Orphan of the Rhine 23

THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE

PART 23

Chapter 5

 

Can such things be?

And overcome us like a summer's cloud.

Without our special wonder!

Blood will have blood;

Stones have been made to move, and trees to speak:

Augurs and understood relations have.

By magpies, and by choughs and rooks, brought forth

The secret man of blood.

--SHAKESPEARE

Anselmo's mind not being harassed with such a variety of strange surmises as his master's, he sunk into a quiet slumber, from which he did not awake till it was light; when, having forgotten the reality of his situation in the visions of his fancy, he could not forbear uttering an exclamation of astonishment; but soon recollecting the past, he turned round to inquire of Enrico in what manner Maschero was to be disposed of, who would probably soon become sensible to his confinement, when he beheld with amazement that his master had quitted his side. Starting instantly from the bed, he hastened into the gallery, where he soon discovered him taking a general survey of the building; endeavouring by these means to beguile the tedious moments that must elapse before Laurette would again admit him into the interior of her prison.

As they passed along one of the apartments, whose barred casements looked into the court, they perceived a board to shake under their feet, which, on examination, was found to be loose and unfixed.

'This is surely a trap-door,' cried Anselmo, with evident astonishment, 'which leads into some strange, and still more dreary, place. Let us explore it, Signor; who knows but we may find some hidden treasure.'

Enrico made no reply; but desirous of being convinced whether it was really a door, and if so, to what part of the ruin it led, attempted to unclose it. He was not long unsuccessful, and on heaving up the board, discovered that it opened upon a flight of steps, which being steep, broken, and decayed, perfectly corresponded with the rest. These they immediately descended, and soon found themselves in a dismal old chamber, which contained, amongst a considerable quantity of lumber, a large oak chest.

This, on opening, they perceived to be empty; but the lid was no sooner closed, than it occurred to Enrico, that, from its external appearance, it probably contained a false bottom. Having communicated his thoughts to Anselmo, the chest was again examined, and the suspicion ascertained not to have been groundless. The artfully-contrived board was speedily removed, and our travellers beheld, to their mutual astonishment, the plumed helmet of a warrior, a military habit, with several other articles of dress, stained with blood; an unsheathed sword rusted by time, and a cross of the order of St Julias. Enrico started with an emotion of horror as he surveyed them, whilst Anselmo observed, with a shuddering sensation, accompanied by an expressive shake of the head, that there had been some foul play there.

'Gracious Heaven!' exclaimed Enrico, recovering from the stupor of amazement into which he had been plunged, 'What do these garments mean, and with whose blood are they stained?'

Anselmo, who had been examining them severally as his master spoke, took up a piece of linen, which seemed to be connected with the rest of the apparel; this was literally dyed in gore, and as he extended his arm to display it to Enrico, it dropped into pieces with age.

'The unfortunate being who owned these things' cried Anselmo, piteously, 'has long since been at rest. Can you conjecture, Signor, whose they could have been?'

'Your question is a strange one,' returned Enrico, 'since I cannot possibly ascertain to whom the ruin belongs, much less can I form any idea of its present possessor; and even could that be discovered, I should still be as far from the point as to the murder committed in it.'

'But one may form some kind of a notion about it, Signor?'

'Indeed! then you have more penetration than I have, who am unable to form any judgment upon the subject.'

'I do not mean to insinuate that I have more penetration than you, Signor. Do not mistake me; but it is reduced to a certainty that blood has been spilled-ah! and in this very place; the garments are here to attest the truth of the assertion.'

'There is sufficient testimony of that,' returned Enrico; 'but I thought you was endeavouring to discover the authors of this assassination, and was applying to me for assistance.'

'That was not the case, Signor; you never will understand me without I speak directly to the purpose. The whole of the affair then is this: If you think as I do, you will from these evidences believe, that this old building belongs to some great man, who keeps it as a kind of slaughter-house, that when any one offends him, or stands in the way of his advancement, he may send him to an eternal sleep without making any one the wiser.'

Enrico appeared thoughtful, but made no reply; and Anselmo, having replaced the bloody garments in the chest, disposing them in the same manner as before, followed him up the steps. Scarcely had they reached the trap-door leading into the chamber, before a loud knocking at the outer gate filled them with new astonishment.

'Mercy upon us!' cried Anselmo, 'the ghost is surely coming to revenge himself upon us for disturbing his old clothes; for what human being would think of coming to such a place as this? If it is man, I can soon do for him; for I have a weapon here,' resumed he, taking the rusty dagger from his girdle, 'that will do his business quickly--ah! and one too that, by the appearance of the blade, seems to have been well employed; but, if it should be a spirit, Oh Sancta Maria! Signor! what can we do with that?'

Enrico, without waiting till Anselmo had concluded his harangue, walked towards the window which opened into the court, and beheld, to his unspeakable surprise, four armed men taking a survey of the edifice. At first he imagined them to have been banditti, who infested the woods in the night, and were accustomed to inhabit a part of the building during the day; but the appearance of him who seemed to direct the motions of the rest, indicated nothing of the kind.

The alarm was now repeated, which being aided by the yells of Maschero, who had just discovered his confinement, had altogether a dreadful effect. Afraid that Laurette, from being ignorant of the cause, might be disturbed and affrighted, Enrico ran hastily to her room. She was just awake, and seemed better. The knocking still continuing, she inquired the cause; and on his assuring her that nothing was the matter, and that he would speedily return to her, she consented to be left.

Not knowing whether the intentions of the strangers were hostile or otherwise, Anselmo took the dagger from beneath his cloak, whilst Enrico, clapping his hand upon the hilt of his sword, in an attitude of defence, proceeded towards the door.

The person, who appeared to be the leader, advanced first with a stately and dignified air. He seemed to have passed the autumn of life, for locks of grey shaded his forehead, and his face was marked with the lines of age. Struck with the benignity of his aspect, Enrico raised his hand involuntarily from his sword, and courteously bowing, offered him admittance. The stranger, after surveying him a moment in silence, turned to the men, and said, 'There must be some mistake; this is not the person we were taught to expect.'

'May I be allowed to understand the motive of this visit?' cried Enrico, addressing himself to him who was evidently the superior, 'possibly I may be enabled to solve this difficulty.'

The stranger gave an assenting nod; and then desiring the men, who had accompanied him, to await his orders in the wood, followed his conductor into the hall; not without frequently turning an inquiring eye towards the place from whence the cries of Maschero proceeded.

'I will unravel this mysterious affair immediately,' resumed Enrico, finding his new acquaintance was much interested in these expressions of distress, 'when we have reached a place convenient for the purpose.' His guest again bowed, and continued to follow him.

The only seats they were able to find, were two large stones which had fallen from the ceiling at the farther end of the hall, but by these they were tolerably well accommodated; and the stranger having again fixed his eyes upon the intelligent countenance of our hero with new astonishment, requested to be made acquainted with his name; and since it was impossible that neglected solitude could be his residence, by what strange combination of circumstances he had been directed thither.

Enrico did not keep him in suspense. He related his name, at least the only one he had ever known, that of Chamont, and informed him briefly of the most interesting events of his past life, as far as was connected with the subject upon which they had touched; including the mysterious manner in which his mother had disappeared, Laurette's residence with the Marchese, her precipitate retreat from the castle, though in what manner had not been investigated, and how strangely, how miraculously she had been discovered in the prison of the ruin; which little narrative he concluded, by declaring the means that had been employed to intoxicate the assassin, who, he had every reason to believe, meditated her death, though he had at present taken no desperate method to accomplish it.

The stranger could scarcely wait for the conclusion; but throwing his arms round the neck of Enrico, he exclaimed, in an agony of joy, 'Are you then the son of Madame Chamont, the noblest, the most amiable of women? And shall I, by presenting you to her after this long, this hopeless absence, be enabled to discharge some part of that vast debt of gratitude which I owe her. Behold in me the Conte della Croisse, the once wretched La Roque, who, but for her interference, must have perished in a dungeon.'

Enrico's amazement increased; he had never heard the name of Della Croisse uttered by any one except Father Benedicta; and the little he had been able to gain from what that Monk had inadvertently dropped, was so wrapped in obscurity, that no opinion could be formed upon the subject. But as the Conte's exclamation indicated that he was not only formerly known to his mother, but was actually acquainted with her present place of residence, his raptures could not be repressed; and falling at the feet of his venerable guest, he besought him with tears to inform him immediately where his revered parent was removed, and whether he could not instantly be with her. Della Croisse's heart melted within him when he beheld these effusions of affection; and so much was the sensibility of his nature excited, that it was some time before he could command his feelings sufficiently to comply with the request. But finding his auditor could no longer endure a state of suspense and anxiety, he informed him that Madame Chamont was in a place of security not many leagues distant from the wood; and that he might soon have an opportunity of being introduced to her, and of bestowing upon this excellent parent that unexpected and exalted happiness which his presence would inevitably confer.

'Having been recently apprized,' continued the Conte, 'of the alarming situation of the lovely young captive, with whose fate I find you are already acquainted, I brought a carriage to convey her from this place to the convent in which Madame Chamont has found a secure asylum.'

'My mother is then safe in a convent,' repeated Enrico, rapturously.

'She is,' returned the Conte; 'and not having remained resident there long enough to have commenced Nun, according to the established rules of the Institution, will have no objection to remove from it.

'I have many circumstances to unfold,' continued Della Croisse, 'in which you are materially interested, and must therefore request you will allow me a patient hearing.'

Enrico bowed assent; but fearing lest Laurette should be uneasy at his absence, excused himself for a moment before the Conte began his recital, and hastened to her apartment. She had been expecting him for some time with a degree of painful anxiety; but his presence soon relieved her from uneasy apprehension, and after having taken, at his desire, a small portion more of the wine and cake, which had been left on the preceding night, he again quitted the room, with an assurance that he would return to her as soon as suitable arrangements were made relative to their intended departure.

The cries of Maschero still continuing to resound through the edifice, producing a melancholy and dreadful effect, Enrico found it necessary to silence him, by asserting that, since his criminal intentions were discovered, his only hopes of obtaining that mercy he had so little reason to expect, rested upon the compassion of his judges, and the purity of his future conduct.

This had the desired effect, and Enrico, being anxious to hear the important incidents which were shortly to be unfolded by the Conte della Croisse, again seated himself upon the stone by his side, and besought him to proceed.

'As it is necessary,' replied the venerable guest, 'that we should remove from this place as speedily as possible, I shall relate all briefly. You are, doubtless, informed that your birth is supposed by all, even by your mother, who is, notwithstanding, Virtue herself, to have been illegitimate.' Enrico shuddered, and looked surprised.

'You are, I say,' added the Conte, 'universally considered as the illegal offspring of the Marchese de Montferrat.'

'Impossible!' returned Enrico impetuously. 'Who dares to asperse the character of my mother?'

'None, none,' replied the Conte, 'can cast a shade upon her spotless reputation: I would myself defend her with my life from the shafts of calumny and malice; grant me but patience, and you shall hear the whole. The Marchese de Montferrat is your father; you are his lawful child, and consequently the next heir to his title and possessions.

'Great Heaven, is it possible!' cried Enrico, lifting up hands and eyes in astonishment; 'and is this mystery but just unravelled?'

'The death of a wretch,' returned the Conte, 'who has been long initiated in all the arts of cunning, and who has long secretly sought my destruction, could only have unravelled it. The monster to whom I allude, is the Marchese's steward; you are assuredly acquainted with his character?'

'Is Paoli then dead?' interrupted Enrico.

'The same,' replied Della Croisse. 'That death, he so long meditated against me, he received at my hands: I met with him by accident, or rather by the direction of an interposing Providence; for to attribute such events to blind chance is impious. He attacked me; I was fortunately armed, and being aware of his infamous design, before he could disengage the stiletto from his cloak, plunged mine into his heart. He groaned, and fell; but his breathing convinced me he was still alive. Little as he merited compassion, I found my breast was not steeled against its influence; and ordering my servants, who were not far behind, to convey the assassin to an inn, I followed him, and sent for assistance. The wound was pronounced mortal; but the effect was not instantaneous, as it allowed time for the confession of his crimes. He informed me that Madame Chamont was placed in a convent, whither she was to have remained for life; in which seclusion more than ordinary restrictions were exercised over her. That, by the express orders of the Marchese, she was not permitted to write from the cloister; and the more effectually to prevent the circulation of letters between her and her son, she was taught to believe that he had been killed in an engagement, and that Laurette, her adopted daughter, was already united to a young Nobleman, selected for her by her guardian.

'He then informed me,' resumed the Conte, 'that this fair young creaturewas the daughter of the Conte Della Caro, whose father was murdered in a wood by a wretch hired for the purpose by order of the Marchese de Montferrat, who, if he died childless, was the next heir to his estates; but as the Contessa brought forth an infant soon afterwards, it was necessary that this also should be removed. Some qualms of conscience seizing upon the Marchese at this time, prevented him from sacrificing the child; but as to secrete it was indispensably requisite, he found means of doing this so efficaciously, that no one suspected his design, every body supposing that the infant expired with its mother, who lived only to give it birth. Some peculiar circumstances had, he added, induced the Marchese to believe the mysteries respecting her origin had been unfolded to Laurette; but who the person was who had obtained and conveyed this intelligence could not be ascertained, as no one, he had imagined, had gained any certain information upon the subject. This, together with her beauty and inimitable accomplishments, instigated him to offer her his hand, as a means of securing the secret to themselves; but, contrary to his expectation, this was resolutely refused, and finding from another conversation with her, and the discovery of a picture, bearing the resemblance of her mother, the Contessa della Caro, that she had been previously made acquainted with the secret of her birth, he had at last determined upon her death.

'He then declared to me,' continued the Conte, 'whither she was conveyed; at the same time giving me so minute a description of the assassin employed, as to render a mistake impossible. Not expecting, therefore, to meet any other being than the forlorn and guilty wretch I was in search of, you may easily conceive my astonishment when I beheld you, apparently an inhabitant of the ruin, at the time of my arrival.'--Here the Conte remained silent, and Enrico, after acknowledging his gratitude for the active part he had taken, and expressing his surprise at the interesting events that had been recounted, demanded in what convent Madame Chamont was now resident, and how the legality of her marriage with the Marchese de Montferrat was to be proved, since the person, by whom the confession had been made, was removed by death.

'The convent in which your mother is placed is not far from this place,' returned the Conte; 'she is in a society of reformed Benedictine Nuns, of the congregation of Mount Calvary, and has probably before this time entered into her noviciate state. As to the priest who officiated at the marriage, being already acquainted with his name and place of abode, there will be no difficulty in securing him as an evidence, who will bring undeniable proofs of the truth of the assertion.

'As to the murder committed on the body of the Conte della Caro,' resumed the Conte, 'it must, if possible, be consigned to oblivion, the offender being not only the husband of Madame Chamont, but your father; and as the fair orphan may easily assert the justice of her claim, without making so dreadful a disclosure, through the evidence of the woman who acted in the capacity of nurse, the wife of Paoli, whose testimony will be sufficient to vindicate the proceeding, and who will be ready to appear in case of necessity.'

Enrico shuddered at the idea of the Marchese de Montferrat, who, he was now convinced was his father, being brought to justice, and inquired eagerly if it could not be prevented.

'Easily,' replied Della Croisse, 'if the offender will criminate himself in a private confession, and restore Laurette to her rights, by bestowing her upon you, and by investing you in his possessions, at least the principal part of his property, on your nuptials, and in the rest on his decease. But from what I was enabled to gather from the last words of Pauli,' continued the Conte, 'the Marchese does not consider your mother as his lawful wife; the steward having expressly received orders from him to procure a person under the assumed habit of an ecclesiastic to solemnize the marriage, instead of which, from some secret motive, he applied to a secular priest, probably from this consideration, that should the Marchese be induced to deny him pecuniary assistance, he might, by disclosing the affair to him after his union with the lady whom he afterwards married, procure large sums by keeping the important secret. But this never happening in the course of his stewardship, the Marchese, he confessed, was yet ignorant of the truth; but the priest being yet alive, to whom I might instantly apply, the fact would easily be proved. The unfortunate wretch also acknowledged,' resumed the Conte, 'that he had artfully instigated the Marchese to the murder of Laurette for some time before the measure was adopted, fearing lest he should succeed in gaining her affections, and by another connexion involve him in new difficulties, as he had, he declared, suffered continual fear and apprehension during the lifetime of the reputed Marchesa, lest the former marriage, through the confession of the priest who united them, should be publicly attested. The person, he likewise informed me, who was employed to assassinate Laurette, was his brother, a native of Italy, who had consented to execute the bloody business, according to his engagement, in consideration of a splendid reward. That it was their intention to have murdered her, as she slept, on the night of their arrival at the wood, but that grief and terror had prevented her from yielding to repose; and being each unwilling to undertake the task allotted to them, during his continuance with Maschero, they had mutually agreed to leave her to perish by famine, having previously determined in what manner the body was to be disposed of, which was to be entombed in an obscure part of the forest. The wretch, who was necessary to the crime, whom he had acknowledged for his brother, he commended to my mercy; and having particularly directed me to this place, soon afterwards expired in inexpressible agony and horror.'

Enrico, who had listened with increasing amazement, now arose from his seat, and stood for some time transfixed in astonishment. The scenes of complicated guilt and depravity, which had been thus wonderfully unfolded, quite overpowered him; and when he connected the tender name of father with these enormities, the blood crept cold through his veins, and a chilling sensation disordered his whole frame. But as soon as his thoughts glanced upon Laurette and his mother, dwelling upon the rapture the latter would experience on seeing him, tears of affection and tenderness fell fast from his eyes; and requesting that the Conte would liberate Maschero, and deal with him as he thought proper, being in haste to depart, he flew again to Laurette, who had been long impatiently awaiting his return.

Lost in doubt and perplexity, her spirits were now nearly exhausted; and unable to form any conjecture concerning the person below, from what she had heard, besought him to acquaint her who he was, and what was his business. Unwilling that she should suffer even a transient suspense, Enrico, after some little preparation, informed her all that he deemed necessary for her to know, concealing every thing for the present which could excite uneasiness, and even disclosing the joyful part of the intelligence with the utmost circumspection. But when she was convinced that her dear-lamented friend was in safety, and that there was a probability of her soon being with her, joy could no longer be restrained, and tears of tenderness and affection flowed fast upon her cheek.

Fearing the effect of these indulged transports upon so delicate a frame, Enrico endeavoured to calm them by an assurance, that nothing should prevail upon him to remove her immediately, but a promise on her part to become more tranquil.

Whilst Enrico remained in the prison with Laurette, Maschero was released from his confinement by the Conte della Croisse, on his solemnly declaring that he would never again participate in a crime of such magnitude. The punishment for capital offences by the German laws, being so much worse than death itself, was held in utter abhorrence by his lenient accuser, the wretch who has committed them being doomed to wear that external brand of infamy which precludes, through a miserable existence, the possibility of a return to virtue; that probably, had he been instigated by no primary consideration, he might have been tempted to have declined a prosecution without reflecting that by this clemency he would be espousing the cause of vice, and violating the laws of justice.

Enrico had hitherto mentioned nothing to the Conte of the strange discovery made in the old chamber previous to his arrival; and having now every reason to believe that the Marchese, his father, was materially concerned in the murder, evidently committed either in or near that place, determined to avoid it. The bloody clothes found in the chest were once, he imagined, the property of the Conte della Caro, who was said to have been massacred in a wood, and whose body was either buried or concealed in some part of the ruin. But Anselmo, not being aware of his master's intention, and being anxious to disclose to the stranger all the wonders of the place, conducted Della Croisse, in his absence, through the trap-door leading to the apartment, and displayed to him the object of their mutual surprise.

The Conte examined the sword, helmet, and garments severally, without being able to ascertain the unfortunate possessor; but he no sooner discovered the cross of the military order of knighthood, than he was convinced that they originally belonged to the Conte della Caro, who, he recollected, from Paoli's confession, was declared to have been assassinated in a wood or forest. Deeming it imprudent, however, to give Anselmo admission into the secret, he ascended the steps, observing that the person, to whom those bloody garments had belonged, was probably murdered by banditti, who, after having interred the body in some adjacent place, had secured the clothes of the deceased to prevent detection.

Anselmo appeared not perfectly satisfied with the conclusion, but made no reply; and Della Croisse having returned again into the hall, desired he would inform his master that the carriage had been waiting for a considerable time at the skirts of the wood; and since all preliminaries were adjusted, he was in readiness to depart.

Enrico, attended by the beautiful Laurette, soon entered the room; and as she leaned gently upon his arm for support, there was something so lovely, so interesting, in her appearance, that as Della Croisse continued to gaze upon her with a mixture of pity and admiration, his eyes were suddenly filled with tears; and scarcely could he subdue his feelings sufficiently to answer the meek effusions of her gratitude, which she bestowed upon him.

The party now quitted the ruin, and the armed men, who had attended the Conte for the purpose of securing the assassin, were discharged without executing their design. Enrico remembering the ducats he had mentioned to Maschero as the price of their admission, on a promise, solemnly delivered before them all, that he would quit his present residence immediately, and endeavour to become an useful member of society, did not withhold them. Laurette being supported, or rather carried through the wood, was placed in the carriage with the Conte and Enrico; the horses were consigned to the care of Anselmo, and the whole party, thus relieved from fear and anxiety, commenced their journey.

They travelled leisurely through the day, frequently stopping for refreshment, as Laurette's weak state required the most strict care and attention. In the evening they arrived at a small inn on the road, not more than two leagues from the convent, where they were enabled to procure a suitable person to attend upon Laurette, and comfortable accommodations for the night.--During their continuance in this place, Della Croisse acquainted Enrico with the melancholy incidents of his past life. He also related the manner of his having met with Madame Chamont at an inn, as she was travelling from the hills of Mount Jura into Germany; expatiated with gratitude upon her amiable conduct towards him and his daughter; the still greater obligations she had conferred on him afterwards by saving him from a miserable death; which little recital he concluded with a relation of that part of her story which was immediately connected with his own.

Enrico listened to all with a painful concern, and thought every moment an age till he could throw himself at the feet of that beloved parent, from whom he had been so long, so strangely separated.

Chapter 6

 

Bring the rath primrose that forsaken dies.

The tufted crow-toe and pale jessamine.

The white pink, and the pancy freaked with jet.

The glowing violet.

The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine.

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head.

And every flower that sad embroidery wears.

--MILTON

Rest and nourishment had so happy an effect upon Laurette, that she was enabled to prosecute her journey on the ensuing morning without much apparent fatigue. The vehicle which had conveyed them thither, was stationed at an early hour near the door of the inn, and our travellers felt their hearts bound with new sensations of pleasure when they entered it.

As soon as they were seated, Enrico besought Laurette to acquaint them with all that had happened to her previous to her quitting the castle; and also by what chance the letter which he had written to her, remained unanswered.

The epistle he alluded to, she assured him, was never received; and as letters very rarely miscarried, they were both internally convinced that it had been intercepted. She then proceeded to inform him of the strange events which had taken place during his absence; what she had suffered from the unremitting assiduities of the Marchese, his cruelty, his threats, when she repeated her resolution of rejecting him; the conference overheard in the pavilion, and the unaccountable manner in which she had been forced from the chamber.

Enrico listened with the most earnest attention as she continued her little affecting narrative, which was frequently interrupted by her auditors with exclamations of surprise and horror, particularly in that part of it which treated of the conversation supported between the Marchese and Paoli in the room of state.

When the steward had conveyed her, she added, about a league from the mansion, he endeavoured to dissipate her fears by an assurance of protection, solemnly declaring that the Marchese had no intention of sacrificing her life; but had determined to place her in a convent till he could think of some other method of disposing of her more congenial to his inclinations.--This, she acknowledged, had the desired effect, as she now imagined that a new plan had been adopted, less terrible than her former surmises had suggested, and the circumstance of being confined for life in a cloister, since she now believed herself separated for ever from her earliest and tenderest connexions, produced reflections unattended with regret: but her late sufferings occasioned such languor and indisposition, that they were obliged to alight at a small inn upon the road. A fever was the consequence of these repeated alarms, which confined her for some days to the place, during which time she was attended only by a woman of a very unpromising aspect; a surgeon, resident in an adjacent village, and Paoli, who expressing the utmost impatience for her recovery, seldom quitted the room.

'Ah Laurette!' interrupted Enrico, 'how providential was this illness! But for such an event, the benevolent exertions of the Conte della Croisse, as well as my own efforts, to inform myself of your situation, might have been fruitless.' The fair narrator directed a look of gratitude towards Heaven, and then continued her recital.

'As soon as I was able,' resumed Laurette, 'to leave this inn, which presented very indifferent accommodations, we pursued our journey; and firmly assured, from what Paoli had advanced, that I was going to be secluded in some religious retirement, I made no farther attempt to interest his compassion, or obstruct the prosecution of his purpose.

'On the evening of the second day after our departure from the inn, he informed me, that I should be at the end of my journey that night. Again my fears began to take alarm; I looked wistfully around, but no convent appeared. Night hung her glooms upon the landscape, but still no hospitable asylum was to be seen. I now began to imagine I had been deceived; apprehension succeeded to hope, and a thrilling sensation of horror almost deprived me of reason. We then entered the precincts of the wood, whose wildness and extent appeared dreadful. The sterile sublimity of the rocks, which I had hitherto contemplated with awful admiration, receded from my view. The deafening sound of the cataract softened in a sad murmur; the wind moaned among the trees, and the hollow sighs, that it sometimes uttered, seemed to lament my approaching fate. As we entered the wood, the moon threw a pale, uncertain light upon the eminences; but no sooner had we arrived near the centre, than her beams were entirely excluded; briars and entangled thickets frequently intercepted the path, rendering it not more dreary than dangerous, and voices, heard at intervals in the silence of night, filled me with new terrors. At length a light was seen streaming through the trees, proceeding from a distant window. I inquired to whom it belonged, and was informed it was a house not far from the convent, which would accommodate us with lodgings for the night. Thither, incapable of making resistance, I suffered myself to be conveyed. Maschero gave us admittance; and having conducted us to the liabitable part of the ruin, brought some food. I attempted to eat, but could not; and pleading lassitude and indisposition, requested to be directed to my room. Maschero led me to an apartment, and after eyeing me with a malignant kind of curiosity, withdrew, leaving me, at my desire, the lamp he had carried, which I considered as an invaluable treasure. As soon as he had retired, I began to examine the door, in hopes of discovering some possible means of fastening it; but none appearing, I yielded without restraint to the impulse of my feelings, which were now too violent to be subdued. When I had indulged the first paroxysms of my sorrow, I advanced towards the window, to take a minute survey of my situation, and to ascertain if there was any apparent possibility of escaping from it, should I be deserted by my artful conductor, and left in the power of Maschero, whose unprepossessing appearance had given me justly the idea of an assassin.

'After a night passed in the utmost distress and anxiety, I was again visited by this emaciated figure, whose aspect had excited at once pity and terror. He entered without seeming to recollect that the room contained any other inhabitant, and after setting a pitcher of water and a cake upon the floor, would have instantly withdrawn; but I prevented his design by inquiring whether Paoli was arisen; and being answered in the affirmative, ventured to ask if he had mentioned any thing relative to our intended departure?'

"You are at the end of your journey, I believe," replied Maschero, with a malignant smile; "and since the person who brought you has thought proper to leave you, must make yourself contented where you are."

'What I suffered from this intelligence cannot be easily imagined, or rather what I suffered a short time afterwards; for having fainted, I was not immediately conscious of what had passed. As soon as I recovered, I found myself again alone. The door was fastened, and the pitcher and the barley-cake were placed by the side of the mattress upon which I had fallen. My distress now admitted of no increase, death appeared unavoidable, and I now began to consider in what manner it was likely to be executed. Sometimes I conceived it probable that Paoli had only absented himself for a few days, for the purpose of transacting some business in that part of the province, and meant to return at the expiration of that time, and to fulfil his intention. At other times, I imagined it likely that I was designedly left to perish, either by poison or famine; and that the steward intended to wait at a convenient distance, till after my decease, that he might have the satisfaction of conveying the intelligence to his Lord.

'Two whole days passed in this manner without any material event, in which time no creature approached the melancholy chamber selected for my apartment. Hunger had obliged me to take a small portion of the cake, with which my inhospitable host had supplied me; it was coarse and unpalatable; but being ready to sink for want of food, I was compelled to have recourse to it. The next day this pittance was exhausted, and I soon discovered that it was not the intention of my gaoler to present me with more, who having closed the door upon me when I was in a state of insensibility, meant never more to break in upon my solitude with a repetition of his services.

'As night advanced, I felt my indisposition considerably augmented; a death-like faintness was communicated to my heart, and placing myself again upon the mattress, I endeavoured to resign myself to my lot. At last a loud knocking at the outer door roused me from my seat. I started, and proceeded towards the grate; but the gloom prevented me from distinguishing any object, though I had no remaining doubt but that it was Paoli, who was come to witness the completion of his dreadful purpose.

'Some hours passed in the utmost solicitude, till wearied Nature could no longer resist the attacks of sleep. With what succeeded this period,' resumed Laurette, 'you are already acquainted; but the extent of my gratitude you cannot easily comprehend.'

The look, which accompanied the conclusion of the narrative, was perhaps more expressive of her feelings than any thing she could have uttered: and those bestowed upon her by Enrico displayed more of compassion, affection, and tender concern, than the most forcible language could have conveyed.

The spires of the convent were now discovered above the tops of the trees, and the most pleasurable emotions succeeded. It was a stately Gothic edifice, inclosing an extensive area. The walls, which were at a considerable distance, were strengthened at the angles by small square towers, which were partly in ruins; and these, together with the whole of the out-works, though formed of the most ponderous materials, were crumbling into dust, and were overrun with mosses, lickens, and other weedy incrustations, which gave it rather the appearance of a deserted than an inhabited mansion.

When the party had arrived at a large stone arch, leading into the grounds, they alighted from the carriage; and having crossed the lawn, were met by a Friar at the gate, who came forwards to receive them. Of him the Conte della Croisse made an inquiry concerning the Superior of the convent, and learned from him that the greatest part of the building was inhabited by a society of Monks, who were also Benedictines. This he considered was no unfavourable circumstance, as Enrico and himself might easily gain admission into their order, should their enterprize not be conducted with the facility they desired: whilst Laurette might remain resident in the convent till Madame Chamont had obtained permission to leave it, and could do it without a breach of propriety.

Whilst the Conte continued in conversation with the Friar, the tolling of a bell, proceeding from the chapel, which was situated somewhat remote, fixed the attention of the travellers. Della Croisse inquired the occasion of it, and was told that a Nun was going to be professed.

'You will find some difficulty in gaining an introduction to the Superior,' resumed the Monk, 'till the ceremony is performed. Would it not be better to defer the execution of your intention till afterwards; and in the meantime, by mixing with the multitude, you may be gratified with a view of the solemnities. Some of the sisters are already proceeding towards the chapel, and if you will grant me permission, I will accompany you thither.'

From what the Monk had declared, it appeared probable that the Abbess would not indulge them with an audience till the profession was over; and after thanking him for his courtesy, they agreed to the proposition.

The congregation was not at present assembled, and the Friar having conducted them along the eastern aisle, placed them on a bench of black marble, which was fixed near the altar, and then left them to join a procession of Monks, who were commissioned to attend.

As soon as this religious had retired, the party contemplated, with surprise, the magnificence and beauty of the chapel. It was supported by pillars of Carara marble, of the most exquisite workmanship. The niches of the walls were adorned with images of the saints and martyrs, the performances of the most celebrated artists, and taste and greatness of design were every where evident.

The organ was loftily situated in a gallery built for the purpose: it was composed chiefly of ebony, and ornamented with curtains of crimson velvet, which were curiously wrought with flowers of gold and purple. The altar was decorated with a profusion of wax-tapers, interspersed with vases, containing frankincense, and other costly perfumes. The table was covered with an embroidered cloth, which was worked by the ingenious hands of the vestals in the most chaste and sacred devices. A large crucifix was erected in the centre, which was supported on one side by an image of the Virgin, and on the other by that of Saint Agatha. The altar-piece was the last supper, by Michael Angelo, which was surrounded by a number of large medallion-paintings, by the most admired artists, representing the deaths and sufferings of the martyrs.

When they had paused for some minutes, to take a general survey of these splendid decorations, they observed two of the Friars hastening towards the aisle, to which they had been con-ducted on their arrival. They were habited as Benedictines; but their garments being made of coarser materials, bespoke inferiority of rank.

One of these religious spread a carpet, which he had brought for the purpose, in the centre of the chapel, whilst the other laid a pall at the steps of the altar. Soon after this preparation was over, a multitude of spectators assembled, which curiosity, or some not less active principle of their natures, had directed thither, who, having placed themselves in the most eligible situations, awaited the commencement of the sacred rites.

The funeral-bell, which had been for some time tolling, now ceased, and the loud peals of the organ were heard in its stead. A train of Monks, attended by their Superior, then advanced, who moved slowly along the aisle; and the ceremony of the entrance, which was not more striking than impressive, began. First came the novices, strewing the floor with the most beautiful evergreens, preserved and reared for the purpose; then the Lady of the convent, Iattended by the Nuns, according to their order, with her mitre, and in robes of state; and lastly, the fair devotee, who was come to take the sacred, the indissoluble vow, which was to seal her inevitable doom. She was conducted, or rather supported, by two of the sisterhood, who, with a slow and solemn pace, led her towards the centre of the chapel, each bearing a lighted taper in her hand. The music now ceased. A buz of indistinct voices was heard for the moment, which gradually grew fainter, and then died into silence. Our travellers, having eyed the procession with a kind of painful curiosity, now left the place on which they had been seated, and mingled with the throng. In vain did Enrico endeavour to recognize the features of his mother; for the veils of the novices were so artfully folded, that their faces were entirely concealed.

As soon as the procession had reached the steps of the altar, the Superior of the monastery addressed the devotee in an exhortation replete with unaffected grace and eloquence, to which she gave the most fixed and earnest attention. The easy dignity of his manners, the deep pathos of his voice, and above all, the sublimity of his doctrines, so affected his audience, that the whole congregation listened to him with devout astonishment.

As soon as this was delivered, the sister, who was to take the veil, advanced between two others of the Nuns, to make her profession. Her voice was at first tremulous; but as she proceeded, it naturally regained its powers; and having answered some questions which were proposed by the priest, respecting the time of her initiation, she knelt before him, and made her profession, which was delivered with the most admirable articulation, and classical elegance.

The prayers appointed for the occasion were then read, in which the Abbess and the rest of the Nuns, as well as the Monks who attended, joined with much fervency, and apparent devotion. As soon as these were concluded, the officiating priest came forward, and having laid the proper dress of the order upon a small marble table erected on one side of the altar, began to assort them; whilst the Lady Abbess took the noviciate veil from the fair devotee, and prepared to enrobe her in black.--When this covering was removed, the eyes of the spectators were withdrawn from the priest, and fixed with a gaze of curiosity on the sister. It discovered a very lovely face, full of the most interesting expression. It was pale, but it was beautiful, and received lustre and character from a pair of dark blue eyes, whose fringed lids shaded a complexion of the most dazzling whiteness; whilst the extreme delicacy of her form was rendered infinitely more attractive from being finely contrasted with the long sable robe descending far beneath the feet, the garb, in which the reformed Benedictine Nuns of the congregation of Mount Calvary are clad.

As soon as the eternal veil was substituted in the room of the noviciate one, and the broad belt and the rosary were adjusted, the priest dipped the consecrated brush in the holy water, and, after having repeatedly crossed himself, sprinkled the devotee, who being then reconducted to that part of the chapel where the rest of the sisterhood were assembled, remained for some time at her devotions. Whilst this ceremony continued, the most solemn breathing strains issued from the organ, which seemed to wrap the souls of all present in a divine enthusiasm. These were succeeded by the choral voices of the Monks, whose deep tones were softened and harmonized by the sweet sound of female strains occasionally joining in and improving the melody.--These rites being over, the professed arose from the place in which she had been kneeling, to undergo that part of the solemnity which appeared to the spectators more awfully impressive than the rest. She was attended as before by two of the sisters, who having led her into the centre, receded a few paces back, whilst she threw herself, with a degree of collected earnestness, upon the carpet. Thus humbled to the dust, she imprinted a kiss upon the earth, to express her humility and lowliness of heart, as well as to signify that she had now totally relinquished the pomps and vanities of the world, to whose follies she was henceforth dead. The body of the fair votarist was now covered with a pall, as if the spark of life, which had animated it, was extinguished for ever; whilst the burial service was chaunted to the notes of the organ, assisted by the vocal powers of the Nuns, Priests, and Friars, whose wrapt souls seemed to be as much elevated above the world, and its trifling concerns, as if they had already shaken off the gross mould that inclosed them.

As soon as these lofty strains had ceased, the vestal was reconducted to her place; and after some time spent in prayer, in which she was devoutly joined by the Priests, Sisters, and whole fraternity of Monks, the consecrated wafer was administered, and the awful solemnities of the church in the rites of the Sacrament began. The devotee having received it with an aspect of collected meekness almost angelic, arose, and having kissed the robes of the officiating Priest, she bowed herself, with inimitable grace, before the crucifix, breathing at the same time a repetition of her vow. She then embraced the rest of the sisterhood, and was conducted by them to the Lady Abbess, who saluted her with a maternal smile, and afterwards to the novices, who received her with the most cordial affection; while a number of rose-lipped girls, fair and beautiful as angels, who were resident for a convent education, strewed flowers over them as they passed along to the last ceremony, that of the coronation, emblematic of that crown of glory, which is promised as a reward to those who, after suffering continual trials and mortifications, are admitted into the regions of felicity.

When this was over, the bleeding cross of Mount Calvary was hung in her bosom, whilst the chaunted hymn, which seemed to utter forth celestial sounds, rose into deep and choral harmony. All present, being wrapped in undivided attention, appeared to have forgotten that they were among the inhabitants of that world, above which they felt so strangely elevated. As the strains died into cadence, which seemed to have proceeded from no mortal touch, the procession of Nuns and Friars, attended by their Superiors, retired in the same order in which they had entered; and our travellers, who during these ceremonies had secluded themselves as much as possible among the crowd of spectators, emerged from obscurity. As the novices, who followed in the rear, moved slowly from the chapel, Enrico observed them with peculiar attention, endeavouring to discover Madame Chamont, but without success. Many were tall and graceful like her; but there appeared so great a similarity, from being dressed exactly the same, that one was scarcely to be distinguished from another.

Delay now became painful, and the whole party being anxious to obtain some information relative to the best manner of proceeding, walked rapidly from the chapel; and having reached the great gate leading to the principal court belonging to the brotherhood, soon beheld, to their satisfaction, the Friar who had given them admittance on their arrival, standing with two of the Fathers of the Benedictine order in the portico of the monastery.

The Conte instantly advanced to them, and after politely interrogating them concerning their rules and institutions, repeated his foriner inquiry respecting the Abbess. The Monk received him as before with the most easy courtesy of manner; but on his requesting to know if there would be any impropriety in desiring an immediate audience with the Superior, was advised to defer it till she had given her charge to the sisterhood--a ceremony never dispensed with.

'If you have any thing important to learn from, or to disclose to the Abbess,' resumed the Monk, 'your arrival this day may be termed unfortunate; as when the solemnities of our church are over, the day is uniformly dedicated to innocent festivity, in which the Superior herself condescends to join. A feast is always prepared on this occasion in the refectoire of the convent, at which she also presides, and a number of Friars, particularly those of the Benedictine fraternity, and pilgrims are admitted. No business of any kind is allowed to be transacted this day, which is rendered not only sacred, but glorious, from its having entitled a beautiful spirit to that eternal reward, which will be conferred upon those, who, from motives of piety, resign the follies and vanities of the world.'

'But if I only interpose in the cause of oppressed innocence,' returned the Conte, 'and endeavour to steal some hours of sorrow from the heart which has too long felt its influence; if my business is to bestow comfort upon those, from whom it has been long withheld, surely this cannot be called an intrusion upon the rites of their festivity.'

'These arguments will have but little weight on the present occasion, I fear,' replied the Monk, thoughtfully; 'and, perhaps, if your request is forwarded with so little discretion, it may meet with a refusal, or, if otherwise, not with that degree of attention which it may merit. If you will take my advice, you will remain here to-night. In this monastery the stranger and the pilgrim are always received with hospitality; and, although the mode of life we have embraced excludes us from what are generally esteemed the comforts of life, we have at least the power of bestowing them upon others. And as to the Lady,' continued the Friar, turning a look of inquiry towards Laurette, 'I will introduce her to the convent, where she will be allowed to remain till the morrow.'

Laurette courtesied meekly, and having thanked the Father for his attention with that elegance of expression peculiar to herself, awaited the result of the conference. Upon mature deliberation, the plan, which was marked out for them by the Friar, was adhered to; and the carriage being stationed at the outer gate, it was mutually agreed, that the party should remove to some inn, or cottage, capable of affording them accommodations till the evening, when they proposed to accept the kind invitation of the Monk, who promised to introduce them on their return to his Abbot, a man of exemplary goodness and piety. Doomed a little longer to suffer the pangs of procrastinated happiness, our travellers again entered the carriage, and soon arrived at a small, but cleanly, hotel, in which comfortable situation they obtained the rest and refreshment they required.

Laurette being much fatigued, at the joint request of Enrico and the Conte della Croisse, consented to retire, and to endeavour, at least, to obtain some repose; but the exquisite sensibility of her nature prevented the approach of sleep; the idea of Madame Chamont, and the scene she had just witnessed, which called forth all the soft, as well as all the sublime emotions of her soul, pressed too much upon her thoughts; and though she wished to steal into a transient forgetfulness, that by salutary rest she might be better enabled to meet, with becoming fortitude and composure, the tender scene that awaited her, she found it could not be effected; and when informed that the carriage was in readiness to convey them to the convent, she arose without having once yielded to repose, and prepared to obey the summons.

Having satisfied the master of the hotel, they drove from the door, and arrived at the gate of the monastery just as vespers were concluded.

The benevolent Friar, who had been some time in waiting to receive his guests, advanced forwards to meet them, and having conducted them into a lofty apartment adjoining the refectoire, introduced them to the Abbot. By him they were welcomed with that superior kind of courtesy, which is not always attached to the manners of the recluse; offering them at the same time an asylum in his monastery till the business which had directed them thither was accomplished; and also to conduct Laurette to that part of the convent inhabited by the Nuns, where, he assured her, she would meet with all due respect and attention, which, he observed, alluding to her languid appearance, seemed to be necessary. Laurette, who considered that if she prolonged her stay at the monastery after what the holy Father had said, she might be looked upon by the fraternity as an intruder, after many acknowledgments of gratitude, consented to accompany him. As they crossed the spacious area, which directed her so near to her long-lost friend, all composure forsook her; and she looked round with solicitude, in hopes of being able to distinguish her among a party of novices, who, with their veils partly drawn aside, were walking, as if in earnest conversation, along the winding paths of the shrubberies.

As soon as she had gained admittance into the interior of the cloister, a message was sent from the Abbot to the Superior, requesting that she would take a female stranger under her protection till the ensuing morning. An answer was immediately returned expressive of the most hearty welcome, which was delivered by one of the pensioners, who, attended by a Nun, came to conduct her into the parlour of the convent.

Music, heard from a distant part of the edifice, convinced Laurette that the festivities were not over; and being unwilling to detain those who were constrained by situation to endure a life of austerity and mortification from the means of occasional enjoyment, she besought them to leave her alone; assuring the Nun, who was the most assiduously attentive to her, that she should be enabled to procure a sufficient degree of amusement from the novelty of the objects.

As it had been previously determined, that the Conte della Croisse, after having gained an audience with the Abbess, should unfold his welcome intelligence to Madame Chamont with all imaginable care and circumspection, Laurette resolved to conceal herself as much as possible from the rest of the Nuns; and having failed in her design of dismissing the sister, whose office it was more particularly to attend upon strangers, she pleaded weariness and indisposition, and requested to be conveyed to her apartment.

To be continued

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