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VOL. VI.
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(» THE 1:MH4\K1IIvVJT.
Under themist and the moonlight I wander alone
along,
Between the hum of the city aud the river’s
soothing song,
And the wind that blows from the water is keen
like a sword and strong.
I love to roam by the river in the grey of the
winter nights,
Till I seem to be nought but a shadow among the
Bhadowy sights,
Above and below and around me a dazzling
tangle of lights.
Lights that glow in the water, lights that burn in
the sky,
Lights that twinkle and change, lights that flitter
and fly,
And the great moon over all ruling supreme on
high,
Clothed by the shining mist with a wedding gar
ment of white.
And the tide of the river to left and the city’s
tide to right
Run swiftly out in the darkness, filling the ear
of night
With a musical, mingled murmur that wakes fn
my dreaming braiu
Thoughts too sad for pleasure and yet too
soothing for pain,
And steals 'twixt the thoughts awakened like a
far-off song’s refrain.
There is passion and pain and sorrow, there i
hope and rest and ease,
And labor with love for a guerdon in the ming
ling melodies,
And my vague unrest is quiet, and I am content
and at peace.
H. E. Clarke.
PRfNCESS MARGHER1TA
PEASANT WOMAN.
EVEN UNTO DEATH;
—OR THE—
Mystery of Monk’s Tower.
BT ROSE ASHLEIGH,
orsonth Carolina.
Author of ’ l His Other Wife," “The Wid
ow's Wages," etc.
CHAPTER VII.
THE GHOST’S CAVE.
To clasp both of the lady’s hands in one of
his own, and with the other grasp a jutting
point of rock on the edge of the cliff and
swing himself down to the platform of gran
ite below, was the work of a moment for the
practised strength and activity of Lord Cre-
veldt. Whether from the effect of some
physical strain, or the shock of finding her- j
self suspended over the abyss, Lady Ina had j
lost consciousness entirely, and there seemed j
not a vestige of life in the limp form that
Lord Creveldt received in his arms as he
stood beside her.
Lifting her as easily as one might a sleep
ing child, he passed a few steps under the
projecting cliff that arched over their heads,
and entered an archway of solid rock—
which was, in fact, an entrance to a small
cave, so cunningly hollowed out as to seem
the work of a skilful artisan. Lichens of
green and golden hues had overgrown the
archway and the rough surface of stones
that formed the cavern floor. In the moon
light it simulated rich velvet tapestry. Plac
ing the lady upon this soft natural carpeting
within the cave, Lord Creveldt steeped his i
handkerchief in the sparkling streamlet, that J
like a ray of diamond light trickled down- j
wards through the interstices of the crystal- |
line rock at the further end of the cave, and :
emptied itself into a basin that its constant T
dripping had excavated.
With this he bathed the still white face of
his lovely charge, having first lifted and pil- I
lowed it upon his arm. so that her respiration 1
might be unimpeded by a more recumbent
position. Being near the mouth of the cave,
the fresh keen air swept in and very speedily
signs of returning consciousness relieved the ;
anxiety which filled Lord Creveldt's breast. |
The ivory comb that fastened up the coil j
of Lady Ina's soft dark hair had fallen from ■
i's place, and all the length of it traded loose
about the stalwart arm that encircled her.
With something of passionate sadness, Lord
Creveldt's eyes rested on the hushed yet en
chanting beauty of the woman thus aban
doned by chance or flung by destiny upon
his care, under circumstances so calculated
to arouse the most intense interest of a na
ture at once so chivalrous and so deeply
tinctured with fervid romance.
The course of his reflections was interrupt
ed by finding Lady Ina's eyes of tender grey
wide open, gazing full upon his face. The
look was vague, as if it peered through the
mist of dreams. She neither stirred nor
spoke. The trance was still unbroken, but
the dawn of thought was slowly breaking
through the obscurity that had fallen over
her brain. Lord Creveldt held his breath
lest it might hasten her wakening; beseemed
to find a charm all new and delicious in bold
ing her pliant form against his heart that
had so long been chill aud solitary as some ,
deserted sarcophagus.
Yet what was this strange woman to him ;
Nothing. But all the same, he felt an in
voluntary impulse to lean down and breathe
the perfume of the rich half-smiling mouth—
to fold more closely to him the perfect form.
Ah. if she bad only not waked so soon!
He smiled—perhaps at the forbidden pleas
ure of his thought; and his smile broke the
spell that so lightly held her senses.
In a moment she had drawn herself away
from him, asking, in a tremulous whisper:
“Where am I i"
“You are quite safe,” Lord Creveldt an
swered, cheerily; and he movd a little fur
ther from her side, yet not rising from his
knee.
“Ah, I remember now. I believe I grew
dizzy, and then blind after slipping from
the rock. What place is this i”
She glanced around her, wonderstruck,
upon the moonlit cave, whose walls of pure
stalactite glistened like an incrustation of
jewels in the reflected rays that entered
through the arched portal, and gleamed from
point to point along the walls and roof.
“We could easily fancy ourselves enshrined
within some fabled ocean cave, like Triton
and one of Amphitrite’s nymphs; but in so-
MONK.
KING VICTOR EMANUEL.
ber truth, we are only six feet below the
rock from which you had the courage to
step, and are safely sheltered here from the
moist night wind.”
“How beautiful this cave is!”
“There are many such along this coast.
Many an hour of my boyhood was dreamed
away within this niche—dear to me because
unfrequented by less ambitions or less ro
mantic urchins. The slight danger which
accompanied the scaling of the rock in my j
retreat was, perhaps, one of its chief charms
to me. Now that I can place my hand upon
the top of the cliff, and by one motion of my
body swing myself aloft, I seem not to care
so much about visiting my old hiding-
place.”
“It is a wild spot, though. How the surf
roars down there!”
“One is at least safe frcm intrusion here.
I suppose it is not once in a year that even
the boldest lads who wander about these
crags come to inspect this nook: and, like
most places of unusual aspect, it has its tra
dition that sanctifies it from the profane vul
gar.” _ .
“What legend is associated with it;
“It is said that a bold sea-rover saw and
loved the fair daughter of an ancient earl
who once inhabited the castle now honoured
by your residence. Her father refused his
countenance to the lovers, and the lady fled
by night from the castle, and hid herself
within this cave, from which, by previous
agreement, she signalled her lover s ship.
He came ashore, found his way hither, and.
bv means of a rope that he had brought for
the purpose, attempted to lower his sweet
heart to a life-boat that his sailors had in
waiting beneath when the tide w-as low.^ But
his evil genius had made a fatal flaw in the
rope, and just when the damsel hung sus
pended on it midway between the cliff and
cliff and the wave’-beaten beach, the rope
snapped in twain, and the unhappy maiden
fell crushed upon the sands. In a frenzy of
grief and despair, the lover flung himself j
from the cliff, and shared his sw'eetheart s j
fate.
“The legend affirms that on every stormy
night the wails and cries of suffering spirits
issue from this cave, which is supposed to be
the trysting spot of the lovers’ ghosts. So
firmly is this believed by the peasantry, that
few. if any of them, would venture nigh its
vicinity by night. The sounds, that seem to
be the lamentations of souls in pain, are in
reality occasioned by gusts of wind passing
and re-passing through the aperture of this
cave.”
Ladv Ina made no comment on the tragic
story which Lord Creceldt had narrated in a i
tone so utterly incredulous, that it was easy
to see how little he believed the fabulous ac- |
count. He had risen from his kneeling pos
ture when he began the tale, and stood lean- i
ing against one side of the arched entrance
which his form almost tilled up. The count
ess sat still upon the mossy carpet, with one
of her arms resting upon a fragment of the
rock that projected from the shining side of
the cave. At length she said:
“A veil of gloomy romance seems to hang
about all that pertains to this vicinity—the
living as well as the dead of its inhabitants,
“Why do vou say that i”
“I was thinking of the present lord oi these
estates, of whom strange, dark rumours have
reached me.” , _ -
“Indeed! What do the rumours say of
him
“I have understood from mv guardian. Dr.
Raolfo. that the Lord of Creveldt is. as the
Scotch sav, -unco uncanny —a sort of Man
fred of w hom his associates stand much m
awe. dreading his fierce temper as much as
his bitter, scathing wit: in a word that he
is one of those singular men, accredited with
all the sins in the calender, yet against whom
no one can bring a specific charge. ■
striking types of
“An enviable reputation, truly!” said Lord j
Creveldt, a broad smile of genuine humour
brightening his face. Then he added, “You |
must congratulate yourself on your immu- I
nitv from his acquaintance ?”
“Not in the least. In fact, he is the only j
creature living whom I have any desire to I
meet.” !
“Yre you, then, partial to the diabolical j
type of man 1”
“No, not by any means, It is a different
kind of sympathy which attracts me to this |
‘dark stranger.’ I imagine he must have j
suffered dreadful things in reaching this point
of moral isolation.” !
There was a sweet, pathetic tenderness in
the lady’s voice that seemed to proclaim her {
one’of the vast fraternity of pain. It was as |
if the sentient fibres of her nature perpetual- ■
ly reached out to touch with those on whom j
suffering had;fastened its cruel fang.
“Would you, then, have no dread of one so I
stigmatized ?” asked Lord Creveldt, gently,
and almost mournfully, as he moved a little
nearer to his companion, whose face, upturn
ed to him, shone in the moonlight soft and
pure as a snow-white flower.
“Surely not on account of what is said of
him. Perhaps I might, if, knowing Rim, I
found him the evil man he is represented to
be. I suppose he must at some period of his
life have be n very wicked: but I hold that
one may be at the same time very good and
very bad.”
“A most paradoxical creed,” said Lord
Creveldt, laughing lightly, and once more
placing himself beside the countess, lying
stretched at her feet on the moss, and sup
porting his bare head upon his arm so tnat
he could look straight up into her eyes.
“I mean this. One may possess a dual na
ture—one of which touches heaven, the other
hell. It depends on the circumstances of his
life which of these natures is developed out
wardly—that is to say, in which of these he
appears to his fellows.”
“And at the same time that one of them is
visibly perfected, the other may be secretly
cultivated—that is your idea ?”
“Precisely. And only kindred spirits of
the interior nature may "divine its existence.
Some men whom the w-orld esteem most
righteous are, we know, devils at heart; but
only a chosen few ever find it out. In the
same manner, some whom the world brands
as sinners preserve in the intensesc degree
the angelic qualit'es which constitute our
birthright to divinity.”
“And you are charitable enough to think
it possible that poor Creveldt may not be al
together so black as he’s painted :
"I am sure of it, for this one good reason
I understand that his mother is almost a
saint, and that she adores this desperate man.
Behold the proof of my theory.”
Lady Ina laughed as she looked down into
the dark, thoughtful face over which a cloud
of troubled feeling had gathered, and added:
“But as it is not in th--‘ least likely I shall
ever see this saturnine being, who, I under
stand. is wandering somewhere in the East,
and not likely to return before I take my
flight southward with the swallows, we
might as well rind some other subject of con
versation.”
“No doubt there are many far better suit
ed to your lips.”
So nettling in the profound melancholy
with which these words were spoken caused
the countess to scrutinize more closely the
face of her companion.
He had turned it a little from her. His
eves had left her. and rested with a far-away
expression on the star-gemmed heavens: and
in his whole aspect her fantastic imagination
framed a likeness, to the ancient Chaldean
sages, who mixed the imperfect lore of life j
with the mvstical science of the astrologer. I
He seemed to have forgotten her presence
entirely, so deep was his abstraction.
ITAMAY CHARACTER.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WATCHMAN OF MONK’S TOWER.
As much from the exceptional conditions
of her life as from a native fearlessness of
disposition, Lady Ina was, of all women, the
most indifferent to conventional customs.
The usage de monde, as it existed in Eng
lish society, was unknown to her, and the
freedom that characterized the best society
on the Continent had been the atmosphere
that surrounded her youth.
Dui ing the later years of her life she had
been so singularly circumstanced as to ren
der her to the last degree independent of so
cial observance. The embarassment which
might have attended such an adventure as
this solitary night vigil in a lonely cave with
a total stranger, had she been an Englishwo
man, seemed to have little or no place in
Lady Ina’s thoughts.
Instinctively she recognized in her volun
tary’ protector that indefinable something
which individualizes the preuu chevalier
from his social equals of less tenacious deli
cacy. And it did not even occur to her that
her situation was not as secure from any in
fringement of the most austere etiquette, as
if she were surrounded by all the social bar
riers imaginable.
The succeeding hours of their long tete-a
tete in the beautiful grotto, with only the
moonlight and starshine to dissipate the mys
tery of darkness, and only the voice of the
sea to break the solemn hush of midnight,
were passed in such discursive talk as served
to establish a more direct and lucid acquaint
anceship between them than weeks of ordi
nary conventional association could have
done"
It was with a feeling of unreserved and
mutual comprehension that they left their
romantic retreat, although not even an ex
change of names had been effected between
them. That formality seemed not to have
occurred to either.
Springing to the upper cliff. Lord Creveldt
assisted the countess to regain the ascent with
as little difficulty as he had effected her de
scent.
When they reached the bottom of the cliff
on the opposite side, they found a smooth
bed of glistening sand. The waves were at
low tide, fringing the edge of the beach with
light, foamy ripples, and stranded on the flat
sands was Lord Creveldt’s pleasure boat.
“Let us stop for a moment and refresh our
selves before proceeding to the castle,” said
his lordship, handing the countess into the
boat, and producing from its locker a can of
hard biscuits and a flask of wine which had
composed his frugal fare during the previous
day’s excursion.
1; was almost daydawn when they reached
the old castle, and in the white mists and
pale light of that ghostly hour, the scene
wore a spectral weirdness. Black and sol
emn rose the gloomy turret wing against the
pearly east as they approached it from the
rear.
“No siren sang within yonder lonely cham
ber last night, at least, unless your wraith.”
said Lord Creveldt, pointing to the sharply
defined tower.
Lady Ina made no answer: but he felt
that she shuddered as she leaned upon his
arm.
The very sight of those silent walls made
'her soul sicken: and that any one should
smile and jest in presence of the ghastly hor
rors which they enclosed—even though un
aware of what lay hidden by the heavy ma
sonry—grated on her feelings as sorely as if
a rude hand had touched a raw wound.
Noiselessly they passed through a neglect
ed orchard that extended along the back of
the building, and by a small wicket gate en
tered a large paved courtyard, on whose
broad flagstones the dews lay thick as rain.
Simultaneously with the unclosing of the
SHEPHERD.
wicket, the deep-mouthed cry of the great
Alpine dog sounded on the stillness with an
almost unearthly reverberation.
The howl of Cerberus from some infernal
cavern could scarcely have waked wilder
echoes from the surrounding hills and vales,
and immediately succeeding it appeared the
grizzly beast, all bristling and flame-eyed,
ready to make short shrift for any intruder
upon the precincts of his watch, as might be
seen from the angry array of formidable
tusks w hich he displayed.
“Peace, Conrad!” exclaimed the countess
in Italian, and in a tone so sweetly persua
sive as to seem ridiculous when addressed to
the furious-looking animal that came loftily-
stepping towards her. But it sufficed to ren
der him absolutely submissive, although he
continued to show his teeth and glare at the
tall stranger beside her.
She passed one of her small hands over
Conrad’s great head, as she said:
“Let me not detain you longer at this un
christian hour, my kind protector. Believe
me sincerely grateful for the inestimable ser
vice you have rendered. If you would only-
show me how I might fitly testify my appre
ciation of your delicate kindness ”
She paused: a bright flush suffused her
face from brow to throat.
“Do not mention it, signora. The pleasure
has all been mine—the pain and peril of our
misadventure yours. If I have relieved it of
one anxious moment, I am happy.”
Without a word more, he pressed her hand,
lifted his hat, and disappeared through the
wicket, leaving the countess keenly disap
pointed that the episode had terminated with
out revealing to her the name and condition
of her protector, who passed out of sight
through the shadows of the dawnlit orchard.
At that instant the voice of the middle-aged
seneschal of the castle accosted for from the
further end of the court.
“Dio signora, we have been wild about
you!” cried Giacomo, the man-of-all-work,
who approached her, Conrad's fierce signal
having waked him. He spoke in the musical
patois of the Italian peasantry.
“Where is the master 1” asked the countess
in her native tongue.
“St. Peter only can tell, sigora. He went
in search of you as soon as your absence was
discovered—last night at bed-time—and has
not vet returned.”
“Good! Go back to your couch, Giacomo,
and when Benedetta rises, bid her not have
me disturbed till I ring for her.”
Silencing all further remark from the
curious majordomo by a wave of her hand,
the countess passed up the dim stairway to
her own chambers, and all again became
silent in the castle.
Some hours later Dr. Raolfo was seen ap
proaching up the long dark avenue, riding
slowly and with his face bowed in deep
thought upon his chest.
The jaded gait and wee flanks of his horse
showed signs of a weary night’s travel. In
fact, the doctor had ridden far and wide,
seeking traces of his missing ward, and find
ing none, was returning with his mind filled
with gloomy forebodings. He knew well
how desperately weary of life the countess
invariably grew after every such ordeal as
bad the day previous been imposed upon her,
and not unaturally he feared that she may
have sought escape from the ills she knew of
by an untimely plunge into the Unknown.
CHAPTER IX.
LADY INA’S VISITORS.
Some days elapsed after the episode related
in the last chapter before Dr. Raolfo could
induce his fair ward to give him an audience,
and relieve his curiosity concerning her, to
him. unaccountable absence during so many
hours.
When at length she consented to receive
the doctor she gave a succinct narration of
her adventure.
At the close of it, the doctor looked grave,
and his tone evinced the keenest annoyance
as he said:
“Bignora, I trust that no one is aware of
the fact that you passed almost one entire
night, alone in a solitary cave, with what
you are pleased to denominate ‘a most noble
looking gentleman. ’ ”
"And if it were known, what then t" asked
the lady, naively.
“Only this—that herein England’your rep
utation would not be worth that!"
The Doctor snapped his Augers to signify
what he meant by the contemptuous “that.”
“How on earth can my reputation suffer
from the fact of my having been the subject
of a mischance, and receiving the kind pro
tection of a strangers”
“Signora cara, 1 know that you are absurd
ly innocent on many subjects; but you can
scarcely require me to explain to you what
gossip might easily say of your late ‘mis
chance.’ ”
Lady Ina coloured violently, more at the
cool impertinence of the doctor’s tone than
because she comprehended all that his words
too evidently implied. She anwered, with
disdain:
“If you wish to imply that the noble
stranger made love to me, signor, allow me
to inform you that I did not so much as dis
cover his name or his station, nor did he seek
to assure himself of mine.”
“I don’t see how that alters the doubtful
ness of your position in regard to having en
joyed his protection under such peculiar cir
cumstances, signor-. You have not yet an
swered my question as to the amount of pub
licity this romantic incident is likely to
have.”
“None whatever, unless you are pleased to
announce it. No one saw me return with the
stranger—not even Giacomo.”
“That is well. Take my advice, and let
the knowledge of it rest between us”
Lady Ina’s lip curled a little. It was clear
that she mistrusted the motives of Dr.
Raolfo’s solicitude for the sanctity of her
reputation. Perhaps she was contrasting it
with his own conduct in her regard on form
er occasions.
“Are you not expecting that your cavalier
will pay his respects, and emerge from his
incognito, signora f"
“He did not ask permission to call, nor in
deed seem disposed to extend our acquain
tanceship in the least.”
“Doubtless there maybe reasons why he
prefers to confine his gallantries to forlorn
ladies and the friendly shadows of the night.
Most probably your knight is some smuggler
or brigand who does not venture forth in the
sunlight;”
“I am quite certain he is neither the one
nor the other. But why discuss him, since
we are not liable to any further association
with him ?”
“Unless"—the doctor cast a wicked side
long glance at the countess, and paused a
[ second before adding— “ unless, indeed,
| you shonld find yourself belated on the cliff
| again.”
Lady Ina rose and walked to the window
which opened on the balcony. The doctor
seemed to understand the cold contempt of
her silence. He watched her for a moment.
She stood gazing out upon the still landscape!
and seemed to have forgotton or ignored his
presence.
He stepped steathily to her side, and rested
his long, brown fingers lightly on her should
er, as he said softly:
“Carissima, forgive me if I have offended.
You know what is in my heart for you, and
that I am jealous of the very air that touches
your cheek.”
She shook herself free of his hand as if it
had been a viper, and an angry light shone
in her eyes, as she replied:
“And I have told you ten thousand times
how I abhor what is in your heart for me
each day more th in the last. Do you wish
to drive me mad by repeating it to me;”
The low, controlled tone in which she spoke
denoted a more impassioned earnestness than
a whole tirade ot abuse could have done.
The swart face of the Italian paled so much,
and so fierce a flame burned in his jet-black
eyes, that a woman less brave than the coun
tess would have recoiled in fear from the
demon she had raised. But Lady Ina calmly
met the red flash of mingled wrath and pas
sion.
Whatever might have followed was at this
moment prevented by the sound of a heavy
vehicle, borne by fleet steeds, approaching
up the drive. The doctor and the countess
turned at the same moment, just in time to
see a grand coacb-and-four, with sumptuous-
ly-liveried servants and rich emblazoned
decorations draw up before the castle.
A few minutes after, Giacomo appeared
with the card of Lady Helen, Countess of
Creveldt.
Lad}’ ina had just begun to send her cus-
; tomary excuse to her visitor, when the doc-
! tor interposed with:
j “By no means refuse to see Lady Creveldt
She is the one personage in this community
with whom it is advisable you should form
an acquaintanceship.”
“But why need 1 know any one ?”
“It is important you should know her.
Trust me to give you a satisfactory reason
later.”
“Say to Lady Creveldt I will be with her
immediately,” said Lady ina, with reluctant
acquiescence in the wisnes of her guardian,
for whom she seemed to entertain so little
regard in other respects.
Although it was past noon some hours, the
countess still wore her morning robe of white
muslin. This she did not stop to change for
a more appropriate reception dress, but de
scended at o^ce to the large dim chamber
that opened on the hall below, and which had
I been fitted up at great expense as a drawing-
room and library combined. The arrange
ments so entirely accorded with the style of
architecture and antique decorations of the
chamber as to present a most artistic effect.
, One seemed to have entered an apartment of
| the Middle Ages, where the subdued light
through the lofty stained windows fell over
tapestries wrought centuries ago, and pictures
dark with age, and ancient tomes of illumi
nated volumes standing in richly-carved
cases, like those seen in German monaste
ries diating back to the time of Luther.
As Lady Ina entered this lofty room, she
advanced with a smile to a pale, fragile wo
man past sixty, but seeming less because of
the freshness of a pure complexion, and the
gentle light that played from lovely brown
eyes over her calm features. Very white
and glossy hair lay smoothly folded on a
broad sweet brow under the widow’s close
bonnet, and well-fitting garments of mourn-