Waverley Novels — Volume 12

  CHAPTER THE SECOND.

  As she received no farther news of Sir Philip, whether directly orindirectly, his unfortunate lady began now to feel a sort ofconsolation, even in those careless habits which had so often given herpain. "He is so thoughtless," she repeated a hundred times a day to hersister, "he never writes when things are going on smoothly; it is hisway: had any thing happened he would have informed us."

  Lady Bothwell listened to her sister without attempting to console her.Probably she might be of opinion, that even the worst intelligencewhich could be received from Flanders might not be without some touchof consolation; and that the Dowager Lady Forester, if so she wasdoomed to be called, might have a source of happiness unknown to thewife of the gayest and finest gentleman in Scotland. This convictionbecame stronger as they learned from inquiries made at headquarters,that Sir Philip was no longer with the army; though whether he had beentaken or slain in some of those skirmishes which were perpetuallyoccurring, and in which he loved to distinguish himself, or whether hehad, for some unknown reason or capricious change of mind, voluntarilyleft the service, none of his countrymen in the camp of the Alliescould form even a conjecture. Meantime his creditors at home becameclamorous, entered into possession of big property, and threatened hisperson, should he be rash enough to return to Scotland. Theseadditional disadvantages aggravated Lady Bothwell's displeasure againstthe fugitive husband; while her sister saw nothing in any of them, savewhat tended to increase her grief for the absence of him whom herimagination now represented,--as it had before marriage,--gallant, gay,and affectionate.

  About this period there appeared in Edinburgh a man of singularappearance and pretensions. He was commonly called the Paduan Doctor,from having received his education at that famous university. He wassupposed to possess some rare receipts in medicine, with which, it wasaffirmed, he had wrought remarkable cures. But though, on the one hand,the physicians of Edinburgh termed him an empiric, there were manypersons, and among them some of the clergy, who, while they admittedthe truth of the cures and the force of his remedies, alleged thatDoctor Baptisti Damiotti made use of charms and unlawful arts in orderto obtain success in his practice. The resorting to him was evensolemnly preached against, as a seeking of health from idols, and atrusting to the help which was to come from Egypt. But the protectionwhich the Paduan Doctor received from some friends of interest andconsequence, enabled him to set these imputations at defiance, and toassume, even in the city of Edinburgh, famed as it was for abhorrenceof witches and necromancers, the dangerous character of an expounder offuturity. It was at length rumoured, that for a certain gratification,which, of course, was not an inconsiderable one, Doctor BaptistiDamiotti could tell the fate of the absent, and even show his visitorsthe personal form of their absent friends, and the action in which theywere engaged at the moment. This rumour came to the ears of LadyForester, who had reached that pitch of mental agony in which thesufferer will do any thing, or endure any thing, that suspense may beconverted into certainty.

  Gentle and timid in most cases, her state of mind made her equallyobstinate and reckless, and it was with no small surprise and alarmthat her sister, Lady Bothwell, heard her express a resolution to visitthis man of art, and learn from him the fate of her husband. LadyBothwell remonstrated on the improbability that such pretensions asthose of this foreigner could be founded on any thing but imposture.

  "I care not," said the deserted wife, "what degree of ridicule I mayincur; if there be any one chance out of a hundred that I may obtainsome certainty of my husband's fate, I would not miss that chance forwhatever else the world can offer me."

  Lady Bothwell next urged the unlawfulness of resorting to such sourcesof forbidden knowledge.

  "Sister," replied the sufferer, "he who is dying of thirst cannotrefrain from drinking poisoned water. She who suffers under suspensemust seek information, even were the powers which offer it unhallowedand infernal. I go to learn my fate alone; and this very evening will Iknow it: the sun that rises to-morrow shall find me, if not more happy,at least more resigned."

  "Sister," said Lady Bothwell, "if you are determined upon this wildstep, you shall not go alone. If this man be an impostor, you may betoo much agitated by your feelings to detect his villany. If, which Icannot believe, there be any truth in what he pretends, you shall notbe exposed alone to a communication of so extraordinary a nature. Iwill go with you, if indeed you determine to go. But yet reconsideryour project, and renounce inquiries which cannot be prosecuted withoutguilt, and perhaps without danger."

  Lady Forester threw herself into her sister's arms, and, clasping herto her bosom, thanked her a hundred times for the offer of her company;while she declined with a melancholy gesture the friendly advice withwhich it was accompanied.

  When the hour of twilight arrived,--which was the period when thePaduan Doctor was understood to receive the visits of those who came toconsult with him,--the two ladies left their apartments in theCanongate of Edinburgh, having their dress arranged like that of womenof an inferior description, and their plaids disposed around theirfaces as they were worn by the same class; for, in those days ofaristocracy, the quality of the wearer was generally indicated by themanner in which her plaid was disposed, as well as by the fineness ofits texture. It was Lady Bothwell who had suggested this species ofdisguise, partly to avoid observation as they should go to theconjuror's house, and partly in order to make trial of his penetration,by appearing before him in a feigned character. Lady Forester'sservant, of tried fidelity, had been employed by her to propitiate theDoctor by a suitable fee, and a story intimating that a soldier's wifedesired to know the fate of her husband; a subject upon which, in allprobability, the sage was very frequently consulted.

  To the last moment, when the palace clock struck eight, Lady Bothwellearnestly watched her sister, in hopes that she might retreat from, herrash undertaking; but as mildness, and even timidity, is capable attimes of vehement and fixed purposes, she found Lady Foresterresolutely unmoved and determined when the moment of departure arrived.Ill satisfied with the expedition, but determined not to leave hersister at such a crisis, Lady Bothwell accompanied Lady Foresterthrough more than one obscure street and lane, the servant walkingbefore, and acting as their guide. At length he suddenly turned into anarrow court, and knocked at an arched door, which seemed to belong toa building of some antiquity. It opened, though no one appeared to actas porter; and the servant, stepping aside from the entrance, motionedthe ladies to enter. They had no sooner done so, than it shut, andexcluded their guide. The two ladies found themselves in a smallvestibule, illuminated by a dim lamp, and having, when the door wasclosed, no communication with the external light or air. The door of aninner apartment, partly open, was at the farther side of the vestibule.

  "We must not hesitate now, Jemima," said Lady Bothwell, and walkedforwards into the inner room, where, surrounded by books, maps,philosophical utensils, and other implements of peculiar shape andappearance, they found the man of art.

  There was nothing very peculiar in the Italian's appearance. He had thedark complexion and marked features of his country, seemed about fiftyyears old, and was handsomely, but plainly, dressed in a full suit ofblack clothes, which was then the universal costume of the medicalprofession. Large wax-lights, in silver sconces, illuminated theapartment, which was reasonably furnished. He rose as the ladiesentered; and, not-withstanding the inferiority of their dress, receivedthem with the marked respect due to their quality, and which foreignersare usually punctilious in rendering to those to whom such honours aredue.

  Lady Bothwell endeavoured to maintain her proposed incognito; and, asthe Doctor ushered them to the upper end of the room, made a motiondeclining his courtesy, as unfitted for their condition. "We are poorpeople, sir," she said; "only my sister's distress has brought us toconsult your worship whether--"

  He smiled as he interrupted her--"I am aware, madam, of your sister'sdistress, and its cause; I am aware, also, that I am honoured with avisit from t
wo ladies of the highest consideration--Lady Bothwell andLady Forester. If I could not distinguish them from the class ofsociety which their present dress would indicate, there would be smallpossibility of my being able to gratify them by giving the informationwhich they come to seek."

  "I can easily understand," said Lady Bothwell----

  "Pardon my boldness to interrupt you, milady," cried the Italian; "yourladyship was about to say, that you could easily understand that I hadgot possession of your names by means of your domestic. But in thinkingso, you do injustice to the fidelity of your servant, and, I may add,to the skill of one who is also not less your humble servant--BaptistiDamiotti."

  "I have no intention to do either, sir," said Lady Bothwell,maintaining a tone of composure, though somewhat surprised, "but thesituation is something new to me. If you know who we are, you alsoknow, sir, what brought us here."

  "Curiosity to know the fate of a Scottish gentleman of rank, now, orlately upon the Continent," answered the seer; "his name is IlCavaliero Philippo Forester; a gentleman who has the honour to behusband to this lady, and, with your ladyship's permission for usingplain language, the misfortune not to value as it deserves thatinestimable advantage."

  Lady Forester sighed deeply, and Lady Bothwell replied--

  "Since you know our object without our telling it, the only questionthat remains is, whether you have the power to relieve my sister'sanxiety?"

  "I have, madam," answered the Paduan scholar; "but there is still aprevious inquiry. Have you the courage to behold with your own eyeswhat the Cavaliero Philippo Forester is now doing? or will you take iton my report?"

  "That question my sister must answer for herself," said Lady Bothwell.

  "With my own eyes will I endure to see whatever you have power to showme," said Lady Forester, with the same determined spirit which hadstimulated her since her resolution was taken upon this subject.

  "There may be danger in it."

  "If gold can compensate the risk," said Lady Forester, taking out herpurse.

  "I do not such things for the purpose of gain," answered the foreigner."I dare not turn my art to such a purpose. If I take the gold of thewealthy, it is but to bestow it on the poor; nor do I ever accept morethan the sum I have already received from your servant. Put up yourpurse, madam; an adept needs not your gold."

  Lady Bothwell considering this rejection of her sister's offer as amere trick of an empiric, to induce her to press a larger sum upon him,and willing that the scene should be commenced and ended, offered somegold in turn, observing that it was only to enlarge the sphere of hischarity.

  "Let Lady Bothwell enlarge the sphere of her own charity," said thePaduan, "not merely in giving of alms, in which I know she is notdeficient, but in judging the character of others; and let her obligeBaptisti Damiotti by believing him honest, till she shall discover himto be a knave. Do not be surprised, madam, if I speak in answer to yourthoughts rather than your expressions, and tell me once more whetheryou have courage to look on what I am prepared to show?"

  "I own, sir," said Lady Bothwell. "that your words strike me with somesense of fear; but whatever my sister desires to witness, I will notshrink from witnessing along with her."

  "Nay, the danger only consists in the risk of your resolution failingyou. The sight can only last for the space of seven minutes; and shouldyou interrupt the vision by speaking a single word, not only would thecharm be broken, but some danger might result to the spectators. But ifyou can remain steadily silent for the seven minutes, your curiositywill be gratified without the slightest risk; and for this I willengage my honour."

  Internally Lady Bothwell thought the security was but an indifferentone; but she suppressed the suspicion, as if she had believed that theadept, whose dark features wore a half-formed smile, could in realityread even her most secret reflections. A solemn pause then ensued,until Lady Forester gathered courage enough to reply to the physician,as he termed himself, that she would abide with firmness and silencethe sight which he had promised to exhibit to them. Upon this, he madethem a low obeisance, and saying he went to prepare matters to meettheir wish, left the apartment. The two sisters, hand in hand, as ifseeking by that close union to divert any danger which might threatenthem, sat down on two seats in immediate contact with each other:Jemima seeking support in the manly and habitual courage of LadyBothwell; and she, on the other hand, more agitated than she hadexpected, endeavouring to fortify herself by the desperate resolutionwhich circumstances had forced her sister to assume. The one perhapssaid to herself, that her sister never feared anything; and the othermight reflect, that what so feeble a minded woman as Jemima did notfear, could not properly be a subject of apprehension to a person offirmness and resolution like herself.

  In a few moments the thoughts of both were diverted from their ownsituation, by a strain of music so singularly sweet and solemn, that,while it seemed calculated to avert or dispel any feeling unconnectedwith its harmony, increased, at the same time, the solemn excitationwhich the preceding interview was calculated to produce. The music wasthat of some instrument with which they were unacquainted; butcircumstances afterwards led my ancestress to believe that it was, thatof the harmonica, which she heard at a much later period in life.

  When these heaven-born sounds had ceased, a door opened in the upperend of the apartment, and they saw Damiotti, standing at the head oftwo or three steps, sign to them to advance. His dress was so differentfrom that which he had worn a few minutes before, that they couldhardly recognize him; and the deadly paleness of his countenance, and acertain rigidity of muscles, like that of one whose mind is made up tosome strange and daring action, had totally changed the somewhatsarcastic expression with which he had previously regarded them both,and particularly Lady Bothwell. He was barefooted, excepting a speciesof sandals in the antique fashion; his legs were naked beneath theknees; above them he wore hose, and a doublet of dark crimson silkclose to his body; and over that a flowing loose robe, somethingresembling a surplice, of snow-white linen; his throat and neck wereuncovered, and his long, straight, black hair was carefully combed downat full length.

  As the ladies approached at his bidding, he showed no gesture of thatceremonious courtesy of which he had been formerly lavish. On thecontrary, he made the signal of advance with an air of command; andwhen, arm in arm, and with insecure steps, the sisters approached thespot where he stood, it was with a warning frown that he pressed hisfinger to his lips, as if reiterating his condition of absolutesilence, while, stalking before them, he led the way into the nextapartment.

  This was a large room, hung with black, as if for a funeral. At theupper end was a table, or rather a species of altar, covered with thesame lugubrious colour, on which lay divers objects resembling theusual implements of sorcery. These objects were not indeed visible asthey advanced into the apartment; for the light which displayed them,being only that of two expiring lamps, was extremely faint. The master--to use the Italian phrase for persons of this description--approachedthe upper end of the room with a genuflexion like that of a Catholic tothe crucifix, and at the same time crossed himself. The ladies followedin silence, and arm in arm. Two or three low broad steps led to aplatform in front of the altar, or what resembled such. Here the sagetook his stand, and placed the ladies beside him, once more earnestlyrepeating by signs his injunctions of silence. The Italian then,extending his bare arm from under his linen vestment, pointed with hisforefinger to five large flambeaux, or torches, placed on each side ofthe altar. They took fire successively at the approach of his hand, orrather of his finger, and spread a strong light through the room. Bythis the visitors could discern that, on the seeming altar, weredisposed two naked swords laid crosswise; a large open book, which theyconceived to be a copy of the Holy Scriptures, but in a language tothem unknown; and beside this mysterious volume was placed a humanskull. But what struck the sisters most was a very tall and broadmirror, which occupied all the space behind the altar, and, illuminatedby the lighted torches, ref
lected the mysterious articles which werelaid upon it.

  The master then placed himself between the two ladies, and, pointing tothe mirror, took each by the hand, but without speaking a syllable.They gazed intently on the polished and sable space to which he haddirected their attention. Suddenly the surface assumed a new andsingular appearance. It no longer simply reflected the objects placedbefore it, but, as if it had self-contained scenery of its own, objectsbegan to appear within it, at first in a disorderly, indistinct, andmiscellaneous manner, like form arranging itself out of chaos; atlength, in distinct and defined shape and symmetry. It was thus that,after some shifting of light and darkness over the face of thewonderful glass, a long perspective of arches and columns began toarrange itself on its sides, and a vaulted roof on the upper part ofit; till, after many oscillations, the whole vision gained a fixed andstationary appearance, representing the interior of a foreign church.The pillars were stately, and hung with scutcheons; the arches werelofty and magnificent; the floor was lettered with funeralinscriptions. But there were no separate shrines, no images, no displayof chalice or crucifix on the altar. It was, therefore, a Protestantchurch upon the Continent. A clergyman, dressed in the Geneva gown andband, stood by the communion-table, and, with the Bible opened beforehim, and his clerk awaiting in the background, seemed prepared toperform some service of the church to which he belonged.

  At length there entered the middle aisle of the building a numerousparty, which appeared to be a bridal one, as a lady and gentlemanwalked first, hand in hand, followed by a large concourse of persons ofboth sexes, gaily, nay richly, attired. The bride, whose features theycould distinctly see, seemed not more than sixteen years old, andextremely beautiful. The bridegroom, for some seconds, moved ratherwith his shoulder towards them, and his face averted; but his eleganceof form and step struck the sisters at once with the same apprehension.As he turned his face suddenly, he was frightfully realized, and theysaw, in the gay bridegroom before them, Sir Philip Forester. His wifeuttered an imperfect exclamation, at the sound of which the whole scenestirred and seemed to separate.

  "I could compare it to nothing," said Lady Bothwell, while recountingthe wonderful tale, "but to the dispersion of the reflection offered bya deep and calm pool, when a stone is suddenly cast into it, and theshadows become dissipated and broken." The master pressed both theladies' hands severely, as if to remind them of their promise, and ofthe danger which they incurred. The exclamation died away on LadyForester's tongue without attaining perfect utterance, and the scene inthe glass, after the fluctuation of a minute, again resumed to the eyeits former appearance of a real scene, existing within the mirror, asif represented in a picture, save that the figures were moveableinstead of being stationary.

  The representation of Sir Philip Forester, now distinctly visible inform and feature, was seen to lead on towards the clergyman thatbeautiful girl, who advanced at once with diffidence, and with aspecies of affectionate pride. In the meantime, and just as theclergyman had arranged the bridal company before him, and seemed aboutto commence the service, another group of persons, of whom two or threewere officers, entered the church. They moved, at first, forward, asthough they came to witness the bridal ceremony, but suddenly one ofthe officers, whose back was towards the spectators, detached himselffrom his companions, and rushed hastily towards the marriage party,when the whole of them, turned towards him, as if attracted by someexclamation which had accompanied his advance Suddenly the intruderdrew his sword; the bridegroom unsheathed his own, and made towardshim; swords were also drawn by other individuals, both of the marriageparty, and of those who had last entered. They fell into a sort ofconfusion, the clergyman, and some elder and graver persons, labouringapparently to keep the peace, while the hotter spirits on both sidesbrandished their weapons. But now the period of brief space duringwhich the soothsayer, as he pretended, was permitted to exhibit hisart, was arrived. The fumes again mixed together, and dissolvedgradually from observation; the vaults and columns of the church rolledasunder, and disappeared; and the front of the mirror reflected nothingsave the blazing torches, and the melancholy apparatus placed on thealtar or table before it.

  The doctor led the ladies, who greatly required his support, into theapartment from whence they came; where wine, essences, and other meansof restoring suspended animation, had been provided during his absence.He motioned them to chairs, which they occupied in silence; LadyForester, in particular, wringing her hands, and casting her eyes up toheaven, but without speaking a word, as if the spell had been stillbefore her eyes.

  "And what we have seen is even now acting?" said Lady Bothwell,collecting herself with difficulty.

  "That," answered Baptisti Damiotti, "I cannot justly, or withcertainty, say. But it is either now acting, or has been acted, duringa short space before this. It is the last remarkable transaction inwhich the Cavalier Forester has been engaged."

  Lady Bothwell then expressed anxiety concerning her sister, whosealtered countenance and apparent unconsciousness of what passed aroundher, excited her apprehensions how it might be possible to convey herhome.

  "I have prepared for that," answered the adept; "I have directed theservant to bring your equipage as near to this place as the narrownessof the street will permit. Fear not for your sister; but give her, whenyou return home, this composing draught, and she will be betterto-morrow morning. Few," he added, in a melancholy tone, "leave thishouse as well in health as they entered it. Such being the consequenceof seeking knowledge by mysterious means, I leave you to judge thecondition of those who have the power of gratifying such irregularcuriosity. Farewell, and forget not the potion."

  "I will give her nothing that comes from you," said Lady Bothwell; "Ihave seen enough of your art already. Perhaps you would poison us bothto conceal your own necromancy. But we are persons who want neither themeans of making our wrongs known, nor the assistance of friends toright them."

  "You have had no wrongs from me, madam," said the adept. "You soughtone who is little grateful for such honour. He seeks no one, and onlygives responses to those who invite and call upon him. After all, youhave but learned a little sooner the evil which you must still bedoomed to endure. I hear your servant's step at the door, and willdetain your ladyship and Lady Forester no longer. The next packet fromthe continent will explain what you have partly witnessed. Let it not,if I may advise, pass too suddenly into your sister's hands."

  So saying, he bid Lady Bothwell good-night. She went, lighted by theadept, to the vestibule, where he hastily threw a black cloak over hissingular dress, and opening the door intrusted his visitors to the careof the servant. It was with difficulty that Lady Bothwell sustained hersister to the carriage, though it was only twenty steps distant. Whenthey arrived at home, Lady Forester required medical assistance. Thephysician of the family attended, and shook his head on feeling herpulse.

  "Here has been," he said, "a violent and sudden shock on the nerves. Imust know how it has happened."

  Lady Bothwell admitted they had visited the conjuror, and that LadyForester had received some bad news respecting her husband, Sir Philip.

  "That rascally quack would make my fortune were he to stay inEdinburgh," said the graduate; "this is the seventh nervous case I haveheard of his making for me, and all by effect of terror." He nextexamined the composing draught which Lady Bothwell had unconsciouslybrought in her hand, tasted it, and pronounced it very germain to thematter, and what would save an application to the apothecary. He thenpaused, and looking at Lady Bothwell very significantly, at lengthadded, "I suppose I must not ask your ladyship anything about thisItalian warlock's proceedings?"

  "Indeed, Doctor," answered Lady Bothwell, "I consider what passed asconfidential; and though the man may be a rogue, yet, as we were foolsenough to consult him, we should, I think, be honest enough to keep hiscounsel."

  "_May_ be a knave--come," said the Doctor, "I am glad to hear yourladyship allows such a possibility in any thing that comes from Italy."

&nbs
p; "What comes from Italy may be as good as what conies from Hanover,Doctor. But you and I will remain good friends, and that it may be so,we will say nothing of Whig and Tory."

  "Not I," said the Doctor, receiving his fee, and taking his hat; "aCarolus serves my purpose as well as a Willielmus. But I should like toknow why old Lady Saint Ringan's, and all that set, go about wastingtheir decayed lungs in puffing this foreign fellow."

  "Ay--you had best set him down a Jesuit, as Scrub says." On these termsthey parted.

  The poor patient--whose nerves, from an extraordinary state of tension,had at length become relaxed in as extraordinary a degree--continued tostruggle with a sort of imbecility, the growth of superstitious terror,when the shocking tidings were brought from Holland, which fulfilledeven her worst expectations.

  They were sent by the celebrated Earl of Stair, and contained themelancholy event of a duel betwixt Sir Philip Forester, and his wife'shalf-brother, Captain Falconer, of the Scotch-Dutch, as they were thencalled, in which the latter had been killed. The cause of quarrelrendered the incident still more shocking. It seemed that Sir Philiphad left the army suddenly, in consequence of being unable to pay avery considerable sum, which he had lost to another volunteer at play.He had changed his name, and taken up his residence at Rotterdam, wherehe had insinuated himself into the good graces of an ancient and richburgomaster, and, by his handsome person and graceful manners,captivated the affections of his only child, a very young person, ofgreat beauty, and the heiress of much wealth. Delighted with thespecious attractions of his proposed son-in-law, the wealthymerchant--whose idea of the British character was too high to admit ofhis taking any precaution to acquire evidence of his condition andcircumstances--gave his consent to the marriage. It was about to becelebrated in the principal church of the city, when it was interruptedby a singular occurrence.

  Captain Falconer having been detached to Rotterdam to bring up a partof the brigade of Scottish auxiliaries, who were in quarters there, aperson of consideration in the town, to whom he had been formerlyknown, proposed to him for amusement to go to the high church, to see acountryman of his own married to the daughter of a wealthy burgomaster.Captain Falconer went accordingly, accompanied by his Dutchacquaintance with a party of his friends, and two or three officers ofthe Scotch brigade. His astonishment may be conceived when he saw hisown brother-in-law, a married man, on the point of leading to the altarthe innocent and beautiful creature, upon whom he was about to practisea base and unmanly deceit. He proclaimed his villany on the spot, andthe marriage was interrupted of course. But against the opinion of morethinking men, who considered Sir Philip Forester as having thrownhimself out of the rank of men of honour, Captain Falconer admitted himto the privilege of such, accepted a challenge from him, and in therencounter received a mortal wound. Such are the ways of Heaven,mysterious in our eyes. Lady Forester never recovered the shock of thisdismal intelligence.

  * * * * *

  "And did this tragedy," said I, "take place exactly at the time whenthe scene in the mirror was exhibited?"

  "It is hard to be obliged to maim one's story," answered my aunt; "but,to speak the truth, it happened some days sooner than the apparitionwas exhibited."

  "And so there remained a possibility," said I, "that by some secret andspeedy communication the artist might have received early intelligenceof that incident."

  "The incredulous pretended so," replied my aunt.

  "What became of the adept?" demanded I.

  "Why, a warrant came down shortly afterwards to arrest him forhigh-treason, as an agent of the Chevalier St. George; and LadyBothwell, recollecting the hints which had escaped the Doctor, anardent friend of the Protestant succession, did then call toremembrance, that this man was chiefly _prone_ among the ancientmatrons of her own political persuasion. It certainly seemed probablethat intelligence from the continent, which could easily have beentransmitted by an active and powerful agent, might have enabled him toprepare such a scene of phantasmagoria as she had herself witnessed.Yet there were so many difficulties in assigning a natural explanation,that, to the day of her death, she remained in great doubt on thesubject, and much disposed to cut the Gordian knot, by admitting theexistence of supernatural agency."

  "But, my dear aunt," said I, "what became of the man of skill?"

  "Oh, he was too good a fortune-teller not to be able to foresee thathis own destiny would be tragical if he waited the arrival of the manwith the silver greyhound upon his sleeve. He made, as we say, amoonlight flitting, and was nowhere to be seen or heard of. Some noisethere was about papers or letters found in the house, but it died away,and Doctor Baptisti Damiotti was soon as little talked of as Galen orHippocrates."

  "And Sir Philip Forester," said I, "did he too vanish for ever from thepublic scene?"

  "No," replied my kind informer. "He was heard of once more, and it wasupon a remarkable occasion. It is said that we Scots, when there wassuch a nation in existence, have, among our full peck of virtues, oneor two little barleycorns of vice. In particular, it is alleged that werarely forgive, and never forget, any injuries received; that we usedto make an idol of our resentment, as poor Lady Constance did of hergrief; and are addicted, as Burns says, to 'nursing our wrath to keepit warm.' Lady Bothwell was not without this feeling; and, I believe,nothing whatever, scarce the restoration of the Stuart line, could havehappened so delicious to her feelings as an opportunity of beingrevenged on Sir Philip Forester, for the deep and double injury whichhad deprived her of a sister and of a brother. But nothing of him washeard or known till many a year had passed away."

  At length--it was on a Fastern's E'en (Shrovetide) assembly, at whichthe whole fashion of Edinburgh attended, full and frequent, and whenLady Bothwell had a seat amongst the lady patronesses, that one of theattendants on the company whispered into her ear, that a gentlemanwished to speak with her in private.

  "In private? and in an assembly-room?--he must be mad--Tell him to callupon me to-morrow morning."

  "I said, so, my lady," answered the man; "but he desired me to give youthis paper."

  She undid the billet, which was curiously folded and sealed. It onlybore the words, "_On business of life and death_," written in a handwhich she had never seen before. Suddenly it occurred to her, that itmight concern the safety of some of her political friends; shetherefore followed the messenger to a small apartment where therefreshments were prepared, and from which the general company wasexcluded. She found an old man, who, at her approach, rose up and bowedprofoundly. His appearance indicated a broken constitution; and hisdress, though sedulously rendered conforming to the etiquette of aball-room, was worn and tarnished, and hung in folds about hisemaciated person. Lady Bothwell was about to feel for her purse,expecting to get rid of the supplicant at the expense of a littlemoney, but some fear of a mistake arrested her purpose. She thereforegave the man leisure to explain himself.

  "I have the honour to speak with the Lady Bothwell?"

  "I am Lady Bothwell; allow me to say, that this is no time or place forlong explanations.--What are your commands with me?"

  "Your ladyship," said the old man, "had once a sister."

  "True; whom I loved as my own soul."

  "And a brother."

  "The bravest, the kindest, the most affectionate!" said Lady Bothwell.

  "Both these beloved relatives you lost by the fault of an unfortunateman," continued the stranger.

  "By the crime of an unnatural, bloody-minded murderer," said the lady.

  "I am answered," replied the old man, bowing, as if to withdraw.

  "Stop, sir, I command you," said Lady Bothwell.--"Who are you, that, atsuch a place and time, come to recall these horrible recollections? Iinsist upon knowing."

  "I am one who intends Lady Bothwell no injury; but, on the contrary, tooffer her the means of doing a deed of Christian charity, which theworld would wonder at, and which Heaven would reward; but I find her inno temper for such a sacrifice as I was
prepared to ask."

  "Speak out, sir; what is your meaning?" said Lady Bothwell.

  "The wretch that has wronged you so deeply," rejoined the stranger, "isnow on his death-bed. His days have been days of misery, his nightshave been sleepless hours of anguish--yet he cannot die without yourforgiveness. His life has been an unremitting penance--yet he dares notpart from his burden while your curses load his soul."

  "Tell him," said Lady Bothwell, sternly, "to ask pardon of that Beingwhom he has so greatly offended; not of an erring mortal like himself.What could my forgiveness avail him?"

  "Much," answered the old man. "It will be an earnest of that which hemay then venture to ask from his Creator, lady, and from yours.Remember, Lady Bothwell, you too have a death-bed to look forward to;your soul may, all human souls must, feel the awe of facing thejudgment seat, with the wounds of an untented conscience, raw, andrankling--what thought would it be then that should whisper, 'I havegiven no mercy, how then shall I ask it?'"

  "Man, whosoever thou mayst be," replied Lady Bothwell, "urge me not socruelly. It would be but blasphemous hypocrisy lo utter with my lipsthe words which every throb of my heart protests against. They wouldopen the earth and give to light the wasted form of my sister--thebloody form of my murdered brother--forgive him?--Never, never!"

  "Great God!" cried the old man, holding up his hands, "is it thus theworms which thou hast called out of dust obey the commands of theirMaker? Farewell, proud and unforgiving woman. Exult that thou hastadded to a death in want and pain the agonies of religious despair; butnever again mock Heaven by petitioning for the pardon which thou hostrefused to grant."

  He was turning from her.

  "Stop," she exclaimed; "I will try; yes, I will try to pardon him."

  "Gracious lady," said the old man, "you will relieve the over-burdenedsoul, which dare not sever itself from its sinful companion of earthwithout being at peace with you. What do I know--your forgiveness mayperhaps preserve for penitence the dregs of a wretched life."

  "Ha!" said the lady, as a sudden light broke on her, "it is the villainhimself!" And grasping Sir Philip Forester--for it was he, and noother--by the collar, she raised a cry of "Murder, murder! Seize themurderer!"

  At an exclamation so singular, in such a place, the company throngedinto the apartment, but Sir Philip Forester was no longer there. He hadforcibly extricated himself from Lady Bothwell's hold, and had run outof the apartment which opened on the landing-place of the stair. Thereseemed no escape in that direction, for there were several personscoming up the steps, and others descending. But the unfortunate man wasdesperate. He threw himself over the balustrade, and alighted safely inthe lobby, though a leap of fifteen feet at least, then dashed into thestreet and was lost in darkness. Some of the Bothwell family madepursuit, and, had they come up with the fugitive, they might haveperhaps slain him; for in those days men's blood ran warm in theirveins. But the police did not interfere; the matter most criminalhaving happened long since, and in a foreign land. Indeed, it wasalways thought, that this extraordinary scene originated in ahypocritical experiment, by which Sir Philip desired to ascertainwhether he might return to his native country in safety from theresentment of a family which he had injured so deeply. As the resultfell out so contrary to his wishes, he is believed to have returned tothe Continent, and there died in exile.

  So closed the tale of the MYSTERIOUS MIRROR.