Chapter III: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (2)

Amongst these prisoners was a certain Don Florestan, a nobleman, who, having had the misfortune to offend Don Pizarro, the governor of the fortress, had been by him accused of some slight political misdemeanour, and thrust into a deep dungeon of the prison. Having thus got his hated enemy into his power, the crafty Governor gave out clearly afterwards that he had died, so that he should not be released when his short time of imprisonment was over; and thus, by keeping him closely chained in the deepest dungeon, and slowly starving him, he hoped that the wretched man would really die, and his own private vengeance be thus satisfied without resort to actual violence.

However, his plans were to be frustrated from quite an unexpected source; for Don Florestan had a beautiful young wife, the Lady Leonora, who loved her husband so devotedly that, refusing to believe the report of his death, she determined to learn the truth at all costs, and, if he still lived, to rescue him from the hands of his unscrupulous enemy, Pizarro, who she knew would not hesitate to murder him so soon as he could do so without fear of discovery.

Being of a brave and heroic disposition, Leonora was not afraid to risk her life for the sake of the man she loved; and so, having donned masculine attire, she boldly made her way to the fortress where her husband pined in captivity, and, giving her name as Fidelio, humbly requested the jailer to engage her as his assistant, hoping that in this way she would at last discover how Don Florestan was faring, and perhaps be able to plan some means of escape for him. Rocco, the jailer, being greatly struck with the pleasant looks and manners of the supposed youth, very willingly took her into his service; and, since the new assistant was neat-handed, useful and obliging, he quickly became a favourite with all within the castle, to the great chagrin of Jacquino, who, being clumsy and somewhat dull, now found himself quite out of favour.

Poor Jacquino felt more aggrieved still when saucy Mistress Marcellina also showed preference for the newcomer whose handsome face and air of melancholy attracted her fancy and caused her to treat her old sweetheart with disdain; and when discovering in addition that his master, Rocco, favoured his daughter's new choice, he felt justly jealous of the unknown stranger who had so coolly supplanted him.

So to-day, as Marcellina and her father ran to relieve the supposed Fidelio of his burdens, Jacquino kept sulkily in the background; and presently he departed to perform some duties within the castle, determined to press his own suit at some more favourable time.

Rocco now began to praise his new assistant for the clever manner in which he had carried out his instructions that day; and to show his approval of this and of his conduct in general, he announced that he was quite willing to welcome such a likely youth as a son-in-law, since Marcellina seemed to regard him also with evident favour, and he even hinted at a very early date for the wedding-day.

Marcellina was delighted to hear this, and to know that her father favoured her fancy for her dear Fidelio; but Leonora was greatly embarrassed, not knowing how she could get safely out of this new difficulty, for though she had tried to ingratiate herself with the jailer's daughter for her own purposes, she did not wish to pain the maiden in any way.

However, she succeeded in hiding her embarrassment for the time being, and presently managed to direct the conversation into a safer channel, by begging Rocco to allow her to accompany him in his daily visits to the prisoners in the lower dungeons, and to assist him with this work, which the jailer had hitherto performed alone; for, in this way, she knew she would be able to discover if her beloved husband still lived, since she had not seen him amongst the more favoured prisoners, whom she was permitted to wait upon.

At first Rocco refused this plea, declaring that Fidelio was too young to witness such dreadful sights as these wretched chained captives, and to emphasize his refusal, described the miserable state of one of these, who was nearly at the point of death through close confinement and starvation; but when Leonora, on hearing this, redoubled her entreaties, feeling sure from the description that this unhappy prisoner must be her own dear husband, he at length consented, feeling better pleased than ever with the youth's evident desire to assist him even in such disagreeable duties as visiting the dungeon captives.

At this moment Don Pizarro, the cruel Governor of the prison, entered the courtyard with some of the guard; and, after giving orders to the captain, he proceeded to read the despatches brought from the town by Fidelio, and now handed to him by Rocco.

Amongst these despatches, Pizarro found a missive warning him that the Prime Minister intended to pay a surprise visit to the prison that evening, having been informed that certain victims of despotic power were still unjustly held captives there; and, suddenly filled with fear at the thought of how he should account for the presence of Don Florestan, so long believed to be dead, he began to form a plan to avoid this new danger to himself, and soon decided to kill his hated enemy within the next few hours. However, he did not mean to do this dreadful deed himself, if possible; and so, when the guard had presently gone on duty, he detained Rocco, intending to make him his instrument of vengeance.

Carelessly handing the jailer a purse of gold, he hinted darkly that he desired the death of this wretched prisoner in the lowest dungeon; but Rocco, recoiling from the thought of such cold-blooded murder, refused to do the deed, although, being afraid of offending his unscrupulous superior, he tremblingly agreed to dig the victim's grave, if Pizarro himself would strike the fatal blow. With this the Governor was fain to be content; and the two departed separate ways, having first laid their plans and arranged that the grave should be dug beneath an old ruined cistern at the side of the dungeon.

Now it happened that Leonora, having suspected from the dark looks of Pizarro that he intended ill to someone, had crept back to the courtyard, where she had remained hidden in such a position that she could overhear the conversation between the Governor and Rocco; and filled with horror at the thought of the violent death now destined for the unhappy prisoner, whom she felt sure was her own beloved husband, she determined to rescue him that evening if possible, and hurried after Rocco, in order to be with him wherever he should go, and so learn all his plans.

Later on, she returned with the jailer to the courtyard, where she discovered Marcellina and Jacquino engaged in a lively dispute; and, finding that the squabble was about herself as the supposed Fidelio, whom Jacquino regarded as a rival and Marcellina desired as a new sweetheart, she hastily changed this embarrassing subject by entreating Rocco to allow the more privileged prisoners to walk for a short time in the courtyard to enjoy a breath of fresh air, a request he had several times promised to grant when a suitable opportunity should occur. As Marcellina also added her entreaties to this kindly request, hoping to please her dear Fidelio by so doing, Rocco agreed, promising to keep Pizarro engaged for a short time on business at the other end of the fortress; and so, when he had departed, Jacquino and Leonora unlocked the cells, and invited the wretched inmates to walk outside for a while.

Full of gratitude for this unexpected pleasure, the prisoners poured forth into the courtyard, walking about with slow painful steps, but uttering cries of delight at the sight of the brilliant sunshine, and inhaling the fresh summer air with deep thankfulness.

Presently, Rocco returned, and informed the new assistant that Pizarro had consented to his helping him in the duties of attending upon the dungeon captives, and that he should begin that day by helping to dig the grave for the victim who was to die so soon as it was ready; and Leonora was filled with conflicting emotions, joyful at the thought of meeting her beloved one again, should the captive indeed prove to be her husband, but terrified by the prospect of her dreadful task.

Whilst they were still talking together, Pizarro unexpectedly appeared on the scene; and, enraged at the sight of the captives walking in the courtyard, he poured forth angry abuse upon Rocco for daring to permit such a thing. The jailer, however, stopped this outburst by reminding Pizarro of the dark deed he was presently to assist him with; and, anxious to keep on good terms with one who knew his wicked plans, the Governor ceased to bluster, but gave orders for the prisoners to be once more locked up.

When the wretched captives had returned reluctantly to their cells, uttering deep sighs of regret as they quitted the bright sunshine for the gloomy darkness of the prison, Rocco called the supposed Fidelio to one side; and, laden with spades and pickaxes, they made their way to the deepest dungeon to commence their gruesome task.

Little dreaming that the one person in all the world he most longed to see, his beloved wife, was even now approaching, Don Florestan lay suffering upon the floor of his horrible cell, with despair in his heart; for he had now been so long without food, and was so terribly exhausted, that he knew death could not be far off. All hope of escape had long since deserted him, and he had quite resigned himself to his fate, looking forward to death as the end of his sufferings; but even now the image of his beautiful Leonora shone brightly in his heart, and every now and again he would breathe her name tenderly, and stretch forth his arms with a loving gesture, as though about to embrace her visionary form, or call a passionate greeting to her, thinking in his wandering delirium that she indeed stood before him.

Just as he sank back exhausted after one of these flights of feverish fancy, Rocco the jailer entered the dungeon, followed by the trembling Leonora, who shivered as she felt the chill, damp air of the subterranean cell, and glanced apprehensively at the huddled form on the ground, fearing, yet hoping, that it would prove to be her husband.

Rocco at once proceeded to the ruined cistern situated at one side of the dungeon, and, taking his spade and pickaxe, began to dig the grave, calling to his assistant to do likewise, speaking in gruff but not unkindly tones, thinking that the youth's evident reluctance to commence the horrid task was due to the softness natural to his tender years, rather than to any deeper feeling.

At length, however, Leonora, in order to keep up her disguise, took her spade and began to assist in the work; but every now and again, she turned her eyes upon the crouching form of the poor prisoner, who appeared to be sleeping.

Presently, however, Don Florestan raised his head, and addressed the jailer; and Leonora, seeing now that he was indeed her own beloved husband, was so overcome that she sank back in a swoon. Rocco, not noticing the agitation of his assistant, approached the prisoner, who demanded, as he had already done many times before, the name of the tyrant whose cruelty thus doomed him to a living death. Rocco, knowing that the poor man was to die within the next hour, felt that there could now be no harm in granting this request; so he told Florestan that his enemy was Don Pizarro, the Governor of the prison.

The name of Pizarro recalled Leonora's wandering senses; and still keeping her face hidden from Florestan, she tried to persuade Rocco to permit her to give the captive some bread she had brought with her for this purpose. Though the jailer at first refused, his own pity for the wretched prisoner at length got the better of him, and he gave his consent, even making him drink a little wine from a small flagon he had himself brought.

No sooner had Florestan eagerly partaken of the welcome food, which quickly brought back some little strength to his weary frame, than the dreaded Pizarro entered the dungeon, his first words being to bid Rocco send his youthful assistant away. Leonora, however, though she pretended to obey, only retired into the shadows of the dungeon; and then Pizarro, flinging open his cloak, and drawing his dagger, strode towards the prisoner, and in cruel, triumphant tones bade him prepare to die, hoping to see him fall on his knees and beg for mercy.

But Florestan, who had now risen to his feet, bravely drew himself up to his full height with quiet dignity; and his look of calm contempt so exasperated the wicked Pizarro, that he sprang forward immediately, intending to stab him to the heart. Ere he could strike, however, Leonora flung herself upon him, and bade him desist; and as Pizarro, taken by surprise, drew back, she now boldly declared herself to be the wife of his intended victim.

Florestan, seeing the face of the supposed youth for the first time, was amazed to recognise his beloved Leonora; and full of joy, even in this awful moment of danger, the long separated husband and wife embraced tenderly.

Pizarro, enraged at this untimely interruption of his evil plans, and knowing that he had little time to lose, since his superior officer would arrive very shortly, sprang forward again, intending to stab them both; but Leonora, in a flash, drew forth a loaded pistol she had concealed in her garments, and, covering him with it, declared she would fire if he moved a step further.

Chagrined, and completely nonplussed at this sudden turning of the tables upon him, Pizarro stood helpless, glaring furiously upon the brave Leonora; and as they stood thus, the sound of a trumpet was heard, and Jacquino, accompanied by several officers of the castle, appeared in the doorway, announcing that Don Fernando, the Minister, had just arrived, and demanded an immediate interview with the Governor of the prison.

Pizarro, baulked of his prey, and feeling that disaster was about to fall on him, yet not daring to disobey the command of his superior, turned angrily on his heel, and left the cell.

When their enemy had departed, Florestan and Leonora again fell into each other's arms, and rejoiced together, full of gladness at meeting once more, and hopeful that their troubles would now shortly come to an end; and then as soon as the exhausted Count had sufficiently recovered, Rocco escorted them both to the large court of the castle, where the Minister, Don Fernando, surrounded by soldiers and officers, was receiving the thanks of the grateful captives, whom he had just ordered to be set free, knowing that they had unjustly been kept in bonds.

The jailer, eager to bring his cruel master into disgrace, led Florestan and Leonora forward at once, and appealed to the Minister for justice; and Don Fernando, astonished at thus beholding the young Count, whom all had believed to be dead, received him with great kindness, and gave him a hearty welcome. Then, when he was told the whole story of Pizarro's infamous plot, and how it was frustrated by the intended victim's brave wife, he declared that Florestan was free from that moment, and that Leonora herself should have the joy of removing the chains that had been put so unjustly upon him.

When this pleasant task had been performed by the now happy Leonora, the whole assemblage were free to rejoice together, for all were glad at the downfall of the tyrant Pizarro. The released captives were glad because they were at liberty once more; Jacquino was glad because the dangerous Fidelio could no longer be a rival to his claim upon the pretty Marcellina, who was even now ready to smile on him again; and Florestan and his faithful Leonora were the most joyful of all, since they were restored to each other and a life of perfect peace and happiness.

LA SONNAMBULA

In a certain pretty village in Italy, the light-hearted peasants were gathered together one summer evening on the shady green, talking in groups as they waited to witness the betrothal of Elvino, a prosperous young farmer, and his fair sweetheart, Amina, whose nuptials were to be celebrated on the morrow. The wreaths and garlands of flowers for the wedding decorations were being merrily set up by willing hands, and the village already wore a gala air; for all were looking forward eagerly to the coming festivities, with the exception of one person, who alone refused to be joyful.

This was Lisa, the pretty young hostess of the village inn, who having once received attentions herself from the handsome Elvino, had felt slighted when he fixed his affections upon Amina, whose beauty and sweet winning ways had made her the belle of the village; and now, as she mingled with the merry throng on the green, she was filled with envy for the happy fate of the bride-elect, and could do nothing but make spiteful remarks about her rival, declaring her to be a mere nobody, and not worthy of so great a piece of fortune.

For Amina was but a poor orphan, who had been brought up by Dame Teresa of the Mill, a worthy woman who had loved and cared for her as though she were her own child; but in spite of her unknown birth and dependent position, Amina was beloved by all the villagers, whose hearts she had won by her many deeds of kindness. But Lisa's jealousy would not allow her to see any perfection in the gentle Amina; and so full of envy and disappointment did she feel just now that to all the remarks made to her by her devoted admirer, Alessio, she only returned snappish replies, which, however, disconcerted her swain but little. For Alessio was a merry, lively fellow, full of fun, and not easily discouraged; and having conceived a great admiration for the pretty but sharp-tongued Lisa, he was for ever coaxing her to marry him, and in spite of her many snubs, still felt confident of success in the end.

As they walked about the green this evening, he said again; "Come, Lisa, let us also sign our marriage contract whilst the Notary is here, and save him the trouble of coming again!"

But to this cool suggestion, however, Mistress Lisa merely tossed her head, and turned impatiently away; and Alessio, nothing daunted, began to join heartily in the merry wedding song he had himself composed in honour of the day, which the villagers had just raised as the pretty Amina appeared on the green, accompanied by Dame Teresa.

When the song came to an end Amina thanked her friends in a gentle voice for their kindly wishes; and then, turning to Alessio and Lisa, she mischievously suggested that they should follow her example and plight their troth with her that night.

"'Tis just what I have been saying!" cried the irrepressible Alessio, gleefully. "Come, Lisa, say that you will, for I feel I _must_ get married to-day, and if _you_ won't have me, I'll have to marry Dame Teresa!"

All laughed merrily at this; but Lisa sulkily refused to join in the fun, for Elvino had now arrived, and the sight of his devoted attentions to Amina caused her jealousy and disappointment to smart afresh. The Notary having also now arrived with the marriage contract, the guests gathered around a table which had been placed beneath the trees outside Dame Teresa's house; and Elvino and Amina, having signed their names to the paper, their betrothal was thus formally concluded.

Just as the happy pair were receiving the congratulations of their friends, a strange cavalier--whose gay attire, aristocratic bearing, and deferential attendants proclaimed him to be a person of rank--approached the inn, and inquired of the bystanders if the landlord's château was near at hand; and on being informed that it was some little distance away, he announced his intention of passing the night at the inn.

On hearing this, Lisa, mindful of her duties as hostess, hurried forward officiously, and offered her best accommodation to the stranger; and then, having received some gallant compliments from her guest, who had an appreciative eye for a pretty face, she hastened within doors to make all ready, beaming with pleasure.

The stranger was, however, more greatly struck with the beauty of Amina, to whom he next addressed himself, declaring that she reminded him of someone whom he had long since loved and lost; and so intense was his gaze, that after he had departed within the inn, Elvino, seized with a sudden pang of jealousy, reproached the maiden for having thus spoken with the newcomer. But Amina tenderly reassured her anxious lover, declaring that she loved but him alone; and the little cloud that had threatened to gather, now quickly vanished.

As they moved away happily together, Alessio presently came running out to announce that he had discovered the stranger to be none other than the Count Rodolpho, their own Lord of the Soil, whose château overlooked the village, and who had not visited his native place since he was a child; and upon hearing this interesting news, the villagers were all filled with great excitement, and, as they trooped away to their homes arranged to proceed to the inn at break of day to sing a song of welcome to their Seigneur, and to show their joy at his arrival.

Some hours later, Count Rodolpho was conducted to the finest chamber which the old-fashioned inn afforded, and which, though it had the reputation of being haunted, he had laughingly insisted upon occupying, finding it quaint and comfortable; and before retiring for the night, though it was already late, Lisa appeared at the door, to ask if all his wishes had been attended to, and also to offer her respects to him as her Seigneur.

The Count, being a gay cavalier, and accustomed to making conquests wherever he went, invited her to enter, thinking that a flirtation with his pretty hostess would pass the time pleasantly; and Lisa, nothing loath, but delighted at the impression she imagined she had made on her guest, was willing enough to accept his attentions. The Count's pretty speeches pleased her very well, nor did she object when he snatched a kiss or two; but, not daring to remain longer, since the night was advancing, she was just about to depart, when a strange interruption came. Just at that moment, a slight female figure, clad in a long white robe, softly entered the room, and walked slowly across the floor, speaking aloud, as though holding a conversation with some unseen person; and to the great amazement of the Count and Lisa, they saw that this mysterious nocturnal visitor was Amina, who, although her eyes were wide open, saw them not, since she was walking in her sleep. For, though unknown to anyone, and still less to herself, Amina was a somnambulist, and had quite unconsciously walked from her own home and entered through the unfastened door of the inn; and as Count Rodolpho now gazed in astonishment upon the maiden, whose lovely face had so interested him earlier in the evening, he was filled with a strange, deep emotion, and listened eagerly to the words she said, from which he gathered that she imagined herself speaking to Elvino, since she spoke reproachfully of his having for a moment doubted her faithful heart.

But Lisa, though at first alarmed, quickly saw in this unforeseen circumstance, a means for satisfying her petty spite against the orphan she despised; and, quickly making her escape from the room, she determined to seek out Elvino, and prove to him that his betrothed was base and unfaithful to him, since she had found her in the chamber of the Count Rodolpho.

Meanwhile, Amina continued to speak in tender accents of her love for Elvino; and, unconsciously taking the Count's hand in hers, she softly caressed it, repeatedly avowing her passion.

Count Rodolpho watched the sleeping maiden with increasing emotion, feeling the charm of her ethereal beauty creeping over him like a spell; and at last, fearful of awakening her, and not daring to trust himself longer in her sweet presence, since, though her helplessness appealed to his chivalry, he felt drawn towards her by a strange attraction, he hastily left the room, and, leaving the inn at once, made his way to his own château.

After he had gone, Amina ceased to speak; and, presently sinking upon a couch, remained there in peaceful slumber.

It was now day-break; and the peasants, in accordance with the arrangement of the evening before, assembled in the inn, and, making their way to the Count's chamber, began to sing a joyous song of welcome, which they hoped would presently arouse him from his slumbers. Soon afterwards, Lisa entered the room with Elvino, whom she had brought to behold for himself his betrothed slumbering in the chamber of the stranger, cruelly and unjustly keeping from him the fact that Amina had walked there in her sleep.

Elvino, who had indignantly refused to believe her story, now uttered an exclamation of grief and despair on beholding what appeared to him the proof of Lisa's statement; and at that moment Amina, awakened by the singing, opened her eyes, and was quickly filled with amazement on beholding her unaccustomed surroundings. As she rose from the couch in bewilderment, Elvino burst forth into angry reproaches, declaring her to be faithless and base; and in spite of poor Amina's piteous assurances of innocence, since she could not explain how she came to be found in such a compromising situation, he spurned her with scorn, and, thrusting aside her clinging arms, departed in anger.

Amina, overcome with grief and despair, sank sobbing into the arms of Dame Teresa, who, though not understanding the mystery, yet believed her to be innocent, and led her away with great tenderness; and the peasants then sadly dispersed, loath to think ill of the pretty maiden they loved so well, yet compelled to admit the evidence of their own eyes. But they were not satisfied; and later on in the day they set off to seek out Count Rodolpho in his château, and to learn what he knew of this strange matter, and if he had indeed enticed the poor girl to her ruin.

Meanwhile, Lisa was triumphant; and, having thus succeeded in bringing disgrace and ignominy upon her rival, she sought out Elvino, who had wandered into the woods near the château, and tenderly offered words of comfort to him, and by encouraging his rage against Amina, led him artfully to think of renewing his vows to herself; and then wisely refraining from becoming too importunate, she left him to his own reflections again, and wandered alone down another glade. Here she was joined by the lively Alessio, who, after first bewailing the sad fate of Amina, made the brilliant suggestion that Lisa should marry him at once, so that the wedding decorations should not be wasted, a suggestion, however, which was again disdainfully flouted by the captious Lisa, who informed him that she already felt assured of eventually securing the more prosperous Elvino as a husband. Alessio, well used to such rebuffs, and not the least disconcerted by this surprising announcement, still pressed his own claims; and then seeing that the peasants were approaching from the château, the wrangling pair set off to join them.

Meanwhile, Amina, accompanied by the sympathetic Dame Teresa, had also sought solace for her woe in the woods; and presently coming face to face with the unhappy Elvino, she once more besought him to believe in her innocence. Elvino, though filled with emotion at beholding the maiden whom he believed had wronged him, still refused, however, to listen to her pleadings, and again turning from her with scorn and anger, hurried quickly away; and as Dame Teresa vainly endeavoured to comfort the now heart-broken girl, the peasants came in sight, headed by Count Rodolpho, who, having heard from them of Amina's sad plight, had now come to prove her innocence.

Full of compassion, he approached the half-fainting girl; and, seeing that she was utterly exhausted by the strain that had been put upon her, he bade Dame Teresa to take her into a neighbouring mill, and make her rest for a while, promising that in the meantime, he would seek out Elvino and try to convince him of the innocence of his betrothed.

When Dame Teresa had led the weary Amina into the mill, the peasants went to seek Elvino; and when they had at length found and persuaded him to return with them, the Count bade him be of good comfort and cease to mourn, since Amina was still worthy of his love. He then described to him that the maiden had entered his room the night before in her sleep, explaining that she was a somnambulist, and, as such, utterly unconscious of her actions at the time; but Elvino and the simple peasants, never before having heard of this strange phenomenon, were scarcely yet convinced, finding it difficult to realize such a curious circumstance, which had not come within their experience before. But whilst they were still wondering at the story that had been told to them, they saw Amina softly approaching from the mill, passing them with wide-open, unseeing eyes, and uttering Elvino's name in loving accents; and, seeing that the maiden was again walking in her sleep, the Count explained this fact to the peasants, and bade them remain quiet until she should awaken.

Elvino, overjoyed at this final proof of his beloved one's innocence, could scarcely restrain his happy feelings, watching the lovely maiden's movements with eager interest; and when she presently awakened to full consciousness, he clasped her in his arms with joy, beseeching her to forgive him for doubting her faith.

Amina, full of happiness at thus learning that Elvino still loved her, and no longer believed her to be false, was soon restored to her accustomed gaiety; and so the reunited pair were wedded that same day ere the sun went down, amidst the great rejoicings of the villagers, who were filled with delight that the fair maiden they loved so well was now cleared from all reproach.

I PURITANI

During the great Civil War between the royal House of Stuart and the Parliament, at the time when Charles the Second was a fugitive, the fortress of Plymouth was held by the Parliamentary Army; and here the commander of the fortress, Lord Walton, a Puritan sternly devoted to the side he had espoused, had brought his lovely young daughter, Elvira, that she might be safe from the many dangers of that troublous time.

The sweetness and grace of Elvira quickly gained her many admirers; for even the sombre Puritans were not proof against the enthralling charms of youth and beauty.

Amongst these admirers was Sir Richard Forth, a colonel in the Parliamentary forces; and being of good family and excellent repute amongst the Puritans, he met with a very favourable reception when he brought his suit to Lord Walton, who readily accepted him as his future son-in-law.

Elvira, however, had already, unknown to her father, given her heart to a Cavalier officer, Lord Arthur Talbot, who held a high position in the Royalist Army; and when she was told that the Puritan officer had been accepted as her suitor, she was filled with dismay, knowing such a loveless marriage could bring nothing but misery, yet believing that her father would never consent to her union with her Cavalier lover.

In this dilemma, she confided her troubles to her uncle, Lord George Walton, who, though a retired Puritan officer, yet remained in the fortress to assist his brother in the command; and this gentleman, who loved Elvira as his own child, was so deeply moved by her passionate appeal for his aid that he promised to use every endeavour in his power to bring about her union with the man she loved.

At first, Lord George was not successful in his interview with his brother on Elvira's behalf; for the stern Puritan officer had no desire to connect himself with a Cavalier family, and declared that he had already promised his daughter to Sir Richard Forth, who was in every way a suitable husband for her.

When, however, his brother, who cared less for political and religious distinctions, declared that Elvira's highly-strung system and loving nature could never bear the tragedy of a loveless marriage, and that it would certainly break her heart should it be forced upon her, Lord Walton was no longer proof against such an appeal as this; for he was a devoted father, and loved his daughter with very tender affection. He therefore agreed that the undesired betrothal with Sir Richard Forth should be set aside at once; and he also signified his consent to Elvira's marriage with Lord Arthur Talbot, giving instructions for the young Cavalier to be admitted into the fortress on the morrow, that the nuptials might be celebrated there without further delay.

Elvira was filled with the utmost joy when her uncle brought her these glad tidings; and preparations for the wedding ceremony were commenced forthwith, so that a merry bustle was quickly set up in the sombre castle.

The young Cavalier was also overjoyed at this happy turn of events; and he needed no second bidding to prepare for his wedding with the beautiful maiden he loved so well.

On his arrival at the fortress next morning, Lord Arthur received a joyous welcome from all; for his many deeds of bravery and chivalry had won him universal renown, so that even the Puritan followers of Lord Walton had words of praise and admiration for this noble young Cavalier, who was to be wedded to their leader's daughter that day.

A glad meeting took place between Elvira and her lover; and then, whilst the happy maiden retired to don her bridal robes, Arthur remained in the courtyard of the castle, where his tender thoughts were unexpectedly diverted into another channel.

As he waited there, a captive lady, closely guarded, was brought out from the fortress into the courtyard, where she was informed by Lord Walton that she was about to be escorted to the Parliamentary tribunal, there to receive her sentence.

The despairing looks of the captive lady moved Arthur to deep pity; and on learning from Lord George that she had been imprisoned several months in the fortress as one strongly suspected of favouring the Stuart cause and of having acted as their spy, and that she would certainly be condemned to the scaffold, the young Cavalier, as a fellow-adherent of the Royalists, determined to seek speech with her.

Therefore, whilst the attention of the officers and guards was turned in another direction for a short time, he managed to get sufficiently near the lady to enter into a low-toned conversation with her; and then, to his utter horror and dismay, he discovered that the captive was none other than the widow of the unfortunate Charles the First, Queen Henrietta, who, whilst engaged in disguise on a secret enterprise on behalf of her fugitive son, had been captured by her enemies and thrust by them into Plymouth fortress, where, though still preserving her incognito, she knew herself to be in the utmost danger.

Arthur, ever faithful to the Stuart cause, now felt it to be his sacred duty to rescue the unfortunate Queen from her desperate situation; and he told the unhappy Henrietta that he would do all in his power to save her.

At this moment, the bride and her maidens returned to the courtyard; and Elvira, whose tender heart could not bear that another should be in trouble when she herself was so full of joy, at once approached the captive lady, for whose sad fate she had many times grieved, and tried to cheer her with words of comfort. She even playfully removed her long bridal veil, and drooped it over Henrietta's dark locks, clapping her hands merrily at the effect, and declaring she would make a beautiful bride; and the Queen, forgetting her sadness for the moment, was so charmed with the youthful grace and sweet innocence of Elvira, that she indulgently suffered her artless playfulness.

The time for the ceremony was now almost due; and Elvira was hurried away by her uncle to the chapel so quickly that she had not time to don her veil again, but gaily called to Henrietta to follow her with it, forgetting in her eager excitement that the poor lady was a captive.

As the bridal party trooped into the chapel, Arthur slipped back to the courtyard, blessing the happy chance which had left Henrietta in possession of the bridal veil; and bidding the Queen to wrap it closely about her face and form, he hurried her to the gates of the courtyard, hoping that she might now be mistaken for Elvira, and be thus permitted to pass through.

In spite of his anguish at being compelled to leave his beloved Elvira at the very moment of their union, Arthur was too loyal a Royalist to forsake his Queen in her extremity; and crushing down the strong temptation to return to his waiting bride, he steadfastly conducted his royal charge to the fortress gates.

Here, to his dismay, he found Sir Richard Forth on guard; and the Puritan officer, severely smarting from the sudden cancellation of his betrothal with Elvira, and believing the veiled lady to be the bride, refused to let them pass, and challenged his successful rival to mortal combat. When, however, Henrietta lifted her veil, and in terrified accents bade the pair sheathe their swords, the Puritan saw that he had made a mistake; and he at once gave his permission for them to pass through the gates, hoping that by reporting the secret departure of Arthur with the captive lady, he would prove to Elvira the faithlessness of her Cavalier lover, and thus further his own suit once more.

Arthur and the Queen thus escaped safely from the fortress; and as soon as the news became known, the greatest consternation prevailed. A number of Parliamentary soldiers were quickly sent out to search for the fugitives, but Lord Arthur cleverly succeeded in eluding them, until he had placed the Queen on board a ship, in which she was safely conveyed to France.

Meanwhile, Elvira had received a terrible shock on learning of the desertion of her lover at the very moment of their marriage; and being led by the story of Sir Richard Forth to believe him faithless, her grief was so frantic that she completely lost her reason. The poor girl would wander out alone into the woods every day, now prattling childishly of happy days gone by, and anon imagining herself in the company of her beloved Arthur; and all the inmates of the fortress were filled with sorrow at the terrible change which had taken place in her.

Lord Arthur Talbot was now proscribed and condemned to death by the Parliamentary Government for having effected the escape of a political prisoner; but Sir Richard Forth, who had special influence with his party, was at length persuaded by Elvira's uncle to plead for the young Cavalier's life to be spared, should he be captured, for the kindly old Puritan hoped that if his distraught niece could be brought face to face with her lover once more, her reason might be restored.

At last, Arthur, having succeeded in eluding his enemies for several months, managed to return to Plymouth, intending to enter the fortress once more, in spite of danger, and to claim his bride; and as he hurried cautiously through the neighbouring wood, he happened to meet Elvira herself, who was aimlessly wandering there as usual, singing wild and plaintive ditties with the unmistakable air of one bereft of reason.

Terribly grieved and shocked at beholding his beloved one in such a condition, Arthur approached, and gently folded her in his arms, uttering tender words of greeting. As Lord George had foretold, the reappearance of Arthur did indeed restore Elvira's mental balance; and with great delight, she returned his embraces, and listened gladly to the story of his adventures, and his explanation as to the true identity of the captive lady whom he had thought it his duty to save from the scaffold.

Even as the restored lovers thus talked happily together, the Puritan search-party arrived on the scene, having learnt of Arthur's return to the neighbourhood, and now tracked him to the wood; and dragging the young Cavalier from the arms of Elvira, they bade him prepare for instant death.

At this distressing moment, however, another party, headed by Lord George Walton and Sir Richard Forth, came galloping up, and ordered the immediate release of the prisoner; and as the search-party drew back in surprise, they were triumphantly informed that news had just arrived that the Parliamentary forces had finally conquered the Royalists, and that in celebration of the event, all political prisoners were pardoned.

All was now peace and rejoicing; and Elvira, the Puritan maiden, completely restored to reason once more by the return of her lover, was united to the young Cavalier without further delay.

THE LILY OF KILLARNEY

One summer evening, a gay company of merry-makers were gathered together in the brilliantly lighted hall at Torc Cregan, an ancient Irish mansion beautifully situated in the romantic district of Killarney; for Hardress Cregan, the handsome young owner of the estates, was entertaining his friends with all the generous prodigality and light-hearted carelessness of his race.

The old hall rang with laughter and the sound of boisterous songs; and the merry guests now rejoiced with their host for his bachelor state and freedom from care, and anon rated him for not taking on himself the sweet bonds of matrimony.

All were bent on enjoyment and ready for any mad frolic; and when a moonlight steeplechase was suggested in order to try the disputed merits of two of the guests' steeds, it was hailed with zest, and the whole party trooped out into the open air to watch the sport.

But Mrs. Cregan, the widowed mother of Hardress, remained behind in the deserted hall; and upon a servant, a few moments later, announcing a newcomer, "Mr. Corrigan," her gaiety quickly vanished, and a careworn, hunted look came into her eyes. For Corrigan was an agent, or "middleman," a low-bred, officious fellow who held a mortgage on the Cregan estates; and being ambitious and eager to make a position for himself in Kerry, he did not hesitate to dictate insolent terms to the aristocratic family he thus had in his power. Knowing that the Cregans were considerably embarrassed for money, and feeling that his chance for early payment was small, he had requested Mrs. Cregan to persuade her son to seek marriage with Miss Anne Chute, the richest heiress in Kerry, with whose wealth the matter of the mortgage could be comfortably settled; and it was his practice to intrude occasionally to learn how Hardress's suit was progressing.

To-night, however, he had a new suggestion to make; for being impressed by the still youthful looks and charms of Mrs. Cregan, he had the assurance to remark that, should Hardress not succeed in securing the heiress, he would himself be willing to accept the hand of the handsome widow in lieu of payment. To this suggestion Mrs. Cregan, who loathed and despised the man, gave a proud refusal; but her indignant demeanour was quickly changed to dismay when Corrigan, angered by her scorn, declared that if she intended Hardress to settle the debt by marrying the heiress, she must keep a strict watch upon him, since he was indulging in a secret amour with an unknown peasant girl, whom he kept hidden in a cottage on the opposite shore of the neighbouring lake.

Mrs. Cregan incredulously repudiated his statement; but her angry speech was interrupted by the sound of a song sung by a lake boatman, whom Corrigan triumphantly declared to be Danny Mann, the devoted, though humble, follower of Hardress, for whom he was evidently now waiting, in order to convey him to his mysterious sweetheart on the opposite shore.

To convince Mrs. Cregan of the truth of his statement, Corrigan drew her behind a curtain, from whence, unseen, she could watch the result of the boatman's signal. A few moments later, Hardress, having made his escape from his friends on hearing the boatman's song, entered the room, and spoke with Danny Mann through the open window; and then, taking up a lighted candle, he exposed it and shaded it three times, finally extinguishing it altogether, upon which a similar light in a cottage window on the opposite shore of the lake likewise flashed and vanished.

After this unmistakable signal had been made, Hardress hurried down to the water, and was rowed across the lake in Danny Mann's boat; and Mrs. Cregan, now only too well convinced of her son's intrigue, was filled with dismay. But Corrigan left the house in triumph, knowing that the startled widow would now hurry forward her son's suit with the heiress, since her pride of birth would not suffer her to contemplate the young man's present love affair with serenity; and he chuckled as he thought how remorselessly he would insist upon the second mode of paying the debt, should the first one fail.

Meanwhile, in the cottage on the other side of the lake, Eily O'Connor, the Lily of Killarney, a lovely young Irish girl, whose silky raven locks had won for her the name of the Colleen Bawn, eagerly awaited the arrival of Hardress Cregan, who was indeed not only her lover, but her lawful husband also; for Hardress had fallen so passionately in love with this beautiful peasant maiden that, fearful lest he might lose her through the opposition of his own people, he had persuaded her to enter into a secret marriage with him. He had, however, bound her by a solemn promise not to reveal their true relation to each other, knowing that the thought of his probable union with Miss Anne Chute was the only safe means he had of keeping Corrigan from pressing for immediate settlement of his debt; and Eily, who loved her aristocratic admirer with the whole-hearted devotion of a true and trusting nature, readily consented, and at his bidding kept herself hidden in the little cottage on the shore of the lake. Here she was watched over and guarded by a good priest, known as Father Tom; and here also she was frequently visited by a peasant lover, a smuggler outlaw named Myles-na-Coppaleen, who, though knowing her to be the wife of Hardress Cregan, still showed his devotion to her by keeping close at hand, in order to serve her should the occasion arise.

To-night, as he was conveying a keg of smuggled whisky to his friend, Father Tom, to whom, as a good Catholic, he always gave a tenth of his possessions, Myles had met with the agent, Corrigan, who, knowing him to be in the confidence of Hardress Cregan, had endeavoured to draw information from him as to the identity of the mysterious hidden maiden in the lake-shore cottage; but his fair words and promised bribes made little headway with the staunch Myles, whose lively Irish wit made him more than a match for the prying agent.

When Corrigan had departed, Myles made his way to the Colleen Bawn's cottage, where he found the inmates somewhat upset; for Father Tom, jealous of the good name of the pretty maiden over whom he exercised guardianship, had been pressing Eily to persuade Hardress Cregan to acknowledge their marriage, declaring it to be unjust to her that he should continue to visit her by stealth. Nor was the good father satisfied when Eily declared that Hardress doubtless felt ashamed to introduce a peasant wife to his fine relations, and that he might even leave her altogether should he be pressed to do so; but when he again sternly insisted upon her securing her rights, she agreed to do so.

On the entrance of Myles, however, gaiety once more reigned in the cottage; for the merry outlaw insisted on brewing a big bowl of punch, to the accompaniment of a lively Irish song.

As the song came to an end, Hardress Cregan appeared; and Eily soon noticed that he was anxious and upset, since her strong Irish brogue irritated him more than usual, so that he scolded her for mispronouncing her words. Presently she learnt from him of the difficulty he was in with regard to the mortgage on his estate; and he eagerly desired her to give up her marriage certificate, that he might be free to make the union his mother desired, declaring that otherwise he would visit her no more.

Eily's love for Hardress was so great that she was even willing to make the monstrous sacrifice he required, in order to save him from ruin; but Myles-na-Coppaleen indignantly interposed to prevent such a selfish design from being carried out, whilst Father Tom sternly compelled Hardress to give into his own keeping the certificate which the trusting Eily had yielded up.

Young Cregan, angry at being thus foiled, and equally ashamed at the base part he had felt compelled to play for the sake of his mother's welfare, left the cottage in a passion, declaring that he would never visit it again, and bidding the Colleen Bawn farewell for ever; and poor Eily, overcome by this distressing scene, fell senseless to the floor, heedless of the words of comfort uttered by her two faithful friends.

Hardress, though soon filled with deep remorse for his recent heartless conduct, now began to pay his addresses to Anne Chute with such earnestness and success that their engagement and early marriage was presently announced; but the young man's thoughts constantly reverted to the deserted Eily, whom he still loved dearly, and whose gentle image he could not drive from his mind.

Soon, his troubled thoughts and embarrassing situation became known to Danny Mann; and the wily boatman, whose devotion and love for young Cregan was intense, suggested a desperate means for securing his freedom. He hinted that he would himself willingly resort to violence in order to remove the Colleen Bawn from his master's path; and even when Hardress refused with horror and indignation to consider such a scheme, he still declared that he was ready to do the deed at any time, if Cregan would send him his glove as a token that he desired Eily O'Connor to vanish.

Shortly after this, Mrs. Cregan received another visit from Corrigan, the agent, who, still doubting whether Hardress would ever marry the heiress, began to press his hateful alternative upon her; but his undesired attempts at love-making were summarily stopped by the entrance of young Cregan, who, grasping the situation at a glance, forcibly ejected the agent, pouring fiery words of indignation upon him, to which Corrigan replied with sulky threats of an early triumph.

It happened that Danny Mann, the boatman, who was waiting without, overheard the whole of this conversation; and after cautiously watching Corrigan and Hardress to a safe distance, he came forward to speak with Mrs. Cregan, declaring that the only way to make a break between her son and his sweetheart, the Colleen Bawn, was to pack the girl off to America, slyly undertaking to arrange the matter himself with Eily, who he knew would consent, if he could show to her Hardress's glove as a token that it was his desire that she should go.

Mrs. Cregan, unaware that the pair were married, and equally unsuspicious that Danny had any darker scheme in his mind, went at once in search of the required symbol, feeling that if only Eily could be got away from the district, Hardress would think no more about her, and thus his marriage with Anne Chute could be hurried forward; and soon she returned with one of Hardress's gloves, which was joyfully seized by the boatman, who eagerly set about carrying out his base design, by which he intended to force the Colleen Bawn, by threats of murder, to give up her marriage certificate, knowing that if once this could be destroyed, she had no legal claim on Hardress Cregan, since the priest who had wedded them, and all other witnesses of the marriage, were dead.