Read Ebook: Hildebrand; or The Days of Queen Elizabeth An Historic Romance Vol. 2 of 3 by Anonymous

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Ebook has 1057 lines and 54719 words, and 22 pages

She was still pondering on the subject, when she was informed that, conformably to her orders, the carriage was in waiting, and everything had been prepared for her departure. She had effected all her personal arrangements, and, having nothing further to detain her, she quitted her chamber, and proceeded to take her seat in the carriage. Martha, at her desire, seated herself by her side, and, after a brief interval, the carriage was put in motion, and they set out on their return to the Grange.

It was evening by the time they arrived at their destination. The melancholy light of the hour, which was just beginning to be tinged with the gloom of night, and its solemn stillness, undisturbed by the least breeze, had a depressing effect on the spirits; and Evaline felt it severely. As she passed through the avenue-gate, and caught a glimpse of the dejected countenance of the old porter, who, with his gray locks floating on the air, stood uncovered to receive her, she could not but remember what different feelings had animated her when she last entered that avenue, and how the happiness of that time was greater than the misery of the present. The anguish and bitterness of the reflection, in the gloom of the surrounding scene, made her shudder; and, for a moment, unbraced her fortitude, and clouded her every hope.

The whole household had assembled to receive her at the hall-door. On entering the hall, she looked round upon them separately, intending, with her customary forgetfulness of herself, to give a kind word to each. But observing that anxiety for her was impressed on every face, and sympathy in every eye, her words stuck in her throat; and she was obliged to turn away without speaking.

As she was passing to an inner room, she discerned two strangers, of whom she had no knowledge, and who appeared to be at variance with the household, standing in the rear. Their appearance somewhat surprised her, and, with a view of ascertaining who they were, she came to a pause, and looked round for an explanation. One of the servants, perceiving her object, hereupon stepped forward, and, in a hesitating voice, proceeded to give her the information she sought.

"These be two of the sheriff's folk, lady," he said. "Near a dozen of them are here, with a warrant to apprehend Don Felix."

On thus learning that the house was in possession of the officers of the law, Evaline felt a thrill of fear shoot through her bosom, apparently arising from no defined source, that she could by no means repress. Anxious to conceal her discomposure, she resumed her steps, and passed straight to her chamber.

The faithful Martha, with a heart no less dejected, attended her thither, and, without waiting her directions, assisted her to take off her walking-dress. Having effected her divesture, she left her to herself for a while, and proceeded to procure her some refreshments. In expectation of her arrival, a slight repast, such as she was thought most likely to favour, had been prepared for her; and this was shortly set out on the table of her chamber.

She did not like to trust its delivery to any third party. Although the walk to Lantwell was not a short one, she would not have hesitated, at another time, to have carried it thither herself; but to undertake such a mission at night, over a lonely and secluded route, was a task of danger. It is true, she might secure ample protection against any harm, in the shape of insult or violence, by taking with her one of the servants; but the presence of the sheriff's minions required that she should make her egress unobserved. Indeed, she doubted not that she was herself closely watched; and that her own movements, even when she was unattended by any servant, would be observed with suspicion, and followed with jealousy.

Considering all these circumstances, she ultimately resolved to venture out on the undertaking herself. At first, indeed, she thought of securing the companionship of Martha, but, on further consideration, she reflected that, if need were, that individual could not afford her any protection, and that two persons would not pass unseen so easily as one; and, on these grounds, the project appeared impolitic. She could not conceal from herself that the company of Martha would render her more confident, but she was aware, nevertheless, that this confidence would not bear a scrutiny, since the resolution of Martha was even less than her own. The trial, to a girl of her habits and disposition, was a great one; but the emergency also was a great one; and, as has been stated, she finally determined to set out on the mission herself.

Having come to this conclusion, the next object that engaged her attention, preparatory to carrying it into effect, was how to pass out unobserved. After a short pause, she resolved to don an old cloak of Martha's, with a long hood, that was lying on a contiguous chair; and, thus disguised, watch for a favourable moment to steal forth. No sooner did the idea occur to her, than, catching up the cloak, she proceeded to put it in execution.

Throwing the cloak over her fair shoulders, she drew the hood, which was round and full, close over her brow, and then sallied forth. She descended the stairs beyond without seeing any one, or, as far as she could tell, being seen herself. She had no light; but the night, though it was now growing late, was not dark; and, on reaching the hall, she was easily able to make her way to the rearward door.

The door, which was fortunately unfastened, led into a small porch, opening into the park. Evaline, gratified that she had so far escaped notice, entered the porch with tolerable composure; and, briefly commending herself to the protection of Heaven, she ventured to pass into the park.

There was no one about. Drawing her cloak closely round her, she directed her steps to that walk which, it may be remembered, has been before mentioned in this history, and which opened into the public footpath to Lantwell. She had just entered the walk, when, pausing to look round, she heard a voice calling to her to stop.

She resumed her progress at her utmost speed. Her heart beat audibly, and her fears, which the abruptness of the alarm had raised beyond endurance, almost arrested her breath, but she ran on still. She imagined every successive shrub to be an ambushed enemy, and, as she passed along, she was afraid to look about her, but kept her eyes straight on her path, lest she should discern on either hand some terror. At last, wearied and breathless, she arrived at the public footway, and there ventured to pause.

A full minute elapsed before she had completely recovered her breath. Meanwhile, her ears were on the alert, and her attention alive to the least noise. To her surprise, however, no sounds of pursuit were audible, and, after a brief interval, she set forwards again.

Once in the footpath, which lay across an open part of the park, her view was less interrupted; and consequently, though the night was somewhat cloudy, and prevented her seeing any great distance, she was able to satisfy herself that no person was about. She pursued her way, therefore, with more confidence, though still with a hasty step; and shortly arrived at the park-boundary.

Though endued with uncommon good sense, she had some spice of the superstitious qualms and fears that mark her religion, and, to speak the truth, were rather allowed and encouraged by the age; and it was not without hesitation that she ultimately resolved on taking the route by the churchyard. Having thus made up her mind, she once more set forward, and proceeded at a quick pace up Lantwell-hill.

She paused a while on gaining the churchyard-gate. She almost felt inclined, indeed, at one moment, to turn into the road again, and pursue the route through the village. But her irresolution quickly subsided, and though her fears, with the terrible excitement they gave rise to, remained, she devoutly crossed herself, and passed into the churchyard.

She scarcely dared to breathe during her progress onward. Nevertheless, she reached the further angle of the old church, where the path took another direction, without seeing anything to alarm her. She was just turning the angle, when, looking on one side, towards an abutting portion of the church, she descried a tall figure, arrayed in white, rising slowly from behind a grave-post; and she was instantly rooted to the spot.

There are sources of terror which, though they may impend no peril to the person, will affect the spirit of the most resolute, and involve the liveliest faculties in fright and consternation. Yet, whether it is that we are sustained by despair, or that those superior and invisible intelligences, which some believe to attend upon us, like ministering angels, from the cradle to the grave, lend the soul a new influence, this extreme of dread generally finds the mind self-possessed, and the senses more than ever active.

Evaline, on observing the object described, lost all power over her limbs and person, but her senses were perfectly collected. She felt her hair rising on end, and a cold perspiration, which seemed to chill and freeze up every source of motion, spread itself over her whole frame; but, for all this, her mind was painfully alert. She distinguished every individual outline of the fearful and ghostly figure. It rose gradually upright, and then, standing quite still, looked her straight in the face.

"The cross of Christ surround us!" exclaimed Evaline, in a hollow, solemn voice.

"Ho, there! have no fear!" cried the cause of her horror. "'Tis I--Bernard Gray!"

The weight of death was lifted off the heart of Evaline. With the velocity of thought, her hands clasped themselves together, and her eyes were raised gratefully to heaven.

Nevertheless, it was not without some fear that she found herself in the presence of the singular man whom she had come to seek, and who, ignorant of her mission, was now advancing towards her. Her fear increased as he drew nearer; and when she was able to survey him closely, which a lighted lanthorn that he carried well enabled her to do, it almost deprived her of speech.

His appearance, certainly, was far from being prepossessing. His face was deadly pale, and this, perhaps, was the more remarkable, in the gloomy light that prevailed, from the unnatural lustre of his eyes, the rays of which could almost be seen. The upper part of his body, above his waist, appeared to have no covering but his shirt; but, from his having a large sheet turned over his head and shoulders, in the fashion of a penance-garment, which hid it from observation, his precise dress could not be ascertained. The arm that sustained the lanthorn, however, and which was pushed out of the folds of the sheet, displayed only his shirt-sleeve, and, all things considered, this gave the conjecture warranty. His feet were bare; and his murrey-coloured hose and hanse-lines, or trousers, which could be seen through the sheet, with his drapery, and his pale features, formed altogether a figure that, remembering the locality, could not be viewed without great discomposure.

Evaline waited his approach in the utmost trepidation.

"Who have we here?" he demanded, on coming up with her.

He raised his lanthorn as he spoke, and, holding it out before him, glanced inquiringly in her face.

"Be not afeard! be not afeard!" he said, perceiving that she met his gaze with the greatest alarm. "Thou wilt have no hurt at my hands."

These words, and the tone in which they were uttered, which was kind and gentle, somewhat reassured Evaline; and after a brief pause, she ventured to reply.

"If thou be Bernard Gray," she said, in a tremulous tone, "I have a packet for thee, from Master Hildebrand Clifford."

"Ah!" cried Bernard, eagerly, "where is he?"

"Alas, he is far away now!" answered Evaline. "Howbeit, before his departure, he bade me, if I should need succour, to give this packet to thee, and thou wouldst thenceforward stand my friend."

Bernard, without making a reply, took from her hand the proffered packet, and, at the same time, again gazed earnestly in her face. As he did so, his eyes gradually lit up with anger, and he seemed, from his altered manner, and the change that passed over his pale face, suddenly to regard her with a rooted enmity. Indeed, he was now sensible who she was, and, in her pallid but lovely features, he recognized the Popish heiress of Neville Grange.

"Well," he said, on making this discovery, "thou shall hear how he commends thee to me."

Thus speaking, he tore open the packet, and proceeded to give his promise effect. There were three enclosures; but the upmost one, though carefully folded, was unsealed, and engaged his attention first. Thrusting the others under his arm, he held the one specified up to the light; and in a tone which was originally bitter, but which gradually grew mild and agitated, read these words:--

"To my right trusty and singular good friend, Master Bernard Gray, at the sign of the Angel, these:--

"Worthy Bernard.--Herein thou wilt find my last will and testament, bequeathing to thee, in case I should hap to die, the whole of my effects, with my entire right and interest, in the entail of Clifford Place; and a letter of trust to my noble friend and patron, the renowned Sir Walter Raleigh. And now, good Bernard, I prefer to thee the bearer hereof, and I beseech thee, by the duty thou owest God, and thy love for my murdered mother, to give her the hand of faith and fellowship, and in all things, to the very death, to stand her abettor, as thou wouldst do service to thy loving friend,

"HILDEBRAND CLIFFORD."

The last few lines of the letter, which he read in a tremulous voice, awakened in Bernard's bosom the deepest emotion. It was evident, too, that his emotion was of a conflicting character, and did not leave him in full possession of his judgment. The passions were mingled in his face; and his naturally kind impulses, which the sex and loveliness of Evaline, no less than his attachment to Hildebrand, and the pathetic appeal of the letter, had not failed to invoke, were restrained and pressed down by his prejudices, and his intentions lost by indecision.

"I cannot help thee," he said: "thou art a Papist."

Evaline, whom his altered manner had already greatly disturbed, heard these words with a thrill of despair.

"Then, I will bid thee farewell, Sir," she replied, in an agitated voice.

"Hold!" exclaimed Bernard. "He hath charged me close--close--by my love for his mother. And, faith, thou art a most fair lady, even in the guise thou wearest now. I would thou wast aught but a Papist!"

"The blessed Virgin keep my faith whole!" ejaculated Evaline.

"Couldst thou hold it through the fire?" asked Bernard, earnestly.

"With God's help, Sir," answered Evaline.

"I fell short!" cried Bernard, in a tone of anguish. "They had me up; they fixed me to the stake; the fagots, steaming with pitch, were set about me; and, before a spark was kindled, my faith gave way! Like Peter, I denied my creed; I swore I knew not the man; and they let me go! Oh, that the trial might come again! Oh, that I might meet the fire, with its thousand torments, only once more!"

His voice sank into a murmur of supplication as he thus spoke, and his agitation, though it was still excessive, was of a kind more calculated to excite compassion. Evaline, as he ceased speaking, could not repress an exclamation of sympathy.

"Dost pity me?" said Bernard. "If thou knew'st how I have mourned it, thou wouldst think me reclaimed. Summer and winter, every night, do I come to that grave barefoot, and pray God's pardon. Not the last fire that shall ever blaze, I heartily believe, could make me again deny my sweet Saviour."

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