Read Ebook: The New Departure; Or Thoughts for Loyal Churchmen by Hoare Edward

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After obtaining a few hours rest, which somewhat restored her, Ellen, by appointment, joined St. Aubyn in his study at a very early hour, where he had promised to explain, as far as he could, the strange and vexatious events which had so long involved him in the greatest uneasiness.

Sad was St. Aubyn's countenance, and the cheek of Ellen was yet pale from her recent agitation when they met. St. Aubyn, tenderly taking her hand, said, "I half regret, my Ellen, that my selfish love withdrew you from that sweet content and cheerfulness which surrounded your peaceful abode when first we met, to partake with me cares and alarms which otherwise you never would have known."

"Matchless creature!" said St. Aubyn, clasping her to his bosom: "in such love, such tenderness, I am overpaid for all the griefs which former events have brought upon me, for all the anxiety with which the present hour surrounds me!--Repeat to me, dearest, as well as you can remember, what you heard from the unfortunate Edmund in his nocturnal visit to your apartment."

Ellen, while her cheek was blanched by the fearful recollection, and her whole frame trembled as she called to mind that terrific visit, endeavoured to obey, yet she feared to shock him, by repeating those words which seemed to connect his name with the idea of guilt and murder; but contrary to her expectation, he heard her without surprize, and with calm, though sorrowful composure: he sighed heavily indeed, but no alarm or perturbation appeared in either his countenance or gesture. As she ended, he said, "All this I knew; but too well knew what horrible suspicions this unhappy youth has formed, nay own he had great reason to conceive them. Poor Edmund! these dismal thoughts, working in his mind, and, as it appears, concealed from all others, have preyed upon it till reason seems shaken, and his troubled spirit wakes even while his bodily organs are locked in sleep! No wonder in this dreadful tumult of his imagination he came to your room, for that room used to be his sister's when she visited my mother before our unfortunate marriage was even thought of; and often, doubtless, in the days of his childhood, he has gone to her door to waken her at her request, and chid her for sleeping so late when he wanted her to walk with him: for dearly did he love her; and in those days she was innocent, and she was happy! Alas! poor Rosolia, whatever were thy faults, thy fate was dreadful!"

He sighed, and was a moment silent.

Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And plants a blister there--makes marriage vows As false as divers oaths.

HAMLET.

O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife, The secrets of my heart thy bosom shall partake.

JULIUS CAESAR.

"Rosolia grew up very handsome, but the character of her beauty was not such as suited my taste: there was too much hauteur in her countenance; too much pride in the mind which informed it to please me; yet from our early youth the friends on both sides were anxious to unite us. I had at that time no particular predilection for any of her sex, nor could I object any thing against her, though certainly not exactly the sort of woman I should have chosen; her partiality in my favour, however, appeared evident, and was too flattering to be resisted by a young man like me, from a young woman who had crowds of admirers, most of them my superiors in fortune and quality.

"We were married, therefore, when I was about five-and-twenty, and Rosolia six years my junior. For two years that my mother lived, we remained a great deal with her, and in the country, under her eye and that of Lady Juliana. Rosolia did not discover those unpleasant traits, which, though they lay dormant, were not conquered.

"This request I could not refuse, yet knew not how to leave my wife in England; for if her conduct were so reproachable while we were together, what had I to expect if I left her solely to her own guidance? Yet such was the perversity of her temper, I doubted whether she would accompany me abroad: to that, however, she consented, prompted, I believe, more by a wish to be as much as possible with her brother, than to oblige me. But nothing could induce her to leave the child behind, though my aunt offered to take it solely under her own care during our absence, although Rosolia herself never saw it, except for about five minutes, once or twice in the day.

"This singular obstinacy inspired my aunt with an idea that Rosolia's intention was to leave the babe with her paternal relations; for though she called herself a protestant, she certainly had much inclination towards the ceremonies of the Catholic Church, and, I grieve to say, held all religious principles so lightly, that to distress me and vex my aunt, she was but too capable of placing her child in the hands of Catholics, that it might be bred up in a religion she knew my aunt abhorred, and I had no good opinion of. To counteract this, or any other scheme which might be formed to take the child from me, as well as to ensure its being well taken care of, Lady Juliana insisted that our good Bayfield should accompany us, and made her promise never to let the child be absent from her sight. But these precautions, in the event, proved useless; for the poor babe caught the small-pox soon after we landed at Cadiz, where we remained a short time, and died in my arms, attended with undeviating care by the worthy Bayfield: for, oh, my Ellen, your tender nature will recoil when I tell you its unfeeling mother refused to see it from the time the disorder came to its height, though she herself had had it, because its appearance was too shocking to her delicacy! Every care, however, that could be obtained, was lavished on it, but in vain.

"Poor Edmund grieved sincerely at this event, and shared my lonely and sorrowful hours; for he had been attached to the infant with excessive affection, and always felt for me the sincerest regard, while I considered him as my own brother, and thought no attention too much to serve or please him.

"Soon after the death of the child we proceeded to Seville, and, in the gaiety of that city, the attentions she received from her mother's relations, and the flattering compliments paid to her beauty by the crowds of gentlemen who now surrounded her, Rosolia soon lost whatever traces of sorrow remained for the loss of her infant. She was handsomer than ever, and shone in all the elegance of dress and the blaze of unnumbered jewels, with which my lavish fondness, in the early part of our marriage, and the liberality of her Spanish relations, had profusely supplied her. Her grandfather, the Duke de Castel Nuovo, at whose palace in Seville Edmund was to be placed, happened to be absent, having been suddenly called to Madrid on some important state business, and wrote to beg I would remain a month or two at his palace, when he hoped he should return thither to receive his grandson from my hands, to see his granddaughter, and thank me for the kindness with which I had taken so long a journey. Having nothing immediately to recall me to England, I was not sorry to see more of this interesting country; and hearing of a beautiful villa to be let on the bank of Guadalaxara, I removed thither with my family, preferring it to a residence in the Duke's palace.

"Nothing could exceed the beauty of our little domain, or the rich luxuriance of the country in which it stood. This villa was only two miles from Seville, where at that time several regiments were stationed, and all the officers of rank eagerly sought an introduction to me and the beautiful Rosolia. Amongst them was a man of the name of De Sylva."

At this name Ellen started, for she had heard it from Edmund, in his wild wanderings the night before; though, till that instant, she could not recollect it.

"Why do you start, my love?" said St. Aubyn; "does some intuitive emotion whisper to you that this was the wretch whose villainy involved me in so much misery?"

"It was the name," said Ellen, "which I could not recollect just now; the name I heard from Edmund."

"No doubt," replied St. Aubyn, "it dwelt upon his mind; for but last night I again endeavoured to convince him of that villain's guilt. But to proceed.

"This De Sylva was a young man of a very fine person and elegant manners; one, in short, exactly fitted to win the favour of any woman, who looked more to exterior appearance than intrinsic merit. He was, I afterwards learned, a determined gamester, of broken, if not ruined fortunes, without principles, and stained with many vices; yet this man I too soon perceived the light Rosolia had selected as her chief favourite. If she danced, he was her partner; and often was her lovely person exhibited in the fascinating but immoral dances of her country: an exhibition, oh, how unfit for an English matron!--how hateful to the delicacy of my sentiments. I am perhaps too fastidious; but I again repeat, such a display, even of grace and beauty, in a married woman, is displeasing, but carried to the excess Rosolia did, detestable. How can we wonder at the alarming strides vice has made in this country, when we see even wives and mothers, in the slightest drapery, and with an almost unlimited freedom of manners, courting the notice of men whom they know to be characters which neither honour, nor even the ties of friendship, can restrain from the gratification of their passions.

"Forgive, my Ellen, this digression, by you so little needed; but I linger and dwell on any subject which can a moment detain me from those dreadful scenes I must soon describe. I was speaking of the intimacy which now took place between this De Sylva and Lady St. Aubyn. In dancing, walking, or riding, he was her constant attendant; and in the last exercise she excited the admiration of all who beheld her. Her English side-saddle and riding-dress, and the ease with which she managed her spirited Arabian, drew the most flattering plaudits from the gay military admirers who constantly surrounded her; and most of all from De Sylva, whose manners at last became so particular and presuming, I could not avoid noticing it, and telling Rosolia if he altered not his conduct, I should be under the necessity of forbidding him my house.

"After leaving Cordova, we travelled through the delightful vale of the Guadalaxara, which runs between the ridges of hills embellished with hanging woods and olive-yards. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the scene through which we now for two days travelled. No mind, which had not entirely lost all power of enjoying the charms of nature, could have been dead to the enchanting scenes which the banks of the lovely Guadalaxara now presented in ever-varying succession. Extensive plains, beautifully tinted by rows of olive-trees, towers and ancient castles rising at intervals on the side of the stream, afforded a variety of charming and picturesque views, from which Edmund and myself derived the warmest pleasure. Alas! the heart of Rosolia was shut to them all. At length we reached a small but pretty villa at the foot of the Sierra Morena, which I had learned some time before was unoccupied, and had hired, and caused to be prepared for our reception. Edmund's health had appeared to be somewhat shaken by the very warm climate of our abode near Seville, and it was thought the cool air from those mountains would brace and invigorate his drooping frame. Here, then, we rested in this quiet retreat, whence I made occasional excursions, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback, in the picturesque environs of our new abode. Sometimes I extended them to the northern side of the Sierra, and visited the romantic country of La Mancha, which Cervantes has immortalized.

"It is impossible to describe the various beauties these mountains present; the clear torrent of the Rio de las Pedras, falling over beds of rocks, through glens of beautiful woods; the wild and unfrequented solitudes, covered with a rich variety of flowering and sweet-scented shrubs, and the interesting new colony of La Corolina, of which I hope, some day, to give you a fuller account; all rendered these excursions delightful to me; the more so, as they occupied my thoughts, and carried me from a woman whose capricious humours and inconsistent conduct rendered my home irksome and distasteful.

"Rosolia, angry at being withdrawn from the society she so much prized, and still more so at being deprived of De Sylva's company, now assumed manners the most aggravating, and caprices the most extraordinary. Sometimes, for a day or two together, the sound of her voice never reached the ear of any human being; but sunk, in affected apathy, she pretended scarcely to see or hear any thing that was passing. Then she would suddenly assume the gayest air, and for hours would scarcely cease speaking; following me incessantly; never allowing me to read or reflect a moment; singing, playing on her harp, or with castenets in her hands, dancing with a gaiety that was as unpleasing as it appeared unnatural, till her forced spirits being quite exhausted, she would fall into violent hysterics, and be conveyed to bed, whence she would not rise again in many days.

"These last words seemed spoken with particular meaning, but she evaded any explanation. A new vexation now assailed both her and me: several of Lady St. Aubyn's valuable jewels were from time to time missing, and vainly sought.

"Rosolia affected the most perfect indifference about them, saying, since she had no one to wear them, she cared nothing for jewels: but Bayfield, who was the only person, who, except her lady, had access to the place where the jewels were kept, was excessively disturbed at their frequent losses. At last, a very fine and remarkable ring of mine, composed of an antique cameo, set with brilliants of great value, was also gone. I began to suspect my valet of these repeated thefts, though I had obtained of him the most excellent character; and he had been three or four years in my service without the slightest suspicion of dishonesty in any respect.

"Determined, however, to watch this man, I said nothing of the loss of my ring, thinking if I appeared to have no suspicion I should the easier detect him.

"About a week after this circumstance, being restless, and unable to sleep, I rose from my bed at midnight, and sat for some time at my window, watching the bright moon, which in that clear climate gave a light scarcely inferior to that of day: but judge of my surprize, when I saw the figure of a man emerge slowly from a grove of cork trees, at some little distance; and after looking cautiously around, pass close under my windows, and approach those of Lady St. Aubyn's apartment. We had for some time inhabited separate rooms, as she complained of restless nights, and chose to have her chamber to herself. I fancied that I had now detected the robber, who, by some means, having gained access to those chambers, had, from time to time, stolen the jewels I mentioned; but in a moment I saw Rosolia's window open, and herself appear at it. She spoke a few words to this man, on whom the moonlight falling more clearly, I distinctly perceived the height, figure, and I fancied the features of De Sylva.

"Rosolia instantly threw down a light rope ladder, and the man, whoever he was, began to mount it; but on a sudden she turned from the window, as if disturbed by the entrance of some one to her room; and making a sign to him with a hurried air, he hastily descended: she immediately closed the window, and the man ran to the grove from which he had first appeared.

"All this scene passed so quickly, I had scarcely time to recollect myself, or determine what I ought to do--but hastily seizing my pistols, which lay always loaded in my room, I descended a private staircase leading to the garden, and with quicksteps, followed the man, who lay concealed in the grove. I walked with as little noise as I could, fearing, lest, if he heard me, he might make his escape, and I should be deprived of the satisfaction I expected, so that I was close to him before he perceived me, and seizing him with a powerful grasp, I dragged him into the moonlight, and there saw it was indeed De Sylva."

ZAYRE PAR VOLTAIRE.

"Rage almost choked me as I exclaimed:--'Villain! you here, and lurking under my windows at this hour!' He shook with cowardly apprehension, and attempted some excuse, which, however, his terror rendered inarticulate: still the momentary pause gave me time for recollection, and disdaining to assault an unarmed man, I threw him one of my pistols, and bade him defend himself: again in faltering tones he murmured some assurances that he merely came to see Lady St. Aubyn's favourite servant, a Spanish girl named Theresa; but this hacknied excuse was too shallow to obtain a moment's credit, and I still pressed him to an instant decision of this affair. He now, somewhat more firmly, requested me to recollect, that if we fought, and he fell, what would be the appearance of a man found in my grounds murdered, as it would seem; and on the other hand he appealed to my generosity, what would be his situation should I be killed, and above all, what a slur would be cast on the reputation of Lady St. Aubyn by such a business. Calmed by these representations, which certainly had some justice in them, I finally consented to wait till the next evening: the time between, he told me, he should pass at a little Posada in the neighbourhood, where, he said, he had a friend waiting for him, who would come with him to a spot I mentioned near the mountains; and during the same space I said I would ride to Almana , where a gentleman resided with whom I had some acquaintance, and on whom I would prevail to be my second in this affair: then bidding him retain the pistol, and bring it prepared, as I should do its fellow, to the place of meeting, I sternly told him, that should I see him again lurking beneath my walls, I would not wait the event of the next evening, but treat him as a midnight robber deserved to be treated. I then left him and returned to the house: a faint light yet gleamed from the windows of Rosolia's room, but the rope ladder was withdrawn, and the curtains closed, so that I concluded she had given up all expectation of seeing De Sylva again that night. I watched, however, till morning, but all was still, and I then threw myself on my bed to obtain one hour's repose; after which I rose, and spent some time in settling my affairs, and writing some letters, to be delivered in case I should fall in the duel with De Sylva.

"After this I went to Lady St. Aubyn's room: at the door I met Bayfield, who, pale, and with her eyes swollen with weeping, looked as if she had, like myself, watched all night.

"My good Bayfield,' said I, 'where is your Lady, and why do you look thus alarmed and haggard?'

"At that moment, while my angry looks were fixed upon her countenance, where rage and disdain contended with shame and fear, Edmund entered the room, and must, I knew, have heard the threats I uttered: he started and looked amazed, for frequent as were our altercations, they had never before risen to a height so alarming.

"I left them together, and taking my horse, rode to Almana, where, most unfortunately, I did not find my friend at home; and after waiting his return till I feared I should not arrive at my villa in time enough to keep my appointment, I left the place alone, and merely going into the house to take my pistol, I hastened to the appointed spot. There I waited, vainly waited, for nearly two hours: no De Sylva arrived; and concluding that he then meant not to keep his appointment, and some vague fears pressing on my mind that possibly Rosolia might be the partner of his flight, I hurried back to the villa. It was almost dark when I arrived, and just as I entered the hall, heated, disordered, not having changed my dress since the night before, and in the confusion of my thoughts not even concealing the pistol I had carried in my hand, I met Edmund, who eagerly asked me where his sister was.

"I know not,' said I; but a thousand suspicions darted into my bosom, and gave to my countenance and manner an agitation which must have appeared to him extraordinary. 'Is she not in her own apartment? I have been out all day and have not seen her since I left her with you this morning.'

"Ungrateful Rosolia,' I replied, as Edmund told me this; to which he answered:--

"Ah, my Lord, it grieves me to see you both so unhappy; I hope my grandfather's return will soon restore in some degree your domestic comfort; he will persuade Rosolia to be more accommodating to your wishes.'

"I sighed, and asked him which way his sister had gone.

"Through the cork grove,' he replied, 'and towards the Hermitage, which is I know her favourite retreat.'

"'Surely,' said I, 'she would not remain in that lonely place till this late hour; yet, so strange for sometime has been her conduct, I know not what to suppose: call the servants, my dear Edmund, to bring lights, for in that gloomy retreat it will be quite dark, and let us go in search of her.'

"We set out accordingly, attended by two men servants and my good Bayfield, who, fearing, as she said, her Lady might be ill, insisted on accompanying us. The place to which we directed our steps was a quarter of a mile from the villa, and, as I had said, by the time we had reached it the darkness of night had come on.

"This gloomy cell stood at the foot of a rock deep embowered in thick groves: a mountain stream fell from a considerable height near it, and the dash of its waters alone broke the silence of this secluded retreat, which was called the Hermitage, from the peculiar style in which it was fitted up. For some time before we reached it we made the surrounding thickets resound with Rosolia's name: but all was silent, save the murmuring breeze and the dashing of the waterfall. I concluded that my wife was gone off with the infamous De Sylva, and my whole frame shook with rage and agitation.

"Why do you tremble so, my Lord?' said the affrighted Edmund, who hung upon my arm: 'do you think any harm has happened to my sister?'

"I know not,' I replied, 'but I fear it, greatly fear it!'

"The domestics who attended us were Spaniards, and did not understand a word he said: but Bayfield stood the image of dismay.

"Ah, my Lord,' said she, 'fly, if indeed your hand by accident has done this deed, for think what will become of you amidst the bigotted Catholics, who will seek to revenge it.'

"Fly!' I repeated, 'my good old friend! Can you believe me guilty?'

"Oh no, my dear Lord,' she replied, never, never! but think what these unfortunate appearances will say against you to those who know you less than I do.'

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