Chapter XII (1)

The Ride—the Midnight Fright—the Corpse—The Secret Burial.

Kay took no part in the conversation which followed, the staple of which consisted of denunciations of the scoundrels who infested the city of San Francisco and its vicinity, perpetrating with impunity the most daring robberies and even more atrocious offences.

Kay was slightly known to several of the ‘crowd’ who had been drawn to the bar by rumors respecting the robbery, and as Kay sauntered out of the room one of these persons whispered a few words to the drover, who turned and closely scrutinized the robber’s person. Kay bore his fixed gaze apparently unmoved. But he inwardly determined that the drover should never bear witness against him!

A few evenings after this robbery, Inez had taken a long ride, and on her return was overtaken by a sudden and violent storm. She immediately put her horse to the run. Inez was too much accustomed to heavy rains and violent storms of wind to be much alarmed, as she knew her fleet steed would soon bear her home in safety. But scarcely had our heroine proceeded a couple of hundred varas when her horse fell heavily. Fortunately, however, Inez was but little injured. Her horse she soon discovered was unable to rise. Of course no alternative was left her but to proceed homewards on foot.

Notwithstanding, however, she sought all that was in her power to strengthen this idea, many doubts, fears, misgivings, and apprehensions would steal into her bosom, and every blast of wind which howled around her seemed to come fraught with the moanings of despair. She had travelled about three miles from the place at which she had lost her horse, and was upon a dreary waste, where there was nothing to protect her from the fury of the blast and the fast falling rain which drifted around her. It was a most awful spot, and in spite of her resistance to fear, she felt the most indescribable sensation of horror creeping through her veins.

‘Holy Mary!’ she exclaimed, ‘my weary and benumbed limbs will not support me much further, and yet, if I pause, nothing but death stares me in the face. How awful is the darkness around, and here am I placed alone, and fated to endure all this toil and wretchedness. Could I but hear the sound even of a human voice, methinks it would be transport to my soul. This silence is appalling. Whenever I have had occasion to cross this wild spot, I always felt the most irresistible terror; it is, indeed, a fit place for the perpetration of the bloody crimes which report says have been committed here, and I do not wonder that people should shun it after nightfall in dread, my God! do not desert me in this dreadful moment. Oh! I remember there is an old house not far from this spot; could I but reach that, it would afford me shelter until my recruited strength will enable me to proceed. The storm increases; what will become of me? The rain falls faster than ever; I must proceed. Protect me, heaven!’

Trembling in every limb, and her knees smiting each other, Inez forced her way as well she was able, in the direction of the old house, which she at length perceived at no great distance from her, and so completely exhausted was she, that had she had to have proceeded many yards further she must have sunk to the earth. It was an old building, broken in many parts.

An old story gave the place a kind of fearful interest; and there was one period when Inez would not have ventured within its precincts, but now she thought nothing about it; she thought only of her weary and exhausted state. She reached the wretched place, and found no obstruction to her entrance, the door having long since been torn off its hinges, and she, therefore, staggered into the place, and threw herself, exhausted and breathless, upon a heap of rubbish in one corner, to rest herself for a few minutes, ere she could see what was best to be done for her accommodation for the night. The house was divided into two compartments, and one of these was in much better condition than the other. There, then, Inez determined to remain till daybreak; and gathering together some pieces of old boarding which had fallen from different parts of the building, and a heap of straw, which she found in one corner, she retired into it, contrived to make herself up some kind of a rude pallet, piled all the old rubbish she could find against the door which opened into this division of the house, and then imploring the protection of Heaven, she wrapped herself closely in her cloak, and laid down.

Completely wearied out, it was not long ere she was about to sink off to sleep, when she was suddenly alarmed and astonished by hearing a noise outside the building, and soon after, a light glimmered between the crevices, and the horror and amazement of Inez may be easily conjectured when she caught a glimpse of the shadow of two men, bearing something which seemed to be very heavy between them. They moved stealthily and cautiously round by the side of the building towards the entrance, and Inez had not the least doubt but that they were coming there; in another second her conjectures were confirmed, and she heard them deposit their burthen in the adjoining shed to that in which she was.

How shall we attempt to portray the terror of Inez at this circumstance? She did not venture to breathe scarcely, and screwed herself into the smallest possible compass in the corner, for fear that the men should discover her there; but, from a small hole in the boards, she could perceive what was passing.

‘My God!’ she thought, ‘what can be the purpose of these men? Certainly no good, at such an hour.’

Inez placed her eye to the hole in the boarding, and perceived that they were two powerful men, dressed in ponchos, and as the rays of the light fell upon their countenances, she shuddered at their aspects.

They had placed the sack upon the floor, and began digging up the earth with a couple of spades which they had brought with them. A deadly chill fell upon the heart of Inez when she beheld this, and she could scarcely repress a scream, as a dreadful idea shot through her brain.

‘Horror! horror!’ she reflected, ‘the wretches have surely been committing murder, and have come hither to bury their unfortunate victim.’

‘There, we shall soon be able to make a snug lodging for him,’ said one of the villains, taking up a spade and preparing to begin to dig, ‘and no one will ever know what has become of him. How nicely we gammoned the old fool to take up his lodging with us.’

‘You’re right,’ said the other, ‘it was very well done, and I must give you the credit of doing the best part towards it. If the friends of the old drover look for his return home, how woefully deceived they will be.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed the first villain, ‘indeed they will. Well, we have got a very tidy booty for this job.’

‘Yes, it will pay us for the trouble we have been at,’ was the answer; ‘but I’ll warrant that we shall circulate the blunt a little more freely than the old fellow would have done. We must not be in the city many days.’

‘As soon as the job’s over we will quit the spot,’ returned his companion, ‘and it will be many a long day ere we shall revisit this neighborhood again. We couldn’t have fixed a much better place than this to deposit the old fellow’s remains in; but, I say, there is a door yonder, which seems to lead to another part of the house; suppose we examine that, and see whether it will serve better to conceal the body of the murdered man in than this.’

‘Great God!’ thought Inez, ‘I am lost; they will discover and murder me. By what horrible fatality were my footsteps guided to this place?’

‘Psha! what’s the use of talking in that manner, Kay?’ said the other ruffian, to whom this proposition was addressed; ‘we have no time to spare; besides, we have half dug the grave here, and I dare say the old chap will lie as contented here as he would a foot or two off. Come, come, let’s finish the business and begone, for I am almost tired of it, and if we remain here much longer, there’s no knowing but that we might be discovered.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Kay, as the other man had called him, ‘it matters very little, so let’s go to work, and get done as quick as possible.’

‘I think we have given him depth enough,’ remarked the other wretch, ‘and he’ll not pop up again in a hurry by himself. Come, out with him, and let’s finish the job at once.’

This, as may be imagined, was a moment of unutterable horror to our heroine, who had watched the proceedings, and listened to the conversation of the assassins with the most breathless attention; and a shuddering seized upon her frame which she found it impossible to resist.—It would, however, be useless to attempt to describe the relief she felt when she heard the observations of the first ruffian, by which he was persuaded from entering the place in which she was concealed; but every moment that they prolonged their stay increased her terror and anxiety, for fear that her infant should awake, and, crying loud, betray her.

After having untied the mouth of the sack, they drew it nearer to the edge of the grave they had been digging, and turned out the body of a stout but aged man, whose long grey locks were matted together with large clots of blood that had issued from several deep wounds in the skull.

Horror enchained all the faculties of Inez, and with distended eyelids, she fixed her straining eyeballs upon the dreadful spectacle.

Her blood seemed turned to ice, and her heart seemed almost to cease its pulsation. Should the wretches find out that she was there concealed, and had been watching them, and overheard the acknowledgement of their dreadful crime, the death of herself would be certain to follow.

These reflections passed rapidly in the mind of Inez, as she watched, in a state of the most breathless suspense, the actions of the murderers, as they, in the most callous manner, tossed the body of their wretched victim into the grave they had dug for its reception, and commenced filling it up, occupying the interval during the disgusting scene, with the most ribald conversation, which smote the heart of our heroine with horror, as she listened to it.

‘There,’ exclaimed Kay, as he placed the last spade-full of earth on the grave of their murdered victim, ‘that job’s finished, and a long and sound rest to the old drover. The business has been performed throughout in a tradesman-like manner, and no suspicion can ever attach itself to us.’

‘Suspicion,’ reiterated the other with a laugh, ‘oh no, we might almost as well imagine that somebody has been watching us all this time in this lonely place, as to suppose that even the shadow of an idea of we being the murderers of the old man could attach itself to us.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Kay, ‘your observation have started an idea in my head, and, had you attended to my suggestion in the first instance, we should have been secured from any danger of the sort.’

‘What mean you?’

‘What mean I:—why, that door, which, as I before observed, no doubt, communicates with some other part of the house, and it is not at all unlikely that some weary traveller may have taken up his lodging there, or sought shelter from the storm, and been listening to our discourse all this time. Should such be the case, we shall not go far without falling into the hands of the Vigilance Committee, depend upon it. I’ll examine the place.’

‘Bah! why, you are growing worse than a child, Kay,’ said the miscreant’s companion, ‘I never heard such improbable ideas to strike a fellow in all my life. Do you think any person could be within here all this time without betraying some signs of terror?’

‘You may laugh at me as much as you like, Blodget,’ returned Kay, ‘but I am generally pretty correct in what I fancy, and I don’t think I shall be far out in this instance. Here goes for to see.’

We must fail here to portray the feelings of our heroine, as the ruffian, Kay, approached the door, and tried it.

Such was the violence of her agitation, that cold drops of perspiration stood upon her forehead, and it was only by a complete miracle that she could prevent herself from screaming.

Kay tried hard to push the door open, and swore when he found the obstruction; and at that moment, when Inez had nearly given herself up for lost, some noise on the outside of the building, arrested the attention of both the villains, and Kay immediately quitted the door, much to the relief of our heroine.

‘Hist?’ muttered Blodget, in a cautious tone, ‘did you not hear a noise outside, Belcher?’

‘I fancied I did,’ was the reply.

‘Extinguish the light,’ commanded the other, ‘and I will reconnoitre.’

Kay immediately did as his companion directed him, and Blodget cautiously opened the door and looked out. As he did so, Inez could hear that the storm had increased in violence, and immediately afterwards she heard the voice of Blodget, observing,—

‘Oh, the coast is quite clear, as far as I can see, and, therefore, it could only have been fancy; but, notwithstanding, Kay, I do not see the policy of remaining here. We had much better, on the contrary, make our escape as speedily as possible, while we have the opportunity; for, should we be discovered here, and the fresh earth upon the new made grave, we should be bowled out to a dead certainty. It’s madness to suppose that anybody but ourselves have been here during the time we have been performing the funeral obsequies for the old man. Come, come, no more of this foolery, but travel’s the word.—’

And ‘travel’ was not only the word, but the action of the wretches, much to the relief of our heroine, who had almost given her mind to despair; and after a short time had elapsed since they had quitted the place, and Inez, by attentive listening, had assured herself that they were not near the spot, first, with eyes brimful of tears, having returned her thanks to Providence for her deliverance from that death which she at one time imagined inevitable, she removed the rubbish which she had piled against the door, and left the place in which she had been concealed.

What an inexpressible feeling of terror smote her breast, when she passed the grave of the murdered man!—Her limbs trembled so violently that it is surprising how she was enabled to support herself, and she mentally offered up an involuntary prayer for the repose of his soul, and that his barbarous assassins might be brought to punishment for their inhuman violation of the laws. It was a second or two before she ventured to quit the place, but having listened at the door, which the ruffians had closed after them, and hearing no other sounds than those caused by the fury of the storm, she ventured to open it and look forth. The scene was awful enough, as a pitchy darkness obscured all around, save when, at intervals, the flashes of lightning succeeded the deafening thunder-peals. The rain also descended rapidly, and all around presented a scene of the most appalling horror. But, awful as it was, to Inez it presented not half the terrors of the old outhouse, which now contained the mangled remains of the poor old man, whom the monsters had buried.

Inez, trembling in every limb, left the place where she had witnessed such horrors, and with difficulty made her way in what she judged to be the direction of her father’s house. This she would never have had strength to reach, had she not fortunately met with a party of her father’s herdsmen, who had been sent out in quest of her. She was soon after joined by her father, and being placed on a horse, arrived safely at home, suffering greatly, however, in both body and mind from the anguish she had experienced, and the terrible scenes that had been enacted before her young eyes.

Leaving the maiden safely in the abode of her parent, we will now return to Monteagle. Day after day, he had called at the Post Office, but the same brief response ever met his inquiries,—‘None, sir.’ Disappointment was working a sad change in his appearances, and his broken fortunes were growing hourly more desperate.

As he was one day leaving the Post Office, and strolling down Clay street, he overheard a person addressing another, thus: ‘Jake, you needn’t go to the Post Office, up here, any more for letters. A couple of cartloads have just been found down under Long Wharf; which it seems, the Postmaster uses as a place of general delivery.’

Monteagle stayed to hear no more, but hastened to the place indicated.—A great crowd was assembled, every member of which was justly indignant at this infamous betrayal of trust in the Post Office officials, and while some talked of carrying their complaints to Washington; others suggested the rather less mild but somewhat more effective action of tying the Postmaster up in one of his mail bags, and dumping him where he had deposited their letters—in the Bay.

Monteagle sprang down beneath the wharf, the tide having fallen, and left the sand bare. Here he found a large number of letters, and newspapers: the directions of many being wholly or in part obliterated. But among all that number, he could find none addressed to him. While he was turning over the letters, he saw one addressed to a young lady, whom he recollected as having been pointed out to him by Blodget when visiting the house in Dupont street. She was called the ‘English Girl,’ and Monteagle remembered having been particularly struck by the lovely though pensive expression of her fair face. He took the letter and immediately proceeded to the house where she resided. As soon as the usual greetings were over, the young lady opened the letter, but had scarcely glanced at its contents before she fell heavily to the floor. Monteagle summoned assistance, and after some time she was sufficiently restored to converse with our hero; who deeply sympathised with her evident distress. The poor girl, in answer to Monteagle’s inquiries, gave him the following account of her previous history:

‘My father was a farmer, in comfortable circumstances, which he gained by his own industry and exemplary conduct. I will not attempt to describe him, for I should fail to do justice to his merits, eloquent, doubtless, as my affection for him would make me. Let it suffice that he was a man of superior education, having formerly moved in a different state of life, from which he had been driven by a long series of misfortunes, and his numerous virtues even by far exceeded his accomplishments. My mother was a complete counterpart of her husband, and never were two beings better formed to meet together. I was their only daughter, myself and a brother being the only offspring they ever had. Every indulgence that child could wish, or parent could think of, was bestowed on me;—my every thought seemed to be studied by them, and there was not a single happiness which they had it in their power to grant, which they seemed to think too great for me.’

‘Our home was the happiest in the neighborhood, and it was the envy and admiration of all who knew it. Again, when I think upon it, and how different my situation is now, I cannot help giving vent to my feelings; indeed, it is to indulge them that I have sat down to record the events of my life, although, in all probability, no other eyes but mine may ever behold it. Home, sweet home; there cannot be a theme upon which the mind of sensibility pauses with more peculiar delight than this. It is the cradle of our infancy and our age.’

‘The seaman, amidst storm and tempest, in fair weather and foul, thinks of his native village; the soldier that fights for kings; the merchant that dives for gain, are, alternately, stung with the thoughts of home; while the wanderer, who has followed pleasure, but found it a shade—that has bartered the humble content for splendid misery, thinks of home with a self-accusing regret, that renders even a return to its enjoyments full of bitterness and remorse. Sensibly do I feel the force of these observations, and, therefore, have I digressed from my simple narrative for the purpose of indulging in them.’

‘I will pass over the early part of my life, which was passed in almost uninterrupted happiness, and come at once to that unfortunate circumstance which was the cause of my indiscretion, and occasioned me all that anguish I so severely felt afterwards.

‘An accident brought Captain Darian and his friend, the Earl Mansville, to our house, from which the latter was unable to be removed for several weeks. Alas! it was a fatal day for me; the earl was young, handsome, insinuating, and the very first moment I beheld him, my heart felt a sensation it never before had experienced, and too soon I was compelled to acknowledge to myself that I had become deeply enamoured of him. Fatal attachment! had I not been unpardonably thoughtless, I should at once have seen the folly, the danger, the hopelessness of indulging, or encouraging a passion for one so far above me, and who would, probably, not feel for me a mutual sentiment, and have stifled it in its infancy. But it was not to be: I was to be taught reason by dear-bought experience. At length, the earl being restored to convalescence, quitted our house, but I felt convinced it was with reluctance, and I noticed the looks he fixed on me, with a sentiment of mingled delight and astonishment. The glances he bestowed on me, were those of admiration—of love! How my heart bounded at this idea, I need not tell; but, alas! it should have been its greatest cause of anguish, and my pleasure was greatly increased when I learned that Mansville having expressed his delight at the neighborhood, had taken up his abode in it for a short time; but Captain Darian had made his departure some days previous to another part of the country. I frequently saw the earl, and he seemed anxious to say something to me, but had not an opportunity, as I was mostly in the presence of my parents; but I needed no interpretation of his thoughts; my own sentiments fully elucidated them, and the warmth of the glances he bestowed upon me. If it required anything to strengthen the affection with which Mansville had inspired me, it was the amiable character he soon acquired in the neighborhood, his chief pleasure appearing to be the performing of acts of benevolence and philanthropy, and the blessings of the poor were amply lavished upon him. Rash, thoughtless, girl that I was. I should have made my parents acquainted with the real state of my feelings, and sought their advice upon the subject, but, for the first time in my life, I was anxious to conceal my thoughts from them, and continued to encourage and strengthen those passions which reason ought to have convinced me could never have been requited by the object who had inspired me with them.

It was about a month after the Earl Mansville had quitted our house, that I arose rather earlier one morning than was my usual custom, induced by the fineness of the weather. I descended from my chamber, and entered the garden, which was beautifully and tastefully arranged, and in which, as well as my father and brother, I took much pleasure. My attention, however, was particularly devoted to a rose tree, which I had frequently heard the earl express his admiration of it while he was remaining at our house. Could I but get him by any means to receive one how happy should I have been. This day I had resolved to make my father and mother a little present of some of these roses, which I knew they would receive with more delight than the most costly gift, coming as they did from me.

‘How sweetly my roses have opened,’ I soliloquized; ‘they seem to know that they are destined to be gifts of affection, and to smile with the delight I shall feel in bestowing them on those I love so dearly. So this for my father, and this for my mother.’

I plucked two of the most beautiful, and had scarcely done so, when my father entered from the house, and greeted me with his usual affection.

‘Ah, father,’ I exclaimed, ‘I have such a nice gift for you and my dear mother.’

‘Indeed, my child,’ returned my father, smiling fondly on me.

‘Yes,’ replied I, placing one of those roses which I had plucked in his hand, ‘there,—is there a painting in any mansion in the country half so beautiful? What a name a painter would get who could only give a perfect copy of these roses, and, you see, I give you the originals for nothing.’

‘Dear girl, dear girl!’ ejaculated my father, his eyes glittering with fondness.

‘And yet I do not give them to you for nothing, my dear father,’ I added; ‘for you give me in exchange those sweet smiles of affection, which are to me of more value than anything else in the world.’

‘Darling child,’ cried my father, raising his hand above his head, and invoking a blessing upon me; ‘the look of affection will always reward innocence.’

‘After having thus spoken he was about to depart, when I ran towards him, saying:

‘What! leave us so soon, my dear father? Prithee stay till the air grows cooler.’

‘My child,’ answered my affectionate parent, ‘these locks have withered in the hot sun. I have passed many years in toiling for others, and have never shrunk from its beams; and now, when it is partly for my darling girl I toil, the balm and comfort of my life, I cannot feel fatigue, and every drop that rolls down my weather-beaten forehead in such a cause, makes my old heart the lighter.’

I threw myself once more into his arms, and he embraced me fervently, after which he hastened away. As soon as he had gone, I was joined by my mother, who, hearing my voice in the garden, had come to summon me to the morning repast.’

‘So, my dear,’ she remarked, ‘old Mrs. Weston is likely to be better off than ever; instead of being ruined by the burning of her cottage, the Earl of Mansville is going to rebuild it at his own expense, and has made her a handsome present into the bargain.’

At the mention of the earl’s name I blushed, and a sensation filled my bosom which no other name could have excited.

‘Indeed, my mother,’ I observed, in reply to what she had stated; ‘bless his kind heart! The whole village rings with his charities; and, whenever I see him, my heart beats so.’

‘Ah, child,’ said my mother, ‘It is a very bad sign when a young girl’s heart beats at the sight of a good-looking young man. When that happens, she ought at once to get out of his way.’

I felt uncommonly confused, and know I must have blushed deeply.

‘Nay, my dear mother,’ I at length answered, ‘to me a warning is superfluous; your daughter’s affections live in her home. Is it possible she will find elsewhere what home will yield her?’

As I afterwards learned, the earl and one of his attendants had watched the departure of my father, and at this moment the former descended from the bridge, and approached towards us. I started at his presence, and was much confused, especially as we had just before been talking about him; but, putting on one of his most affable smiles, he said:—

‘Pray don’t rise. Don’t let me disconcert you. Is Mr. Heywood within?’

‘He is but this moment gone into the fields yonder, my lord,’ answered my mother.

‘Indeed,’ said the earl, with apparent disappointment, ‘that is unfortunate, I have just now urgent occasion to speak with him.’

‘Urgent occasion,’ repeated my mother, aside to me; ‘what can it be? My lord, then I’ll hasten after him; pray have the goodness to wait one moment.’

‘Nay,’ said Mansville, ‘I am ashamed to give you the trouble; but, being of importance—’

‘I’ll make the best speed, and bring him to you immediately,’ returned my mother, hastening away, and leaving me and the earl alone.

Scarcely had my mother disappeared, when the earl, fixing upon me a look in which admiration and delight were blended, took my hand, and, in a voice of rapture, exclaimed:—

‘Clara, beauteous Clara! behold before you one who loves you to distraction.’

Although my own feelings and observations had prepared me for this scene, I was so flurried and confused, that I could scarcely contain myself. My bosom heaved—my heart palpitated. Crimson blushes, I am certain, mantled my cheeks; but yet I was unable to withdraw my hand from his hold, which he pressed vehemently to his lips and then continued:—

‘Lovely Clara, pardon this abruptness; often have I longed for this opportunity, but in vain; never before have I had it in my power to declare how the first glance of that enchanting face—’

‘Oh, my lord,’ I faltered out, in tremulous accents, ‘I must not listen to this—leave me, I beseech you.’

‘Leave you, angelic creature!’ replied the earl, emphatically, and still retaining his hold of my hand; ‘leave you! oh, there is madness in the bare thought! I cannot, I will not quit your presence till you have uttered some word of consolation—blessed me with some ray of hope!’

‘I scarcely knew how to answer;—I could not behold the object of my love, kneeling at my feet, and soliciting my sanction to his vows unmoved; the cold dictates of prudence would have told me instantly to give him a decisive answer, and to force myself from his presence, but my heart pleaded against its rigid rules. The earl noticed my emotion, and doubtless saw his triumph, for he continued in more fervent and emboldened terms.

‘But surely the gentle Clara cannot be so cruel as to bid one who is her devoted slave, despair? No—no—she will impart to him a hope—’

‘Hope, my lord,’ I interrupted, recollecting myself, and the remembrance of my mother’s words, and my own assurance, rushing upon my mind; ‘I am a poor girl, the daughter of an humble farmer, and have no right to listen to a man like you. Even were I no longer the mistress of my heart, I trust I am not yet so lost to principle, my lord, as to avow it where it might not be confessed with honor.’

The earl arose from his knee, relinquished my hand, and walked away a few paces in much apparent agitation; then suddenly returning, he said in tones of mingled regret and reproach:—

‘Do you deem me capable of deception? Clara, it is to make you my wife, to give you rank and title, that I came. One word of yours can give splendor to the home you love, and make the heart that lives but in your kindness, happy!’

As he spoke thus, his manner became more energetic, and I felt my heart gradually yielding!—I trembled, and longed, yet dreaded the return of my parents; while the earl seeing the hesitation of my manner, urged his suit with redoubled determination.

‘Clara,’ he exclaimed, ‘there is not a moment to be lost!—Can you doubt the sincerity of my protestations? Think you that I could be the base villain to deceive one in whom my very soul, my existence is wrapped up. Say but the blissful word; tell me that you will become my bride, the empress of my heart and fortune;—give me this sweet assurance, and—’

‘Oh, my lord,’ I interrupted, in a state of confusion, and agitation, I will not attempt to describe, ‘spare me, I implore you!—I—I—’ and unable to finish the sentence, I turned away my head, and burst into tears. The earl again seized my hand rapturously, and encouraged, by the emotion I evinced, his countenance became lighted up with an expression of delight, as he exclaimed—

‘Oh, blessed moment! those tears convince me that I am not hated by her who hath taken possession of my whole affections. Blissful assurance! Ere another morn, my Clara, my loved, my adored Clara, will be my bride!—But time passes, we must away from this spot instantly.’

And the earl attempted to place his arm around my waist, but surprised at his words and demeanour, I recoiled from him, and looking upon him with astonishment, I demanded:—

‘My lord, what mean you?—Leave this place!—Why, wherefore?’

‘Nay, my dearest Clara,’ returned Mansville, ‘be not surprised, or alarmed; my proposals are honorable; reasons of rank require that we retire to my villa; our marriage must be secret and immediate or it may be prevented. Once mine, I will lead you back in triumph.’

‘What,’ I exclaimed, ‘leave my parents in doubt, in misery?’

‘Banish these childish scruples,’ said the earl, ‘your parents will applaud you when they know the truth. Come to a lover who adores you! Come to the altar which will pour forth blessings on those who love so dearly! Come, Clara, come!’

As the earl thus impatiently urged his suit, he attempted to lead me towards the bridge;—I felt my resolution getting weaker—I trembled—and could offer but a faint resistance.

‘Urge me no more, my lord,’ I cried, endeavouring to disengage myself from him;—‘let me go—I dare not listen to you—farewell!’

‘Still inflexible,’ ejaculated the earl, turning away from me, with a look of the most inexpressible anguish and despair, ‘then is my doom sealed. I cannot, will not live without you, and thus I—’

While thus speaking, he snatched a pistol from his bosom, and presented it towards his head! With a wild shriek of terror, I rushed into his arms, and arrested his fatal purpose. Some spell, some horrid spell came over me. I remember the last cloud of smoke curling over our ancient trees.—I—I’ve no further recollection. When my senses were restored, and reason was permitted again to resume its sway,—I found myself an inmate of the earl’s villa, and far away from that home I had rendered wretched. Oh, God, how dreadful, how agonizing were the thoughts that first crossed my brain! I upbraided myself for a wretch unfit to live—as one who had disgraced herself and destroyed the peace of the most affectionate of parents for ever, and which ever way I turned, a curse seemed to pursue me.

Mansville tried all his eloquence could effect to console me; renewed his most tender asseverations, and repeated his promise to make me his bride. Strange infatuations!—I believed him;—I became tranquil—and if the thoughts of my parents and the name I had abandoned ever returned to my memory, they were quickly banished by the soothings, and fond protestations of the earl. Day after day passed away, and still he promised, but failed to keep his word. My humble dress was now exchanged for fashionable finery and Mansville visited me every day, repeating each time with greater energy the vows of love with which he had at first seduced from my home. Every luxury—every enjoyment that could be wished was at my command; but could they yield me real happiness? Oh, no. The splendour I was now placed in, was purchased with agony; and my own feelings constantly reproached me for that offence of which I had been guilty. Some fated spell must have been upon me, or I must have soon been convinced that St. Clair was not sincere in his promises, or he would not day after day evade the fulfilment of them. But it was my fate dearly to purchase experience of my own weakness and of the earl’s treachery. Several weeks elapsed in this manner, and still did the earl neglect to fulfil the promises he had made me, while, at the same time, the ardor of his passion seemed to increase, and the excuses he made for delaying our nuptials, were so plausible, that I was deceived by them. Alas! the woman whose heart has been sincerely attached to any particular object, is made an easy dupe! Let me pass hastily over the time, until the anniversary of the day of my birth, at once the height of my misery, and the means of restoring me to reason and to peace. On that occasion, Mansville had made the most extensive preparations, for celebrating it in the most spirited manner. Numerous guests were invited to the villa, and the peasants in the neighborhood were also permitted to share in the rejoicings. Among other things, for my especial entertainment, the earl had engaged a troop of itinerant players, who were in the neighborhood, to perform a play in the grounds of the villa, which deserves particular mention, as it was the means of restoring me to reason, and saving me from that gulf of destruction, upon the brink of which I stood.

Seldom had I felt so melancholy as I did on that occasion; home and all its tranquil pleasures, came vividly to my recollection, and my heart was heavy. There was a song which was a great favorite in the village where I was born, and which described the pleasures of home in simple yet forcible language, and as it now came fresh upon my recollection, I could not help repeating the words. When I had concluded, I perceived that Celia, my waiting-maid, had entered the room, and had apparently been listening with much attention and admiration to me.

‘Bless me, Miss,’ said the loquacious girl, ‘what a pretty song that was, and how prettily you sang it. Where might you have learnt it, Miss, if I might make so bold?’

‘Where I learnt other lessons I ought never have forgotten,’ replied I, with a deep sigh; ‘it is the song of my native village—the hymn of the lowly heart which dwells upon every lip there, and, like a spell-word, brings back to its name affection which e’er has been betrayed to wander from it. It is the first music heard by infancy in its cradle; and the villagers blending it with their earliest and tenderest recollections, never cease to feel its magic power, till they cease to live.’

‘How natural that is,’ returned Celia; ‘just like my nurse used to nurse me to sleep with a song, which I have never heard since without nodding.’

‘Has the earl been inquiring for me, Celia?’ I asked.

‘He has been here this morning, and has only just gone,’ replied the maid; ‘but only see what lovely things he has left you, Miss!’

‘And Celia displayed a costly dress, and several articles of jewellery, of which I expressed my admiration. But suddenly, gloomy thoughts again came over me, and while tears trembled in my eyes, I ejaculated:—

‘But can these baubles make me happy? Ah! never! The heart that’s ill at ease is made more wretched by the splendor which laughs in awful mockery, around its dreariness.’

‘The presence of Celia embarrassed me; I wished to indulge in melancholy thought alone, but she seemed determined not to take my hints for her to leave me, and at last I only got rid of her by requesting that she would fetch me a book that I had been reading the day previously. When she had left the room, with much agitation, I unlocked my cabinet, and took out the plain village dress, I had worn when I quitted my home. The sight of this tortured my brain, and while deep sobs of anguish almost choked my voice, I thus soliloquized:—

‘And shall I remain here, dazzled and betrayed by the splendor with which I am surrounded? Shall I still rack my parent’s hearts, and—I—will escape! Escape! no, no—I can brave the shocks of fate, but not a father’s eye: to expose myself to his wrath—no, no! my heart’s not strong enough for that.’

‘I was interrupted by the return of Celia with the book, who, on seeing the village dress in the chaise, expressed the utmost astonishment.’

‘Lor’ bless me, Miss!’ ejaculated the girl, ‘what’s this dress doing here?—Whoever could have put such trumpery in the way?’

As she spoke, she snatched it up, and was going to throw it aside when I sprang forward emphatically, and hastily took it from her.

‘Give it back!’ I cried, ‘that humble dress was mine;—I cast it off—the splendor that has replaced it, is the source of the most bitter misery!—Oh, my forsaken parents;—Come hither, Celia;—I have no one here of my own sex to talk to—no one to listen to my sorrows. I—’

‘Pray speak freely to me, Miss,’ observed Celia; ‘though humble, you’ll not find me insincere.’

‘Celia,’ I remarked, ‘if you knew what a home, what parents I had left, you’d pity me.’

‘I do pity you, Miss,’ replied Celia, ‘indeed I do. Better days will come; you’ll be as happy as when you left them.’

I sighed, and shook my head with a look of despair, and then detailed to Celia the particulars of my flight from home, and the promises which the earl had made, but had hitherto failed to keep his word.

‘Be of good cheer, Miss, I pray,’ said Celia, ‘he will keep it, depend upon it.’

Celia spoke this with such a tone of confidence, that it forcibly struck me, and eagerly I exclaimed:—

‘Will he, Celia?—Now, don’t trifle with me—tell me the worst at once!—Better is present death, than hope deferred; still lingering on, still doomed to be deceived.’

‘My dearest young Mistress,’ returned Celia, ‘there is plenty of time before you think of dying; and, as a proof that the earl don’t mean to deceive you, look here.’

And with these words, Celia presented me with a miniature of the earl, elegantly set round with diamonds, at the same time, adding:—

‘On a chamber-maid’s penetration, this nothing more or less than an earnest of the original.’

I took the miniature with transport, and my eyes became riveted upon it with admiration. Nothing could be more true than the delineation.

‘Ah!’ I observed, ‘precious to the fond one, is the semblance of the object held most dear. ’Tis the enchanter’s wand, which gathers around it in a magic circle, sweet recollections and feelings which make memory a paradise!—No, no!—treachery could never dwell in such a face!—I’ll trust him still. He cannot mean me false.’

‘Shall I put this away, Miss?’ asked Celia, pointing to the village dress; ‘I am sure the earl would be hurt to see it here.’

‘Yes, take it away, Celia,’ I replied, ‘I would not, for the world, do anything to make him uneasy.’

Celia immediately obeyed, and she had not been gone many minutes, when St. Clair entered the room, and advanced joyfully to meet me.

‘Ah, sir,’ I ejaculated, ‘why overwhelm me with gifts like these?—My humble habits shrink from such magnificence! This (pointing to the miniature,) is the only one I prize, the herald of a gift to follow, which shall restore me to my friends, my self-esteem;—my poor heart-broken parents.’

The earl turned away his head, doubtless to conceal the embarrassment which my words occasioned him, and then, in a tone which showed that he wished to change the subject, said:—

‘This is your birth-day, Clara.’

That word tore my wounds open! Oh! what a joyous day was it when I was at home! The farm seemed to be one smile of joy;—the sacred halo of a parent’s blessing descended on me with the morning sun; and even my birds, my flowers, my young companions,—all seemed to have a livelier look, and lift their heads rejoicing. These thoughts were too painful for my feelings, and I burst into tears.

‘Nay, Clara,’ observed the earl, ‘cheer thee, love!—banish that woe; discard that dread; rely upon my promise.’

‘Heaven’s smile repay that word,’ I exclaimed fervently; ‘the weight which pressed me to the earth is removed, and all around me breathes ecstasy.’

‘It delights me to hear thee say so, my dearest Clara,’ replied the earl, ‘go, sweetest, and put on your richest dress to celebrate this joyous day.’

‘That day,’ I added, with enthusiasm, ‘that day which gives me back to honor. It shall be done, my lord.’

The earl kissed me affectionately, and left the room; and once more a cheering hope brought consolation to my heart, and assured me of future happiness and joy. Alas! how soon was I to be awakened to the greatest agony! To more misery than I had ever before experienced.

The festivities of the day passed off most brilliantly until the play commenced. The gardens in which it took place were brilliantly illuminated, and the temporary theatre was formed among the trees in the back. Just as the performances were about to commence, a servant entered and delivered to the earl a letter, upon perusing the contents of which, he excused himself to me and the numerous guests, it being necessary that he should be absent for a short time; but he begged that his absence might not interrupt their pleasure, as the village actors would amuse them with their humble efforts; and ere they had ended, he would return.

When the earl had gone, I beckoned Celia over to me, and the play immediately commenced; but what were my feelings of intense agony as it proceeded, when I perceived that the plot, and every incident of the piece, so corresponded with my own circumstances, that it seemed as if they had actually chosen me to sketch the heroine from. A nobleman wooed a peasant girl; he vowed the most unbounded affection for her;—promised her marriage, if she would but elope with him;—she was persuaded;—she sunk senseless in his arms, and was conveyed away.

During the time the piece was being played, my anguish was insupportable, and I was so worked upon by the power of each scene, that I could scarcely persuade myself but that it was reality.

‘Fatal resemblance,’ I ejaculated, at the passage where the seducer bears his victim away; ‘has there before been such another deluded being?’

‘Be calm, dear mistress, be calm,’ said Celia, ‘it is only a play.’

But my thoughts were too intently fixed upon the scene which followed, to pay any particular attention to her words. The parents of the betrayed one, as represented in the piece, upon hearing the screams of their daughter, rushed on to the stage, the father demanding of his wife the meaning of the alarm, and the cause of the cries he had heard. The mother looking round, and finding that her daughter was not there, exclaimed:—

‘My child! my child!—A mere pretence—our darling—lost—escaped! Ah! there! there! behold the seducer bearing her away!’

‘Ah!’ cried the father, frantically, ‘what fled? given up to shame?—Oh, art beyond belief! Have all your fond professions come to this? Oh, well-laid plan!—Lost! lost!—Oh, viper!—hypocrite!—I tear you from my bosom!—I sweep you from the home you have disgraced!—A father’s curse—’

With a wild shriek, as the actor gave utterance to these words, I rushed upon the stage, and falling at his feet, I vociferated, in tones that made the place re-echo again:—

‘Hold! hold!—curse her not! She is not lost! She is innocent!’

At this moment the earl entered, and the whole of the spectators seemed petrified to the spot with astonishment.

‘Ah!’ cried Mansville, ‘what do I see?—What is the meaning of this?’

Celia raised me from the posture I had assumed, and by the commands of the earl, whose confusion and chagrin was evident, she led me to my own chamber, while the guests quickly dispersed, and the entertainments abruptly ceased.

After I had been taken to my own apartment for a few minutes, by the kind attention of Celia, I recovered myself, and addressing myself to her, said:—

‘Thanks! thanks! a thousand thanks!—I grieve to have troubled you thus—’tis over now; ’tis nothing.’

‘The earl, Miss! the earl!’ exclaimed Celia, and the next moment Mansville stood before me. There was an expression of sternness upon his brow which I had never seen before, and he seemed greatly agitated. I was alarmed, and advancing towards him, said:—

‘Oh, my lord, how shall I apologize for—’

‘No more of that,’ he interrupted; ‘’tis past.’

‘My lord,’ ejaculated I, surprised.

‘Leave us, Celia;’ commanded the earl, and when the former had retired from the room, he turned to me, and the indignation of his looks seemed to increase.

‘Oh, Mansville,’ I observed, ‘how have I deserved this indifference? Is it my fault that my feelings overcame me? Is it my fault that the scene revived my sense of duty? Oh, my lord, it is those fatal feelings that have made me what I am.’

‘I am weary of this parade of sensibility,’ replied the earl, impatiently; ‘you have called up against me the laugh of my tenantry and domestics—let that content you.’

‘What does the change portend? This freezing look—this language of reproach?’ I inquired.

‘For your own sake and mine press me no farther, Clara,’ replied the earl; ‘I would not have had the scene which has just past occur for millions. If you have placed yourself in unpleasant circumstances, common policy should at least teach you to shun the sneers of the world; but it is over and nothing can now be said which will not increase, instead of diminishing our mutual uneasiness.’

A burning pang shot through my brain as Mansville gave utterance to these words, and emphatically and hysterically I exclaimed—

‘Am I deceived?’

‘I cannot tell what childish hopes you may have indulged,’ returned the earl, with the most freezing coldness, ‘and I am only sorry that you should have been weak enough to deceive yourself.’

‘Oh, no, my agitation has shaken my senses,’ cried I deliriously, and clasping my temples; ‘he could not—no, no, Mansville! in the name of all that you have professed, and I have believed, in the name of those vows that are registered on high, however man may slight them; and in that holiest name of all, the name of Him, whose bolt hangs o’er the hypocrite, dispel these doubts and this suspense; restore me at once to my parents, or at once name the hour for that ceremony to pass, when, before the world, you acknowledge me as your wife!’

‘Clara,’ replied the earl, ‘since you will force me to be explicit, is it not strange that a mind so intelligent should fancy for a moment that it was possible for one in my rank to marry a girl in yours?’

‘The oath!—the oath!’ I cried, almost choking with emotion.

‘My heart is ever yours,’ returned he, ‘but, of my hand, I have no power to dispose. Nay, you pass not hence.’

‘Are there no pangs, that, like the dagger, kill the heart they pierce,’ ejaculated I; ‘I cast me at your feet in agony! ’Tis Clara kneels and supplicates! not for herself, but for the racked souls, and the gray hairs of age! For your honor and eternal peace, restore me to my parents.’

The earl seemed suffering the most acute mental agony, and for a moment averted his head.

‘Clara,’ he said, in faltering accents, ‘believe my heart unchanged—my unceasing love—’

‘Monster!’ I interrupted in delirious tones; ‘darest thou still profane that sacred word? No, my lord, the mask is torn away,—the attachment which was my pride is now my disgust; ’tis past! I know myself deceived, but, thank Heaven, I am not lost! To you, my lord, the bitter hour is not yet arrived; but, ’tis an hour that never fails to guilt. At some unexpected moment, the blandishment of pleasure will lose their force—the power of enjoyment will be palsied in your soul; it will awake only to remorse. In that hour of retribution think of these words of warning,—think of the hearts you’ve broken—think, my lord, and tremble.’

Without waiting to give utterance to another syllable, I rushed from the room, but the voice of the earl, tempted me to stop at the door and listen. He was apparently pacing the apartment in the most violent state of agitation, and thus soliloquizing:—