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HILDEBRAND.
NEW WORK, BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
_Preparing for Publication, in 3 vols. 8vo._,
THE OLD TEMPLE: AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “HILDEBRAND,” _&c. &c._
“Within the Temple hall we were too loud, The garden here is more convenient.” SHAKSPEARE.
LONDON: JOHN MORTIMER, ADELAIDE STREET, TRAFALGAR SQUARE.
HILDEBRAND: OR, THE DAYS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE KING’S SON.”
Frugal and wise, a Walsingham is thine; A Drake, who made thee mistress of the sea, And bore thy name in thunder round the world. Then flamed thy spirit high; but who can speak The numerous worthies of the maiden reign? In Raleigh mark their every glory mix’d; Raleigh, the scourge of Spain! THOMSON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON: JOHN MORTIMER, ADELAIDE STREET, TRAFALGAR SQUARE. MDCCCXLIV.
LONDON: PRINTED BY HENRY RICHARDS, BRYDGES-STREET, COVENT-GARDEN.
HILDEBRAND.
CHAPTER I.
Life is subject to certain moral influences, arising fromexternal impressions, which are no less mysterious than itselements and progress. Under the operation of these influences,we are prone to overlook them; and instead of watching theirworkings, and tracing them through all their wonderful andextensive ramifications, we yield unresisting to their pressure,and, without one interposition of our own will, become thepassive agents of their effects.
Allowing the existence and constant presence of an overrulingProvidence, it is not too much to say, that there is no possiblesituation in which a man can be placed, in this sublunary world,that he will be wholly incompetent to sustain. There is not oneinfluence, whether exciting or depressing, that the human mindcannot check, although it may be unable, in some instances, toreduce it to complete subjection. It is our prostration thatgives the sharpest bitterness to sorrow; and prosperity has itsgreatest dangers (for prosperity is not without dangers, andgreat ones) from our unwary self-reliance. If we could meetsuccess in a sober spirit, and, while we drink from the cup offortune, curb its intoxicating inspirations with a recollectionof the instability and mere temporariness of worldly possessions,prosperity would have no power to disturb the evenness of ourmind, or to contract and freeze up the dignity of our nature. Inthe same way, if we would but bear in remembrance how unavoidableand transient are our troubles, how utterly pointless the scoffsand contempt and mockery of a selfish world, and, finally, howsoon we shall “shuffle off this mortal coil,” adversity wouldlose its chill, and even the anguish of the sorrowing heart wouldbe materially and sensibly mitigated.
It is by ourselves that the auxiliary and sustaining qualitiesof our nature are created. It is from our voluntary will, thatleading distinction between man and brute (which makes usrational and accountable creatures) that these qualities mainlyspring; and it is by the same will alone, humanly speaking, thatwe can look from the heights of fortune with composure, and meettribulation without despair.
Nevertheless, the weakness of the human mind is such, onoccasions of severe trial, that its will cannot be brought thusto act of its own self, or continue to act unaided. The rightfuloperation of nature cannot be maintained, or its functions beduly and efficiently discharged, but in perfect and unvaryingconformity with her unalterable laws. As it is not the summeralone, but the other seasons also, in their regular rotation,that is necessary to bring forth the fruits of the earth, so thehealth of the human heart depends on the effective administrationof the whole system. Not only our free will, but that sense ofright and wrong by which our free will should be governed, andwhich can always be called up from the lucid depths of the bosom,is an essential support against every trial. Mighty of itself, itleads us, as an unfailing consequence, to rely principally foraid on a still mightier Auxiliary--the eternal and beneficentDispenser of good and evil.
Even the savage, to whom the wild humanity of the desert offersno law but that of might, and the restraints of civilised lifeare unknown, is endowed by nature with a perfect consciousness ofhis free agency; and though, from his degraded position, he isno way subject to any artificial prompture, the attendant senseof a supreme and over-ruling genius is ever before him. Muchmore sensibly does this intuitive monitor press itself on thefaculties of the cultivated mind. In reclaimed man, surrounded bythe light of civilization, it inspires at once a confidence and adread; and, if heedfully and properly regarded, renders him proofto every temptation, and dignified under every sorrow.
When, on the morning after her parting from Hildebrand, Evalinede Neville learned that her father had been removed from the gaolof Exeter to the metropolis, and the cup of pleasure which shehad been about to drink was thus dashed unexpectedly from herlips, her grief was deep and bitter; but, excessive as it was,it did not reduce her to despair. She did not, it is true, hearthe intelligence with composure, but she met it with fortitude.Her mind seemed suddenly to acquire additional nerve; and throughall its varied faculties, and beautiful proportions, to bestrengthened and braced up against the pressure of the occasion.
She was alone; and she naturally gave a thought to thoseestimable friends--for such she considered them--who had beenwith her on the previous night, and whose presence and assuranceshad filled her with hope and joy. The reflection served onlyto render her present loneliness and solitude more painfullyapparent. Her bosom was pierced by a new anguish, apart from thegrief she felt for her father, as she asked herself where werethose friends now? Where was Hildebrand, whose arm, undeterredby the presence of danger, had before lent her such effectualsuccour? Her eyes filled with tears as she reflected that he wasno longer within her call.
Yet, in the midst of all her troubles, she could not but lookwith tenderness on his welcome image. Even under the hand ofaffliction, she drew from it the comfort of cheering memories;and (which may appear surprising, if not anomalous) it revivedin her heart the thrills of her native buoyancy. She calledto mind the significant manner in which he had pressed herhand at parting; and the thought struck her, on the track ofthis reminiscence, that she might have made an impression onhis affections. The first idea which woman conceives of areciprocated love, under whatever circumstances it may arise,must always be productive of a deep sense of fruition; and,in this instance, it raised in the breast of Evaline a sweettranquillity, that her passing sorrow could not overcome.After-thoughts might anticipate disappointments, or conjure upfears; but the first felicitous conjecture, springing unbidden toher eye, had none of the gloom of laborious reflection, and wasone of unmingled joy and ecstasy.
But if the time had allowed Evaline to pause on Hildebrand’simage, mature meditation, perhaps, would have impressed her witha less favourable view of his d
isposition, and rendered herexpectations less fixed and sanguine. The time, however, was notthus opportune. Her love was no more than a passing thought,though it was sufficient, notwithstanding, to unveil to her eye anew sphere, and make her fully sensible that she did love.
She regarded the situation of her father with the most livelyanguish. She knew little of the world, but she was aware, fromthe little that she did know, that his cause would be triedbefore prejudiced judges, and a court that regarded every RomanCatholic with avowed distrust. The persecuted will naturally everspeak harshly and bitterly of their oppressors; and she had heardstrange stories, at various periods, of outrages perpetrated onRoman Catholics without any provocation, and in violation ofevery principle of law and right. According to these tales, menwere never wanting, at the bidding of the government, to supportcharges against them by the most barefaced perjury; and, on suchcorrupt testimony, judges would unscrupulously condemn them tothe block or the gibbet. As she thought how easy it would be, bymeans such as these, and before a partial and bigoted judge, tomake her father appear guilty, and so bring his declining lifeto a violent end, her heart turned cold with horror; and shebegan to perceive the full extent of the calamity that had sounexpectedly fallen upon her.
Nevertheless she did not despair--not for a moment. She saw, fromthe very first, that it was no time to hesitate, or to sufferthe energies of her mind to be wasted in repining, or crushedby depression. Her heart was sad, and her spirit dejected; but,though she was so deeply and sensibly moved, she met the tryingcrisis with decision, and a reliance on the protection of Heaven,whatever might be the result, that could not fail to prove asource of cheer and hope.
Her heart was considerably lightened after she had laid its pleabefore God. On rising from her knees, her bosom became alive toa soothing calmness, which cannot be described; and her brimmingeyes were again raised to heaven, with tears of deep andheartfelt gratitude, as she felt that this was but the leadingeffect of her hardly-uttered prayers.
Reflecting how she could be of service to her father, her firstthought naturally inclined her, as a preliminary measure, torepair to London, and make her way to his presence. But she feltthat, in consequence of his being a state-prisoner, there mightbe some difficulty in obtaining access to him; and, therefore,on further consideration, she determined to seek some means ofaiding him before she visited his prison. She had a confidenthope of succour from Sir Walter Raleigh, but, unfortunately forits realization, she knew not where to apply to that personage,or how to inform him of her father’s situation. While she waspondering on these circumstances, she thought of the letter, orpacket--for it evidently contained some enclosures--which hadbeen given to her by Hildebrand; and, in this possession, a newand felicitous resource seemed to open to her. Drawing it frombeneath her vest, she proceeded to examine it, and to ascertain,from the evidence furnished by its exterior, what room it wouldafford her for any hope. But she could form no opinion from thecover; and if she had been disposed to seek further (which shewas not), the search would have been equally fruitless. Thepacket, indeed, had been folded with the greatest care, and,moreover, was secured with two fair seals; and, consequently, shehad no ground for conjecture but the direction. It was inscribed,in a bold and distinct hand, to “Master Bernard Gray, at the signof the Angel alehouse, Lantwell;” and these words, which shedeciphered at a glance, were all that its exterior revealed.
She raised the packet to her lips before she re-placed it in hervest. While her lips still rested on it, however, the kiss theywere about to exhale was arrested; and a deep blush spread overher face and neck. It was a beautiful manifestation, and showedthat, in the bosom of innocence, true modesty is ever alert, andrequires no overlooking eye to excite its sweet sensibilities.
After a moment’s deliberation, she resolved to deliver the packetto its direction without delay. Pursuant to this design, shecalled for Martha Follett; and through that faithful adherent,gave orders to her other servants, who had charge of the carriageand horses, to prepare for their return to Neville Grange. Whileshe was herself preparing to depart, Martha again entered herpresence, and, with some appearance of agitation, informed herthat her cousin, Don Felix, was without, and sought to speak withher.
“Bid him come in, good Martha,” answered Evaline.
Martha, with a silent curtsy, withdrew; and, the next moment, DonFelix entered.
Evaline did not meet him with her usual friendliness. His conducttowards Hildebrand, with a knowledge of the service that thelatter had rendered her and her father, had led her to look uponhim in a new light, and, though she was not disposed to judge himharshly, had shown a meanness of spirit that she could not butcondemn. On glancing at his face, however, and perceiving that helooked dejected and anxious, her coldness began to relax, and,yielding to the generous impulses of her nature, she extended himher hand.
“’Tis well,” said Don Felix, taking her hand. “I have come to bidthee adieu, Evaline.”
“How meanest thou?” asked Evaline, with some alarm.
“There is a warrant out to arrest me,” answered Don Felix. “Itarrived at the Grange last night, with a power from the sheriff;but, by good fortune, I got out by the back way and escaped.”
“Surely, it were better, Sir, to surrender,” said Evaline. “Thoucanst not long evade the law.”
“I will evade it altogether,” returned Don Felix. “There is aship in Topsham harbour, which sails this evening for France; andI will get me aboard her, and flee the country. I can make my wayto Spain overland.”
“Oh, no! prithee leave us not now, Felix,” cried Evaline,forgetting all her dislike in her extreme distress, “Thou artinnocent of any crime. Wherefore shouldst thou flee?”
“An’ my stay could avail thee, Evaline, or good Sir Edgar, nohazard of mine own self should make me flee,” answered theSpaniard; “but thou knowest that it would not.”
“None, none!” said Evaline. “Yet to be alone--Oh! I have now nocomforter on earth!”
There was a brief pause. Though Evaline knew that the stay ofDon Felix would afford her no direct advantage, his desertion ofher at this moment, when, for aught he knew, she stood alone,afflicted her severely. The world was new to her, and she wasnot yet aware, what she was so soon to experience, that, in theseason of trouble and adversity, friends fall off, and avoid ourfallen and declining estate as they would a pestilent contagion.He is, indeed, a friend, above the ordinary meaning of the term,who will meet us in adversity with the same cordiality andwelcome, not to say eagerness, that we called forth in the day ofour prosperity.
If Evaline had imagined that Don Felix was really in danger, shewould have been the first, at any risk to herself, to have urgedhim to flee. But she was firmly of opinion that the hazard heincurred would be but small; and, which was probably the case,that his fears, as he had expressed them, were more urgent andstartling than the occasion would warrant. The conclusion shearrived at was decidedly to his disadvantage; and, comparinghis conduct with that of Hildebrand, to whom she and her fatherwere perfect strangers, but who, nevertheless, had befriendedthem at their need, and his own imminent peril, her unfavourableimpression of his character was confirmed, and her previousregard for him entirely alienated.
She had paused in her reply to his last remark; but herhesitation, if such it might be called, was only momentary,and, before Don Felix could make it available, she resumed herinterrupted speech.
“But thou mayst go, Sir,” she said, in an indignant tone. “I haveno right to keep thee here, an’ it bring thee into danger.”
“How could my staying avail thee, Evaline?” replied Don Felix.
“I tell thee, Sir, thou canst go,” rejoined Evaline.
“Ay,” returned Don Felix, knitting his brows, “I hear that thenameless stranger has returned, and he, mayhap, will win fromthee more gracious words.”
Evaline, without shrinking before his glance, coloured deeply atthis insinuation.
“I would have thee be guarded in what thou saye
st, Don Felix,”she said, angrily, “or thou mayst rue it.”
“Well, let it pass! let it pass!” answered Don Felix. “Tell meonly, dost thou love him?”
“This is not to be borne,” cried Evaline. “What warrant hastthou, Sir, to ask me such a question?”
“Thy father hath promised me thy hand,” said Don Felix. “But thetime presses on me now. When we meet again, we shall be more atliberty. Adieu!”
Evaline, overpowered by her resentment, rendered no reply to hisfarewell. His announcement that her father designed to make himher husband, instead of conciliating her, furnished her with anew reason for holding him in dislike; and, under the pressure ofthat dislike, she suffered him to depart without a word.
Her horror at the prospect which would arise from a marriage withhim was unbounded. To be wedded to a man whom she could neverlove, and be inforced by her conscience to thoughts and feelingsthat, cling to them as she might, would be negatived by herheart, was nothing less than utter ruin and destruction. That herown father, whom she loved so tenderly, and for whose advantageshe would gladly lay down her very life, would consign her tosuch a fate, she felt to be impossible. He might, it is true,have such a marriage in contemplation; but he would allow itssettlement to rest with herself; and her resolution to oppose it,by the adoption of every means that equity would sanction, wasfixed and unalterable.
She was still pondering on the subject, when she was informedthat, conformably to her orders, the carriage was in waiting, andeverything had been prepared for her departure. She had effectedall her personal arrangements, and, having nothing further todetain her, she quitted her chamber, and proceeded to take herseat in the carriage. Martha, at her desire, seated herself byher side, and, after a brief interval, the carriage was put inmotion, and they set out on their return to the Grange.
It was evening by the time they arrived at their destination.The melancholy light of the hour, which was just beginning tobe tinged with the gloom of night, and its solemn stillness,undisturbed by the least breeze, had a depressing effect on thespirits; and Evaline felt it severely. As she passed through theavenue-gate, and caught a glimpse of the dejected countenanceof the old porter, who, with his gray locks floating on theair, stood uncovered to receive her, she could not but rememberwhat different feelings had animated her when she last enteredthat avenue, and how the happiness of that time was greaterthan the misery of the present. The anguish and bitterness ofthe reflection, in the gloom of the surrounding scene, made hershudder; and, for a moment, unbraced her fortitude, and cloudedher every hope.
The whole household had assembled to receive her at thehall-door. On entering the hall, she looked round upon themseparately, intending, with her customary forgetfulness ofherself, to give a kind word to each. But observing that anxietyfor her was impressed on every face, and sympathy in every eye,her words stuck in her throat; and she was obliged to turn awaywithout speaking.
As she was passing to an inner room, she discerned two strangers,of whom she had no knowledge, and who appeared to be at variancewith the household, standing in the rear. Their appearancesomewhat surprised her, and, with a view of ascertaining who theywere, she came to a pause, and looked round for an explanation.One of the servants, perceiving her object, hereupon steppedforward, and, in a hesitating voice, proceeded to give her theinformation she sought.
“These be two of the sheriff’s folk, lady,” he said. “Near adozen of them are here, with a warrant to apprehend Don Felix.”
On thus learning that the house was in possession of the officersof the law, Evaline felt a thrill of fear shoot through herbosom, apparently arising from no defined source, that she couldby no means repress. Anxious to conceal her discomposure, sheresumed her steps, and passed straight to her chamber.
The faithful Martha, with a heart no less dejected, attendedher thither, and, without waiting her directions, assisted herto take off her walking-dress. Having effected her divesture,she left her to herself for a while, and proceeded to procureher some refreshments. In expectation of her arrival, a slightrepast, such as she was thought most likely to favour, had beenprepared for her; and this was shortly set out on the table ofher chamber.
Evaline mechanically partook of the meal; but, eating withoutappetite, and merely to support nature, was no way invigoratedthereby. By the time that her repast was finished, the eveninghad sunk into night; and, aroused by the increasing darkness, shebegan to meditate how she could deliver Hildebrand’s packet, onwhich she rested such great hopes, without further delay.
She did not like to trust its delivery to any third party.Although the walk to Lantwell was not a short one, she wouldnot have hesitated, at another time, to have carried it thitherherself; but to undertake such a mission at night, over a lonelyand secluded route, was a task of danger. It is true, she mightsecure ample protection against any harm, in the shape of insultor violence, by taking with her one of the servants; but thepresence of the sheriff’s minions required that she shouldmake her egress unobserved. Indeed, she doubted not that shewas herself closely watched; and that her own movements, evenwhen she was unattended by any servant, would be observed withsuspicion, and followed with jealousy.
Considering all these circumstances, she ultimately resolved toventure out on the undertaking herself. At first, indeed, shethought of securing the companionship of Martha, but, on furtherconsideration, she reflected that, if need were, that individualcould not afford her any protection, and that two persons wouldnot pass unseen so easily as one; and, on these grounds, theproject appeared impolitic. She could not conceal from herselfthat the company of Martha would render her more confident, butshe was aware, nevertheless, that this confidence would not beara scrutiny, since the resolution of Martha was even less than herown. The trial, to a girl of her habits and disposition, was agreat one; but the emergency also was a great one; and, as hasbeen stated, she finally determined to set out on the missionherself.
Having come to this conclusion, the next object that engaged herattention, preparatory to carrying it into effect, was how topass out unobserved. After a short pause, she resolved to donan old cloak of Martha’s, with a long hood, that was lying on acontiguous chair; and, thus disguised, watch for a favourablemoment to steal forth. No sooner did the idea occur to her, than,catching up the cloak, she proceeded to put it in execution.
Throwing the cloak over her fair shoulders, she drew the hood,which was round and full, close over her brow, and then salliedforth. She descended the stairs beyond without seeing any one,or, as far as she could tell, being seen herself. She had nolight; but the night, though it was now growing late, was notdark; and, on reaching the hall, she was easily able to make herway to the rearward door.
The door, which was fortunately unfastened, led into a smallporch, opening into the park. Evaline, gratified that she had sofar escaped notice, entered the porch with tolerable composure;and, briefly commending herself to the protection of Heaven, sheventured to pass into the park.
There was no one about. Drawing her cloak closely round her, shedirected her steps to that walk which, it may be remembered, hasbeen before mentioned in this history, and which opened into thepublic footpath to Lantwell. She had just entered the walk,when, pausing to look round, she heard a voice calling to her tostop.
She resumed her progress at her utmost speed. Her heart beataudibly, and her fears, which the abruptness of the alarm hadraised beyond endurance, almost arrested her breath, but sheran on still. She imagined every successive shrub to be anambushed enemy, and, as she passed along, she was afraid to lookabout her, but kept her eyes straight on her path, lest sheshould discern on either hand some terror. At last, wearied andbreathless, she arrived at the public footway, and there venturedto pause.
A full minute elapsed before she had completely recovered herbreath. Meanwhile, her ears were on the alert, and her attentionalive to the least noise. To her surprise, however, no soundsof pursuit were audible, and, after a brief interval, she setforwards again.
&nb
sp; Once in the footpath, which lay across an open part of the park,her view was less interrupted; and consequently, though thenight was somewhat cloudy, and prevented her seeing any greatdistance, she was able to satisfy herself that no person wasabout. She pursued her way, therefore, with more confidence,though still with a hasty step; and shortly arrived at thepark-boundary.
As she was mounting the stile that divided the park from thehigh-road, at the foot of Lantwell-hill, she remembered that the“Angel” alehouse, where her mission was to end, was not situatewithin the village, but on its extreme limit, where the road fellinto Lantwell-wood. Unless, therefore, she made a considerable_detour_, she would have to pass through the churchyard, over thepath we have had occasion to mention before, in order to arriveat her destination; and, remembering this, she paused to considerwhich of the two routes she should pursue.
Though endued with uncommon good sense, she had some spice of thesuperstitious qualms and fears that mark her religion, and, tospeak the truth, were rather allowed and encouraged by the age;and it was not without hesitation that she ultimately resolvedon taking the route by the churchyard. Having thus made up hermind, she once more set forward, and proceeded at a quick pace upLantwell-hill.
She paused a while on gaining the churchyard-gate. She almostfelt inclined, indeed, at one moment, to turn into the roadagain, and pursue the route through the village. But herirresolution quickly subsided, and though her fears, with theterrible excitement they gave rise to, remained, she devoutlycrossed herself, and passed into the churchyard.
She scarcely dared to breathe during her progress onward.Nevertheless, she reached the further angle of the old church,where the path took another direction, without seeing anything toalarm her. She was just turning the angle, when, looking on oneside, towards an abutting portion of the church, she descrieda tall figure, arrayed in white, rising slowly from behind agrave-post; and she was instantly rooted to the spot.
There are sources of terror which, though they may impend noperil to the person, will affect the spirit of the most resolute,and involve the liveliest faculties in fright and consternation.Yet, whether it is that we are sustained by despair, or thatthose superior and invisible intelligences, which some believeto attend upon us, like ministering angels, from the cradle tothe grave, lend the soul a new influence, this extreme of dreadgenerally finds the mind self-possessed, and the senses more thanever active.
Evaline, on observing the object described, lost all power overher limbs and person, but her senses were perfectly collected.She felt her hair rising on end, and a cold perspiration, whichseemed to chill and freeze up every source of motion, spreaditself over her whole frame; but, for all this, her mind waspainfully alert. She distinguished every individual outline ofthe fearful and ghostly figure. It rose gradually upright, andthen, standing quite still, looked her straight in the face.
“The cross of Christ surround us!” exclaimed Evaline, in ahollow, solemn voice.
“Ho, there! have no fear!” cried the cause of her horror. “’TisI--Bernard Gray!”
The weight of death was lifted off the heart of Evaline. With thevelocity of thought, her hands clasped themselves together, andher eyes were raised gratefully to heaven.
Nevertheless, it was not without some fear that she found herselfin the presence of the singular man whom she had come to seek,and who, ignorant of her mission, was now advancing towards her.Her fear increased as he drew nearer; and when she was able tosurvey him closely, which a lighted lanthorn that he carried wellenabled her to do, it almost deprived her of speech.
His appearance, certainly, was far from being prepossessing. Hisface was deadly pale, and this, perhaps, was the more remarkable,in the gloomy light that prevailed, from the unnatural lustreof his eyes, the rays of which could almost be seen. The upperpart of his body, above his waist, appeared to have no coveringbut his shirt; but, from his having a large sheet turned overhis head and shoulders, in the fashion of a penance-garment,which hid it from observation, his precise dress could not beascertained. The arm that sustained the lanthorn, however, andwhich was pushed out of the folds of the sheet, displayed onlyhis shirt-sleeve, and, all things considered, this gave theconjecture warranty. His feet were bare; and his murrey-colouredhose and hanse-lines, or trousers, which could be seen throughthe sheet, with his drapery, and his pale features, formedaltogether a figure that, remembering the locality, could not beviewed without great discomposure.
Evaline waited his approach in the utmost trepidation.
“Who have we here?” he demanded, on coming up with her.
He raised his lanthorn as he spoke, and, holding it out beforehim, glanced inquiringly in her face.
“Be not afeard! be not afeard!” he said, perceiving that she methis gaze with the greatest alarm. “Thou wilt have no hurt at myhands.”
These words, and the tone in which they were uttered, which waskind and gentle, somewhat reassured Evaline; and after a briefpause, she ventured to reply.
“If thou be Bernard Gray,” she said, in a tremulous tone, “I havea packet for thee, from Master Hildebrand Clifford.”
“Ah!” cried Bernard, eagerly, “where is he?”
“Alas, he is far away now!” answered Evaline. “Howbeit, beforehis departure, he bade me, if I should need succour, to give thispacket to thee, and thou wouldst thenceforward stand my friend.”
Bernard, without making a reply, took from her hand the profferedpacket, and, at the same time, again gazed earnestly in herface. As he did so, his eyes gradually lit up with anger, andhe seemed, from his altered manner, and the change that passedover his pale face, suddenly to regard her with a rooted enmity.Indeed, he was now sensible who she was, and, in her pallid butlovely features, he recognized the Popish heiress of NevilleGrange.
“Well,” he said, on making this discovery, “thou shall hear howhe commends thee to me.”
Thus speaking, he tore open the packet, and proceeded to givehis promise effect. There were three enclosures; but the upmostone, though carefully folded, was unsealed, and engaged hisattention first. Thrusting the others under his arm, he held theone specified up to the light; and in a tone which was originallybitter, but which gradually grew mild and agitated, read thesewords:--
“To my right trusty and singular good friend, Master BernardGray, at the sign of the Angel, these:--
“Worthy Bernard.--Herein thou wilt find my last will andtestament, bequeathing to thee, in case I should hap to die,the whole of my effects, with my entire right and interest, inthe entail of Clifford Place; and a letter of trust to my noblefriend and patron, the renowned Sir Walter Raleigh. And now, goodBernard, I prefer to thee the bearer hereof, and I beseech thee,by the duty thou owest God, and thy love for my murdered mother,to give her the hand of faith and fellowship, and in all things,to the very death, to stand her abettor, as thou wouldst doservice to thy loving friend,
“HILDEBRAND CLIFFORD.”
The last few lines of the letter, which he read in a tremulousvoice, awakened in Bernard’s bosom the deepest emotion. It wasevident, too, that his emotion was of a conflicting character,and did not leave him in full possession of his judgment.The passions were mingled in his face; and his naturally kindimpulses, which the sex and loveliness of Evaline, no less thanhis attachment to Hildebrand, and the pathetic appeal of theletter, had not failed to invoke, were restrained and presseddown by his prejudices, and his intentions lost by indecision.
It was a full minute before he spoke. By that time, however, heseemed to have made up his mind, and the hesitation described wasno longer manifest.
“I cannot help thee,” he said: “thou art a Papist.”
Evaline, whom his altered manner had already greatly disturbed,heard these words with a thrill of despair.
“Then, I will bid thee farewell, Sir,” she replied, in anagitated voice.
“Hold!” exclaimed Bernard. “He hath charged me close--close--bymy love for his mother. And, faith, tho
u art a most fair lady,even in the guise thou wearest now. I would thou wast aught but aPapist!”
“The blessed Virgin keep my faith whole!” ejaculated Evaline.
“Couldst thou hold it through the fire?” asked Bernard, earnestly.
“With God’s help, Sir,” answered Evaline.
“I fell short!” cried Bernard, in a tone of anguish. “They had meup; they fixed me to the stake; the fagots, steaming with pitch,were set about me; and, before a spark was kindled, my faith gaveway! Like Peter, I denied my creed; I swore I knew not the man;and they let me go! Oh, that the trial might come again! Oh, thatI might meet the fire, with its thousand torments, only oncemore!”
His voice sank into a murmur of supplication as he thus spoke,and his agitation, though it was still excessive, was of a kindmore calculated to excite compassion. Evaline, as he ceasedspeaking, could not repress an exclamation of sympathy.
“Dost pity me?” said Bernard. “If thou knew’st how I havemourned it, thou wouldst think me reclaimed. Summer and winter,every night, do I come to that grave barefoot, and pray God’spardon. Not the last fire that shall ever blaze, I heartilybelieve, could make me again deny my sweet Saviour.”
“God keep thee in a good mind!” answered Evaline. “Farewell!”
“Hold!” cried Bernard, laying his hand on her arm. “Dost know Icould save thy father?”
“Canst thou?” inquired Evaline, with great earnestness. “But ifeven thou canst,” she added, mournfully, “thou wilt not.”
“What of him that sent thee to me?” said Bernard. “Dost thou notknow, from the opposition of your creeds, that there is betweenyou a great bar, and that thou shalt never wed him?”
“Wed him?” echoed Evaline, tremulously.
“Thou lovest him!” answered Bernard.
Notwithstanding her excessive alarm, Evaline, whether because shewas taken by surprise, or from some more secret cause, could notrepress a slight blush, and her eyes sank before the earnest gazeof her interlocutor.
“Thou lovest him!” repeated the latter. “And for thy sake, lady,I will even befriend a Papist. Thy father shall be set free.”
“Alas, Sir!” answered Evaline, “he is now, I fear me, beyond thyhelp. He has been removed to London.”
“Go thou also to London, then,” returned Bernard. “I will followthee; and again I promise thee, on my troth, he shall be givenhis liberty.”
The confident tone in which he spoke, with the assurance shehad received from Hildebrand, on his first naming him to her,that he would be able to render her the most eminent services,and which assurance now came to her recollection, did not passEvaline unheeded. His altered manner, too, which had suddenlybecome kind and compassionate, had an effect upon her; and, beingso different from what she had looked for, called up in her bosomthe liveliest expectations. Nevertheless, her voice faltered inher reply.
“Oh, thank you! thank you!” was all she said.
“Didst thou come hither by thyself, lady?” resumed Bernard.
“Even so,” answered Evaline. “The sheriff’s men are at theGrange, waiting to apprehend my cousin, Don Felix di Corva; and Ithought it best to steal out unnoticed.”
“Thou didst well, and bravely,” returned Bernard. “But ’tis alonely road, and, if thou wilt give me leave, I will be thyconductor home.”
“Thou wilt make my heart light, an’ thou wilt,” said Evaline,eagerly.
“No more!” answered Bernard. “Let us on!”
They set forward accordingly, and, without resuming theirdiscourse, proceeded to the road. Thence they passed down theadjoining hill, at the extremity of the churchyard, into NevillePark, and so on to the vicinity of the mansion.
Bernard drew up when they came nigh the mansion.
“I will stay here, lady,” he said, “and watch thee in. When dostthou purpose to go to London?”
“To-morrow,” answered Evaline. “I know not where I shall belodged; but thou canst learn that, if thou wilt take the troubleto inquire, of Master Gilbert, the attorney, in the Inner Temple.”
“I will not fail thee,” returned Hildebrand. “God give thee agood night!”
“And thee also,” replied Evaline.
They parted with this benediction. Evaline, wrapping her cloakclose round her, passed at a quick step towards the house; andBernard watched her progress from the mouth of the walk. Aftera little time, he saw her arrive at the hall-door, and, withoutmeeting any obstacle, effect an entrance.
Although she had thus obtained ingress, however, Evaline did notenter the hall unobserved. On opening the door, she encounteredno less than three persons. One of these, who held a lighted lampin his hand, was a domestic; but the other two were of the partyof the sheriff. They did not, however, as she had apprehended,offer her any interruption; and, having procured a light fromthe servant, and bade him go in quest of Martha, she passedunmolested to her chamber.
There, to her great satisfaction, she was shortly joined byMartha. She immediately discovered to that person, in a fewwords, the adventure that she had just been engaged in; and thispreliminary being achieved, they discussed together its probableresults.