CHAPTER VII.
Eye me, bless'd Providence, and square my trial
Lauretta, on recovering her senses, found herself in total darkness; and, by the motion which she felt, concluded she was in some vehicle, which was drawn swiftly along. It was some time ere she recollected the situation in which she had last seen the light, and she then exclaimed, "Gracious heaven, where am I?" No one answered. She extended her hand; it fell upon the hilt of a sword, and she immediately heard a rough voice, between sleeping and waking, mutter some words which she did not understand.
The image of the men who had so greatly alarmed her, recurred to her, and she shuddered.
The person who sat by her yawned, and turned himself towards her.
The night, although summer was far advanced, was damp: Lauretta was unaccustomed to the night air—she trembled with cold—and her teeth chattered violently.
Her companion again yawned; and then asking her, whether he should throw his woollen wrapper round her, relieved her from the apprehension under which she had at first laboured, that Theodore was the person who wore the sword she had accidentally touched.
That poignant anguish of mind which refuses to relieve the sufferer by an effusion of tears, is seldom more favourable to the utterance. Such was the grief of the unhappy Lauretta: her repeated attempts to articulate were ineffectual, and the pangs of her heart were redoubled by her involuntary silence. The tears, at length, as expressive of the painful efforts which produced them, stole singly down her cold cheeks, and with difficulty she again stammered out, "Where am I?"
"I must answer no questions," returned the man. His voice was hoarse, but by no means so blunt and harsh as Lauretta's fears had led her to expect.
"Whither am I going?" cried Lauretta.
This demand was thrice advanced, but no answer returned.
"Is the chevalier D'Aignon here?" she then asked.
"No," replied the man. "I believe I may venture to tell you, he is at the castle."
To no other question could she obtain the slightest answer: she knew not what to hope or what to fear; the gloominess of the night added greatly to the depression of her spirits, and the predominant idea within her breast was, that her companion was hired by Theodore to be her murderer, in revenge for his slighted love.
Her companion in a short time after addressed her; and, attributing her anxiety in a great measure to the chill, which, by the chattering of her teeth, he found still hung upon her, pressed her to taste some brandy out of a flask which had been almost unremittingly applied to his own lips.
Lauretta was insensible to his attentions. "Oh Alphonsus!" she cried, "shall I never again behold you?"—A flood of tears followed the exclamation, and her sorrow rose almost to frenzy.
After three hours passed in a suspense more poignant than a certainty of suffering the most dreadful calamities that could have befallen her, the vehicle stopped.
Her companion immediately sprang up, and pushing past her, opened the door, and gave her into the arms of his comrade, by whose side stood another figure, holding a lantern.
The man who had received her into his arms, conveyed her into the kitchen of a miserable inn, of which it was difficult to say, whether poverty or dirt was the leading feature: he placed her in a chair, and then returning to the door, saluted the landlord with a volley of oaths, which conveyed the double meaning, that the horses were in want of provender, and his flask void of brandy.
He then approached the fire, and kicking away a dog which lay sleeping in the corner of the chimney, seated himself by Lauretta.
His companion now entered, and placing himself opposite the weeping fair, she imagined she perceived a faint gleam of pity shine in his eye. To avail herself of the moment in which she fancied she saw his heart open to the dictates of humanity, was her immediate resolution; and falling on her knees before him, she entreated him to have pity on her helpless situation, and restore her to her Alphonsus. Ere he could answer, she heard his comrade start from his seat, and turning round her head, she observed that he had drawn his sword nearly out of the scabbard. All her fears now seemed verified; she seized the hand of him before whom she was kneeling, uttered an hysteric shriek, and sunk senseless on the floor.
When she revived, she found herself still on the ground, with her head reclined on the knees of a woman, whose expanded features and brawny limbs seemed to deny her sex.
Whilst Lauretta had continued in a state of insensibility, the hostess had carefully chafed her temples with strong liquors, and now seeing life returned, pressed her to fortify her stomach with a dram of the same cordial, which she had before outwardly administered.
She was now again placed in the chair which she had before occupied, and casting her eyes round, she perceived that several other men had entered the kitchen: amongst them sat the ruffian who had lately given her so much cause for alarm; but she saw not him who had been her companion in the vehicle.
Her fainting fits, together with the extreme agitation of her spirits, had brought on a violent pain in her head; and unable any longer to support her drooping frame, she requested the hostess to conduct her to a bed; but with this petition, Kroonzer, the ruffian of whom Lauretta stood in so great dread, absolutely commanded her not to comply, saying, he must depart in a very short time. The hostess, though of so masculine a figure, seemed not devoid of the feelings of her sex, and now cast a look at Lauretta, which speakingly informed her, she wished to accord in her request, but durst not, from the awe in which she stood of Kroonzer.
After a short interval, Kroonzer ordered the host to bring out the horses and prepare for their departure: his commands were instantly obeyed.
Again lifted into the vehicle, how great were the apprehensions of Lauretta, on perceiving Kroonzer enter after her, together with another man, on whose countenance the light which proceeded from a lantern held by the host, falling, it appeared, if possible, more savage than that of the surly Kroonzer.
They again proceeded swiftly along, and for a length of time a strict silence was observed, not less by the men, than by Lauretta.
The faint taints of saffron hue which now began to streak the clearing sky, afforded extreme delight to the overburdened heart of Lauretta. She considered, that, had these men received orders to destroy her, they would in all probability have executed the deed, whilst the darkness of the night enabled them to evade the eye of man.
The first objects she descried by the rising light, were distant mountains, whose towering summits were rapidly gaining the gilded tinge of advancing day.—The tract of land over which they were journeying, was heathy and barren, save where, at intervals, some small clusters of unpropped vines grew spontaneously on the shelving hillocks.
Her fortitude in some measure returning with the much-wished-for light of day, she ventured to inquire, "whither she was going?"—"Not above a league farther now," cried Kroonzer, "whatever we may do at night."—And from this answer she hesitated not to conclude, that, wherever she was about to be conveyed, Theodore, apprehensive of a rescue, had cautioned her conductors against travelling in the day-time.
The road now turned into a valley: on the left lay high mountains which were speckled with cattle of various kinds; on the right, irregular lines of lofty chestnut and beech trees: it now wound round the mountain, and the sun burst full upon them between the boles of the trees. Never before had its cheering rays so greatly exhilarated the heart of her who now hailed its return from the bosom of the deep.
A few moments brought them to the extremity of the vale, and they entered upon a small but thickly planted forest; the ground was covered with furze, through which, as there was no distinct path, the vehicle found a difficulty in passing: at length turning an angle, Lauretta suddenly perceived a thatched cottage: here the vehicle stopped, and Ralberg, for such was the name of Kroonzer's comrade, having alighted, announced their arrival by a thundering knock with his fist at the door. It was opened by a man half dressed, whose appearance was that of a peasant, and Lauretta was conducted into an apartment which served for the double purpose of kitchen and chamber to the countryman and his wife, who, when they entered, was in the act of dressing behind a ragged curtain, which but ill concealed her from her newly arrived guests.
Lauretta, unable to stand, insensibly seated herself on a bench, which encircled half the fire-place,—unmindful of Kroonzer and his comrade, who had entered into close conversation with the countryman in low voices.
The good woman was no sooner habited, than advancing from behind her flimsy retreat, she began with an apology to Lauretta for not having been up ready to receive her, and ended by requesting her to accompany her to a better apartment. Lauretta, with tottering and uncertain steps, followed her hostess up a few stairs, scarcely superior either in breadth or safety to a ladder, and arrived in a small room, the furniture of which consisted of a mean bed, a disabled chair, and a large box, which served at once for a wardrobe, a seat, and a table.
Having closed the door, and pointed with half a courtesy to the only chair, Bartha again apologised for not having been risen to receive her; but alleged that she had arrived somewhat earlier than her husband had said he expected her.
"Were you then apprised of my coming?" asked Lauretta.
"Oh dear heart, yes," replied Bartha; "and so I got this chamber ready for you; for I said to Ugo,—lack-a-day, said I, she will be sorely tired with journeying all night, and glad to rest her wearied limbs, I warrant me."
"Oh!" cried Lauretta, clasping the hand of old Bartha, as she stood by her side,—"if you are acquainted with the purpose for which I am brought hither, for the love of God, I conjure you to inform me."
"The Holy Virgin wots, I know not," returned the woman.
"But, tell me, whither I am to be conveyed," continued Lauretta; "one of my guards insinuated that I am not to remain here longer than to-day."
"Ah! lack-a-day!" cried Bartha, "I know not indeed! Ugo says, women are tattlers, and should not be trusted with secrets. I pressed him hardly to tell me on what account you were coming hither; but he would not."
"Gave he no reason?"—inquired the disconsolate fair.
"No, by the saints, did he not. He only said, 'Bartha,'—said he, 'ask no questions; no harm is going to be done to any body; so make yourself easy.'"
"In what manner was he informed that I was going to be brought hither?" asked Lauretta.
"By my troth, I know not," answered Bartha. "He told me of it last night, when he came from work in that little forest you see there: he is a wood-cutter."
"Could you find any method of conveying a letter for me to my friends?"
"Not unknown to my husband, if it be far from hence."
"The estate of the baron Smaldart, on the borders of the river Inn, is the place I allude to."
"Lack-a-day, good soul, that is many leagues from hence; and I never go farther than the next village."
Lauretta hung down her head and wept, and Bartha left the apartment.
Unable to taste the refreshments with which Bartha in a short time returned, Lauretta threw herself upon the bed; and although she had never pressed bedding so hard and uncomfortable, the fatigue she had undergone soon closed her eyes, but not to peaceful slumbers: the scenes through which she had so lately passed, returned to her flurried imagination in more terrific colours than the reality had appeared to her,—now exaggerated by sleeping fancy.