Chapter II: Part 2

Thus was the little blind god, who had been the delight and the torment of all ages, beginning to play cross purposes at the castle, and aiming his arrows at hearts too innocent to guard against or repel their attacks. De Willows had ever admired Edeliza as a beautiful and interesting child; he had been in the habit of seeing her, from the time she was ten years old, every day; therefore her progress towards womanhood had passed in a manner unperceived, and he had indulged himself and his little favourite in the same fond and playful endearments as had taken place from the first of their meeting, and that without forming an idea of there being either danger or impropriety in so doing. Had any one informed De Willows that Edeliza was cherishing a growing affection for him, which, if unreturned, would endanger her future peace, he would have treated it as the idle chimera of their own whimsical brain; but, had he once seriously supposed he was destroying her happiness, and planting the thorn of anguish in her innocent bosom, his heart was so much the seat of true honour, he would have stabbed in his own breast rather than have acted unjustly by the daughter of his friend.

It happened about this period that Sir Philip de Morney was obliged to go to London in order to settle a law-suit which had been long depending, and which had harassed his mind very much. De Huntingfield was to take the command of the castle during his absence, being the oldest officer in the place. De Willows, though of higher rank, was too young to be entrusted with a charge of so much importance, and gladly yielded the honour to one so much his superior in years. Sir Philip departed with reluctance, took leave of his family with tenderness, and promised to return the first moment after the affair was settled.--Lady de Morney was reconciled to the temporary absence of her husband by the important business which had called him away.

The young friends, having slept for several nights undisturbed, had almost lost all remembrance of their fears before the departure of Sir Philip, whose absence happened very opportunely to gratify their curiosity in visiting every part of the castle, Edwin having promised to procure the keys, and accompany them.

Two nights after Sir Philip's departure, having spent a cheerful evening, they retired to rest in unusual good spirits, but were awakened about midnight by a war of the elements, and what made the scene more terrific, though it was in the depth of winter, the thunder rolled in tremendous peals over their heads, the sturdy walls of the castle appeared to shake from their centre to the battlements, and the lightning flashed upon the walls, and gleamed along the vaulted passages, as if to make horror visible. The young ladies dressed themselves, and Edwin tapped at the door with a light, inviting them to go down into one of the lower rooms, to which he would accompany them.

Cheered and revived by the sound of his voice, they readily agreed to his proposal, and in a few minutes opened the door to admit their conductor. They made as little noise as possible, fearful of disturbing Lady de Morney, if she was not already alarmed by the tempest; and, to prevent the possibility of doing so, they agreed to go down a winding staircase that led through one of the towers, and which was seldom used by the family. They crept slowly along, when, in one part of it, which was rather wider than the rest, they passed four steps, which led to a door in the wall, and which appeared so well secured by locks and bars, as if it never was intended to be opened.

"For heaven's sake, (whispered Roseline,) to what room does that door lead? I never saw it before."

"I entreat you (said the trembling Madeline) not to stop in this horrid place to ask questions, (for the humid and unwholesome dews of night and noxious vapours hung on the walls.) Though I am not afraid now Edwin is with us, yet I may take cold by staying here."

Edwin pressed the hand which was resting on his arm to his throbbing bosom, and hurried them into the room the family had left, and they were all truly rejoiced to find an excellent fire still blazing on the wide-extended hearth, round which they seated themselves, and neither Madeline nor Edwin uttered a single complaint at having been so unseasonably disturbed.

The tempest having spent it fury, subsided by degrees into a calm, and the party, entering into conversation, almost forgot it had ever been. Roseline however repeated her question respecting the door they had seen in their way down the staircase. Edwin assured her he knew no more than herself to what place it belonged: he had heard that the restless ghost of some one had been bound in the apartments to which it led, and that orders had been given for it never to be opened. He had once made some inquiries of his father, but was desired by him never to ask any questions till he came to years of maturity, nor to explore any of the secret passages or entrances to the castle.

"Then, surely, (said Madeline,) it would be extremely wrong to disobey the commands of Sir Philip, merely to satisfy an idle and perhaps blamable curiosity."

"At the moment (interrupted Edwin) that I admire the complying sweetness of the gentle Madeline, I must beg pardon for retaining my own resolution of seeing those parts of the castle from which I have been so long secluded. I am now arrived at an age that surely deserves to be trusted, or I must be unfit to live in a situation like this. My father's reasons for the secresy he has observed so long, I am unacquainted with; but I will most assuredly avail myself of his absence to gratify my curiosity. I know where the keys are deposited, and in a night or two will begin my nocturnal search. If you and Roseline are in the humour to accompany me, it is well; if not, I shall certainly go by myself."

"As that might be dangerous, (said Roseline, who rejoiced to find him so resolute,) you must promise to take me along with you."

To this he assented, and Madeline agreed, with some little confusion, to be of the party, concluding, Sir Philip must be wrong in not granting his son's request. This matter settled, they retired for the rest of the night, to forget, in the arms of sleep, not only the castle and the nunnery, but the whole world.

The next night they were surprised by an unusual noise, that seemed to be immediately under them. It appeared something like the rattling of a carriage over stones. Groans too they thought they heard; and, after dressing themselves, Roseline called her brother, to convince him their alarms were not the effects of imagination. He heard the same sounds, and, in looking round their apartment, and into an adjoining closet, he discovered a trap-door, that was very curiously concealed under a board, which slided over it. He attempted to lift it up, but found it was secured by a lock which was hid in a small projection of the wall.

Finding it impossible to obtain a passage, they determined to defer their search till the succeeding night, when Edwin promised to secure the keys. He stayed with them till daylight dissipated their fears; they then retired to repose; but sleep deserted their pillows. A thousand vague conjectures occupied their minds, and Madeline, for the first time in her life, wished herself absent from the castle: that there was something to discover appeared beyond a doubt; but, whether the discovery would serve to relieve or increase their anxiety, was as hazardous as it was uncertain; however, as Roseline and Edwin were resolute to make the attempt, she determined not to oppose them.

Edwin revolved in his mind how he might be able to find some clue to guide him, and resolved to apply to an old soldier, whose whole life had been spent in the castle, to give him some account respecting it. He was fond of retracing past scenes, and, when once he began talking, knew not when to stop. From him Edwin learned all he wanted to be informed; by him he was told the use of the keys, and received every necessary direction. The old man, considering himself honoured by holding converse with the governor's son, told him every circumstance he knew or could recollect. The next day was spent in the same manner as usual. De Clavering was uncommonly facetious, De Willows particularly cheerful, Hugh Camelford entertaining, and De Huntingfield busy in the active duties of his important office.

The afternoon being remarkably clear, mild, and serene, the whole party agreed to ascend to the top of the castle, and walk on the ramparts, for the benefit of air and exercise. Edeliza would not quit the arm of De Willows, therefore Madeline was left uninterrupted to the care of Edwin.

The air was reviving, the prospect picturesque and interesting; for notwithstanding the season, nature had still beauties to catch the inquiring eye, and awaken the gratitude of innocent and cheerful hearts. A few evergreens, scattered here and there among the leafless trees afforded shelter to innumerable birds. The red breast warbled his artless song, surrounded by a number of chirping sparrows, who seemed gaily to flutter around, making a most uncommon bustle, which was occasioned by a shower that had lately fallen.

"Confound these impertinent noisy little devils! (said De Clavering,) I wish I had my gun, and I would most assuredly put an end to some of this clatter."

"For shame, toctor, (cried Camelford;) what! would you testroy such pretty harmless creatures as these? Rather save your ammunition for the enemies of your king--that would be coot sport indeed!--then, my man of mettle, we should be petter employed; but let the sparrow-family lif, and enjoy their prating."

"I believe you are nearly allied to that same family, (replied the doctor,) and therefore I do not wonder at your being anxious to preserve your relations."

"Petter not provoke me, toctor. I am in a valiant humour just now, and, as Cot shall pless me, I will not pocket an affront from any one."

"Pack it up in your knapsack, (replied the doctor drily,) and say, as our Saviour did, when tempted, "Get thee behind me, Satan!"--for really Hugh, I often think the devil has jumped into your skull, and, by kicking about your brains, has made you so hot headed."

"Then the best thing I can do (replied Camelford) would be to put myself under your tirection to lay this same tevil, and by the time you had trained me of all my Welch ploot, he would leave my lifeless carcase to be poiled for your improvement; but avaunt, thou cataplasm of cataplasms!--I defy thy incantations, plisters, and pleedings."

"I believe the young dog will live the longer, (cried the doctor, addressing De Willows,) but who among us will deny or defy the sweet influence of these lilies and roses that are now blooming around us."

"I do not pretend to any such philosophic apathy," replied De Willows.

"If you did, your looks would betray you, (retorted Edwin.) To deny the united influence of love and beauty is not the province of a soldier."

"Do all soldiers admire beauty, and fall in love?" inquired the artless Edeliza, looking earnestly at De Willows.

"I believe so, my sweet little girl, (he answered;) love and death are alike inevitable."

"But not equally dangerous, (said the laughing Roseline;) for I never heard of any one dying of the wounds given by the little blind god, though thousands fall victims to the more certain arrows sent from the furnace of war."

"By the crate Cot, (said Camelford,) I had rather tie by the wounds of a pair of pright eyes than by those of a cannon, loaded by the hands of an ugly tog, who like a putcher delights in ploot."

"More fool you, (replied De Clavering;) the death in the one case would be glorious and instantaneous,--in the other, foolish and lingering,----"

"Unless I applied to a toctor to put me out of my misery, and then I should get rid of it in a trice."

"A truce with your compliments, good folks, (said Roseline;) suppose we endeavour to reconcile ourselves to the world, and all its strange vagaries, by a dance in the great hall. This proposal met with general approbation; to the great hall they descended, and, surrounded by the rusty armour of their hardy forefathers, they enjoyed in the mazy windings of the lively dance, a pleasure as innocent as it was amusing, Lady de Morney herself being a gratified spectator of the scene.

This hall was decorated, if we may use the term, with a vast number of suits of armour, belonging to the family of Norfolk. One, more light and higher finished than the rest, appeared to have belonged to a youth of Edwin's size. He was prevailed on to fit it; and, armed cap-a-pie, strutted about in bold defiance, and threw down his gauntlet, daring any one to single combat who should deny the palm of beauty being due to the lady he should name.

"Suppose I threw down my glove," said de Willows."

"You would soon take it up again, (replied Edwin, somewhat scornfully,) as I fancy our taste in beauty to be the same."

De Willows coloured,--Madeline appeared uneasy,--and Edeliza declared armour was the most frightful dress she ever saw, while the younger part of the family jumped round their brother, and with eagerness made many inquiries concerning the use of every part of his dress, and requested their mother to let them wear some of the nodding plumes which hung in lofty state around them.

In the course of the evening, Edwin gave Madeline a hint to retire early to her chamber, having obtained possession of the keys, and gained such directions as could not fail to satisfy their curiosity and guide them in their researches. Madeline silently acquiesced, and imparted, with trembling impatience, the tidings to her friend. She was thoughtful and absent the rest of the evening, and availed herself of the earliest opportunity of withdrawing to her chamber. Roseline very soon followed her, and, as soon as the family had retired to rest, Edwin stole gently to their apartment. They had anxiously expected his arrival, and therefore gave him immediate admittance.

Roseline rejoiced at seeing her brother, and eagerly inquired if he was sure that he had the keys that would enable them to proceed. He then produced a most enormous bunch, with a dark lantern, which was to guide them through the intricate labyrinths of the castle, and advised Madeline and his sister to guard against the damps of the passages they had to go through, and to arm themselves with their whole stock of resolution, lest their terror should betray him.

Roseline assured him her fears were conquered by her strong desire to explore the secrets of their habitation, and Madeline promised not to let her apprehensions impede their progress. Edwin lighted his candle, and with some difficulty unfastened the trap-door he had discovered in their closet; but, on opening it, a kind of noxious vapour ascended, that almost tempted them to give up their design. A flight of broken brick steps, of amazing depth, carried them into a narrow winding passage, in which it was impossible for more than one person to move forward at once.

Madeline caught hold of Edwin's coat, and Roseline followed her with a lighted candle in her hand. For some time they groped along, frequently stumbling over the stones which had fallen from the mouldering walls, and trembling lest this passage should lead them into danger. Edwin frequently stopped to encourage them to go on, assuring them they had nothing to apprehend. By degrees the path widened, and, on suddenly turning, they entered a kind of square, round which were several doors, but so low, they did not seem made to admit men but dwarfs. Going up to one of them, Edwin pushed it open with his foot, and he was convinced they were the dungeons in which prisoners of war were confined. Some contained only bedsteads, iron rings, and fetters; in one of them they saw a human skull; in another was a coffin, which appeared to have stood there for ages, and with its silent inhabitant was falling to decay.

They proceeded till they came to a door which was so thickly studded over with nails, bolts, bars, and locks, this it impeded their farther progress. Edwin would fain have attempted to open it, but was prevented by his shivering and terrified companions.

"Brother, (cried Roseline,) we have seen quite enough to satisfy us for one night."

"Another time, Edwin, (added Madeline,) I shall feel less repugnance to proceed. But how do you know that door does not lead to some apartment where the restless spirit of another discontented ghost may be confined, by some potent spell, till released by the intrusion of beings who now wander amid the gloomy scenes of life as he once did?"

"No such thing, (replied the intrepid and resolute Edwin;) that door is an entrance to a subterraneous passage, which leads from this castle to Mettingham, merely to give entrance to troops in any case of emergency, or to cover the retreat of others that may want to escape."

"But, as it has not been used, either for the one purpose or the other, since my father resided here, (said Roseline,) it may now be a shelter for thieves and traitors; therefore, for heaven's sake, let us now return to our apartment."

Edwin, whose disposition was as amiable as his manners and person were captivating, no longer contended with their wishes, but led the way for them as he had done before, and, as he was a fine tall youth, was obliged to stoop as he went along.

Just as they came near the foot of the steps which led to their apartment, they saw, or thought they saw, a faint light gleam across a passage which led to another part of these gloomy habitations, and they imagined they perceived the figure of some one disappear at their approach. This alarmed the whole group, and they hurried up the stairs as hastily as their fears would let them. Having cautiously fastened the trap-door, they sat down to recover themselves, and recollected with a degree of horror and disgust the gloomy scenes they had visited; but the light, and the figure they had all caught a transient view of, dwelt most forcibly on their minds. Madeline declared she should never have sufficient resolution to re-visit these abodes of terror, contrived by the stern hands of despotism and ambition.

"When we think, as we surely may, (said she,) with some degree of certainty, how many poor souls have languished out a life of misery in these gloomy cells, can we wonder if they are haunted by all they have entombed? Shut out not only from the world, but from every comfort, nature too recoils and shudders at the cruelties that may have been practised on the poor victims thus buried in the bowels of the earth."

"All this may be very true, my sweet Madeline, (interrupted Edwin,) but I am determined to re-visit them. Perhaps some poor sufferers may still remain in the castle; if so, it would be delightful to soften the rigours of their fate."

"True, my dear brother, (cried Roseline, her eyes illumined with the soft beams of genuine benevolence and philanthropy,) I will certainly attend you."

"To quiet the fears of our lovely friend, (said Edwin,) I will request old Bertrand, who has lived in this castle from the time we came into it, to accompany and direct us in our search after misery. I am told too, (he added,) there is a passage which leads from this castle into the chapel of your nunnery. If I can find it out, I shall certainly pay you a visit, and steal you from your cell; for, my dear Madeline, whatever may be the truth and the virtues of our holy religion, it is doubtless one of its abuses to shut from the world those lovely works of the creation best calculated to enliven and adorn it. Can it be deemed a greater crime to doom a worthless, or, suppose I say, and innocent, man, to languish in a dungeon, that it is to compel an unfortunate female to waste her days in the austere walls of a nunnery,--kneel to the unfeeling image of a saint,--watch the midnight lamp,--seclude herself from all social enjoyments,--and linger through life in solitary sadness without a friend, or a lover, to cheer her on her way?"

"Hush, for heaven's sake! (said the frightened Madeline;) if Father Anselm heard you talk thus lightly and profanely of our holy religion, I should be for ever debarred seeing you and Roseline again, for life shut out from the world, and compelled to take the veil."

"Never, by heaven! (cried Edwin, thrown entirely off his guard by the tender confusion and agitation of Madeline:) you shall take no vows but such as love and nature dictate. I would perish a thousand times,--lose a thousand lives to preserve you from a fate that would not only make you wretched, but me for ever miserable.--Roseline has long known that you are dear to my heart. Say,--ease me of the torturing suspense I this moment feel,--do you not find an advocate in your bosom that will plead my cause?"

Madeline trembled violently; her eyes were bent to the ground: She would have fallen, had not Roseline flown to support her. She attempted to speak, but the words died away inarticulately.

"I see how it is, (cried Edwin impassionately;) the happy De Willows has gained by his attentions what I have lost by disgusting you with mine: you hate, you despise me. I will solicit my father to let me join the army: I will for ever remove this detested object from your sight, and pray that the portion of happiness I have lost may be redoubled to you."

Madeline, alarmed by the energy of this speech, was instantly roused from the languor into which she had sunk.

"I hate no one, (said she softly;) but Edwin, you forget it would be a crime in me to love. If, indeed, that had not been the case,--if I were at liberty----"

"You would bless the happy De Willows with your hand."

"Never!--De Willows I regard as a friend: as any thing more I never did,--never could think of him. I am you know banished from all intercourse with the world;--my sentence has been long pronounced; from that sentence there can be no appeal. Would to heaven I had submitted to it, and never quitted the retreat to which parental authority consigned me! At this painful moment my own feelings inflict my punishment."

"Then you do not hate me? (cried Edwin, taking her hand.)--Only say I am not quite indifferent to you, and I will endeavour to rest satisfied, and ask no more; trusting that time may do much in my favour; but, if you attempt to deprive me of all hope,--if you deny me this innocent gratification, I will go to the wars."

"Ah! why will you press me to discover what it would be better to conceal?--why will you tempt me to swerve from my duty to my God and my parents, and make me a perjured, and unworthy sacrifice?--You have, I fear, taught my heart a lesson it ought never to have learned: but it must be the hard task of my future life to atone for the crime I have committed in having suffered a mortal to rival that God, who alone should have occupied all my thoughts and wishes."

Edwin threw himself at the feet of Madeline. His raptures were now as unbounded as the conflict had been severe; and not till she sunk fainting into the arms of her friend, could he be persuaded to quit their apartment.

Happy was it for the party that Roseline had not only a greater share of prudence and understanding that most of her sex, but likewise more fortitude than is usually their portion. She soon recovered, her friend soothed her into some degree of composure, and endeavoured to inspire her with hopes that some plan might be adopted which would remove those difficulties that threatened to divide two hearts love had united, and which appeared formed by nature to make each other happy. Roseline well knew her father would not only be displeased, but shocked, if he discovered this unfortunate attachment, and she blamed herself for having been the innocent cause of involving two people so dear to her in such a hopeless scene of complicated distress.

Notwithstanding the agonizing conflicts which had attended the eclaircissement, the lovers felt a heavy burthen removed from their hearts. Convinced of being mutually beloved, all other sorrows, all other trials appeared light and trivial: they sunk into a more sweet and peaceful slumber than they had long enjoyed,--dreamed of each other, and arose the next morning with renovated spirits and revived hopes.

Madeline wished the hour was arrived they were to renew their midnight ramble, and thought, if she should meet a thousand ghosts, she should not fear them, while Edwin, who loved her so tenderly and sincerely, was near to guard her. She was eager too, but scarcely durst acknowledge to herself she _wished_ the passage might be found which led to the chapel in her nunnery.

CHAP. IV.

If there be any so fastidious and unfeeling as to condemn and deprecate the romantic hopes and flattering visions cherished in he buoyant bosom of nineteen, I am sorry for them, and here avow, I wish never entirely to forget the fascinating pleasure of such air-built hopes. Should they be sometimes attended with danger to the weak and frail, they are likewise accompanied with their advantages to the good and virtuous, and often enable us to encounter trials with a resolution and fortitude, which, at a more advanced period of our lives, when time has weakened our bodily frame, and experience deprived us of those gay illusions, we find it difficult and painful to acquire.--The philosophy of nineteen, though not abstruse, is flattering and conclusive; so much the more valuable; for, after all the researches of philosophy, what are we taught to know, but that man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards?--that we are merely the pilgrims and passengers of a day,--that our resting place must be found in a better, an unknown world,--that we must encounter innumerable trials on our journey, and at last die and be forgotten, even by those for whom we have toiled, and to whom we are most tenderly attached?--Surely then we may be allowed to snatch, or steal, a few of those innocent enjoyments just thrown in our way, to encourage our fortitude, and clear our path from some of the briars and thorns with which it is so profusely planted.

Happy is it for those in the common walks of life, that all their stock of philosophy is comprised in a few words, acquired without study, and retained without taxing their time or burthening their memory,--"it was my fate,--I could not run from it,--it was to be." These trite sentences reconcile them to many distressing events, and sometimes are their excuse for the frailties of their conduct.

When the parties met at breakfast the next morning, any careful observer might have discovered, by the confusion visible on the countenance of Madeline,--the constraint in her manner of addressing Edwin,--his more than usual vivacity, and the pale cheeks and swelled eyes of Roseline, that something had occurred to produce the change; but, suspicion not being a frequent gust at the castle, no such discovery was made: every one employed themselves as usual, and in a few hours universal cheerfulness seemed to prevail.

The only observations made by Lady de Morney were, that her dear Edwin looked remarkably well, was in charming spirits, and had dressed himself better and more becomingly than usual. Madeline coloured, and thought the same. Roseline smiled, and Edwin whispered something in the ear of Madeline that prevented the roses fading on her cheek.

The dress of Madeline, though to her particularly becoming, would to thousands have been totally the reverse. It was the dress of the order of Benedictines, to which she belonged, consisting of a black robe, with a scapulary of the same. Under the robe, nuns, when professed, wore a tunic of white undyed wool, and, when they went to the choir, they had a cowl like that worn by the monks; but the boarders, who were in what we may call a state of probation, were allowed to wear a tunic of muslin or cambrick, and covered their heads with a white veil. This dress, little suited to please the whimsical taste of the present time, was, strange as it may appear, simple and becoming, and proved the truth of the poet's observation, that

------Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.

Madeline, in the habit of her order, was so captivating a figure, that no one ever thought any alteration or change in it could have added a charm to those bestowed on her by the partial hand of nature. She was tall, and elegantly formed; the expression of her countenance, blended with softness and dignity, conveying an idea of superior virtue being united to superior loveliness.

Just before dinner, the Doctor observed that Madeline looked pale: having felt her pulse, he inquired what had given them cause to beat so much out of time.

"I must examine into this matter, (said he archly.) They are gallopping along at a strange rate; either the head or the heart must occasion this revolution in the system of my patient's usual habit. If it be the disease of the heart, I must resign my place to a more able practitioner.--Do not blush, my fair nun, but tell me whom you would have called in."

"I am perfectly satisfied with your advice, my good doctor, and at this time believe I want a cook more than a physician, therefore excuse me if I say you you entirely misunderstand my case."

"Don't be too positive (said De Clavering) of my ignorance. You may safely trust me with all your complaints,--even with those of the heart; for I feel myself extremely interested that you should not return to the nunnery with any additional one added to those you so unfortunately brought away."

"Ah! (said Madeline,) mentally, advice is now too late. I shall carry back with me a more corroding, a more painful complaint than any I ever knew before; yet, strange as it is, I would not be cured for the world, as my being so would wound Edwin de Morney.

Only Camelford was present when this little badinage passed between the Doctor and his patient. He advised the former to lay aside his wig, and take up the cowl, as the most certain method of discovering the truth; "for, though the laties, (he added,) will not tell all they think to you or I, they will not attempt to teceive their Cot."

"If I thought putting on a cowl would transform me to a god, (said De Clavering,) I would soon hazard the transformation, and then I would place a shield before the heart of every fair daughter of Britain, that should have the property of a talisman, to warn them againsst the designs and insidious attention of young men, six feet high, with black sparkling eyes, auburn hair, teeth of ivory, handsome legs, and white hands."

Madeline knew the portrait, and, rising to conceal her blushes, ran hastily out of the room.

Hugh Camelford burst into a violent fit of laughter, and told the Doctor, "so far from being thought a Cot, the young laty certainly took him for the tifel, having discovered his spells and clofen foot, or perhaps for Tafy ap Jones, who, after tying for lof, was thrown into the Red Sea, and had haunted all lof-sick maidens ever since, poor discontented tifel!"

"And that will be your fate, Hugh, (retorted the Doctor,) unless you send home the Welch lass whom you betrayed, and then left to starve with your son, a fat chubby boy, very like his father."

"As I hope to escape the toctor and tamnation, (said the indignant Hugh,) I never petrayed a lass in my whole life; therefore, you cataplasm, you plister, you caustic of fire, pring no such scandals on the coot name of Camelford, lest I take a little of your carnivorous plood, and make you drink it!"

The Doctor stole off laughing, and Camelford soon recovered his good humour.

A dance was proposed for the evening, and readily agreed to by the young people, who determined to make the time pass as cheerfully as possible during the absence of Sir Philip and the visit of Madeline.

In those days dancing was the favourite amusement of the youth of both sexes: rich and poor, young and old, one with another, mixed in the animating dance:--complaints of weariness and fatigue were seldom heard. This exercise was not only favourable to health, but the roses it produced on the glowing cheek of youth rendered all application to the borrowed ones of art totally unnecessary. Rouge was then unknown, and no _Warren_ existed to abolish old women, by giving the furrowed features of age an unfading bloom. The plain jacket, with a small quantity of ribbon bound round a cambric cap, were then thought becoming, and few ornaments were worn but on very important and particular occasions; yet beauty was equally admired: the same homage was paid to it, and it held in bondage as many captives, without the adventitious aid of deception and extravagance.

Another preservative of youth and health was their keeping better, that is, earlier hours. Night was night, and dedicated to its original purpose. Day was properly divided, and found of sufficient length for all the useful employments of life. Few young ladies but had seen the sun rise in all its glory, and found their hearts expanded by the grand and awful sight; and, while they welcomed its reviving rays from the portals of the east, it tended to raise their minds to that God who made the sun, and who alone could number the stars by which it was surrounded.

A fine moon-light evening seldom passed unnoticed by these aspiring worthies, eager after knowledge; for, having happily fewer amusements, they had more time to attend to the instructive beauties of nature, the study of which affords an inexhaustible source of pleasure and surprise. Fearless of their complexions, they not only rambled but worked in their gardens. Each had a little spot of ground marked out, and it soon produced the desired effect; every one was emulous to outshine the other in its cultivation, and Sir Philip or Lady de Morney were often called upon as arbitrators to decide the superior beauty of a rose, the size of a carnation, or the snowy tints of a lily.

De Clavering had told them, that, under their feet, they often trampled on plants, in the careful study of which might be found a cure for every disease incident to the climate they inhabited, and that in other climates the earth produced her treasures for the same benevolent purpose; but the careless inattention of mankind to this useful knowledge had rendered the profession of physic absolutely necessary, and given men of learning and genius an opportunity of displaying their talents in preserving the lives of their fellow creatures.

In consequence of these hints, all kinds of herbs were planted, and their virtues put to the test by being applied to relieve the diseases of their poor neighbours; and never did a high-bred town belle, at making a conquest, or a hero, after obtaining a signal victory, exult more, or feel greater delight than the having effected a cure produced in the minds of these young practitioners. De Clavering was gratified in giving them all the intelligence they requested, very often inquired when they went their rounds to visit their patients, and offered them his physical wig to give them consequence.

In those days people lived much longer in the same number of years; to rise between five and six o'clock, and breakfast at seven, was their usual custom, the time of taking their meals differing as much as their antique habits. Dinner was constantly on the table between eleven and twelve, and supper regularly served at seven; tea was then bu little used, Whether the introduction of that bewitching beverage had been followed by the long catalogue of evils laid to its charge, I am not able to determine; but, as I have known many weak constitutions who have never felt any ill effects from taking it, I am inclined to think it has not such dangerous properties as are alledged against it by valetudinarians and their medical advisers.

But what would the antediluvian souls, who compose my dramatis personae say to the innovations made upon time in these day of delicate and fashionable refinement? They would suppose the world turned topsy-turvy, and be puzzled to know why the afternoon should be discarded, and what part of the twenty-four hours to call night.

The periodical times of taking refreshment are quite different to what they formerly were, and contradictory to the practice of our ancestors, who hoarded their time, and considered it as a treasure of some value. We may now literally be said to turn day into night, and night into day, while the want of time is the source of general complaint. Our people of fashion, and many of no fashion at all, breakfast at three in the afternoon, dine at seven, sip their tea at eleven o'clock at night, and sup at four in the morning; whereas Queen Elizabeth breakfasted at five or six in the morning, and dined at eleven in the forenoon.--She and all her court went to bed with the sun in summer, and at eight or nine o'clock in winter.

The parliament, in the reign of Charles the First, went to prayers at five or six in the morning, and the king dined at twelve; nay, in the licentious reign of that merry monarch, his son, dinner at two was thought a very late hour; for all public diversions were at an end by six in the evening, and the ladies, after seeing a play, went in their carriages to Hyde-Park.

Whether it would not be greatly to the advantage of people in general to revive some old customs, and return to the prudent habits of our progenitors, will not admit of much dispute. Private families, in these expensive times, would undoubtedly be benefited. Morning would again become a theme for the poet, and poor day-light be brought into fashion. Our parliament too would find more time to transact the important business of the nation, on which they so eloquently harangue. Possibly a good dinner would add weight to their arguments, and the not being hungry would prevent their eagerness to adjourn.

But one of its greatest evils, after that above mentioned, is felt by servants, particularly the unhappy cook. She seldom sees the face of day,--never enjoys the enlivening rays of the sun, and can scarcely find time even to change her clothes till the night is too far advanced to render the change necessary. It was formerly the custom for people to walk after tea, and by doing so acquire a redoubled relish for the variegated beauties of nature; but now the table makes its appearance at so unseasonable an hour, and fashionable etiquette, with the love of good cheer, detains them so long, that in fact it appears the chief business of life to study every art and contrivance how to destroy and squander, not how to improve our time; and, instead of people's eating that they may live, they now live only to eat and drink, that the senses, I presume, may be disabled from torturing them with reproaches.--But to return to our tale.

In the evening, as Edeliza was going down the dance, her eyes, with those of Madeline, were attracted by the same object,--a plume of white feathers, placed on a suit of armour, nodded, and the armour moved. This had such an effect, Madeline screamed, and Edeliza, throwing herself into the arms of De Willows, begged he would protect her from the ghost. The dancing stopped, the whole party was alarmed, and Lady de Morney very much surprised; but, on being informed what had occasioned the bustle, Hugh Camelford flew to discover its cause, and, jumping upon a long table, which was placed by the side of the room for the accommodation of large parties on any particular occasion, he without much ceremony caught hold of the haunted armour, when, to the astonishment of the whole company there instantly appeared,--gentle reader, be not alarmed!--not the ghost of a murdered hero, nor forsaken maid,--but the youngest daughter of Sir Philip de Morney, who skipping from her concealment upon the table, and from thence to the floor, shook her head, decorated with a profusion of flaxen hair, which curled in natural ringlets, and laughed heartily at the fright she had occasioned.

"Of all the chosts I ever saw, (said the delighted Hugh, catching her up in his arms,) this is by much the prettiest and most entertaining. I should like to be haunted by such an one all the tays of my life."

Lady de Morney called the little culprit, and, having severely reproved her, ordered her to bed, to which she had been sent before the party had began dancing, for some fault she had committed, but had persuaded one of the servants to place her as before described, that she might be a spectator, though she was not permitted to be a partaker in the amusement. Lady de Morney reprimanded the servant; and, had it not been for the general intercession of the company, poor Birtha would have been a prisoner in her own apartment some days.

This incident, simple in itself, happened very unfortunately for the two ladies, who had agreed to accompany Edwin in his subterranean tour. They lingered till the last moment, and then withdrew with visible reluctance; but determined, as soon as they reached their own room, not to say a word to Edwin of their fears, as they knew it would expose them to ridicule, if not to censure, and there was not in the catalogue of human ills or evils any circumstance Madeline would so much have dreaded as being thought meanly of by Edwin de Morney.

Within little more than an hour after the family had withdrawn, all the servants retired to rest, they were joined by the sanguine and spirited Edwin, accompanied by the ancient veteran, who, though loaded with the heavy burthen of fourscore years, was still active and hearty, his senses unimpaired, and his sturdy limbs still able to carry with firmness their accustomed load. His grey locks hung with silvered dignity upon his aged shoulders, and his eye retained some of their former expression. He made a profound obeisance to the ladies on his entrance, and was received with that condescending affability which his years and long-tried faithfulness demanded.

Edwin's manner of introducing him, flattered the old man's remaining stock of vanity, and revived, in full force, the remembrance of his former exploits, which, though they had not procured him preferment, secured him attention and respect.

"This is my friend Bertrand, (said Edwin, addressing Madeline particularly on his entrance;) though you had some fears with only such a stripling as myself for a leader, you can have none with so experienced and brave a guide."

The old man listened with delighted attention to this eulogium from the lips of his dear young master, whom he had so often dandled on his knee, whom he had been so fortunate as to snatch from a watery grave, and for whom he retained a stronger affection than for any other being on earth. Sir Philip had long maintained him in ease and comfort, and excused him from every employment, but such as tended to the preservation of his health. Both ladies held out their hands, which he respectfully kissed, and preyed that heaven might bless and reward them for their kindness to their old but grateful servant.

"Now the ceremony of introducing you into the bed-chamber of these fair ladies is over, 'tis time for us to think of proceeding, my old friend, (said Edwin.) If you will assist me in unfastening the trap-door, we will procure lights, and, putting ourselves under your direction, follow wherever you are disposed to lead us.

CHAP. V.

It was the intention of Bertrand to open the door of the subterranean passage, which communicated with Mettingham-castle; but, before they proceeded par, something rushed past them several times: it was rapid, and their candle threw so feeble a light on the walls which surrounded them, that they could not discover what it was.

They hurried on till they came to the square leading to the dungeons, when their attention was arrested, and their fears increased by the barking of a dog. They hesitated, looked with astonishment at each other, and stopped, as if irresolute whether to return or proceed. In the mean while, the little animal made its appearance, jumped and capered about, as it it rejoiced at seeing them in its dreary habitation, attached itself particularly to Roseline, and seemed to recognize an old and beloved friend.

Roseline took it up in her arms, kissed and caressed it; but how to account for meeting with so beautiful, fond, and gentle a creature was not only matter of surprise but wonder.

"Are you sure, sister, (said Edwin, slily glancing a look at the pale face and trembling lips of the terrified Madeline,)--are you sure it is a real dog?--May it not be one of the ghosts, who, in such various shapes, are said to haunt these gloomy regions, and disturb the peaceful slumbers of young maidens, born perhaps two hundred years after they had left the world?"

This gentle reproof restored the roses to the fair cheek from which fear had driven them, while Roseline declared it was really and truly the prettiest dog she had ever seen. Bertrand had looked thoughtful, agitated, and confused, from the moment it appeared.

"This dog must have a master, (said Edwin,) and that master must be somewhere near these cells."

"Perhaps (said Bertrand) some daring villain may have found entrance here, either with the hopes of plunder, or to accomplish designs against the castle; let us therefore, for the present, give up attempting to explore the passage; it might be dangerous to unfasten a door which is now our security."

"Had we not better call for help?" said the again-terrified Madeline.

"Not for the world! (interrupted Edwin;)--how should we be able to account to my mother for being in this place, without burthening her mind with ten thousand suspicions? while, telling her our reasons would most assuredly expose our venerable companion to the certain displeasure of my father.--Do you (said he, addressing Bertrand) know if there is any one a prisoner at this time?"

The old man hesitated.--"I know but little--I apprehend it may be so,--but I--I hope you will excuse my talking on a subject that--that--"

"It must assuredly be so, (said Roseline softly to her brother,) and from that cause proceeded the noises which so repeatedly alarmed us."

Again every one stood for a moment irresolute. Edwin, however, fearful of bringing his father's anger on Bertrand, and scorning to tempt the old man to betray and trust reposed in him, or any secret belonging to another, instantly formed his resolution to act with the utmost caution. He proposed to his sister and Madeline to return to their apartment as soon as Bertrand had pointed out the passage which led to the nunnery.--On being shewn the door which might one day enable him to meet his Madeline, and open to give him a gleam of happiness, Roseline snatched up the little dog, pressed him to her bosom, and vowed to release him from captivity.

As soon as they had reached their own apartment, Bertrand, after promising eternal secrecy, took a respectful leave. Edwin accompanied him to his room, then returned to his sister's and proposed instantly renewing their search.

"This is doing nothing, (said he;) all is still left to conjecture and uncertainty."

"If you mean to go again, (said Madeline,) why did you suffer Bertrand to leave us?"

"From respect to my father and regard to the old man, (he replied;) for should we, my dear Madeline, make any discovery of consequence, with us the secret will rest secure, and, should we be found out, on ourselves alone will fall the displeasure of Sir Philip; but, by this procedure, we empower no one either to betray his secrets or our own. We will, however, carry back with us this little stranger, (continued he, pointing to the dog, who was sleeping on a cushion which Roseline had placed for him before the fire,) and, when we set him down, we will follow wherever he may choose to lead us: If he be attached to any miserable being confined in one of the cells or dungeons, we may depend upon his returning to his usual habitation."

Once more the trap-door was lifted up; once more the party descended into regions like those of the grave, while the mouldering walls, glittering with the dews of night, and rendered humid with the unwholsome damps of the situation, hung loose and disjointed over their heads, as if to threaten instant destruction.

Turning into a passage which led to a contrary direction to that they had before entered, and which was somewhat wider and less dismal than the other, Roseline sat down the dog, who ran nimbly away, as if well acquainted with the path. They followed with the utmost caution, observing a profound silence. The dog went before them the whole length of the passage, then turned suddenly down a few steps, at the bottom of which a door stood half-open: he rushed in, and appeared to them to stop at some distance. Instantly they heard him growl and bark, and this determined them to proceed.

They passed through two small apartments decently furnished, and, just as they reached an inner door, at which the dog had demanded admittance, they saw it slowly open, and a faint voice appeared to chide the guiltless wanderer for his long, long absence, and then to caress him with fondness.

Edwin, knowing, if he hesitated to proceed, the fears of his companions would increase by the delay, gently tapped at the door. For a minute all was silent; he then gave some louder raps. The same person very soon opened the door, of whom they had caught a transient glimpse when he had granted admittance to the dog. He was evidently alarmed, and in tremulous and terrified accents inquired who was there,--what was the matter,--and what errand brought them? at the same time brandishing a sword, which he had hastily snatched from a chair which stood near him.

"Whoever you are (continued he) that have found a way to this den of misery, you may safely enter, unless you come to add farther oppressions, and inflict additional woes on the head of an injured and guiltless sufferer. If you come with such diabolical intentions, be assured of this,--I will no longer be a passive or silent spectator of such unheard of barbarity, but give up a life in his defence which cruelty has rendered a worthless sacrifice. Forego then your designs, and know he will not long be either a burthen or reproach to his unnatural parent and sordid oppressors."

"We come with no design to injure or oppress, (said Edwin.) We inhabit this castle, and were led by the curiosity incidental to youth into these horrid regions.--Chance conducted us into these apartments, without knowing they were inhabited.--We wish not to alarm or interrupt any one, but of this be assured, if you will inform us how we can serve you, or render your situation more comfortable, we will gladly contribute all in our power to do so. Your countenance does not appear stamped with guilt, and your determination to protect the injured speaks a noble mind."

The sword was instantly laid down,--the door flew open,--and they were requested to enter by one, who told them his life and courage were only valuable so long as they would enable him to watch and protect the best and most beloved of masters.

Reader, guess, if it be possible, the surprise and astonishment of our trembling and compassionate adventurers, when they beheld and elegant young man, whose countenance was as prepossessing as his situation was interesting, wrapped in a striped-satin morning-gown, which reached to his feet, with his hair hanging in graceful ringlets, and nearly concealing a face pale as death, lying on a kind of couch, and to all appearance in the last stage of a consumption.