Volume 1 Chapter 9 of Bunga Castle by Elizabeth Bonhote. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Patty Cunningham. When the family met at breakfast, the Baron appeared unusually affable, and Sir Philip in high spirits. A walk was proposed to take a view of the town, nunnery, and environs of the cattle. Rosaline and her sisters were requested to be of the party, and they were very soon joined by Declavaring de Willows and Hugh Camelford. This little promenade was so pleasant that it seemed to harmonize every mind, and to produce redoubled and grateful relish for the early beauties of the infant spring. Already now the snow-drop dared appear, the first pale blossom of the unripened year, as Flora's breath, by some transforming power, had changed an icicle into a flower. Its name and Hugh the scentless plant retains, and winter lingers in its icy veins. The Baron, who had politely offered the assistance of his arm to Rosaline, which her father bade her accept, whispered some very fine things in her ear in praise of her shape, beauty, and understanding, told her it was a reproach on the taste and judgment of his sex that so charming a female had not put on hymenial fetters. It was a positive proof of the blindness of the God of Love. "'Surely you forget, my lord,' replied the blushing Rosaline, that I have scarcely left off my leading strings, and am but just liberated from the confinement of the school. Age,' he told her, ought not to be reckoned by the number of years, but by accomplishments and good qualities. "'That kind of calculation,' said Declavaring, would make your age, Miss Demarney, more upon a par with the Barons. "'More upon a par, you mean,' added Dewillows, with our first parent, Adam. "'What, Adam?' cried Hugh Camelford, skipping to the side of Rosaline, and eagerly handing her over a little run of water they were obliged to cross. "'What were you saying about our great-grandfather, Atom?' "'I have often wished to see the old poi, and drink a pothole of poor water with him from the pond in the carton of Eden. "'Why so, sir?' said the stately and mortified baron, who felt and seemed to shrink from the contrast between the active and lively gallantry of the giddy Cambrian and the slow and cautious efforts of his own. "'Why? Why? Because he must be a brave fellow to venture matrimony with the first woman,' he saw. "'How the devil should he do otherwise than take the first, when there was no other to choose?' said Declavaring. "'The devil, however, was even with him after all,' replied the unthinking Camelford. The old poi had better have been quiet.' "'I do not see that,' said Dewillows. And as the mischief was productive of some good, surely we have no right to criticize with severity that conduct which was forgiven by being so much more perfect than the creature he had created. "'That is as much to say,' rejoined Camelford, "'that when we choose to play the fool, covet our neighbor's wife or totter, we have only to claim our own imperfect nature, repent, and be forgiven. "'That would be to trust our hopes of forgiveness upon a very sandy foundation, indeed,' said Sir Philip, "'as determined guilt, or a continuance in error, can have but little chance of immortal happiness. "'And for our mortal share of that same commodity,' replied the lively Hugh, "'we must not trust to matrimony, I fear, as I have never heard married people found their happiness pilt upon a rock.' This speech produced a general laugh. But Sir Philip, who was by no means pleased with the subject, said with a smile to the barren, these young men think they know more than their forefathers. By which means, replied he, they will most assuredly entail upon themselves the mortification of knowing less. The conversation during the rest of the walk was confined to such objects as occasionally presented themselves to observation. The inhabitants of the town came to their doors to catch a look at the party from the castle. To as many as were known by the Governor, he spoke familiarly, as did the other gentlemen, and they concluded the barren must be some very great man, perhaps the king himself in disguise, because he did not once condescend to address them. Rosaline chatted with some young girls who came out to make their best curtsies, while the barren thought all these attentions paid to such plebeian souls wonderfully troublesome. At dinner he scarcely spoke five words, and de Willows was so disgusted with his forbidding haughtiness that the next day he presented to de Clavering the following satire on pride, saying it was a tribute justly due to the barren for his supreme excellency in the display of that detestable feature in his character. Hell's first-born exhalation sure is pride, who, with its sister envy, would divide the various blessings to poor mortals given by the kind bounty of indulgent heaven. But at the last have kings to make them proud, a gilded coffin and a satin shroud. The lordly worm on these will quickly pray, for worms like kings in turn will have their day. What then is man who boasts his form and make, a reptile's meal, a worm's high-flavored steak? The epicure, who caters like a slave, is but a pampered morsel for the grave. Always a canker of such subtle power it steals all pleasure from the gayest hour. It is the deadly nightshade of the mind, with secret poison all its hearts refined. And when attended by it vile relation would spread a plague destructive to a nation, then send these hags back to their native hell, with beans and evil spirits formed to dwell. No more unworth let man look down with scorn, and frown on those not quite so highly-born. Nor as the coaches rattle from his door, boast like proud haymen of not being poor. Earth's doom to earth, all folly there must end. Then read, and own the satirists a friend. Madeline had been invited and obtained permission of the Abbas to spend the following day at the castle. This gave additional vivacity to the lively spirits of Edwin, who with his sister spent as much time with the prisoner as they could steal without exciting curiosity of suspicion. Rosaline gave them with some humor the ghost story as imparted to her by Audrey, and cautioned Albert against having any light seen from the windows lest it should be productive of such inquiries as might lead to a discovery of the rooms being inhabited. But notwithstanding all her attempts to fly from herself and conceal from the observing eye of love her own internal conflicts, she was almost tempted to throw aside the mask, and at once confess all her apprehensions. How were these apprehensions heightened? When in the afternoon her father told her in a whisper, he wished to see her in his study before the family assembled for breakfast, having some intelligence of the most agreeable nature to impart, which he hoped and believed would make her one of the happiest, as it could not fail to render her one of the most envied of her sex. Rosaline trembled, turned pale, and to the earliest opportunity of withdrawing, not daring to trust Edwin with her fears or risk seeing the prisoner for some hours lest her agitation should be trace suspicions of she knew not what, but in which her terrified imagination confirmed all the hints her maid had given her. By the barren, it was a thought so unnatural, so repugnant to every wish, every feeling of her heart, so inimical to the ideas she had formed of happiness, that it was not to be endured. She wept, wrung her hands, recollected herself, and again sunk into despondency. But at all events resolved to acquire resolution to go through the interview with her father, and give him such answers as should convince him, an union with his friend, if such was the painful subject he had to communicate, would make her the various wretch on earth. Her heart was no longer in her own possession, but that she must not dare avow, all therefore that she could determine was, to refuse the barren, and to love the prisoner and him only, to the end of her life. These important points settled for the present gave to her perturbed spirit's momentary relief, and enabled her to join the family without creating any suspicion that they were unusually depressed. When however she followed her brother into the prisoner's room, it was with the utmost difficulty she maintained any command over her feelings. But unwilling to alarm or distress her unfortunate lover, till necessity compelled her to acquaint him with her sorrows, the only difference her painful struggles produced was an addition of gentle tenderness to her manner. And though she had often thought her affection could admit of no increase, yet at this moment he was, if possible, still more beloved, still more endeared by the ten thousand uncommon ties which had so wonderfully tended to unite hearts that appeared to be under the directing will of Providence. The next morning, previously to seeing her father, Rosaline once more ventured to question Audrey, and so earnestly begged she would explain all she meant by the hints she had given respecting the Baron, that poor Audrey softened almost to tears by seeing her young lady really distressed, no longer remembered her former petulance, but readily complied with her request, though in fact all she knew amounted to little more than she had already told, namely that the Baron came to look for a wife to carry home and shut up in his old castle, that the Baron's servant had informed her he was in love with her young lady, that Sir Philip liked him for a son-in-law, and they were soon to be married.  And Pedro says he ought to have been put into the spedical court fifty and fifty times for his detergents and fornications, for before his first wife died, what, then, exclaimed Rosaline, has the Baron been married more than once? Bless your heart, miss, he has killed two wives already, and the Lord in his mercy shortened his days, that a third may never fall into the clutches of such a manufacturer. Miss, I would not fortify my word even to gain a gentleman for a husband, and as I have a Christian soul, which I hope Father Anselm will keep out of purgatory, I have told the truth and only the truth.  Rosaline, too much alarmed to be as usual amused with the singular oratory of her simple but well-meaning attendant, thanked her for her good wishes, and promised never to mention the information she had communicated. Well, then, bless your sweet face. I'll be crucified, but I'll communicate to you all he can pick up, Pedro is marvelously keen and clever, yet he appears as innocent as the babe unborn, and for all he gets pretty gleanings and prickings out of his old master.  For you see, Miss, one does not like to tell tales of oneself, and, in my opinion, some of monks and father-confessors don't find in their hearts any ejection to us pretty girls. Rosaline, having dismissed her loquacious attendant, endeavored to acquire sufficient fortitude to meet her father with composure, and to arm herself with resolution to withstand any attempts he might make to compel her into measures from which every feeling of her heart recoiled. She too well knew the warmth and obstinacy of her father's temper when met with opposition in a favourite plan, not to dread the contest. She now concluded, from many preceding circumstances, that the Baron was brought to the castle for the horrid purpose of becoming her husband, and, unfortunately at this moment, recollected with redoubled tenderness the very great difference between him and the man whom, by a chain of the most singular and interesting circumstances, she had been led to regard with a degree of affection she scarcely dared to investigate, and of which she knew not the full force. Her brother, her dear Edwin, too, had formed an attachment equally repugnant to the will and ambition of his father. The painful recollection awakened her warmest sympathy and increased her own sorrows. Ah, she exclaimed, how darkly overclouded is the prospect which a few months back seems so bright! Well, let the tempest come! Let the thunder burst on my defenceless head! I will! Here she was interrupted by a summons to attend her father, which she instantly arose to obey. But her trembling limbs were scarcely able to support her, and she was obliged to rest several times before she could sufficiently recover herself to appear in his presence without discovering the long and severe conflicts she had vainly endeavored to conquer. Sir Philip, on her entering the room, eagerly arose to meet her, and either did not, or, what is more probable, would not seem to notice her confusion. He tenderly took her hand and led her to a chair, then, seating himself by her, observed with a smile that he doubted not her curiosity had been excited, and told her he would have a kiss before he would disclose the secret. For the business, he continued, which I have to negotiate with my sweet girl, demand secrecy. Rose-Aline, afraid of trusting her voice, bowed in silence, but her manner showed she was all attention. My dear girl, said Sir Philip, why all this apparent tremor? I hope you are, and have ever been convinced, that my first, my most anxious wishes, are to see my children happy. Then thought, Rose-Aline, you will not surely so much mistake the road to happiness as to propose your friend to me for a husband. Baron Fitz-Osbourne has solicited me to intercede with you in his behalf. Notwithstanding the greatness of his pretensions, he has even condescended to entreat I would intercede with my dear Rose-Aline, that she will, in due time, permit him to lead her to the altar. Rose-Aline, extremely agitated, made an attempt to speak, which Sir Philip observing said, Attend me a few moments longer, my dear. I will then give you leave to express your joyful surprise at the good fortune which awaits you. My noble friend, from the very first moment of seeing you, loved and wished to make you his own. He, like a man of honour, inquired if your heart was disengaged. I assured him it was, for I knew you too well, my dear girl, to suppose you would ever dispose of it without a father's sanction. Eager to possess a treasure which had never strayed from its own spotless mansion, he then requested my permission to become a candidate for your favour. I readily and freely gave it, and encouraged him to hope he would meet neither with caprice nor opposition. At the same time I candidly told him that though my fortune was upon the whole considerable, yet as my family was large and still might increase, my daughter's portions could be but small. So very small that I feared it would prove an impediment to your union. He generously overlooked this objection, and wishes only to gain your heart and hand. While the share you would be entitled to have of your father's property, he requests may be given among the rest of my family, and he will make an equal settlement upon you as if you brought him a large fortune. Indeed so noble and disinterested were his proposals that they both gratified and astonished me. They are such as no parent could receive with indifference. No young woman refuse. The baron has not only a princely fortune but a princely spirit, and such unbounded interest that my rosaline will not only secure Rankin's splendor to herself, but will prove the fortune it means of obtaining them for her brothers and sisters, and of making the last closing scenes of her parents' days happier and freer from care than they have ever been. Ah! thought Rosaline, and her own irretrievably wretched, for among all the treasures to be purchased by this unnatural union happiness is not included. She sighed deeply, and without looking up remained silent. Sir Philip, rather alarmed at the alteration in her countenance, which changed from being extremely flush to the most deadly paleness, and observing a tear stealing down her cheeks, still appeared determined to think he should find no difficulty in overruling any little objection she might venture to make. He put one hand into hers, and the other round her waist, and again addressing her said, he did not wonder that an offer so splendid and noble should affect an overpower a humble spirit and unassuming as hers. I always knew the inestimable value of the Baron's friendship, and I'm equally sensible of the rich prize I possess in a daughter. But I never dared to cherish the grateful hope that I should live to see two persons on whom I depend for so large a portion of my happiness united, or that a child of DiMorne's was to repay the noble Baron for his generosity to her father. For heaven's sake, my dear, dear father, cried the almost fainting rosaline. Do not, thus, seem to misunderstand the nature of feelings entitled to your gender as pity. I never, never can love the Baron. Sir Philip hastily arose. Fury flashed from his eyes. Every feature was beginning to be convulsed with passion, but he struggled against the rage he wished to subdue, while she continued. Consider my extreme youth. Contrast it with the age of your friend. Can I be a fit or eligible wife for a man older than my father? Would not that be to punish most severely the man for whom, so far from loving, I have ever felt an invincible dislike, which sometimes I have thought, if he stayed much longer at the castle, would increase to aversion? Sir Philip, who had neither expected to meet, nor was prepared to encounter an opposition so determined, was no longer able to keep his passion within bounds. Rosaline, cried he, striking his clenched fist on the table, and looking with the wildness of a maniac. Dare not presume to cherish or to avow a dislike which will not only plunge a dagger into your mother's heart, but rob you of a father. What business can a girl of your age have to like or dislike but as your parent shall give them up forever or accept the baron? How will you reconcile yourself to become an alien to your family? How relish spending your days in a nunnery instead of enjoying liberty and every pleasure in the gay sunshine of a court, glittering with diamonds surrounded by admirers, equal in rank and superior in fortune to many of our most ancient nobility? Consider well before you determine.  Yet here at once my final resolution. If, during that period, you either alarm or discuss the baron by your folly or ignorance so as to make him repent the noble overtures he had made to secure an alliance with my family, or, if you attempt to damp the ardor of his passion by your coldness, if at the end of that period you do not, without any visible reluctance, accept him as a lover, and promise to give him your hand, I will instantly send you into a convent of the severest order and compel you to take the veil. Rosaline, overpowered by his manner, fell on the floor in a state of insensibility. Her father now saw he had gone too far. He was alarmed, but much as he felt himself distressed, he too well knew what he was about to call for assistance. He, therefore, by the usual methods, endeavored to recover her as well as he could, and as soon as he saw her revive, soothed her hurried spirits with every fond attention, addressed her by the tenderest appellations, and begged her to have pity on him and on herself. Rosaline, too much terrified to contend farther at that time, heard him with silent despondency and hoped the cruel contest would be ended by her death, for, as she never before had fainted, she imagined it was a prelude to her dissolution. Sir Philip, to reconcile her if possible to his ambitious views, argued the matter with that sophistry and art which in all ages have been practiced with too much success. Assured her of every flattering indulgence that a youthful heart could desire, painted her future prospects in colors most likely to captivate the attention and ensnare the senses, and even went so far as to promise, till the end of the month, he would not mention the baron's name to her again, but insisted on her receiving his attentions with complacency and desired her not to make a confident of any one in a matter of so much importance. He likewise informed her, he had forbidden her mother's talking to her on the subject, and concluded this painful interview with telling her he trusted her gentleness, duty, and affection would determine her to oblige and gratify her anxious and tender father in the first and most prevailing wishes of his heart. He recommended her to retire to her own room, and promised to find a proper excuse for her absence. After leading her to the door of his apartment, he embraced and left her. Sir Philip Timorney, though in many respects a kind father and a good husband, was proud and aspiring. These passions, as he advanced in years, gained additional ascendancy over his mind, and as he saw his children approaching that period when it became necessary to think of an establishment for them, he was more and more anxious to see them placed among the great. His lady, equally attached to the fascinating influence of birth and splendor, had neither inclination nor power to counteract his designs, nor to dispute with him on a point to which her own wishes tended. She was too partial, too fond of her children, not to think they were calculated to shine in the most exalted situations, and that they deserved every blessing, every indulgence which rank of fortune could bestow. She had married a man much older than herself, and was happy. Therefore she saw no reasonable objection in the difference of age between her daughter and the baron, whose birth carried an irresistible passport to her heart. Sir Philip had talked the matter over with her, and with that prevailing influence he had ever retained, brought her not only to consent to any measures he should find necessary to adopt in order to carry his point, but obtained a solemn promise from her to conceal from Edwin, and everyone else, the sanguine establishment of their daughter. The fact was, Sir Philip had at different periods of his life received many favors and some of a pecuniary nature from the baron, which had never been settled, and had it not been for the assistance of the baron's purse he must have deeply mortgaged his estates to carry on the lawsuit which, without the interest of his friend, would at last have terminated against him. It was in consequence of their unexpected meeting in town that he prevailed upon him with some difficulty to return with him to the castle. What ensued was so much beyond the most flattering expectations he had ever dared to cherish that the feelings of the parent were sacrificed to ambition, and he instantly determined to carry his point, let the consequence be what it would. And, though he had observed in the whole of Rosaline's behavior to his friend, convincing proofs of that dislike which she had in her interview with him about, yet he did not despair of gaining his purpose. He was aware that he might find some little opposition to his wishes, and therefore to guard as cautiously as possible against disappointments, he had more than once represented to the baron the youth inexperience and extreme timidity of his daughter, and the terror she would feel at being separated from a mother from whom she had never been absent. By such wary precautions as these he had prevailed upon his friend to postpone making any proposals to Rosaline till he had paved the way for a welcome reception. To such a plan a lover could not make any reasonable objection, particularly one who wished to have as little trouble as possible in the gratification of his desires. Too proud, haughty and fastidious to pay his court, or make any sacrifice to the wayward humours of a young beauty, he secretly rejoiced that her father would take the whole upon himself, and knowing how agreeable the offered alliance was to him, he had no fears but as soon as the young lady's consent was asked, she would be happy to comply. He therefore looked forwards, with less impatience than he would have done, had any doubts rested upon his mind. Volume 1 Chapter 10 of Bungay Castle by Elizabeth Bonhote No sooner had Rosaline reached her own apartment and fastened the door, than she sunk on her knees and having for some minutes given way to the severity of her feelings by tears and lamentations, she recovered sufficient resolution to supplicate her maker to support and direct her in this trying hour of distress. By degrees she became more composed and sat down to reflect on her situation with less agitation and terror. Her father had promised her, and she knew his promise would be held sacred, that she should be indulged with one whole month to determine whether she would or would not accept the baron. She was already determined, but she would avail herself of the few weeks allowed her to struggle with her feelings and preserve the peace and tranquillity of her family. Besides, it was placing the dreaded evil at some distance, and that, to one so wretched, was obtaining a great deal. After the month was expired, but to that dreadful moment she had not yet acquired fortitude to look, she should still persist in her resolution. Till then, she would oblige her father all she could by quietly receiving the baron's attentions, but she was resolved not to deceive him by appearing to receive them with pleasure. Madeline came to spend the day as had been proposed. Edwin found many opportunities of renewing his vows and of making some tender reproaches for her not seeing him so often as he wished by the subterranean passage, for which she assigned such prudent reasons, as served in some degree to quiet his apprehensions, which, however, were rather increased than abated by observing the marked in particular attention which was bade by de Willo's, who, it was but too visible, cherished a growing passion in his bosom which equally tortured Edeliza, Edwin, Madeline, and himself. Rosaline generously determined not to interrupt the few hours of happiness and tranquillity which her friends seemed to enjoy by giving them the most distant hint of her own internal misery. They took an opportunity of visiting the prisoner. Madeline was received by him with the cordial affection of a brother, for she was the adopted sister of his beloved Rosaline, the chosen friend of her heart. With him they partook that soft inner course of soul which gives to the human mind its highest and most perfect enjoyment. Without fear or restraint they addressed each other in the pure and unadulterated language of genuine tenderness, indulging in the innocent and fond endearments which the sincerity of virtuous love will claim, and with which its purest votaries might comply without a blush. But how short and transitory appeared these fleeting moments, on which she thought old time had bestowed an additional pair of wings, to the agonized mind of the half-distracted Rosaline, who not withstanding her father's prohibition determined in the course of the month to inform her mother and brother of every circumstance that had occurred. She dreaded, more than she would to stroke of death, imparting to the unfortunate Walter, she had prevailed on Albert to tell her his Christian name, that he had a rival who authorized by her father would endeavor to separate them forever, and more, much more than for herself, she trembled for that hapless, persecuted, unprotected lover at whose bosom fate had already aimed some of its most pointed arrows, whose life would be endangered should her partiality be discovered, that life on which her own seemed to depend, his happiness which was dearer to her than her own, rested with her only to preserve. If they must be parted, the contest could not be extended beyond the confines of the grave, and in the friendly grave they should both find shelter. The visible change which appeared the next morning in the countenance and manners of Rosaline was such as those only who determined not to see could have avoided observing. Edwin, who met her as she was going to enter the breakfast parlor, eagerly cried out, for heaven's sake, my dear sister, what in the name of ill luck has happened to you? How long have you been ill? With tender earnestness she begged him not to mention her altered looks, promising to acquaint him with the cause the first convenient opportunity. He agreed to comply with her request, and neither Sir Philip nor Lady de Morny took any notice, and when the Baron joined the breakfast party, everything passed as usual. He was very attentive to his fair and slaver, who, seeing her father's eyes sternly fixed upon her from the moment the Baron entered the room, ordered not to repel his odious gallantry with the coldness and contempt she knew not how to suppress, but she thought it better to yield submissively to the mortifications of the present hour in order to secure to herself the short respite from certain misery which upon such painful conditions had been allowed her. As soon as breakfast was ended the Baron and Sir Philip ordered their horses, and rode out to spend the day at some distance from the castle. Lady de Morny withdrew to give directions respecting some domestic arrangements, and the younger part of the family retired to go on with their usual employments. Edwin followed his sister to her own apartment, and eagerly requested her instantly to relieve his mind from the anxiety he could not help feeling on her account, as he was certain something unpleasant must have happened. Gratified by this proof of his tenderness and attention to her happiness, Rosaline, after a few painful struggles to suppress her agitation, and having obtained a solemn promise from her brother that, however provoked, or whatever indignation he might feel when he became acquainted with her internal and hopeless misery, he would not betray by the most distant hint that she had disobeyed the positive injunctions of her father, informed him with many tears of the Baron's views in coming to the castle. Edwin had long suspected something would arise from the frequent conferences of the Baron with his father, and the unusual reserve of his mother. He had likewise observed, with some degree of surprise, the very flattering and uncommon attentions paid to their noble visitor. He therefore was not so much astonished as his sister expected he would have been. He carefully avoided filling her mind with unnecessary alarms, at the moment he felt a thousand fears on her account, and could not restrain his indignation at hearing a tale confirmed, which appeared too absurd almost to be believed. He tenderly embraced and vowed to protect her from such cruelty and oppression should his father continue obstinately to insist on giving her hand to a man she disliked. He had long known her extreme partiality for the prisoner, which though he could not approve, his own clandestine engagements with Madeleine prevented his attempting to condemn. They had innocently and mutually assisted in bringing each other into situations which threatened them with many sorrows. They must now, in this trying moment, as resolutely determined to extricate themselves and those they loved from distresses which otherwise would in all probability overwhelm and destroy them. Edwin, at Rosaline's earnest request, was to inform Walter of the dangers which encompassed them, and of the formidable rival who had appeared to interrupt their happiness. But she insisted on his concealing from him the name of that rival, begging him not to give a hint of his fortunate consequence. Eager to save her lover from feeling such pangs as she herself had endured, she untreated he would soften the sad tidings he conveyed, by assuring him he had nothing to fear from herself as her affection was equally tender and sincere. When Edwin had imparted the unwelcome news to the prisoner, though he observed the strictest caution and worded the heart wound in communication in language best calculated to soothe and quiet those tormenting apprehensions, to which it would unavoidably give birth, the effect it had on the unhappy sufferer was dreadful. His agonies disclosed to the astonished Edwin the strength of an affection which, while it alarmed him, demanded the utmost pity, and at that moment had he possessed the power of disposing the hand of his sister, he would sooner have presented it to his unfortunate friend than to the greatest monarch upon earth. Rosaline dared not venture to see him for several succeeding hours, and no sooner were his watchful and impatient eyes gratified by her entrance into his solitary apartment than he hastily arose, and throwing himself at her feet almost inarticulately entreated her to pronounce his doom. Tell me, cried he, if you, my only earthly treasure, must be rested from me forever? If I must not longer hear the soft music of that gentle voice sweeter and more melodious than celestial music, I can die without reproaching, but I cannot exist without seeing you, and I will never, never live one hour after you have given your hand to another. Madness and torture are united in that thought. Let us fly. Let us leave this horrid castle. The world is all before us. Love shall be our guide. Surely we can find one little sacred spot that will shelter us from persecution and tyranny. If not, we can wander, beg, and at last die together. Have patience, my generous, my beloved Walter, cried the weeping Rosaline. I yet trust we shall not be reduced to the hard, the degrading necessity of taking such desperate and improper steps to preserve our faith unbroken. Be assured of this, and endeavor to rest satisfied with a promise I will ever hold sacred, that while you continue the unrivaled possessor of my heart, only actual force shall compel me to give my hand to your rival. And I think I may venture to say, if I know anything of my father's position, unkind as it appears at present, he will never go to such unwarrantable and unnatural lengths to gratify an ambition I never suspected had found place in his mind. Ah, said the prisoner, you little know you cannot suspect to what lengths pride and ambition will carry unfeeling people. I am their victim, and if I thought you were to suffer as I have done, attempt not to think about it, interrupted Rosaline. Consent then to escape this very night. If we stop to deliberate we are lost, we are separated forever. You know not what such love is mine when called into action and blessed with liberty would enable me to do to preserve a treasure so dear and estimable. Albert would go with us. With his direction and assistance, surely we could procure sufficient from the bells of the earth to support you in ease and plenty, if not in affluence. The entrance of Albert luckily put an end to a conversation which was become too tender and painful for Rosaline any longer to have kept up that appearance of composure which was absolutely necessary to quiet the tormenting apprehensions of her lover. She therefore immediately availed herself of the opportunity to quit his apartment and retired to her own. Within rather less than a week after Rosaline's interview with her father, the alteration which took place in her was such as could not pass unobserved, but it was wholly imputed to end disposition. She became much thinner. The rose of health was fled from accountants no longer marked with animation. She had no spirits and was seldom seen to smile. Even the playful fondness of her sister Bertha ceased to interest or entertain her. Lady de Morny, who was a tender mother, became alarmed and imparted her fears to Sir Philip, who endeavored to laugh her out of them.  She is pining, I suppose, at the thoughts of leaving Mama. You must therefore take no notice, for I so well know that softness of your disposition that a few tears will mold you to her own wayward purposes and deprive you of all your resolution. The unfortunate girl will to be sure be sadly heard at becoming a barrenness and being placed in a situation to which even the proudest ambition of her parents could not have aspired. We therefore have only to remain silent spectators for a time and leave the natural vanity of her sex united with the sanguine wishes of youth to operate for themselves. We will invite company to the castle. I mean to give a ball in complement to the barren. Rosaline will reign queen of the ceremony, assailed by flattery, softened by music, exhilarated by exercise. She will forget to sigh in the midst of gaiety and cease to disapprove the barren when she begins to feel that consequence which the being noticed by a man of his rank will give to her. Let us then try the experiment as soon as possible, replied Lady D'morney, for I cannot help thinking unless some change takes place for the better our sweet Rosaline instead of bridal finery will want only a winding sheet and that she will be removed from the castle to her grave. Sir Philip was displeased. He instantly left the room in order to avoid returning an answer which he well knew would have been succeeded by an altercation with his wife. She saw he was angry and therefore though she was extremely anxious on her daughter's account she determined for some time to remain a passive observer, let what would be the consequence. But she did not experience that serenity of mind at forming this resolution which she had done on some former occasions when she had sacrificed her own will to that of her husband. For aspiring as she was by nature and much as she was always attached to the gaudy trappings of grandeur and the alluring sounds of tidal she felt the life of her daughter when put in competition with them or even the throne itself was of infinitely more importance. De Hunningfield was at this time absent from the castle. Elwynn very seldom mixed with his brother officers, therefore, De Clavering, De Willows, and Hugh Camelford were often left to mess by themselves. The baron not appearing to like being much in their society. They were too young and too pleasing in his opinion and as he could not help sometimes making comparisons not much to his own advantage it was natural for him to think the young ladies might do the same. As the three gentlemen were returning from a walk they saw the baron Sir Philip, his son and daughters going out for one. Observing the apparent reluctant step and pale countenance of Rosaline as she walked by the side of her stately invinerable lover and having picked up some hints which had been dropped at different times of the projected alliance De Clavering was some little indignation exclaimed. It will never do. I see it will never do. The girl's spirits are too low her uncorrupted mind too pure and her stomach too weak to digest so much pride and acid as that old fellow had in his composition. His love seems to have operated on her feelings as being so nearly allied to misery that she has already caught the infection and I wish in the end it may not prove an incurable disease.  By heaven said De Willows the folly and ambition of parents and respect to their children are in my opinion the most unaccountable of human absurdities. They form plans from their own passions and feelings and then expect that young people can adopt them at their command without making any allowance for the material difference between the sentiments, opinions and inclinations of nineteen and sixty. Suppose we all talk to the governor and toss the parent into the river. A good talking might try fall the flames and tarts of love out of his party and restore the poor girl from the grave to which the doctor is for sending her like a dog without giving time for Christian burial. To argue her contend with such characters said de-clavering would be like opposing a fiddle against thunder or a squirt against a cataract in Switzerland. Then on my soul replied Camelford you must take the parent's potty into your own direction with your regimen and a few of teflish experiments you will caught willing soon dispatch him and his love into another world. That indeed you would prove an effectual cure, but in respect to the baron it would not be quite so easily accomplished, for I look upon him still to possess a constitution that would set physic and even the doctor himself at defiance. He seems for him to wrestle sturdily with death before he will be vanquished or yield the contest. If you can once lay hold of him and give him some of your pills and potions he would soon be glad to give up the coast. What then said the clavouring? You think me more dangerous than love?  He had better let me alone, replied the Gambrian. I am not so blind as his define highness and will never worship any court but the great court of heaven. Etulisa has taught you better to willos. That girls tell tell eyes portray that love has been peasy with more than one person. Declavouring laughed at this unexpected attack upon his friend who felt a painful consciousness that Camelford had more reason for his observation than he wished. The partiality of the artless Etulisa being too visible to be longer mistaken. On his own part he had from the first seeing Madeline cherished an increasing affection for her, while her uniform and unaffected coldness with the preference she had shown to another, too well convinced him he had nothing to hope. Neither could he any longer affect to be blind to the mutual attachment which subsisted between her and his friend Edwin, the latter having made no attempt to deny it. But being satisfied of the honour of de willos had in part entrusted him with the wishes he determined to encourage, notwithstanding the unsurmountable, obstacles that appeared to preclude the most distant ray of hope. That same love of which you are thinking and talking, said declivering, has so many devilifications in its train I am determined to have nothing to do with it till it becomes more rational and can be reduced into a regular system by which we poor short-sighted mortals may find directions how to act without exposing ourselves to ridicule or disappointment. I am inclined to think I shall one day or other be afraid, but it should be to a woman who will take care to keep such ear-wigs sort of fellows as you at a proper distance.   Why so? asked the willos, determined not to apply the hint which he well knew was designed for him. Can there, said Declavaring, be found a character more deserving satire, a thing that borrows the form of a man to disgrace the name, an adept in mean stratagems and mischievous deceives, insensible to the admonitions of conscious, well versed in all the practices of refined cruelty, working like a mole in the dark, in order more effectually to ensnare the useful heart of unsuspecting innocence, and that merely to gratify the vicious vanity of the moment, and after he had sacrificed the health happiness and perhaps the life of a young woman, who by her tender nature he has beguiled of peace, he laughs at her crudgeless folly and boldly declares he had never any thought of making her his wife, that there are such men who under the sacred semblance of honor connect thus despicably I have in the form of one once dear to me his life unhappily experienced, and from that moment I became the friend and champion of the sex, and in bold defiance to all such deceivers I throw down my gauntlet. How in the name of caught came you to be so valiant, cried Camelford, as to think of fighting tools for other people's pranks.  Perhaps I have undesignedly given you pain without knowing I interfered with the wishes or pretensions of anyone. On my honour I never had any, but on a subject so important I cannot speak coolly, or canvass it with indifference. I will be frank, and I own I admire Edeliza, and were her heart as much in my power as I fear it is in yours, no man with impunity should rest it on my brave doctor, cried Camelford. Little Tan Cupid, must next take care of himself, or you will be after dissecting his courtship, and though the poor caught his aspline to the petal, you will be for couching his eyes till he can see as clear as yourself. A servant came to invite them to sup with the governor and his party, which luckily put an end to a conversation that the willows rather uncomfortable and small in his own opinion, and compelled him to reflect more seriously on the subject than he had ever done before. Of Madeleine it was folly to think any longer. If Edwin, who was beloved, dared not hope being blessed with her hand without the interference of a miracle, what chance could there be of his succeeding for whom she felt only the coldest heart severely to talk and to, but it was impossible for him at that moment to tell how he should dispose of a heart, which had received so many wounds that it scarcely retained any of its native mutilated form. But on a more serious examination he found something lurking in it that made him feel very reluctant to give up his pleasant and interesting intercourse with the tender and artless Edeliza, which was then he was aware of. End of Chapter 10 Recording by Patti Cunningham Volume 1 Chapter 11 of Bungie Castle by Elizabeth Bonhote This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The design of Sir Philip in Giving a Ball was this evening made known. And the next day messages were sent out to invite the company for that time. Preparations were instantly begun and new dresses ordered. Madeline and Agnes de Clifford obtained leave to be of the party, and several of the inhabitants of Bungie were highly pleased by receiving invitations. Rosaline, on whose account as much as the barons it was given, was the least gratified. Any scene of cheerfulness to her was become a scene of misery. She herself a chaos of contending passions. Could not admit a single ray of hope or comfort to chase away the gloom which there prevailed. She no longer felt either pleasure or consolation in her stolen interviews with her beloved Walter, which once afforded her such indescribable satisfaction. They now saw each other with a tender despondence, which served to deprive them of their period at a distance, and Rosaline, sinking under the burden of her own sorrows, felt herself totally unable to share in those which equally overpowered her unfortunate lover, from whose prison she never went, but he concluded it was the last time he should be indulged with seeing her. Walter heard of the ball, which was to be given in compliment to his rival, with that kind of contempt and brave officer feels at seeing some upstart stippling stepping over his head to preferment, and by dint of mere, advantageous events, obtaining authority to lead those whom he dare not have followed. It has always been said that the sincerest love could not exist without hope. In this instance, however, the assertion did not hold good, for though hope was lost, love maintained its empire, and environed with despair lost none of that tender energy which had united two hearts under circumstances the most alarming and distressing. The conduct of Sir Philip de Morny surprised all those who were led into the secret of the projected alliance. LeBaron's pride appeared to have infected him with a mania of the same kind, and the unpleasant change it produced was not more inimical to the happiness of others than he soon found it proved to his own. He was now seldom greeted with the smile of affection. He saw looks of distress, and heard the sigh of discontent vibrate on his ear, and whilst he condemned the obstinacy of others, determined resolutely to persevere in his own. How much it is to be lamented that with all the knowledge he acquires man knows so little of himself. How astonishing that a sudden and unexpected change in his prospects or expectations should instantaneously work so unaccountable a revolution in his feelings that he scarcely retains any recollection of his former dispositions. And still more strange it appears that while adversity serves to exalt the mind and purify the heart, prosperity should harden and debase them. About forty of those who had been invited to the ball returned answers that they would do themselves the honour of accepting the invitation. Rosaline became so much changed in her looks, appearance, and manner that at length the alteration struck the barren, and he mentioned it to Sir Philip. This produced a second warm altercation between him and Rosaline, which ended as the former had done, namely, in the want of resolution, strength, and spirits on her part, to contend longer on a subject so painful to her feelings, and so inimical to all her hopes and happiness. For Sir Philip now insisted, and that with a degree of unfeeling ferocity, that she should give her hand to the barren within ten days after the month was expired, which he had so foolishly allowed her perverse folly and caprice. Of this interview Rosaline said nothing to her brother or the prisoner, but felt that her fortitude deserted her as time stole away, and with the deprivation of health and spirits threatened to leave her an unending and helpless victim to the authority she began to doubt having power to resist. Still she determined, if dragged by force to the altar, she would resolutely and openly before its sacred font declare not only her unwillingness to become the wife of the barren, but her repugnance and aversion to the monastic life. At length the anxiously expected the long wish for evening arrived, and produced an assemblage of as against grace, wit, and beauty as had ever been collected together in so confined a circle. From the social town of Bungay some very lovely young women made their first appearance at the castle, decorated to the utmost advantage, and justly entitled to dispute the palm of beauty with many found in the higher ranks. On this occasion it is not to be doubted, but they cherished hopes that their charms would conquer some of the young actress, on which the safety of themselves in the town depended. From the earliest ages of the world the old adage prevailed, none but the brave deserve the fair, while the military dressed shining sword and becoming caucade were ever found useful auxiliaries in assisting their wearer to find easy access to the female heart. When dancing was ordered to begin the barren arrayed most superbly, took out Rosaline and led her to the upper end of the room. De Willos followed, leading at Aliza who was dressed in the most becoming and captivating style and looked so enchantingly beautiful that he wondered he had ever beheld her with indifference or preferred another. Her expressive eyes told a tale so correspondent to the feelings of his own heart as completed its conquest and the captivity was found so pleasing and easy yet never afterwards wished to regain its freedom. Edwin danced with the gentle Madeline, Hugh Camelford with Bertha and the rest of the party disposed of themselves as their vanity or inclination prompted. The dancing was begun with a vidity and spirit which some very excellent music served to heighten and keep up. The barren not ungracefully exhibited his well-dressed person and this great personage had the satisfaction of seeing that the eyes of the company were chiefly fixed upon him who had procured them this unexpected indulgence. A circumstance unusual in an age when expensive pleasures were confined to the higher ranks of life and by that means less coveted by those in inferior stations which certainly tended to the good society in general as it served to render all parties contented with their lot. We now often see with pity and regret if young people are thrown by chance into a walk of life some degrees higher than their habitual one. They seldom know how to return to their former humble path without discontent and regret which will too often lead them to sacrifice virtue and every real good for the frivolous nonsense of the dress and the parade of ceremony. While to obtain the enjoyment of pleasures destructive to time and real happiness they will give up their peace of mind, the poor bargain they have made so long as they can live in style. Some few pity but a far greater number envied Rosalind for having made so important a conquest and were surprised to see how little she was animated amidst the exhilarating scene of gaiety and splendor wholly occupying the attention of one of the first barons in the kingdom whose smile by most people would be reckoned in honour and whose frown among many was destruction from which there was often no appeal. Every rarity that could be procured was set before the party. Hospitality and festivity went hand in hand and to a careless and uninterested spectator it would have seemed that universal happiness prevailed but it was far otherwise. Happiness is seldom found amidst a crowd. In the more retired scenes of serene, unambitious enjoyment we have a much better chance of finding that rara avas and of retaining it in our possession if possible to be found. Sir Philip de Morny was tormented with fears that the obstinacy of his daughter would disappoint his ambition while the tenderness of her mother had so far subdued the influence of her pride that to see her daughter restored to her former health and spirits she would gladly have yielded up the honour of an alliance with the baron. The artless and unaspiring Rosaline, before she was brought into notice by the proud attentions of her noble admirer was a far happier being than she found herself at the moment she was looked up to as an object of envy but the simple dress she had been accustomed to wear was more conformable to her own unadulterated taste than the splendid habiliments with which she was now loaded and which the pride or design of her father had procured to throw a veil over her senses and tempt her to purchase those still more brilliant at the expense of her peace. Yet notwithstanding all the fascinating allurements with which she saw herself surrounded the court, adulation and respect paid to her the eagerness of the company to obtain a share in her notice her heart remained with Walter the unknown stranger who belonged to no one who was without fortune and deprived of that freedom from the birthright of the poorest peasant. Nevertheless Walter in a gloomy and solitary prison was an object more captivating and far more valuable in her eyes than the lordly Baron in a stately castle. When they had danced about half an hour after supper the Baron apologized to Rosalind for withdrawing to make some alteration in his dress which he found unpleasant she felt herself gratified by this temporary absence and took the opportunity of chatting with some of her young companions. Deeply engaged in conversation with Madeline and Agnes de Clifford she did not observe that her father was suddenly called out of the room and requested by the servant in a whisper to hasten with the utmost speed to the apartment of his friend. Too much surprise to inquire the cause he instantly obeyed the summons. On his entrance I will leave my readers to guess how much he must have been alarmed and shocked at seeing that friend extended on the floor with every appearance of death on his countenance. After trying various methods to recover him without effect he ordered one of his people to call declivering to his assistants who by some powerful and proper applications soon produced signs of life but it was nearly an hour before any of sense returned. He neither seemed to know where he was nor why he saw so many people about him. At length, however, he recovered his recollection. Said he had been very ill but found himself better and requested to be left a few minutes in private with Sir Philip de Morny whom he beckoned to sit down by the side of the bed on which he was laid. The room being cleared and the door fastened to prevent interruption the Baron grasped the hand of his friend and in a hurried tone at the same time looking around him in terror informed him that he had seen a spirit. He had stood there pointing with his finger to a particular part of the room. Sir Philip appeared incredulous and his looks were not misunderstood. Believe me continued the Baron. It was no delusion of the senses. I actually saw the ghost of my first wife as surely as I now see you and as perfectly as I ever saw her when alive. She glided out of the apartment the moment I entered it to change my dress which I found too heavy for dancing.  Her countenance was as blooming and retained the same beauty and expression as when I led her in triumph to the altar twenty years ago. Surely, my lord, said Sir Philip, this supposed visionary appearance must be the effects of the disorder which attacked you so violently that it led to clattering as well as myself to tremble for your life. Say rather, replied the Baron, and then you will say right. The disorder was occasioned by the terror which in that moment indeed deprived me of my senses. If I see you at this time then I beheld the face form and features of my once loved Isabella of whom I was deprived by death in the infancy of my happiness six months after she had given birth to a son of whom the same inexorable tyrant robbed me in the fourth year of my second marriage. Sir Philip found it was useless to contend with his friend on a subject in which he so obstinately persevered and though he was satisfied that the fright was merely the effect of disease he thought it wisest to confine his disbelief to his own bosom and drop the conversation as soon as possible. He insisted on remaining with him the rest of the night and cherished hopes that by the morning this unaccountable vagary would be forgotten or only remembered as a sudden delirium, occasion perhaps by heat and the unusual exercise in which he had been engaged. His offer of sitting up was cordially accepted and the two gentlemen agreed it would be right and prudent to say as little about the ghost as possible. Sir Philip secretly trembling lest the baron's unfortunate whim should operate so powerfully upon his feelings as to prevent his fulfilling at engagements with Rosaline. This strange circumstance occasioned so much confusion and hurry in the castle that the party separated much earlier than they wished and everyone accounted as their own humor dictated for the sudden indisposition One or two mortified by their pleasure being so unseasonably curtailed said the old man had better have gone to bed at eight o'clock or not have attempted dancing in a ballroom when he was dancing on the verge of the grave. Sir Philip with two servants sat with the baron during the night and in the morning de-clavering found him so much recovered that he advised him to get into the air as that with moderate exercise he ventured to pronounce would perfect his recovery and he would have nothing to fear from a relapse if he kept himself composed. But that same composure the baron did not find quite so easy to acquire as de-clavering imagined. The awful appearance he had seen was not one moment from his remembrance. It still flitted before his mental sight and his tortured mind presented only Isabella to his view.  With this regretted and beloved wife he had passed by far the happiest moments of his life. She was the first and indeed the only woman he had really loved, notwithstanding the world had unjustly branded him with being an unkind and morose husband. It had, in the respect, dealt by him with the same injustice it had done by a thousand others. The delicate frame of Isabella had a rapid decline from the moment she became a mother. He had adored her and watched her as his richest treasure during the first month she had lingered with him after presenting him with a son. She expired in his arms and the severest pangs she felt was being torn from them forever. Why should she rise from the grave? Why should she frown upon him? Who had loved her so sincerely? He could neither comprehend nor reconcile to his feelings. With his second wife he had lived several years, but all the happiness he had found in the course of them was not to be compared with that which he had enjoyed with his gentle Isabella in the short time he had been indulged with the pleasure of calling her his own. By the second lady he had several children and it was the death of an only surviving son at the age of sixteen on whom she had doded with an almost unpardonable fondness which had occasioned her own. Having thus been deprived of two wives and bereaved of his children without having any near relations for whom he felt those prevailing and powerful affections which could lead him to practice self-denial on their account he justly considered himself at liberty to endeavor to find happiness in the way to which his ideas of it were annexed and therefore made the choice to share his fortune and inherit such a part of it as he should find her worthy to possess if she did not bring him those who would have a more rightful claim to it. He had no sooner recovered the shock and terror which he had so awfully and unaccountably experienced than he determined to persevere and accelerate all the necessary preparations for the completion of his marriage. He was now eager to quit Bungie Castle and to return with the most convenient speed to his own as he could not entirely divest himself of apprehension that he might receive another unpleasant visit from his Isabella whom much as he had sincerely loved and admired when living he did not now wish should leave her grave to interrupt those pleasures which he anticipated from the nature of his present engagements. Sir Philip, who from the first had suspected the Baron's alarm and subsequent terror to have originated from a more natural however unaccountable cause than that to which he so obstinately imputed it, made all the inquiries he dared risk without giving his reasons for so doing but notwithstanding his most artful endeavours the mystery remained unexplained and he was obliged to leave it to time or chance to develop. Though every means had been made use of to render the ball given at the castle pleasant and agreeable to all the party they did not succeed so well as we could wish. There were several of the company as it is to this day found but too customary on all such important and interesting occasions distressed, mortified and discontented who returned to their habitations with more cares than they did for the rest of their lives and their habitations with more cares than they had carried out more pangs than they well knew how to bear or than the pleasure if unalloyed could have repaid. One or two young ladies had actually fainted at seeing others better dressed and more noticed than themselves another was wretched and out of humour at observing the Adonis for whom she had long cherished the most romantic affection pay his whole attention to the beautiful Edeliza who was rendered wild by the gaiety novelty and splendour of the scene while her little head was nearly turned by the fine things said to her and the admiration she excited. Edwin secretly repined that as soon as the evening closed Madeline would be again for an age in the calculation of a lover's calendar secluded from his sight and compelled to count her beads in the cheerless and solitary cell of a nunnery from which he knew not whether it would be in the power of art or stratagem to deliver her. And how dreadful would be the consequences both to himself and the woman he loved far better than himself should the project which he had long cherished in his enterprising and enamoured heart be discovered. These distressing thoughts threw a cloud of despondency over every surrounding scene and in some degree deprived him of that vivacity which had endured to his friends and rendered his society both pleasant and entertaining while the cause of this unaccountable revolution was suspected by few. De Willows had never before felt himself so forcibly struck with the charms of the fond and artless Edeliza which blazed upon him with unusual luster from the style and manner in which she had adorned and heightened her modest beauties by the artillery of a dress admirably chosen to captivate. And so well did she succeed aided by the little blind God under whose banners she had ventured to admit that a change took place in the heart of her favourite against whom alone her designs were levelled as sudden as it was to himself surprising.  Every thought, every wish now rested with Edeliza. The little girl whom he had so long considered and treated as a mere playful child he even felt himself angry with every gentleman who paid her any attention or appeared as well pleased with her as himself and his bosom actually throbbed with jealous indignation while he observed her animated look in sparkling eye at the various compliments addressed to her. But when she bestowed her smiles on another it was agony. Those enchanting smiles those engaging looks till this ill-fated evening had been holy and grossed by himself not till he knew the value of what he might lose did he think he had anything to fear. The delusion was ended and he felt himself engaged in a new passion at the moment he was disengaged from an old one which having never been cherished by hope was the more easily subdued. He observed, for love though said to be blind is at times amazingly clear-sighted that declivering the insensible, the fastidious declivering appeared like himself particularly attentive to Edeliza condescended to say some civil things hovered as near to her as possible and followed her with an approving eye as she gracefully exhibited her light and elegant figure in the dance which in his opinion means proved him so indifferent to her charms as he had pretended to be in some of their unreserved and confidential conversations.  The willows heard him and was convinced declivering had designs against his peace and was as much in love as himself. The same charms which had so much influence on him might have made a captive of his friend. Thus seriously in love thus tortured by the sudden impulse of jealousy to willows sullenly cursed the folly of giving balls execrated the misery of being obliged to mix with a crowd and the unpardonable levity of permitting young women of delicacy and fashion to exhibit their beautiful persons and attitudes in the dance to amuse a parcel of unmeaning and designing fools and wound those who love them while such robust amusements were only fit for Indian girls or hot and tauts. He almost determined never to go to another ball and to persuade Edeliza to form the same resolution. Thus with doubt spheres and jealousies was marked the beginning of a passion in the mind of the willows which ended but with life and day, month and year served to strengthen and confirm. The tragical tale of two lovers who had been present at the ball and who seemed the happiest of the party appeared to make a deep impression on all who heard it and had so much influence on the willows that he determined no part of his conduct should ever give a moment's pain to the susceptible heart of Edeliza if he should prove so fortunate as to be entrusted with the precious deposit and obtain the consent of Mr. Philip and Lady de Morny to bless him with the hand of their lovely daughter. The tale we have alluded to, though melancholy, being real fact, we hope it will not be unacceptable to our readers. Mr. and Mrs. Blandeville were the respectable parents of a numerous family whom they educated from the produce of a well-established and profitable business. They had several daughters, the eldest, who was both lively and handsome, but unfortunately admired by a young gentleman of the name of Norford. The attachment had been cherished by both parties from the time they went to school, and so marked were the attentions which even at that early age they had shown to each other, that it had often excited the jokes and ridicule of their young companions who were in the habit of frequently addressing the timid and blushing Lucy by the name of Mrs. Norford. Her lover had the irreparable fortune to lose both parents before any plan had been formed for his future establishment. He was likewise, unhappily for his interest, left to the care of inexperienced and careless guardians who permitted him, as his fortune was genteel, to follow the bent of his own inclinations. His disposition being lively in the extreme led him into innumerable eccentricities, and his juvenile indiscretions of that fortune which should have been kept for his mature age. When his clerkship was just expired, for he was artichaled to an attorney, he made application to the parents of Lucy for leave to address their daughter. Mr. Blandoville was no stranger to some part of the vices and follies of which he had been guilty, but, as he likewise knew that enough of his fortune still remained to secure his daughter as comfortable an establishment as she had any right to expect, he promised, if his future conduct was irreproachable, that, when he was fixed in life and able to provide for a family, he would give him the hand of his daughter and, from that period, he had permission to visit Lucy as a lover and was received at Mr. Blandoville's house as one of the family. Lovers it is too well known will say and promise anything. This observation was unhappily verified in the giddy and airing Narford, who, though he sincerely loved the daughter of Mr. Blandoville and could not be ignorant that on his part he was equally beloved, very soon broke his word and ran into some glaring excesses which could not be long concealed from those whom it most materially concerned. The gentle Lucy often ventured to reproach her lover, but his repentance and promises of amendment very soon procured his forgiveness. Not so easily was the father to be softened after repeatedly hearing of his intemperance and consequent riots, he forbade him his house and prohibited his daughter from holding any further intercourse with one so unworthy of her regard who had given such frequent proofs of his libertine disposition, had already wasted part of his property and was in a way to squander the whole. Unfortunately the prudent prohibition of the father was disregarded by the daughter whose attachment was unthinking Narford, neither his vices nor follies had been able to conquer. She lamented his failings but she could not subdue that attachment which had from so early a period of her life been implanted in her heart. From him only she had heard the tale of love and he alone had obtained any interest in her affections. Love had bound her in his silken fetters and she had not power to shake them off. Many stolen interviews did the proscribed Narford obtain with his believing and inexperienced mistress by means of that all-prevailing traitor, Gold, whose influence few of the needy children of dependence can long withstand. Nor could all the reproaches of a dubious and uncorrupted heart prevent Lucy from listening to the beguiling flatterer. At the time they met at the castle they had not been able to see each other for some weeks and the pleasure was as great as it was unexpected. Their present situation was past, sorrows were forgotten in their mutual joy and the young lady easily prevailed upon to accept the hand of her lover for the evening as she hoped it was the hand destined to guide her through life. Too happy in enjoying the society for which she languished to recollect the causes which had prevented their more frequent intercourse, her spirits exhilarated by the gay and cheerful party and the enlivening sounds of music. She listened to his vows with believing tenderness and in a fond conceding moment unreluctantly agreed to his proposal of a private marriage. The day was fixed and the hour for escape appointed. The plan once determined they indulged themselves in all that innocent fondness the prospect of being speedily united seemed to claim and authorize. But their happiness was as unstable and visionary as their plan. Someone that was present either actuated by friendship to the parents or envious at seeing the exulting transports which sparked in the eyes of the lovers and excited a suspicion of their design obtained sufficient intelligence from some broken sentences conveyed in rather loud whispers from the lips of Narford who was too much intoxicated with his unexpected success as to betray their intention. The next day a letter was sent to Mr. Blandiville to inform him of the plan that he might take such steps as would prevent the threatening mischief. In consequence of this unpleasing intelligence the young lady would so strictly confined and closely watched that it was impossible she could either receive or send any letters without being discovered. And Mr. Blandiville was too much enraged at finding the disobedient trick his daughter would have played him to relax one moment in his rigor or care to prevent her eloping. Narford in the meantime not able either to see Lucy or convey any letter or message to her became madly desperate and ran into innumerable excesses which in the opinion of the prudent and thinking part of the world justified the conduct of the lady's father who commanded her not to see him nor attempt to leave her own apartment till she could prevail upon herself to give him a solemn promise never again to hold intercourse by word or letter with that base designing and vile scoundrel Narford.  But as is frequently the case what in his behaviour was worthy of praise had been concealed while every deviation from prudence and rectitude was basely and maliciously exaggerated. Narford not having the happy art of concealing his frailties are making himself friends by that bewitching softness of manners which in our more polished days will recommend the most libertine characters and procure them a favourable and cordial reception in polite and even virtuous circles. After trying by every art to bribe or elude the vigilance of Lucy's attendance and making many attempts to soften the displeasure of her parents Narford in a fit of despair and intoxication obtained by force an entrance into the house and falling on his knees in the most humiliating manner and most intelligible language he could command begged they would permit him to see and converse one hour with his beloved Lucy who he had heard was ill to her bed. Though Mr. Blandiville fortunately was not at home his request was preemptorily denied. But Mrs. Blandiville somewhat softened by his agony which in spite of her anger she could not help commiserating promised that as soon as her daughter was in a state of convalescence he should be indulged with seeing her in the presence of herself and one of her daughter. At the same time she could not help gently reproaching him for the inconsistency and unpardonable levity of his conduct which not only compelled Mr. Blandiville to adopt these severe measures but had involved her whole family in distress as well as the unfortunate girl he pretended to love and had attempted to draw aside from the paths of duty. With great difficulty he was prevailed upon to leave the house but not before the sound of his voice had caught the ear of the unhappy Lucy. She raised herself in the bed and insisted on being informed what had occurred to bring poor Narford and why she had not seen him. It was now too late she added to run away the danger of that was over. Therefore surely she might be allowed to speak peace to his mind and once more see him whom she had so long and so fondly loved before the hand of death should close her eyes forever and in that sad moment shut out every bright ray of hope from his earthly prospects. Blandiville had passed and told the manner in which her lover forced his way into the house she burst into tears and exclaimed she should never see him more in this world but he will not survive me long she continued I know he cannot live in peace when I am gone therefore we shall soon meet in a better and I hope a happier world. These conflicts brought on a return of fever to sustain. It was succeeded by a delirium. The grief she had long cherished had preyed upon a constitution always delicate with so much violence as to render her strength unequal to the contest. In a few days her life was pronounced in the utmost danger and hope was almost precluded. No sooner was this sentence made known than it was recommended to Mr. Blandiville to send her daughter. At length he yielded somewhat reluctantly to the proposal. Narford came and was admitted into the darkened department of the dying Lucy who laid totally insensible of what passed around her. He heard her call upon his name yet could not prevail upon her either to look at or speak to him. Her eyes glazed and obscured by the shades of death and robbed of their former luster were no longer able to distinguish the object for whom they had shed so many tears. But fixed on vacancy seemed still bent in search of something they wished to behold. Her lips moved and she appeared as if holding a conversation with someone her disordered imagination fancied near her. The unhappy young man was so much shocked that it was with the utmost difficulty he could confine his agonizing feelings from the breaking forth into loud lamentations. Some what recovering from the first stroke of seeing the ruins which grief had made on her with whom he had rested all his hopes in whom were centered all his wishes. He knelt by her bedside and tenderly clasping between his own the burning hand of his almost dying mistress. He softly begged she would once more speak to her distracted Narford. The voice seemed to be understood. She suddenly turned her face towards him and feebly pressing his hand in broken and hurried sentences said something to him. Only the words Dear Narford, we must part and part forever were understood. And after making a feeble effort to draw him closer to her side as if afraid he should leave her she was seized with convulsions which obliged the terrified lover to quit the room. He rushed out of the house to meet little less alarming than that in which he had left the fair cause of his distress. The whole night he wandered before the habitation of the dying Lucy. For that she was dying the horrid scene he had witnessed the countenances of those around her and his own feelings too well informed him. During the long and gloomy night in which he remained exposed to and unsheltered from the wind and storm he frequently stopped to listen at the door. All within was silent and cheerless as the grave, and in every sound that reached his ear from without he imagined he could distinguish groans and sighs. Every object he could see brought to his tortured imagination the distressing, the convulsed figure of the once animated and lovely Lucy whose distorted features and painful struggles were ever before there to remain fixed as long as his existence should endure. For was it possible he could ever forget or wish to lose the remembrance of that persecuted and innocent sufferer who died for the unworthy and unfortunate Narford? At length the day broke. The sun arose with his usual splendor, but appeared to him as dark as arabus. All nature wore one universal gloom, and had all nature been at that moment annihilated as were his hopes, the change had been scarcely perceived. For Lucy, who gave to life its brightest tense and to all things animate or inanimate, grace, beauty and value, was seen no more. No longer the soft tones of her voice vibrated on his ear to lull his soul to peace, or if seen she had lost all recollection of the poor falorn wanderer who now felt tenfold every pang she suffered. Late in the morning Narford saw a female servant slowly open the door. He ran or rather flew to make his trembling inquiries. She was in tears and totally unable to tell him that it was over, that the loveliest of women, the favorite child of nature, was no longer the victim of pain and sorrow and that her freed spirit soared beyond the reach of persecution, the mortal having put on immortality. But her emphatical silence unfolded the sad tale. A freezing chillness ran thrilling to his heart and with a groan of despair he sunk upon his parent earth. In that happy state of insensibility he was conveyed to his lodgings by some people who were passing by where we will for the present leave him to the care of his sympathizing friends. This unfortunate young man, notwithstanding his unguarded conduct and numerous eccentricities, was beloved by many for his generous disposition, cheerfulness, and unceasing good humor. In the house of Mr. and Mrs. Blandoville all was distraction, despair, and self-reproach. The illness and subsequent death of a beloved and amiable child played heavy at their hearts and overwhelmed them like the sudden bursting of a torrent, for though prudence forbade them to unite their daughter to a man whose conduct threatened her with many sorrows, at the moment they wished to put an end to so unpromising an union they had no idea that any fatal consequences would have attended the separation, and they too late regretted not having granted Narford's request for a more early stage of her illness. Mr. Blandoville drooped under his own painful reflections. His wife felt more than she either could or wished to express, and the younger part of the family were for a time inconsolable. The tale spread rapidly abroad, and in all its various shapes excited the compassion of those who heard it. Lucy had been as generally beloved as admired, and Narford, who had once appeared deserving of contempt, was now the object of pity, such are the rapid changes which take place in the human mind. Mrs. Blandoville, unknown to the rest of the family, sent several times to make inquiries after the unhappy Narford. The account she received were as various as the melancholy changes which succeeded each other. He was sometimes in a state of actual distraction. Had others in a sad and silent despondency, the most determined and alarming, refusing to take his food or to hold conversation with anyone, at length the day for the internment of Lucy arrived. The procession, sad and slow, was followed by almost every inhabitant of the town and adjoining villages. A solemn dirge was sung as they went along, and a number of young maidens joined in the chorus. Flowers were strewn in and around the grave, as emblematical of the charming flower that like themselves was untimely cut down, and doomed like them to wither and to die. The service began. The coffin was carefully let down into the grave, and just as the earth was thrown upon it and the priest pronounced that awful and humiliating sentence earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, a figure with dishevelled hair and a face pale as that of the victim just deposited in her last sad resting place, rushed past them all, and quick as lightning before anyone could suspect or think of preventing his design, threw himself with the utmost violence into the grave, and clinging with agonizing frenzy to the coffin cried out, I have found her now, and no one shall ever again tear her mine, mine by her own consent. Proceed, added he in a shrill and distracted tone, for the surprise and confusion that this scene occasioned had prevented the service going on. Be quick, and hide me in the friendly earth, I come to sleep with Lucy, this is our bridal bed. Why do you hesitate? Here I shall find rest forever, this is my home, and here shall be my heaven. The priest endeavored to persuade him to quit the grave, and let the ceremony be concluded, telling him time and patience would, he hoped, reconcile him to the will of heaven, and convince him that all things were ordered for the best and the wisest purposes.   Go on, I say, bury me deep in shore, I wish to become a worm that I may crawl to the side of Lucy. She will own her poor distracted Narford, even in that most loathsome and degraded form. It is impossible to describe the scene that followed. Many attempts were made before the poor young man could be dragged from the grave of his lamented mistress. At length he was forcibly taken out, guarded, and carried home by some of the weeping spectators. It was many months before any hopes of his recovery could be cherished. His reason was still more endangered, and from that period to the end of his unfortunate life he was at times, and by his conduct appeared as much a lunatic in his intervals of reason. He very soon squandered all that remained of his fortune, and became a wanderer upon the earth, never having a settled home, and seldom going into a bed. He was frequently absent so long that his friends concluded he was no more. He would then return to those scenes which never failed to bring on a renewal of his unfortunate malady, and would lay whole nights by the side of Lucy's grave, talking to her with the same ardor and enthusiastic affection as if she had been living. At length Mr. Blandeville, whom he would as frequently as he saw him in his fits of insanity, attack with the most pointed and virulent abuse, took compassion on his sufferings and settled a sum of money upon him to be paid quarterly, sufficiently competent to procure him the necessaries and many of the comforts of life, placing him in a family who had been long attached to him, and who continued to take the utmost care of him to the end of his wretched existence, and by every tender attention, softened as much as it was in human power those sorrows which could only terminate in death.