, I will try to discover what he wants, or what he means; but how to begin to speak to him, I did not know; for though I did not feel afraid, I felt some how or other an awe of him: he saved me the trouble however of inventing an excuse for speaking to him, by asking me whether I lived in the house he had seen me come out of. So after I had answered him, I was just going to beg in return he would tell me why he stood looking at it, for all the world as if he wanted to take its length and breadth and all its dimensions, when Margarette Duval, going to market with some kids, came up to me for the price of a new hat which I had desired her to buy me the next time she went there, and whilst I was untying my glove to take out my money, away he marched, notwithstanding he saw I was going to speak to him when she came up."
"Perhaps you said something about him to Margarette," said Madeline.
"Nothing that could offend him, I am sure, (cried Jaqueline); I only said, when she asked, as I was taking out my money, whether that handsome gentleman near me was a sweetheart of my young lady? 'heaven knows who he is; he may be a sweetheart of yours or mine as well as of hers, for ought I know.' I must confess, indeed, she stared at him with all the eyes in her head, which perhaps drove him away; for I am sure my words could not: this I took care to tell her, after he was gone, was a piece of very bad manners. Before I came home (proceeded Jaqueline), I met some neighbours, to whom I described him, in order to find out if they knew any thing about him; but they were quite ignorant of any such person; it is evident, therefore, that he does not lodge in this valley, or he would be known to its inhabitants."
'Tis strange, thought Madeline, that visiting it as he does, he should not be known to any of them.
"I was all in a flutter till I told you about him (said Jaqueline); and should be glad to know whether you would have my master also told, that in case of any bad design against the house, he may be upon his guard."
"I think I may venture to say there is no bad design formed against it (exclaimed Madeline); consequently there is no occasion to speak to him on the subject."
"Very well, Mam'selle (answered Jaqueline); I am sure you have more wisdom and discretion than I have, notwithstanding I am the oldest; I shall therefore do as you please."
Madeline resumed her work as Jaqueline quitted the room; but not with her wonted diligence did she pursue it; her eyes continually wandered from it to the valley, where, however, they met no object to which they had not been accustomed.
In the evening her father invited her to walk; this invitation she accepted with pleasure; nor was her satisfaction diminished on finding that he proceeded in the direction to the castle.