On the northern shore of Sicily are still to be seen the magnificentremains of a castle, which formerly belonged to the noble house ofMazzini. It stands in the centre of a small bay, and upon a gentleacclivity, which, on one side, slopes towards the sea, and on theother rises into an eminence crowned by dark woods. The situation isadmirably beautiful and picturesque, and the ruins have an air ofancient grandeur, which, contrasted with the present solitude of thescene, impresses the traveller with awe and curiosity. During mytravels abroad I visited this spot. As I walked over the loosefragments of stone, which lay scattered through the immense area ofthe fabrick, and surveyed the sublimity and grandeur of the ruins, Irecurred, by a natural association of ideas, to the times when thesewalls stood proudly in their original splendour, when the halls werethe scenes of hospitality and festive magnificence, and when theyresounded with the voices of those whom death had long since sweptfrom the earth. 'Thus, ' said I, 'shall the present generation--he whonow sinks in misery--and he who now swims in pleasure, alike passaway and be forgotten. ' My heart swelled with the reflection; and, asI turned from the scene with a sigh, I fixed my eyes upon a friar, whose venerable figure, gently bending towards the earth, formed nouninteresting object in the picture. He observed my emotion; and, asmy eye met his, shook his head and pointed to the ruin. 'These walls, 'said he, 'were once the seat of luxury and vice. They exhibited asingular instance of the retribution of Heaven, and were from thatperiod forsaken, and abandoned to decay. ' His words excited mycuriosity, and I enquired further concerning their meaning. 

'A solemn history belongs to this castle, said he, 'which is too longand intricate for me to relate. It is, however, contained in amanuscript in our library, of which I could, perhaps, procure you asight. A brother of our order, a descendant of the noble house ofMazzini, collected and recorded the most striking incidents relatingto his family, and the history thus formed, he left as a legacy to ourconvent. If you please, we will walk thither. '

I accompanied him to the convent, and the friar introduced me to hissuperior, a man of an intelligent mind and benevolent heart, with whomI passed some hours in interesting conversation. I believe mysentiments pleased him; for, by his indulgence, I was permitted totake abstracts of the history before me, which, with some furtherparticulars obtained in conversation with the abate, I have arrangedin the following pages. 

CHAPTER I

Towards the close of the sixteenth century, this castle was in thepossession of Ferdinand, fifth marquis of Mazzini, and was for someyears the principal residence of his family. He was a man of avoluptuous and imperious character. To his first wife, he marriedLouisa Bernini, second daughter of the Count della Salario, a lady yetmore distinguished for the sweetness of her manners and the gentlenessof her disposition, than for her beauty. She brought the marquis oneson and two daughters, who lost their amiable mother in earlychildhood. The arrogant and impetuous character of the marquisoperated powerfully upon the mild and susceptible nature of his lady:and it was by many persons believed, that his unkindness and neglectput a period to her life. However this might be, he soon afterwardsmarried Maria de Vellorno, a young lady eminently beautiful, but of acharacter very opposite to that of her predecessor. She was a woman ofinfinite art, devoted to pleasure, and of an unconquerable spirit. Themarquis, whose heart was dead to paternal tenderness, and whosepresent lady was too volatile to attend to domestic concerns, committed the education of his daughters to the care of a lady, completely qualified for the undertaking, and who was distantlyrelated to the late marchioness. 

He quitted Mazzini soon after his second marriage, for the gaietiesand splendour of Naples, whither his son accompanied him. Thoughnaturally of a haughty and overbearing disposition, he was governed byhis wife. His passions were vehement, and she had the address to bendthem to her own purpose; and so well to conceal her influence, that hethought himself most independent when he was most enslaved. He paid anannual visit to the castle of Mazzini; but the marchioness seldomattended him, and he staid only to give such general directionsconcerning the education of his daughters, as his pride, rather thanhis affection, seemed to dictate. 

Emilia, the elder, inherited much of her mother's disposition. She hada mild and sweet temper, united with a clear and comprehensive mind. Her younger sister, Julia, was of a more lively cast. An extremesensibility subjected her to frequent uneasiness; her temper was warm, but generous; she was quickly irritated, and quickly appeased; and toa reproof, however gentle, she would often weep, but was never sullen. Her imagination was ardent, and her mind early exhibited symptoms ofgenius. It was the particular care of Madame de Menon to counteractthose traits in the disposition of her young pupils, which appearedinimical to their future happiness; and for this task she hadabilities which entitled her to hope for success. A series of earlymisfortunes had entendered her heart, without weakening the powers ofher understanding. In retirement she had acquired tranquillity, andhad almost lost the consciousness of those sorrows which yet threw asoft and not unpleasing shade over her character. She loved her youngcharge with maternal fondness, and their gradual improvement andrespectful tenderness repaid all her anxiety. Madame excelled in musicand drawing. She had often forgot her sorrows in these amusements, when her mind was too much occupied to derive consolation from books, and she was assiduous to impart to Emilia and Julia a power sovaluable as that of beguiling the sense of affliction. Emilia's tasteled her to drawing, and she soon made rapid advances in that art. Julia was uncommonly susceptible of the charms of harmony. She hadfeelings which trembled in unison to all its various and enchantingpowers. 

The instructions of madame she caught with astonishing quickness, andin a short time attained to a degree of excellence in her favoritestudy, which few persons have ever exceeded. Her manner was entirelyher own. It was not in the rapid intricacies of execution, that sheexcelled so much in as in that delicacy of taste, and in thoseenchanting powers of expression, which seem to breathe a soul throughthe sound, and which take captive the heart of the hearer. The lutewas her favorite instrument, and its tender notes accorded well withthe sweet and melting tones of her voice. 

The castle of Mazzini was a large irregular fabrick, and seemed suitedto receive a numerous train of followers, such as, in those days, served the nobility, either in the splendour of peace, or theturbulence of war. Its present family inhabited only a small part ofit; and even this part appeared forlorn and almost desolate from thespaciousness of the apartments, and the length of the galleries whichled to them. A melancholy stillness reigned through the halls, and thesilence of the courts, which were shaded by high turrets, was for manyhours together undisturbed by the sound of any foot-step. Julia, whodiscovered an early taste for books, loved to retire in an evening toa small closet in which she had collected her favorite authors. Thisroom formed the western angle of the castle: one of its windows lookedupon the sea, beyond which was faintly seen, skirting the horizon, thedark rocky coast of Calabria; the other opened towards a part of thecastle, and afforded a prospect of the neighbouring woods. Her musicalinstruments were here deposited, with whatever assisted her favoriteamusements. This spot, which was at once elegant, pleasant, andretired, was embellished with many little ornaments of her owninvention, and with some drawings executed by her sister. The ciosetwas adjoining her chamber, and was separated from the apartments ofmadame only by a short gallery. This gallery opened into another, longand winding, which led to the grand staircase, terminating in thenorth hall, with which the chief apartments of the north side of theedifice communicated. 

Madame de Menon's apartment opened into both galleries. It was in oneof these rooms that she usually spent the mornings, occupied in theimprovement of her young charge. The windows looked towards the sea, and the room was light and pleasant. It was their custom to dine inone of the lower apartments, and at table they were always joined by adependant of the marquis's, who had resided many years in the castle, and who instructed the young ladies in the Latin tongue, and ingeography. During the fine evenings of summer, this little partyfrequently supped in a pavilion, which was built on an eminence in thewoods belonging to the castle. From this spot the eye had an almostboundless range of sea and land. It commanded the straits of Messina, with the opposite shores of Calabria, and a great extent of the wildand picturesque scenery of Sicily. Mount Etna, crowned with eternalsnows, and shooting from among the clouds, formed a grand and sublimepicture in the background of the scene. The city of Palermo was alsodistinguishable; and Julia, as she gazed on its glittering spires;would endeavour in imagination to depicture its beauties, while shesecretly sighed for a view of that world, from which she had hithertobeen secluded by the mean jealousy of the marchioness, upon whose mindthe dread of rival beauty operated strongly to the prejudice of Emiliaand Julia. She employed all her influence over the marquis to detainthem in retirement; and, though Emilia was now twenty, and her sistereighteen, they had never passed the boundaries of their father'sdomains. 

Vanity often produces unreasonable alarm; but the marchioness had inthis instance just grounds for apprehension; the beauty of her lord'sdaughters has seldom been exceeded. The person of Emilia was finelyproportioned. Her complexion was fair, her hair flaxen, and her darkblue eyes were full of sweet expression. Her manners were dignifiedand elegant, and in her air was a feminine softness, a tender timiditywhich irresistibly attracted the heart of the beholder. The figure ofJulia was light and graceful--her step was airy--her mien animated, and her smile enchanting. Her eyes were dark, and full of fire, buttempered with modest sweetness. Her features were finely turned--everylaughing grace played round her mouth, and her countenance quicklydiscovered all the various emotions of her soul. The dark auburn hair, which curled in beautiful profusion in her neck, gave a finishingcharm to her appearance. 

Thus lovely, and thus veiled in obscurity, were the daughters of thenoble Mazzini. But they were happy, for they knew not enough of theworld seriously to regret the want of its enjoyments, though Juliawould sometimes sigh for the airy image which her fancies painted, anda painful curiosity would arise concerning the busy scenes from whichshe was excluded. A return to her customary amusements, however, wouldchase the ideal image from her mind, and restore her usual happycomplacency. Books, music, and painting, divided the hours of herleisure, and many beautiful summer-evenings were spent in thepavilion, where the refined conversation of madame, the poetry ofTasso, the lute of Julia, and the friendship of Emilia, combined toform a species of happiness, such as elevated and highly susceptibleminds are alone capable of receiving or communicating. Madameunderstood and practised all the graces of conversation, and her youngpupils perceived its value, and caught the spirit of its character. 

Conversation may be divided into two classes--the familiar and thesentimental. It is the province of the familiar, to diffusecheerfulness and ease--to open the heart of man to man, and to beam atemperate sunshine upon the mind. --Nature and art must conspire torender us susceptible of the charms, and to qualify us for thepractice of the second class of conversation, here termed sentimental, and in which Madame de Menon particularly excelled. To good sense, lively feeling, and natural delicacy of taste, must be united anexpansion of mind, and a refinement of thought, which is the result ofhigh cultivation. To render this sort of conversation irresistiblyattractive, a knowledge of the world is requisite, and that enchantingcase, that elegance of manner, which is to be acquired only byfrequenting the higher circles of polished life. In sentimentalconversation, subjects interesting to the heart, and to theimagination, are brought forward; they are discussed in a kind ofsportive way, with animation and refinement, and are never continuedlonger than politeness allows. Here fancy flourishes, --thesensibilities expand--and wit, guided by delicacy and embellished bytaste--points to the heart. 

Such was the conversation of Madame de Menon; and the pleasant gaietyof the pavilion seemed peculiarly to adapt it for the scene of socialdelights. On the evening of a very sultry day, having supped in theirfavorite spot, the coolness of the hour, and the beauty of the night, tempted this happy party to remain there later than usual. Returninghome, they were surprised by the appearance of a light through thebroken window-shutters of an apartment, belonging to a division of thecastle which had for many years been shut up. They stopped to observeit, when it suddenly disappeared, and was seen no more. Madame deMenon, disturbed at this phaenomenon, hastened into the castle, with aview of enquiring into the cause of it, when she was met in the northhall by Vincent. She related to him what she had seen, and ordered animmediate search to be made for the keys of those apartments. Sheapprehended that some person had penetrated that part of the edificewith an intention of plunder; and, disdaining a paltry fear where herduty was concerned, she summoned the servants of the castle, with anintention of accompanying them thither. Vincent smiled at herapprehensions, and imputed what she had seen to an illusion, which thesolemnity of the hour had impressed upon her fancy. Madame, however, persevered in her purpose; and, after along and repeated search, amassey key, covered with rust, was produced. She then proceeded to thesouthern side of the edifice, accompanied by Vincent, and followed bythe servants, who were agitated with impatient wonder. The key wasapplied to an iron gate, which opened into a court that separated thisdivision from the other parts of the castle. They entered this court, which was overgrown with grass and weeds, and ascended some steps thatled to a large door, which they vainly endeavoured to open. All thedifferent keys of the castle were applied to the lock, without effect, and they were at length compelled to quit the place, without havingeither satisfied their curiosity, or quieted their fears. Everything, however, was still, and the light did not reappear. Madame concealedher apprehensions, and the family retired to rest. 

This circumstance dwelt on the mind of Madame de Menon, and it wassome time before she ventured again to spend an evening in thepavilion. After several months passed, without further disturbance ordiscovery, another occurrence renewed the alarm. Julia had one nightremained in her closet later than usual. A favorite book had engagedher attention beyond the hour of customary repose, and everyinhabitant of the castle, except herself, had long been lost in sleep. She was roused from her forgetfulness, by the sound of the castleclock, which struck one. Surprised at the lateness of the hour, sherose in haste, and was moving to her chamber, when the beauty of thenight attracted her to the window. She opened it; and observing a fineeffect of moonlight upon the dark woods, leaned forwards. In thatsituation she had not long remained, when she perceived a lightfaintly flash through a casement in the uninhabited part of thecastle. A sudden tremor seized her, and she with difficulty supportedherself. In a few moments it disappeared, and soon after a figure, bearing a lamp, proceeded from an obscure door belonging to the southtower; and stealing along the outside of the castle walls, turnedround the southern angle, by which it was afterwards hid from theview. Astonished and terrified at what she had seen, she hurried tothe apartment of Madame de Menon, and related the circumstance. Theservants were immediately roused, and the alarm became general. Madamearose and descended into the north hall, where the domestics werealready assembled. No one could be found of courage sufficient toenter into the courts; and the orders of madame were disregarded, whenopposed to the effects of superstitious terror. She perceived thatVincent was absent, but as she was ordering him to be called, heentered the hall. Surprised to find the family thus assembled, he wastold the occasion. He immediately ordered a party of the servants toattend him round the castle walls; and with some reluctance, and morefear, they obeyed him. They all returned to the hall, without havingwitnessed any extraordinary appearance; but though their fears werenot confirmed, they were by no means dissipated. The appearance of alight in a part of the castle which had for several years been shutup, and to which time and circumstance had given an air of singulardesolation, might reasonably be supposed to excite a strong degree ofsurprise and terror. In the minds of the vulgar, any species of thewonderful is received with avidity; and the servants did not hesitatein believing the southern division of the castle to be inhabited by asupernatural power. Too much agitated to sleep, they agreed to watchfor the remainder of the night. For this purpose they arrangedthemselves in the east gallery, where they had a view of the southtower from which the light had issued. The night, however, passedwithout any further disturbance; and the morning dawn, which theybeheld with inexpressible pleasure, dissipated for a while the gloomsof apprehension. But the return of evening renewed the general fear, and for several successive nights the domestics watched the southerntower. Although nothing remarkable was seen, a report was soon raised, and believed, that the southern side of the castle was haunted. Madamede Menon, whose mind was superior to the effects of superstition, wasyet disturbed and perplexed, and she determined, if the lightreappeared, to inform the marquis of the circumstance, and request thekeys of those apartments. 

The marquis, immersed in the dissipations of Naples, seldom rememberedthe castle, or its inhabitants. His son, who had been educated underhis immediate care, was the sole object of his pride, as themarchioness was that of his affection. He loved her with romanticfondness, which she repaid with seeming tenderness, and secretperfidy. She allowed herself a free indulgence in the most licentiouspleasures, yet conducted herself with an art so exquisite as to eludediscovery, and even suspicion. In her amours she was equallyinconstant as ardent, till the young Count Hippolitus de Verezaattracted her attention. The natural fickleness of her dispositionseemed then to cease, and upon him she centered all her desires. 

The count Vereza lost his father in early childhood. He was now ofage, and had just entered upon the possession of his estates. Hisperson was graceful, yet manly; his mind accomplished, and his mannerselegant; his countenance expressed a happy union of spirit, dignity, and benevolence, which formed the principal traits of his character. He had a sublimity of thought, which taught him to despise thevoluptuous vices of the Neapolitans, and led him to higher pursuits. He was the chosen and early friend of young Ferdinand, the son of themarquis, and was a frequent visitor in the family. When themarchioness first saw him, she treated him with great distinction, andat length made such advances, as neither the honor nor theinclinations of the count permitted him to notice. He conductedhimself toward her with frigid indifference, which served only toinflame the passion it was meant to chill. The favors of themarchioness had hitherto been sought with avidity, and accepted withrapture; and the repulsive insensibility which she now experienced, roused all her pride, and called into action every refinement ofcoquetry. 

It was about this period that Vincent was seized with a disorder whichincreased so rapidly, as in a short time to assume the most alarmingappearance. Despairing of life, he desired that a messenger might bedispatched to inform the marquis of his situation, and to signify hisearnest wish to see him before he died. The progress of his disorderdefied every art of medicine, and his visible distress of mind seemedto accelerate his fate. Perceiving his last hour approaching, herequested to have a confessor. The confessor was shut up with him aconsiderable time, and he had already received extreme unction, whenMadame de Menon was summoned to his bedside. The hand of death was nowupon him, cold damps hung upon his brows, and he, with difficulty, raised his heavy eyes to madame as she entered the apartment. Hebeckoned her towards him, and desiring that no person might bepermitted to enter the room, was for a few moments silent. His mindappeared to labour under oppressive remembrances; he made severalattempts to speak, but either resolution or strength failed him. Atlength, giving madame a look of unutterable anguish, 'Alas, madam, 'said he, 'Heaven grants not the prayer of such a wretch as I am. Imust expire long before the marquis can arrive. Since I shall see himno more, I would impart to you a secret which lies heavy at my heart, and which makes my last moments dreadful, as they are without hope. ''Be comforted, ' said madame, who was affected by the energy of hismanner, 'we are taught to believe that forgiveness is never denied tosincere repentance. ' 'You, madam, are ignorant of the enormity of mycrime, and of the secret--the horrid secret which labours at mybreast. My guilt is beyond remedy in this world, and I fear will bewithout pardon in the next; I therefore hope little from confessioneven to a priest. Yet some good it is still in my power to do; let medisclose to you that secret which is so mysteriously connected withthe southern apartments of this castle. '--'What of them!' exclaimedmadame, with impatience. Vincent returned no answer; exhausted by theeffort of speaking, he had fainted. Madame rung for assistance, and byproper applications, his senses were recalled. He was, however, entirely speechless, and in this state he remained till he expired, which was about an hour after he had conversed with madame. 

The perplexity and astonishment of madame, were by the late sceneheightened to a very painful degree. She recollected the variousparticulars relative to the southern division of the castle, the manyyears it had stood uninhabited--the silence which had been observedconcerning it--the appearance of the light and the figure--thefruitless search for the keys, and the reports so generally believed;and thus remembrance presented her with a combination ofcircumstances, which served only to increase her wonder, and heightenher curiosity. A veil of mystery enveloped that part of the castle, which it now seemed impossible should ever be penetrated, since theonly person who could have removed it, was no more. 

The marquis arrived on the day after that on which Vincent hadexpired. He came attended by servants only, and alighted at the gatesof the castle with an air of impatience, and a countenance expressiveof strong emotion. Madame, with the young ladies, received him in thehall. He hastily saluted his daughters, and passed on to the oakparlour, desiring madame to follow him. She obeyed, and the marquisenquired with great agitation after Vincent. When told of his death, he paced the room with hurried steps, and was for some time silent. Atlength seating himself, and surveying madame with a scrutinizing eye, he asked some questions concerning the particulars of Vincent's death. She mentioned his earnest desire to see the marquis, and repeated hislast words. The marquis remained silent, and madame proceeded tomention those circumstances relative to the southern division of thecastle, which she thought it of so much importance to discover. Hetreated the affair very lightly, laughed at her conjectures, represented the appearances she described as the illusions of a weakand timid mind, and broke up the conversation, by going to visit thechamber of Vincent, in which he remained a considerable time. 

On the following day Emilia and Julia dined with the marquis. He wasgloomy and silent; their efforts to amuse him seemed to excitedispleasure rather than kindness; and when the repast was concluded, he withdrew to his own apartment, leaving his daughters in a state ofsorrow and surprise. 

Vincent was to be interred, according to his own desire, in the churchbelonging to the convent of St Nicholas. One of the servants, afterreceiving some necessary orders concerning the funeral, ventured toinform the marquis of the appearance of the lights in the south tower. He mentioned the superstitious reports that prevailed amongst thehousehold, and complained that the servants would not cross the courtsafter it was dark. 'And who is he that has commissioned you with thisstory?' said the marquis, in a tone of displeasure; 'are the weak andridiculous fancies of women and servants to be obtruded upon mynotice? Away--appear no more before me, till you have learned tospeak what it is proper for me to hear. ' Robert withdrew abashed, andit was some time before any person ventured to renew the subject withthe marquis. 

The majority of young Ferdinand now drew near, and the marquisdetermined to celebrate the occasion with festive magnificence at thecastle of Mazzini. He, therefore, summoned the marchioness and his sonfrom Naples, and very splendid preparations were ordered to be made. Emilia and Julia dreaded the arrival of the marchioness, whoseinfluence they had long been sensible of, and from whose presence theyanticipated a painful restraint. Beneath the gentle guidance of Madamede Menon, their hours had passed in happy tranquillity, for they wereignorant alike of the sorrows and the pleasures of the world. Thosedid not oppress, and these did not inflame them. Engaged in thepursuits of knowledge, and in the attainment of elegantaccomplishments, their moments flew lightly away, and the flight oftime was marked only by improvement. In madame was united thetenderness of the mother, with the sympathy of a friend; and theyloved her with a warm and inviolable affection. 

The purposed visit of their brother, whom they had not seen forseveral years, gave them great pleasure. Although their minds retainedno very distinct remembrance of him, they looked forward with eagerand delightful expectation to his virtues and his talents; and hopedto find in his company, a consolation for the uneasiness which thepresence of the marchioness would excite. Neither did Juliacontemplate with indifference the approaching festival. A new scenewas now opening to her, which her young imagination painted in thewarm and glowing colours of delight. The near approach of pleasurefrequently awakens the heart to emotions, which would fail to beexcited by a more remote and abstracted observance. Julia, who, in thedistance, had considered the splendid gaieties of life withtranquillity, now lingered with impatient hope through the momentswhich withheld her from their enjoyments. Emilia, whose feelings wereless lively, and whose imagination was less powerful, beheld theapproaching festival with calm consideration, and almost regretted theinterruption of those tranquil pleasures, which she knew to be morecongenial with her powers and disposition. 

In a few days the marchioness arrived at the castle. She was followedby a numerous retinue, and accompanied by Ferdinand, and several ofthe Italian noblesse, whom pleasure attracted to her train. Herentrance was proclaimed by the sound of music, and those gates whichhad long rusted on their hinges, were thrown open to receive her. Thecourts and halls, whose aspect so lately expressed only gloom anddesolation, now shone with sudden splendour, and echoed the sounds ofgaiety and gladness. Julia surveyed the scene from an obscure window;and as the triumphal strains filled the air, her breast throbbed; herheart beat quick with joy, and she lost her apprehensions from themarchioness in a sort of wild delight hitherto unknown to her. Thearrival of the marchioness seemed indeed the signal of universal andunlimited pleasure. When the marquis came out to receive her, thegloom that lately clouded his countenance, broke away in smiles ofwelcome, which the whole company appeared to consider as invitationsto joy. 

The tranquil heart of Emilia was not proof against a scene soalluring, and she sighed at the prospect, yet scarcely knew why. Juliapointed out to her sister, the graceful figure of a young man whofollowed the marchioness, and she expressed her wishes that he mightbe her brother. From the contemplation of the scene before them, theywere summoned to meet the marchioness. Julia trembled withapprehension, and for a few moments wished the castle was in itsformer state. As they advanced through the saloon, in which they werepresented, Julia was covered with blushes; but Emilia, tho' equallytimid, preserved her graceful dignity. The marchioness received themwith a mingled smile of condescension and politeness, and immediatelythe whole attention of the company was attracted by their elegance andbeauty. The eager eyes of Julia sought in vain to discover herbrother, of whose features she had no recollection in those of any ofthe persons then present. At length her father presented him, and sheperceived, with a sigh of regret, that he was not the youth she hadobserved from the window. He advanced with a very engaging air, andshe met him with an unfeigned welcome. His figure was tall andmajestic; he had a very noble and spirited carriage; and hiscountenance expressed at once sweetness and dignity. Supper was servedin the east hall, and the tables were spread with a profusion ofdelicacies. A band of music played during the repast, and the eveningconcluded with a concert in the saloon. 

CHAPTER II

The day of the festival, so long and so impatiently looked for byJulia, was now arrived. All the neighbouring nobility were invited, and the gates of the castle were thrown open for a general rejoicing. A magnificent entertainment, consisting of the most luxurious andexpensive dishes, was served in the halls. Soft music floated alongthe vaulted roofs, the walls were hung with decorations, and it seemedas if the hand of a magician had suddenly metamorphosed this oncegloomy fabric into the palace of a fairy. The marquis, notwithstandingthe gaiety of the scene, frequently appeared abstracted from itsenjoyments, and in spite of all his efforts at cheerfulness, themelancholy of his heart was visible in his countenance. 

In the evening there was a grand ball: the marchioness, who was stilldistinguished for her beauty, and for the winning elegance of hermanners, appeared in the most splendid attire. Her hair was ornamentedwith a profusion of jewels, but was so disposed as to give an airrather of voluptuousness than of grace, to her figure. Althoughconscious of her charms, she beheld the beauty of Emilia and Juliawith a jealous eye, and was compelled secretly to acknowledge, thatthe simple elegance with which they were adorned, was more enchantingthan all the studied artifice of splendid decoration. They weredressed alike in light Sicilian habits, and the beautiful luxurianceof their flowing hair was restrained only by bandellets of pearl. Theball was opened by Ferdinand and the lady Matilda Constanza. Emiliadanced with the young Marquis della Fazelli, and acquitted herselfwith the ease and dignity so natural to her. Julia experienced avarious emotion of pleasure and fear when the Count de Vereza, in whomshe recollected the cavalier she had observed from the window, led herforth. The grace of her step, and the elegant symmetry of her figure, raised in the assembly a gentle murmur of applause, and the soft blushwhich now stole over her cheek, gave an additional charm to herappearance. But when the music changed, and she danced to the softSicilian measure, the airy grace of her movement, and the unaffectedtenderness of her air, sunk attention into silence, which continuedfor some time after the dance had ceased. The marchioness observed thegeneral admiration with seeming pleasure, and secret uneasiness. Shehad suffered a very painful solicitude, when the Count de Verezaselected her for his partner in the dance, and she pursued him throughthe evening with an eye of jealous scrutiny. Her bosom, which beforeglowed only with love, was now torn by the agitation of other passionsmore violent and destructive. Her thoughts were restless, her mindwandered from the scene before her, and it required all her address topreserve an apparent ease. She saw, or fancied she saw, an impassionedair in the count, when he addressed himself to Julia, that corrodedher heart with jealous fury. 

At twelve the gates of the castle were thrown open, and the companyquitted it for the woods, which were splendidly illuminated. Arcadesof light lined the long vistas, which were terminated by pyramids oflamps that presented to the eye one bright column of flame. Atirregular distances buildings were erected, hung with variegatedlamps, disposed in the gayest and most fantastic forms. Collationswere spread under the trees; and music, touched by unseen hands, breathed around. The musicians were placed in the most obscure andembowered spots, so as to elude the eye and strike the imagination. The scene appeared enchanting. Nothing met the eye but beauty andromantic splendour; the ear received no sounds but those of mirth andmelody. The younger part of the company formed themselves intogroups, which at intervals glanced through the woods, and were againunseen. Julia seemed the magic queen of the place. Her heart dilatedwith pleasure, and diffused over her features an expression of pureand complacent delight. A generous, frank, and exalted sentimentsparkled in her eyes, and animated her manner. Her bosom glowed withbenevolent affections; and she seemed anxious to impart to all aroundher, a happiness as unmixed as that she experienced. Wherever shemoved, admiration followed her steps. Ferdinand was as gay as thescene around him. Emilia was pleased; and the marquis seemed to haveleft his melancholy in the castle. The marchioness alone was wretched. She supped with a select party, in a pavilion on the sea-shore, whichwas fitted up with peculiar elegance. It was hung with white silk, drawn up in festoons, and richly fringed with gold. The sofas were ofthe same materials, and alternate wreaths of lamps and of rosesentwined the columns. A row of small lamps placed about the cornice, formed an edge of light round the roof which, with the other numerouslights, was reflected in a blaze of splendour from the large mirrorsthat adorned the room. The Count Muriani was of the party;--hecomplimented the marchioness on the beauty of her daughters; and afterlamenting with gaiety the captives which their charms would enthral, he mentioned the Count de Vereza. 'He is certainly of all others theman most deserving the lady Julia. As they danced, I thought theyexhibited a perfect model of the beauty of either sex; and if Imistake not, they are inspired with a mutual admiration. ' Themarchioness, endeavouring to conceal her uneasiness, said, 'Yes, mylord, I allow the count all the merit you adjudge him, but from thelittle I have seen of his disposition, he is too volatile for aserious attachment. ' At that instant the count entered the pavilion:'Ah, ' said Muriani, laughingly, 'you was the subject of ourconversation, and seem to be come in good time to receive the honorsallotted you. I was interceding with the marchioness for her interestin your favor, with the lady Julia; but she absolutely refuses it; andthough she allows you merit, alleges, that you are by nature fickleand inconstant. What say you--would not the beauty of lady Julia bindyour unsteady heart?'. 

'I know not how I have deserved that character of the marchioness, 'said the count with a smile, 'but that heart must be either fickle orinsensible in an uncommon degree, which can boast of freedom in thepresence of lady Julia. ' The marchioness, mortified by the wholeconversation, now felt the full force of Vereza's reply, which sheimagined he pointed with particular emphasis. 

The entertainment concluded with a grand firework, which was exhibitedon the margin of the sea, and the company did not part till the dawnof morning. Julia retired from the scene with regret. She wasenchanted with the new world that was now exhibited to her, and shewas not cool enough to distinguish the vivid glow of imagination fromthe colours of real bliss. The pleasure she now felt she believedwould always be renewed, and in an equal degree, by the objects whichfirst excited it. The weakness of humanity is never willinglyperceived by young minds. It is painful to know, that we are operatedupon by objects whose impressions are variable as they areindefinable--and that what yesterday affected us strongly, is to-daybut imperfectly felt, and to-morrow perhaps shall be disregarded. Whenat length this unwelcome truth is received into the mind, we at firstreject, with disgust, every appearance of good, we disdain to partakeof a happiness which we cannot always command, and we not unfrequentlysink into a temporary despair. Wisdom or accident, at length, recal usfrom our error, and offers to us some object capable of producing apleasing, yet lasting effect, which effect, therefore, we callhappiness. Happiness has this essential difference from what iscommonly called pleasure, that virtue forms its basis, and virtuebeing the offspring of reason, may be expected to produce uniformity ofeffect. 

The passions which had hitherto lain concealed in Julia's heart, touched by circumstance, dilated to its power, and afforded her aslight experience of the pain and delight which flow from theirinfluence. The beauty and accomplishments of Vereza raised in her anew and various emotion, which reflection made her fear to encourage, but which was too pleasing to be wholly resisted. Tremblingly alive toa sense of delight, and unchilled by disappointment, the young heartwelcomes every feeling, not simply painful, with a romanticexpectation that it will expand into bliss. 

Julia sought with eager anxiety to discover the sentiments of Verezatowards her; she revolved each circumstance of the day, but theyafforded her little satisfaction; they reflected only a glimmering anduncertain light, which instead of guiding, served only to perplex her. Now she remembered some instance of particular attention, and thensome mark of apparent indifference. She compared his conduct with thatof the other young noblesse; and thought each appeared equallydesirous of the favor of every lady present. All the ladies, however, appeared to her to court the admiration of Vereza, and she trembledlest he should be too sensible of the distinction. She drew from thesereflections no positive inference; and though distrust rendered painthe predominate sensation, it was so exquisitely interwoven withdelight, that she could not wish it exchanged for her former ease. Thoughtful and restless, sleep fled from her eyes, and she longed withimpatience for the morning, which should again present Vereza, andenable her to pursue the enquiry. She rose early, and adorned herselfwith unusual care. In her favorite closet she awaited the hour ofbreakfast, and endeavoured to read, but her thoughts wandered from thesubject. Her lute and favorite airs lost half their power to please;the day seemed to stand still--she became melancholy, and thought thebreakfast-hour would never arrive. At length the clock struck thesignal, the sound vibrated on every nerve, and trembling she quittedthe closet for her sister's apartment. Love taught her disguise. Tillthen Emilia had shared all her thoughts; they now descended to thebreakfast-room in silence, and Julia almost feared to meet her eye. Inthe breakfast-room they were alone. Julia found it impossible tosupport a conversation with Emilia, whose observations interruptingthe course of her thoughts, became uninteresting and tiresome. She wastherefore about to retire to her closet, when the marquis entered. Hisair was haughty, and his look severe. He coldly saluted his daughters, and they had scarcely time to reply to his general enquiries, when themarchioness entered, and the company soon after assembled. Julia, whohad awaited with so painful an impatience for the moment which shouldpresent Vereza to her sight, now sighed that it was arrived. Shescarcely dared to lift her timid eyes from the ground, and when byaccident they met his, a soft tremour seized her; and apprehensionlest he should discover her sentiments, served only to render herconfusion conspicuous. At length, a glance from the marchionessrecalled her bewildered thoughts; and other fears superseding those oflove, her mind, by degrees, recovered its dignity. She coulddistinguish in the behaviour of Vereza no symptoms of particularadmiration, and she resolved to conduct herself towards him with themost scrupulous care. 

This day, like the preceding one, was devoted to joy. In the eveningthere was a concert, which was chiefly performed by the nobility. Ferdinand played the violoncello, Vereza the German flute, and Juliathe piana-forte, which she touched with a delicacy and execution thatengaged every auditor. The confusion of Julia may be easily imagined, when Ferdinand, selecting a beautiful duet, desired Vereza wouldaccompany his sister. The pride of conscious excellence, however, quickly overcame her timidity, and enabled her to exert all herpowers. The air was simple and pathetic, and she gave it those charmsof expression so peculiarly her own. She struck the chords of herpiana-forte in beautiful accompaniment, and towards the close of thesecond stanza, her voice resting on one note, swelled into a tone soexquisite, and from thence descended to a few simple notes, which shetouched with such impassioned tenderness that every eye wept to thesounds. The breath of the flute trembled, and Hippolitus entranced, forgot to play. A pause of silence ensued at the conclusion of thepiece, and continued till a general sigh seemed to awaken the audiencefrom their enchantment. Amid the general applause, Hippolitus wassilent. Julia observed his behaviour, and gently raising her eyes tohis, there read the sentiments which she had inspired. An exquisiteemotion thrilled her heart, and she experienced one of those raremoments which illuminate life with a ray of bliss, by which thedarkness of its general shade is contrasted. Care, doubt, everydisagreeable sensation vanished, and for the remainder of the eveningshe was conscious only of delight. A timid respect marked the mannerof Hippolitus, more flattering to Julia than the most ardentprofessions. The evening concluded with a ball, and Julia was againthe partner of the count. 

When the ball broke up, she retired to her apartment, but not tosleep. Joy is as restless as anxiety or sorrow. She seemed to haveentered upon a new state of existence;--those fine springs ofaffection which had hitherto lain concealed, were now touched, andyielded to her a happiness more exalted than any her imagination hadever painted. She reflected on the tranquillity of her past life, andcomparing it with the emotions of the present hour, exulted in thedifference. All her former pleasures now appeared insipid; shewondered that they ever had power to affect her, and that she hadendured with content the dull uniformity to which she had beencondemned. It was now only that she appeared to live. Absorbed in thesingle idea of being beloved, her imagination soared into the regionsof romantic bliss, and bore her high above the possibility of evil. Since she was beloved by Hippolitus, she could only be happy. 

From this state of entranced delight, she was awakened by the sound ofmusic immediately under her window. It was a lute touched by amasterly hand. After a wild and melancholy symphony, a voice of morethan magic expression swelled into an air so pathetic and tender, thatit seemed to breathe the very soul of love. The chords of the lutewere struck in low and sweet accompaniment. Julia listened, anddistinguished the following words;

SONNET

 Still is the night-breeze!--not a lonely sound Steals through the silence of this dreary hour; O'er these high battlements Sleep reigns profound, And sheds on all, his sweet oblivious power. On all but me--I vainly ask his dews To steep in short forgetfulness my cares. Th' affrighted god still flies when Love pursues, Still--still denies the wretched lover's prayers. 

An interval of silence followed, and the air was repeated; after whichthe music was heard no more. If before Julia believed that she wasloved by Hippolitus, she was now confirmed in the sweet reality. Butsleep at length fell upon her senses, and the airy forms of idealbliss no longer fleeted before her imagination. Morning came, and shearose light and refreshed. How different were her present sensationsfrom those of the preceding day. Her anxiety had now evaporated injoy, and she experienced that airy dance of spirits which accumulatesdelight from every object; and with a power like the touch ofenchantment, can transform a gloomy desert into a smiling Eden. Sheflew to the breakfast-room, scarcely conscious of motion; but, as sheentered it, a soft confusion overcame her; she blushed, and almostfeared to meet the eyes of Vereza. She was presently relieved, however, for the Count was not there. The company assembled--Juliawatched the entrance of every person with painful anxiety, but he forwhom she looked did not appear. Surprised and uneasy, she fixed hereyes on the door, and whenever it opened, her heart beat with anexpectation which was as often checked by disappointment. In spite ofall her efforts, her vivacity sunk into languor, and she thenperceived that love may produce other sensations than those ofdelight. She found it possible to be unhappy, though loved byHippolitus; and acknowledged with a sigh of regret, which was yet newto her, how tremblingly her peace depended upon him. He neitherappeared nor was mentioned at breakfast; but though delicacy preventedher enquiring after him, conversation soon became irksome to her, andshe retired to the apartment of Madame de Menon. There she employedherself in painting, and endeavoured to beguile the time till the hourof dinner, when she hoped to see Hippolitus. Madame was, as usual, friendly and cheerful, but she perceived a reserve in the conduct ofJulia, and penetrated without difficulty into its cause. She was, however, ignorant of the object of her pupil's admiration. The hour soeagerly desired by Julia at length arrived, and with a palpitatingheart she entered the hall. The Count was not there, and in the courseof conversation, she learned that he had that morning sailed forNaples. The scene which so lately appeared enchanting to her eyes, nowchanged its hue; and in the midst of society, and surrounded bygaiety, she was solitary and dejected. She accused herself of havingsuffered her wishes to mislead her judgment; and the present conductof Hippolitus convinced her, that she had mistaken admiration for asentiment more tender. She believed, too, that the musician who hadaddressed her in his sonnet, was not the Count; and thus at once wasdissolved all the ideal fabric of her happiness. How short a periodoften reverses the character of our sentiments, rendering that whichyesterday we despised, to-day desirable. The tranquil state which shehad so lately delighted to quit, she now reflected upon with regret. She had, however, the consolation of believing that her sentimentstowards the Count were unknown, and the sweet consciousness that herconduct had been governed by a nice sense of propriety. 

The public rejoicings at the castle closed with the week; but the gayspirit of the marchioness forbade a return to tranquillity; and shesubstituted diversions more private, but in splendour scarcelyinferior to the preceding ones. She had observed the behaviour ofHippolitus on the night of the concert with chagrin, and hisdeparture with sorrow; yet, disdaining to perpetuate misfortune byreflection, she sought to lose the sense of disappointment in thehurry of dissipation. But her efforts to erase him from herremembrance were ineffectual. Unaccustomed to oppose the bent of herinclinations, they now maintained unbounded sway; and she found toolate, that in order to have a due command of our passions, it isnecessary to subject them to early obedience. Passion, in its undueinfluence, produces weakness as well as injustice. The pain which nowrecoiled upon her heart from disappointment, she had not strength ofmind to endure, and she sought relief from its pressure in afflictingthe innocent. Julia, whose beauty she imagined had captivated thecount, and confirmed him in indifference towards herself, sheincessantly tormented by the exercise of those various and spleneticlittle arts which elude the eye of the common observer, and are onlyto be known by those who have felt them. Arts, which individually areinconsiderable, but in the aggregate amount to a cruel and decisiveeffect. 

From Julia's mind the idea of happiness was now faded. Pleasure hadwithdrawn her beam from the prospect, and the objects no longerillumined by her ray, became dark and colourless. As often as hersituation would permit, she withdrew from society, and sought thefreedom of solitude, where she could indulge in melancholy thoughts, and give a loose to that despair which is so apt to follow thedisappointment of our first hopes. 

Week after week elapsed, yet no mention was made of returning toNaples. The marquis at length declared it his intention to spend theremainder of the summer in the castle. To this determination themarchioness submitted with decent resignation, for she was heresurrounded by a croud of flatterers, and her invention supplied herwith continual diversions: that gaiety which rendered Naples so dearto her, glittered in the woods of Mazzini, and resounded through thecastle. 

The apartments of Madame de Menon were spacious and noble. The windowsopened upon the sea, and commanded a view of the straits of Messina, bounded on one side by the beautiful shores of the isle of Sicily, andon the other by the high mountains of Calabria. The straits, filledwith vessels whose gay streamers glittered to the sun-beam, presentedto the eye an ever-moving scene. The principal room opened upon agallery that overhung the grand terrace of the castle, and itcommanded a prospect which for beauty and extent has seldom beenequalled. These were formerly considered the chief apartments of thecastle; and when the Marquis quitted them for Naples, were allottedfor the residence of Madame de Menon, and her young charge. Themarchioness, struck with the prospect which the windows afforded, andwith the pleasantness of the gallery, determined to restore the roomsto their former splendour. She signified this intention to madame, forwhom other apartments were provided. The chambers of Emilia and Juliaforming part of the suite, they were also claimed by the marchioness, who left Julia only her favorite closet. The rooms to which theyremoved were spacious, but gloomy; they had been for some yearsuninhabited; and though preparations had been made for the receptionof their new inhabitants, an air of desolation reigned within themthat inspired melancholy sensations. Julia observed that her chamber, which opened beyond madame's, formed a part of the southern building, with which, however, there appeared no means of communication. Thelate mysterious circumstances relating to this part of the fabric, nowarose to her imagination, and conjured up a terror which reason couldnot subdue. She told her emotions to madame, who, with more prudencethan sincerity, laughed at her fears. The behaviour of the marquis, the dying words of Vincent, together with the preceding circumstancesof alarm, had sunk deep in the mind of madame, but she saw thenecessity of confining to her own breast doubts which time only couldresolve. 

Julia endeavoured to reconcile herself to the change, and acircumstance soon occurred which obliterated her present sensations, and excited others far more interesting. One day that she wasarranging some papers in the small drawers of a cabinet that stood inher apartment, she found a picture which fixed all her attention. Itwas a miniature of a lady, whose countenance was touched with sorrow, and expressed an air of dignified resignation. The mournful sweetnessof her eyes, raised towards Heaven with a look of supplication, andthe melancholy languor that shaded her features, so deeply affectedJulia, that her eyes were filled with involuntary tears. She sighedand wept, still gazing on the picture, which seemed to engage her by akind of fascination. She almost fancied that the portrait breathed, and that the eyes were fixed on hers with a look of penetratingsoftness. Full of the emotions which the miniature had excited, shepresented it to madame, whose mingled sorrow and surprise increasedher curiosity. But what were the various sensations which pressed uponher heart, on learning that she had wept over the resemblance of hermother! Deprived of a mother's tenderness before she was sensible ofits value, it was now only that she mourned the event whichlamentation could not recall. Emilia, with an emotion as exquisite, mingled her tears with those of her sister. With eager impatience theypressed madame to disclose the cause of that sorrow which soemphatically marked the features of their mother. 

'Alas! my dear children, ' said madame, deeply sighing, 'you engage mein a task too severe, not only for your peace, but for mine; since ingiving you the information you require, I must retrace scenes of myown life, which I wish for ever obliterated. It would, however, beboth cruel and unjust to withhold an explanation so nearly interestingto you, and I will sacrifice my own ease to your wishes. 

'Louisa de Bernini, your mother, was, as you well know, the onlydaughter of the Count de Bernini. Of the misfortunes of your family, Ibelieve you are yet ignorant. The chief estates of the count weresituated in the _Val di Demona_, a valley deriving its name from itsvicinity to Mount AEtna, which vulgar tradition has peopled withdevils. In one of those dreadful eruptions of AEtna, which delugedthis valley with a flood of fire, a great part of your grandfather'sdomains in that quarter were laid waste. The count was at that timewith a part of his family at Messina, but the countess and her son, who were in the country, were destroyed. The remaining property of thecount was proportionably inconsiderable, and the loss of his wife andson deeply affected him. He retired with Louisa, his only survivingchild, who was then near fifteen, to a small estate near Cattania. There was some degree of relationship between your grandfather andmyself; and your mother was attached to me by the ties of sentiment, which, as we grew up, united us still more strongly than those ofblood. Our pleasures and our tastes were the same; and a similarity ofmisfortunes might, perhaps, contribute to cement our early friendship. I, like herself, had lost a parent in the eruption of AEtna. My motherhad died before I understood her value; but my father, whom I reveredand tenderly loved, was destroyed by one of those terrible events; hislands were buried beneath the lava, and he left an only son and myselfto mourn his fate, and encounter the evils of poverty. The count, whowas our nearest surviving relation, generously took us home to hishouse, and declared that he considered us as his children. To amusehis leisure hours, he undertook to finish the education of my brother, who was then about seventeen, and whose rising genius promised toreward the labours of the count. Louisa and myself often shared theinstruction of her father, and at those hours Orlando was generally ofthe party. The tranquil retirement of the count's situation, therational employment of his time between his own studies, the educationof those whom he called his children, and the conversation of a fewselect friends, anticipated the effect of time, and softened theasperities of his distress into a tender complacent melancholy. As forLouisa and myself, who were yet new in life, and whose spiritspossessed the happy elasticity of youth, our minds gradually shiftedfrom suffering to tranquillity, and from tranquillity to happiness. Ihave sometimes thought that when my brother has been reading to her adelightful passage, the countenance of Louisa discovered a tenderinterest, which seemed to be excited rather by the reader than by theauthor. These days, which were surely the most enviable of our lives, now passed in serene enjoyments, and in continual gradations ofimprovement. 

'The count designed my brother for the army, and the time now drewnigh when he was to join the Sicilian regiment, in which he had acommission. The absent thoughts, and dejected spirits of my cousin, now discovered to me the secret which had long been concealed evenfrom herself; for it was not till Orlando was about to depart, thatshe perceived how dear he was to her peace. On the eve of hisdeparture, the count lamented, with fatherly yet manly tenderness, thedistance which was soon to separate us. "But we shall meet again, "said he, "when the honors of war shall have rewarded the bravery of myson. " Louisa grew pale, a half suppressed sigh escaped her, and, toconceal her emotion, she turned to her harpsichord. 

'My brother had a favorite dog, which, before he set off, he presentedto Louisa, and committing it to her care, begged she would be kind toit, and sometimes remember its master. He checked his rising emotion, but as he turned from her, I perceived the tear that wetted his cheek. He departed, and with him the spirit of our happiness seemed toevaporate. The scenes which his presence had formerly enlivened, werenow forlorn and melancholy, yet we loved to wander in what were oncehis favorite haunts. Louisa forbore to mention my brother even to me, but frequently, when she thought herself unobserved, she would stealto her harpsichord, and repeat the strain which she had played on theevening before his departure. 

'We had the pleasure to hear from time to time that he was well: andthough his own modesty threw a veil over his conduct, we could collectfrom other accounts that he had behaved with great bravery. At lengththe time of his return approached, and the enlivened spirits of Louisadeclared the influence he retained in her heart. He returned, bearingpublic testimony of his valour in the honors which had been conferredupon him. He was received with universal joy; the count welcomed himwith the pride and fondness of a father, and the villa became againthe seat of happiness. His person and manners were much improved; theelegant beauty of the youth was now exchanged for the graceful dignityof manhood, and some knowledge of the world was added to that of thesciences. The joy which illumined his countenance when he met Louisa, spoke at once his admiration and his love; and the blush which herobservation of it brought upon her cheek, would have discovered, evento an uninterested spectator, that this joy was mutual. 

'Orlando brought with him a young Frenchman, a brother officer, whohad rescued him from imminent danger in battle, and whom he introducedto the count as his preserver. The count received him with gratitudeand distinction, and he was for a considerable time an inmate at thevilla. His manners were singularly pleasing, and his understanding wascultivated and refined. He soon discovered a partiality for me, and hewas indeed too pleasing to be seen with indifference. Gratitude forthe valuable life he had preserved, was perhaps the groundwork of anesteem which soon increased into the most affectionate love. Ourattachment grew stronger as our acquaintance increased; and at lengththe chevalier de Menon asked me of the count, who consulted my heart, and finding it favorable to the connection, proceeded to make thenecessary enquiries concerning the family of the stranger. He obtaineda satisfactory and pleasing account of it. The chevalier was thesecond son of a French gentleman of large estates in France, who hadbeen some years deceased. He had left several sons; the family-estate, of course, devolved to the eldest, but to the two younger hehad bequeathed considerable property. Our marriage was solemnized in aprivate manner at the villa, in the presence of the count, Louisa, andmy brother. Soon after the nuptials, my husband and Orlando wereremanded to their regiments. My brother's affections were nowunalterably fixed upon Louisa, but a sentiment of delicacy andgenerosity still kept him silent. He thought, poor as he was, tosolicit the hand of Louisa, would be to repay the kindness of thecount with ingratitude. I have seen the inward struggles of his heart, and mine has bled for him. The count and Louisa so earnestly solicitedme to remain at the villa during the campaign, that at length myhusband consented. We parted--O! let me forget that period!--Had Iaccompanied him, all might have been well; and the long, long years ofaffliction which followed had been spared me. '

The horn now sounded the signal for dinner, and interrupted thenarrative of Madame. Her beauteous auditors wiped the tears from theireyes, and with extreme reluctance descended to the hall. The day wasoccupied with company and diversions, and it was not till late in theevening that they were suffered to retire. They hastened to madameimmediately upon their being released; and too much interested forsleep, and too importunate to be repulsed, solicited the sequel of herstory. She objected the lateness of the hour, but at length yielded totheir entreaties. They drew their chairs close to hers; and everysense being absorbed in the single one of hearing, followed herthrough the course of her narrative. 

'My brother again departed without disclosing his sentiments; theeffort it cost him was evident, but his sense of honor surmountedevery opposing consideration. Louisa again drooped, and pined insilent sorrow. I lamented equally for my friend and my brother; andhave a thousand times accused that delicacy as false, which withheldthem from the happiness they might so easily and so innocently haveobtained. The behaviour of the count, at least to my eye, seemed toindicate the satisfaction which this union would have given him. Itwas about this period that the marquis Mazzini first saw and becameenamoured of Louisa. His proposals were very flattering, but thecount forbore to exert the undue authority of a father; and he ceasedto press the connection, when he perceived that Louisa was reallyaverse to it. Louisa was sensible of the generosity of his conduct, and she could scarcely reject the alliance without a sigh, which hergratitude paid to the kindness of her father. 

'But an event now happened which dissolved at once our happiness, andall our air-drawn schemes for futurity. A dispute, which it seemsoriginated in a trifle, but soon increased to a serious degree, arosebetween the _Chevalier de Menon_ and my brother. It was decided by thesword, and my dear brother fell by the hand of my husband. I shallpass over this period of my life. It is too painful for recollection. The effect of this event upon Louisa was such as may be imagined. Theworld was now become indifferent to her, and as she had no prospect ofhappiness for herself, she was unwilling to withhold it from thefather who had deserved so much of her. After some time, when themarquis renewed his addresses, she gave him her hand. The charactersof the marquis and his lady were in their nature too opposite to forma happy union. Of this Louisa was very soon sensible; and though themildness of her disposition made her tamely submit to the unfeelingauthority of her husband, his behaviour sunk deep in her heart, andshe pined in secret. It was impossible for her to avoid opposing thecharacter of the marquis to that of him upon whom her affections hadbeen so fondly and so justly fixed. The comparison increased hersufferings, which soon preyed upon her constitution, and very visiblyaffected her health. Her situation deeply afflicted the count, andunited with the infirmities of age to shorten his life. 

'Upon his death, I bade adieu to my cousin, and quitted Sicily forItaly, where the Chevalier de Menon had for some time expected me. Ourmeeting was very affecting. My resentment towards him was done away, when I observed his pale and altered countenance, and perceived themelancholy which preyed upon his heart. All the airy vivacity of hisformer manner was fled, and he was devoured by unavailing grief andremorse. He deplored with unceasing sorrow the friend he had murdered, and my presence seemed to open afresh the wounds which time had begunto close. His affliction, united with my own, was almost more than Icould support, but I was doomed to suffer, and endure yet more. In asubsequent engagement my husband, weary of existence, rushed into theheat of battle, and there obtained an honorable death. In a paperwhich he left behind him, he said it was his intention to die in thatbattle; that he had long wished for death, and waited for anopportunity of obtaining it without staining his own character by thecowardice of suicide, or distressing me by an act of butchery. Thisevent gave the finishing stroke to my afflictions;--yet let meretract;--another misfortune awaited me when I least expected one. The_Chevalier de Menon_ died without a will, and his brothers refused togive up his estate, unless I could produce a witness of my marriage. Ireturned to Sicily, and, to my inexpressible sorrow, found that yourmother had died during my stay abroad, a prey, I fear, to grief. Thepriest who performed the ceremony of my marriage, having beenthreatened with punishment for some ecclesiastical offences, hadsecretly left the country; and thus was I deprived of those proofswhich were necessary to authenticate my claims to the estates of myhusband. His brothers, to whom I was an utter stranger, were eithertoo prejudiced to believe, or believing, were too dishonorable toacknowledge the justice of my claims. I was therefore at onceabandoned to sorrow and to poverty; a small legacy from the count deBernini being all that now remained to me. 

'When the marquis married Maria de Vellorno, which was about thisperiod, he designed to quit Mazzini for Naples. His son was toaccompany him, but it was his intention to leave you, who were bothvery young, to the care of some person qualified to superintend youreducation. My circumstances rendered the office acceptable, and myformer friendship for your mother made the duty pleasing to me. Themarquis was, I believe, glad to be spared the trouble of searchingfurther for what he had hitherto found it difficult to obtain--aperson whom inclination as well as duty would bind to his interest. '

Madame ceased to speak, and Emilia and Julia wept to the memory of themother, whose misfortunes this story recorded. The sufferings ofmadame, together with her former friendship for the late marchioness, endeared her to her pupils, who from this period endeavoured by everykind and delicate attention to obliterate the traces of her sorrows. Madame was sensible of this tenderness, and it was productive in somedegree of the effect desired. But a subject soon after occurred, whichdrew off their minds from the consideration of their mother's fate toa subject more wonderful and equally interesting. 

One night that Emilia and Julia had been detained by company, inceremonial restraint, later than usual, they were induced, by the easyconversation of madame, and by the pleasure which a return to libertynaturally produces, to defer the hour of repose till the night was faradvanced. They were engaged in interesting discourse, when madame, who was then speaking, was interrupted by a low hollow sound, whicharose from beneath the apartment, and seemed like the closing of adoor. Chilled into a silence, they listened and distinctly heard itrepeated. Deadly ideas crowded upon their imaginations, and inspired aterror which scarcely allowed them to breathe. The noise lasted onlyfor a moment, and a profound silence soon ensued. Their feelings atlength relaxed, and suffered them to move to Emilia's apartment, whenagain they heard the same sounds. Almost distracted with fear, theyrushed into madame's apartment, where Emilia sunk upon the bed andfainted. It was a considerable time ere the efforts of madame recalledher to sensation. When they were again tranquil, she employed all herendeavours to compose the spirits of the young ladies, and dissuadethem from alarming the castle. Involved in dark and fearful doubts, she yet commanded her feelings, and endeavoured to assume anappearance of composure. The late behaviour of the marquis hadconvinced her that he was nearly connected with the mystery which hungover this part of the edifice; and she dreaded to excite hisresentment by a further mention of alarms, which were perhaps onlyideal, and whose reality she had certainly no means of proving. 

Influenced by these considerations, she endeavoured to prevail onEmilia and Julia to await in silence some confirmation of theirsurmises; but their terror made this a very difficult task. Theyacquiesced, however, so far with her wishes, as to agree to concealthe preceding circumstances from every person but their brother, without whose protecting presence they declared it utterly impossibleto pass another night in the apartments. For the remainder of thisnight they resolved to watch. To beguile the tediousness of the timethey endeavoured to converse, but the minds of Emilia and Julia weretoo much affected by the late occurrence to wander from the subject. They compared this with the foregoing circumstance of the figure andthe light which had appeared; their imaginations kindled wildconjectures, and they submitted their opinions to madame, entreatingher to inform them sincerely, whether she believed that disembodiedspirits were ever permitted to visit this earth. 

'My children, ' said she, 'I will not attempt to persuade you that theexistence of such spirits is impossible. Who shall say that any thingis impossible to God? We know that he has made us, who are embodiedspirits; he, therefore, can make unembodied spirits. If we cannotunderstand how such spirits exist, we should consider the limitedpowers of our minds, and that we cannot understand many things whichare indisputably true. No one yet knows why the magnetic needle pointsto the north; yet you, who have never seen a magnet, do not hesitateto believe that it has this tendency, because you have been wellassured of it, both from books and in conversation. Since, therefore, we are sure that nothing is impossible to God, and that such beings_may_ exist, though we cannot tell how, we ought to consider by whatevidence their existence is supported. I do not say that spirits_have_ appeared; but if several discreet unprejudiced persons were toassure me that they had seen one, I should not be proud or bold enoughto reply--'it is impossible. ' Let not, however, such considerationsdisturb your minds. I have said thus much, because I was unwilling toimpose upon your understandings; it is now your part to exercise yourreason, and preserve the unmoved confidence of virtue. Such spirits, if indeed they have ever been seen, can have appeared only by theexpress permission of God, and for some very singular purposes; beassured that there are no beings who act unseen by him; and that, therefore, there are none from whom innocence can ever suffer harm. '

No further sounds disturbed them for that time; and before the morningdawned, weariness insensibly overcame apprehension, and sunk them inrepose. 

When Ferdinand learned the circumstances relative to the southern sideof the castle, his imagination seized with avidity each appearance ofmystery, and inspired him with an irresistible desire to penetrate thesecrets of his desolate part of the fabric. He very readily consentedto watch with his sisters in Julia's apartment; but as his chamber wasin a remote part of the castle, there would be some difficulty inpassing unobserved to her's. It was agreed, however, that when all washushed, he should make the attempt. Having thus resolved, Emilia andJulia waited the return of night with restless and fearful impatience. 

At length the family retired to rest. The castle clock had struck one, and Julia began to fear that Ferdinand had been discovered, when aknocking was heard at the door of the outer chamber. 

Her heart beat with apprehensions, which reason could not justify. Madame rose, and enquiring who was there, was answered by the voice ofFerdinand. The door was cheerfully opened. They drew their chairsround him, and endeavoured to pass the time in conversation; but fearand expectation attracted all their thoughts to one subject, andmadame alone preserved her composure. The hour was now come when thesounds had been heard the preceding night, and every ear was given toattention. All, however, remained quiet, and the night passed withoutany new alarm. 

The greater part of several succeeding nights were spent in watching, but no sounds disturbed their silence. Ferdinand, in whose mind thelate circumstances had excited a degree of astonishment and curiositysuperior to common obstacles, determined, if possible, to gainadmittance to those recesses of the castle, which had for so manyyears been hid from human eye. This, however, was a design which hesaw little probability of accomplishing, for the keys of that part ofthe edifice were in the possession of the marquis, of whose lateconduct he judged too well to believe he would suffer the apartmentsto be explored. He racked his invention for the means of gettingaccess to them, and at length recollected that Julia's chamber formeda part of these buildings, it occurred to him, that according to themode of building in old times, there might formerly have been acommunication between them. This consideration suggested to him thepossibility of a concealed door in her apartment, and he determined tosurvey it on the following night with great care. 

CHAPTER III

The castle was buried in sleep when Ferdinand again joined his sistersin madame's apartment. With anxious curiosity they followed him to thechamber. The room was hung with tapestry. Ferdinand carefully soundedthe wall which communicated with the southern buildings. From one partof it a sound was returned, which convinced him there was somethingless solid than stone. He removed the tapestry, and behind itappeared, to his inexpressible satisfaction, a small door. With a handtrembling through eagerness, he undrew the bolts, and was rushingforward, when he perceived that a lock withheld his passage. The keysof madame and his sisters were applied in vain, and he was compelledto submit to disappointment at the very moment when he congratulatedhimself on success, for he had with him no means of forcing the door. 

He stood gazing on the door, and inwardly lamenting, when a low hollowsound was heard from beneath. Emilia and Julia seized his arm; andalmost sinking with apprehension, listened in profound silence. Afootstep was distinctly heard, as if passing through the apartmentbelow, after which all was still. Ferdinand, fired by thisconfirmation of the late report, rushed on to the door, and againtried to burst his way, but it resisted all the efforts of hisstrength. The ladies now rejoiced in that circumstance which they solately lamented; for the sounds had renewed their terror, and thoughthe night passed without further disturbance, their fears were verylittle abated. 

Ferdinand, whose mind was wholly occupied with wonder, could withdifficulty await the return of night. Emilia and Julia were scarcelyless impatient. They counted the minutes as they passed; and when thefamily retired to rest, hastened with palpitating hearts to theapartment of madame. They were soon after joined by Ferdinand, whobrought with him tools for cutting away the lock of the door. Theypaused a few moments in the chamber in fearful silence, but no sounddisturbed the stillness of night. Ferdinand applied a knife to thedoor, and in a short time separated the lock. The door yielded, anddisclosed a large and gloomy gallery. He took a light. Emilia andJulia, fearful of remaining in the chamber, resolved to accompany him, and each seizing an arm of madame, they followed in silence. Thegallery was in many parts falling to decay, the ceiling was broke, andthe window-shutters shattered, which, together with the dampness ofthe walls, gave the place an air of wild desolation. 

They passed lightly on, for their steps ran in whispering echoesthrough the gallery, and often did Julia cast a fearful glance around. 

The gallery terminated in a large old stair-case, which led to a hallbelow; on the left appeared several doors which seemed to lead toseparate apartments. While they hesitated which course to pursue, alight flashed faintly up the stair-case, and in a moment after passedaway; at the same time was heard the sound of a distant footstep. Ferdinand drew his sword and sprang forward; his companions, screamingwith terror, ran back to madame's apartment. 

Ferdinand descended a large vaulted hall; he crossed it towards a lowarched door, which was left half open, and through which streamed aray of light. The door opened upon a narrow winding passage; heentered, and the light retiring, was quickly lost in the windings ofthe place. Still he went on. The passage grew narrower, and thefrequent fragments of loose stone made it now difficult to proceed. Alow door closed the avenue, resembling that by which he had entered. He opened it, and discovered a square room, from whence rose a windingstair-case, which led up the south tower of the castle. Ferdinandpaused to listen; the sound of steps was ceased, and all wasprofoundly silent. A door on the right attracted his notice; he triedto open it, but it was fastened. He concluded, therefore, that theperson, if indeed a human being it was that bore the light he hadseen, had passed up the tower. After a momentary hesitation, hedetermined to ascend the stair-case, but its ruinous condition madethis an adventure of some difficulty. The steps were decayed andbroken, and the looseness of the stones rendered a footing veryinsecure. Impelled by an irresistible curiosity, he was undismayed, and began the ascent. He had not proceeded very far, when the stonesof a step which his foot had just quitted, loosened by his weight, gave way; and dragging with them those adjoining, formed a chasm inthe stair-case that terrified even Ferdinand, who was left totteringon the suspended half of the steps, in momentary expectation offalling to the bottom with the stone on which he rested. In the terrorwhich this occasioned, he attempted to save himself by catching at akind of beam which projected over the stairs, when the lamp droppedfrom his hand, and he was left in total darkness. Terror now usurpedthe place of every other interest, and he was utterly perplexed how toproceed. He feared to go on, lest the steps above, as infirm as thosebelow, should yield to his weight;--to return was impracticable, forthe darkness precluded the possibility of discovering a means. Hedetermined, therefore, to remain in this situation till light shoulddawn through the narrow grates in the walls, and enable him tocontrive some method of letting himself down to the ground. 

He had remained here above an hour, when he suddenly heard a voicefrom below. It seemed to come from the passage leading to the tower, and perceptibly drew nearer. His agitation was now extreme, for hehad no power of defending himself, and while he remained in this stateof torturing expectation, a blaze of light burst upon the stair-casebeneath him. In the succeeding moment he heard his own name soundedfrom below. His apprehensions instantly vanished, for he distinguishedthe voices of madame and his sisters. 

They had awaited his return in all the horrors of apprehension, tillat length all fear for themselves was lost in their concern for him;and they, who so lately had not dared to enter this part of theedifice, now undauntedly searched it in quest of Ferdinand. What weretheir emotions when they discovered his perilous situation!

The light now enabled him to take a more accurate survey of the place. He perceived that some few stones of the steps which had fallen stillremained attached to the wall, but he feared to trust to their supportonly. He observed, however, that the wall itself was partly decayed, and consequently rugged with the corners of half-worn stones. On thesesmall projections he contrived, with the assistance of the stepsalready mentioned, to suspend himself, and at length gained theunbroken part of the stairs in safety. It is difficult to determinewhich individual of the party rejoiced most at this escape. Themorning now dawned, and Ferdinand desisted for the present fromfarther enquiry. 

The interest which these mysterious circumstances excited in the mindof Julia, had withdrawn her attention from a subject more dangerous toits peace. The image of Vereza, notwithstanding, would frequentlyintrude upon her fancy; and, awakening the recollection of happyemotions, would call forth a sigh which all her efforts could notsuppress. She loved to indulge the melancholy of her heart in thesolitude of the woods. One evening she took her lute to a favoritespot on the seashore, and resigning herself to a pleasing sadness, touched some sweet and plaintive airs. The purple flush of evening wasdiffused over the heavens. The sun, involved in clouds of splendid andinnumerable hues, was setting o'er the distant waters, whose clearbosom glowed with rich reflection. The beauty of the scene, thesoothing murmur of the high trees, waved by the light air whichovershadowed her, and the soft shelling of the waves that flowedgently in upon the shores, insensibly sunk her mind into a state ofrepose. She touched the chords of her lute in sweet and wild melody, and sung the following ode:

EVENING

 Evening veil'd in dewy shades, Slowly sinks upon the main; See th'empurpled glory fades, Beneath her sober, chasten'd reign. 

 Around her car the pensive Hours, In sweet illapses meet the sight, Crown'd their brows with closing flow'rs Rich with chrystal dews of night. 

 Her hands, the dusky hues arrange O'er the fine tints of parting day; Insensibly the colours change, And languish into soft decay. 

 Wide o'er the waves her shadowy veil she draws. As faint they die along the distant shores; Through the still air I mark each solemn pause, Each rising murmur which the wild wave pours. 

 A browner shadow spreads upon the air, And o'er the scene a pensive grandeur throws; The rocks--the woods a wilder beauty wear, And the deep wave in softer music flows;

 And now the distant view where vision fails, Twilight and grey obscurity pervade; Tint following tint each dark'ning object veils, Till all the landscape sinks into the shade. 

 Oft from the airy steep of some lone hill, While sleeps the scene beneath the purple glow: And evening lives o'er all serene and still, Wrapt let me view the magic world below!

 And catch the dying gale that swells remote, That steals the sweetness from the shepherd's flute: The distant torrent's melancholy note And the soft warblings of the lover's lute. 

 Still through the deep'ning gloom of bow'ry shades To Fancy's eye fantastic forms appear; Low whisp'ring echoes steal along the glades And thrill the ear with wildly-pleasing fear. 

 Parent of shades!--of silence!--dewy airs! Of solemn musing, and of vision wild! To thee my soul her pensive tribute bears, And hails thy gradual step, thy influence mild. 

Having ceased to sing, her fingers wandered over the lute inmelancholy symphony, and for some moments she remained lost in thesweet sensations which the music and the scenery had inspired. She wasawakened from her reverie, by a sigh that stole from among the trees, and directing her eyes whence it came, beheld--Hippolitus! A thousandsweet and mingled emotions pressed upon her heart, yet she scarcelydared to trust the evidence of sight. He advanced, and throwinghimself at her feet: 'Suffer me, ' said he, in a tremulous voice, 'todisclose to you the sentiments which you have inspired, and to offeryou the effusions of a heart filled only with love and admiration. ''Rise, my lord, ' said Julia, moving from her seat with an air ofdignity, 'that attitude is neither becoming you to use, or me tosuffer. The evening is closing, and Ferdinand will be impatient to seeyou. '

'Never will I rise, madam, ' replied the count, with an impassionedair, 'till'--He was interrupted by the marchioness, who at this momententered the grove. On observing the position of the count she wasretiring. 'Stay, madam, ' said Julia, almost sinking under herconfusion. 'By no means, ' replied the marchioness, in a tone of irony, 'my presence would only interrupt a very agreeable scene. The count, Isee, is willing to pay you his earliest respects. ' Saying this shedisappeared, leaving Julia distressed and offended, and the countprovoked at the intrusion. He attempted to renew the subject, butJulia hastily followed the steps of the marchioness, and entered thecastle. 

The scene she had witnessed, raised in the marchioness a tumult ofdreadful emotions. Love, hatred, and jealousy, raged by turns in herheart, and defied all power of controul. Subjected to their alternateviolence, she experienced a misery more acute than any she had yetknown. Her imagination, invigorated by opposition, heightened to herthe graces of Hippolitus; her bosom glowed with more intense passion, and her brain was at length exasperated almost to madness. 

In Julia this sudden and unexpected interview excited a mingledemotion of love and vexation, which did not soon subside. At length, however, the delightful consciousness of Vereza's love bore her highabove every other sensation; again the scene more brightly glowed, andagain her fancy overcame the possibility of evil. 

During the evening a tender and timid respect distinguished thebehaviour of the count towards Julia, who, contented with thecertainty of being loved, resolved to conceal her sentiments till anexplanation of his abrupt departure from Mazzini, and subsequentabsence, should have dissipated the shadow of mystery which hung overthis part of his conduct. She observed that the marchioness pursuedher with steady and constant observation, and she carefully avoidedaffording the count an opportunity of renewing the subject of thepreceding interview, which, whenever he approached her, seemed totremble on his lips. 

Night returned, and Ferdinand repaired to the chamber of Julia topursue his enquiry. Here he had not long remained, when the strangeand alarming sounds which had been heard on the preceding night wererepeated. The circumstance that now sunk in terror the minds of Emiliaand Julia, fired with new wonder that of Ferdinand, who seizing alight, darted through the discovered door, and almost instantlydisappeared. 

He descended into the same wild hall he had passed on the precedingnight. He had scarcely reached the bottom of the stair-case, when afeeble light gleamed across the hall, and his eye caught the glimpseof a figure retiring through the low arched door which led to thesouth tower. He drew his sword and rushed on. A faint sound died awayalong the passage, the windings of which prevented his seeing thefigure he pursued. Of this, indeed, he had obtained so slight a view, that he scarcely knew whether it bore the impression of a human form. The light quickly disappeared, and he heard the door that opened uponthe tower suddenly close. He reached it, and forcing it open, sprangforward; but the place was dark and solitary, and there was noappearance of any person having passed along it. He looked up thetower, and the chasm which the stair-case exhibited, convinced himthat no human being could have passed up. He stood silent and amazed;examining the place with an eye of strict enquiry, he perceived adoor, which was partly concealed by hanging stairs, and which till nowhad escaped his notice. Hope invigorated curiosity, but hisexpectation was quickly disappointed, for this door also was fastened. He tried in vain to force it. He knocked, and a hollow sullen soundran in echoes through the place, and died away at a distance. It wasevident that beyond this door were chambers of considerable extent, but after long and various attempts to reach them, he was obliged todesist, and he quitted the tower as ignorant and more dissatisfiedthan he had entered it. He returned to the hall, which he now for thefirst time deliberately surveyed. It was a spacious and desolateapartment, whose lofty roof rose into arches supported by pillars ofblack marble. The same substance inlaid the floor, and formed thestair-case. The windows were high and gothic. An air of proudsublimity, united with singular wildness, characterized the place, atthe extremity of which arose several gothic arches, whose dark shadeveiled in obscurity the extent beyond. On the left hand appeared twodoors, each of which was fastened, and on the right the grand entrancefrom the courts. Ferdinand determined to explore the dark recess whichterminated his view, and as he traversed the hall, his imagination, affected by the surrounding scene, often multiplied the echoes of hisfootsteps into uncertain sounds of strange and fearful import. 

He reached the arches, and discovered beyond a kind of inner hall, ofconsiderable extent, which was closed at the farther end by a pair ofmassy folding-doors, heavily ornamented with carving. They werefastened by a lock, and defied his utmost strength. 

As he surveyed the place in silent wonder, a sullen groan arose frombeneath the spot where he stood. His blood ran cold at the sound, butsilence returning, and continuing unbroken, he attributed his alarm tothe illusion of a fancy, which terror had impregnated. He made anothereffort to force the door, when a groan was repeated more hollow, andmore dreadful than the first. At this moment all his courage forsookhim; he quitted the door, and hastened to the stair-case, which heascended almost breathless with terror. 

He found Madame de Menon and his sisters awaiting his return in themost painful anxiety; and, thus disappointed in all his endeavours topenetrate the secret of these buildings, and fatigued with fruitlesssearch, he resolved to suspend farther enquiry. 

When he related the circumstances of his late adventure, the terror ofEmilia and Julia was heightened to a degree that overcame everyprudent consideration. Their apprehension of the marquis's displeasurewas lost in a stronger feeling, and they resolved no longer to remainin apartments which offered only terrific images to their fancy. Madame de Menon almost equally alarmed, and more perplexed, by thiscombination of strange and unaccountable circumstances, ceased tooppose their design. It was resolved, therefore, that on the followingday madame should acquaint the marchioness with such particulars ofthe late occurrence as their purpose made it necessary she shouldknow, concealing their knowledge of the hidden door, and the incidentsimmediately dependant on it; and that madame should entreat a changeof apartments. 

Madame accordingly waited on the marchioness. The marchioness havinglistened to the account at first with surprise, and afterwards withindifference, condescended to reprove madame for encouragingsuperstitious belief in the minds of her young charge. She concludedwith ridiculing as fanciful the circumstances related, and withrefusing, on account of the numerous visitants at the castle, therequest preferred to her. 

It is true the castle was crowded with visitors; the former apartmentsof Madame de Menon were the only ones unoccupied, and these were inmagnificent preparation for the pleasure of the marchioness, who wasunaccustomed to sacrifice her own wishes to the comfort of thosearound her. She therefore treated lightly the subject, which, seriously attended to, would have endangered her new plan of delight. 

But Emilia and Julia were too seriously terrified to obey the scruplesof delicacy, or to be easily repulsed. They prevailed on Ferdinand torepresent their situation to the marquis. 

Meanwhile Hippolitus, who had passed the night in a state of sleeplessanxiety, watched, with busy impatience, an opportunity of more fullydisclosing to Julia the passion which glowed in his heart. The firstmoment in which he beheld her, had awakened in him an admiration whichhad since ripened into a sentiment more tender. He had been preventedformally declaring his passion by the circumstance which so suddenlycalled him to Naples. This was the dangerous illness of the Marquis deLomelli, his near and much-valued relation. But it was a task toopainful to depart in silence, and he contrived to inform Julia of hissentiments in the air which she heard so sweetly sung beneath herwindow. 

When Hippolitus reached Naples, the marquis was yet living, butexpired a few days after his arrival, leaving the count heir to thesmall possessions which remained from the extravagance of theirancestors. 

The business of adjusting his rights had till now detained him fromSicily, whither he came for the sole purpose of declaring his love. Here unexpected obstacles awaited him. The jealous vigilance of themarchioness conspired with the delicacy of Julia, to withhold from himthe opportunity he so anxiously sought. 

When Ferdinand entered upon the subject of the southern buildings tothe marquis, he carefully avoided mentioning the hidden door. Themarquis listened for some time to the relation in gloomy silence, butat length assuming an air of displeasure, reprehended Ferdinand foryielding his confidence to those idle alarms, which he said were thesuggestions of a timid imagination. 'Alarms, ' continued he, 'whichwill readily find admittance to the weak mind of a woman, but whichthe firmer nature of man should disdain. --Degenerate boy! Is it thusyou reward my care? Do I live to see my son the sport of every idletale a woman may repeat? Learn to trust reason and your senses, andyou will then be worthy of my attention. '

The marquis was retiring, and Ferdinand now perceived it necessary todeclare, that he had himself witnessed the sounds he mentioned. 'Pardon me, my lord, ' said he, 'in the late instance I have been justto your command--my senses have been the only evidences I havetrusted. I have heard those sounds which I cannot doubt. ' The marquisappeared shocked. Ferdinand perceived the change, and urged thesubject so vigorously, that the marquis, suddenly assuming a look ofgrave importance, commanded him to attend him in the evening in hiscloset. 

Ferdinand in passing from the marquis met Hippolitus. He was pacingthe gallery in much seeming agitation, but observing Ferdinand, headvanced to him. 'I am ill at heart, ' said he, in a melancholy tone, 'assist me with your advice. We will step into this apartment, wherewe can converse without interruption. '

'You are not ignorant, ' said he, throwing himself into a chair, 'ofthe tender sentiments which your sister Julia has inspired. I entreatyou by that sacred friendship which has so long united us, to affordme an opportunity of pleading my passion. Her heart, which is sosusceptible of other impressions, is, I fear, insensible to love. Procure me, however, the satisfaction of certainty upon a point wherethe tortures of suspence are surely the most intolerable. '

'Your penetration, ' replied Ferdinand, 'has for once forsaken you, else you would now be spared the tortures of which you complain, foryou would have discovered what I have long observed, that Juliaregards you with a partial eye. '

'Do not, ' said Hippolitus, 'make disappointment more terrible byflattery; neither suffer the partiality of friendship to mislead yourjudgment. Your perceptions are affected by the warmth of yourfeelings, and because you think I deserve her distinction, you believeI possess it. Alas! you deceive yourself, but not me!'

'The very reverse, ' replied Ferdinand; 'tis you who deceive yourself, or rather it is the delicacy of the passion which animates you, andwhich will ever operate against your clear perception of a truth inwhich your happiness is so deeply involved. Believe me, I speak notwithout reason:--she loves you. '

At these words Hippolitus started from his seat, and clasping hishands in fervent joy, 'Enchanting sounds!' cried he, in a voicetenderly impassioned; '_could_ I but believe ye!--could I _but_believe ye-this world were paradise!'

During this exclamation, the emotions of Julia, who sat in her closetadjoining, can with difficulty be imagined. A door which opened intoit from the apartment where this conversation was held, was only halfclosed. Agitated with the pleasure this declaration excited, she yettrembled with apprehension lest she should be discovered. She hardlydared to breathe, much less to move across the closet to the door, which opened upon the gallery, whence she might probably have escapedunnoticed, lest the sound of her step should betray her. Compelled, therefore, to remain where she was, she sat in a state of fearfuldistress, which no colour of language can paint. 

'Alas!' resumed Hippolitus, 'I too eagerly admit the possibility ofwhat I wish. If you mean that I should really believe you, confirmyour assertion by some proof. '--'Readily, ' rejoined Ferdinand. 

The heart of Julia beat quick. 

'When you was so suddenly called to Naples upon the illness of theMarquis Lomelli, I marked her conduct well, and in that read thesentiments of her heart. On the following morning, I observed in hercountenance a restless anxiety which I had never seen before. Shewatched the entrance of every person with an eager expectation, whichwas as often succeeded by evident disappointment. At dinner yourdeparture was mentioned:--she spilt the wine she was carrying to herlips, and for the remainder of the day was spiritless and melancholy. I saw her ineffectual struggles to conceal the oppression at herheart. Since that time she has seized every opportunity ofwithdrawing from company. The gaiety with which she was so latelycharmed--charmed her no longer; she became pensive, retired, and Ihave often heard her singing in some lonely spot, the most moving andtender airs. Your return produced a visible and instantaneousalteration; she has now resumed her gaiety; and the soft confusion ofher countenance, whenever you approach, might alone suffice toconvince you of the truth of my assertion. '

'O! talk for ever thus!' sighed Hippolitus. 'These words are so sweet, so soothing to my soul, that I could listen till I forgot I had a wishbeyond them. Yes!--Ferdinand, these circumstances are not to bedoubted, and conviction opens upon my mind a flow of extacy I neverknew till now. O! lead me to her, that I may speak the sentimentswhich swell my heart. '

They arose, when Julia, who with difficulty had supported herself, nowimpelled by an irresistible fear of instant discovery, rose also, andmoved softly towards the gallery. The sound of her step alarmed thecount, who, apprehensive lest his conversation had been overheard, wasanxious to be satisfied whether any person was in the closet. Herushed in, and discovered Julia! She caught at a chair to support hertrembling frame; and overwhelmed with mortifying sensations, sunk intoit, and hid her face in her robe. Hippolitus threw himself at herfeet, and seizing her hand, pressed it to his lips in expressivesilence. Some moments passed before the confusion of either wouldsuffer them to speak. At length recovering his voice, 'Can you, madam, ' said he, 'forgive this intrusion, so unintentional? or will itdeprive me of that esteem which I have but lately ventured to believeI possessed, and which I value more than existence itself. O! speak mypardon! Let me not believe that a single accident has destroyed mypeace for ever. '--'If your peace, sir, depends upon a knowledge of myesteem, ' said Julia, in a tremulous voice, 'that peace is alreadysecure. If I wished even to deny the partiality I feel, it would nowbe useless; and since I no longer wish this, it would also bepainful. ' Hippolitus could only weep his thanks over the hand he stillheld. 'Be sensible, however, of the delicacy of my situation, 'continued she, rising, 'and suffer me to withdraw. ' Saying this shequitted the closet, leaving Hippolitus overcome with this sweetconfirmation of his wishes, and Ferdinand not yet recovered from thepainful surprize which the discovery of Julia had excited. He wasdeeply sensible of the confusion he had occasioned her, and knew thatapologies would not restore the composure he had so cruelly yetunwarily disturbed. 

Ferdinand awaited the hour appointed by the marquis in impatientcuriosity. The solemn air which the marquis assumed when he commandedhim to attend, had deeply impressed his mind. As the time drew nigh, expectation increased, and every moment seemed to linger into hours. At length he repaired to the closet, where he did not remain longbefore the marquis entered. The same chilling solemnity marked hismanner. He locked the door of the closet, and seating himself, addressed Ferdinand as follows:--

'I am now going to repose in you a confidence which will severelyprove the strength of your honour. But before I disclose a secret, hitherto so carefully concealed, and now reluctantly told, you mustswear to preserve on this subject an eternal silence. If you doubt thesteadiness of your discretion--now declare it, and save yourself fromthe infamy, and the fatal consequences, which may attend a breach ofyour oath;--if, on the contrary, you believe yourself capable of astrict integrity--now accept the terms, and receive the secret Ioffer. ' Ferdinand was awed by this exordium--the impatience ofcuriosity was for a while suspended, and he hesitated whether heshould receive the secret upon such terms. At length he signified hisconsent, and the marquis arising, drew his sword from thescabbard. --'Here, ' said he, offering it to Ferdinand, 'seal yourvows--swear by this sacred pledge of honor never to repeat what Ishall now reveal. ' Ferdinand vowed upon the sword, and raising hiseyes to heaven, solemnly swore. The marquis then resumed his seat, andproceeded. 

'You are now to learn that, about a century ago, this castle was inthe possession of Vincent, third marquis of Mazzini, my grandfather. At that time there existed an inveterate hatred between our family andthat of della Campo. I shall not now revert to the origin of theanimosity, or relate the particulars of the consequent feuds--sufficeit to observe, that by the power of our family, the della Campos wereunable to preserve their former consequence in Sicily, and they havetherefore quitted it for a foreign land to live in unmolestedsecurity. To return to my subject. --My grandfather, believing his lifeendangered by his enemy, planted spies upon him. He employed some ofthe numerous banditti who sought protection in his service, and aftersome weeks past in waiting for an opportunity, they seized Henry dellaCampo, and brought him secretly to this castle. He was for some timeconfined in a close chamber of the southern buildings, where heexpired; by what means I shall forbear to mention. The plan had beenso well conducted, and the secrecy so strictly preserved, that everyendeavour of his family to trace the means of his disappearance provedineffectual. Their conjectures, if they fell upon our family, weresupported by no proof; and the della Campos are to this day ignorantof the mode of his death. A rumour had prevailed long before the deathof my father, that the southern buildings of the castle were haunted. I disbelieved the fact, and treated it accordingly. One night, whenevery human being of the castle, except myself, was retired to rest, Ihad such strong and dreadful proofs of the general assertion, thateven at this moment I cannot recollect them without horror. Let me, ifpossible, forget them. From that moment I forsook those buildings;they have ever since been shut up, and the circumstance I havementioned, is the true reason why I have resided so little at thecastle. '

Ferdinand listened to this narrative in silent horror. He rememberedthe temerity with which he had dared to penetrate thoseapartments--the light, and figure he had seen--and, above all, hissituation in the stair-case of the tower. Every nerve thrilled at therecollection; and the terrors of remembrance almost equalled those ofreality. 

The marquis permitted his daughters to change their apartments, but hecommanded Ferdinand to tell them, that, in granting their request, heconsulted their ease only, and was himself by no means convinced ofits propriety. They were accordingly reinstated in their formerchambers, and the great room only of madame's apartments was reservedfor the marchioness, who expressed her discontent to the marquis interms of mingled censure and lamentation. The marquis privatelyreproved his daughters, for what he termed the idle fancies of a weakmind; and desired them no more to disturb the peace of the castle withthe subject of their late fears. They received this reproof withsilent submission--too much pleased with the success of their suit tobe susceptible of any emotion but joy. 

Ferdinand, reflecting on the late discovery, was shocked to learn, what was now forced upon his belief, that he was the descendant of amurderer. He now knew that innocent blood had been shed in the castle, and that the walls were still the haunt of an unquiet spirit, whichseemed to call aloud for retribution on the posterity of him who haddisturbed its eternal rest. Hippolitus perceived his dejection, andentreated that he might participate his uneasiness; but Ferdinand, whohad hitherto been frank and ingenuous, was now inflexibly reserved. 'Forbear, ' said he, 'to urge a discovery of what I am not permitted toreveal; this is the only point upon which I conjure you to be silent, and this even to you, I cannot explain. ' Hippolitus was surprized, butpressed the subject no farther. 

Julia, though she had been extremely mortified by the circumstancesattendant on the discovery of her sentiments to Hippolitus, experienced, after the first shock had subsided, an emotion morepleasing than painful. The late conversation had painted in strongcolours the attachment of her lover. His diffidence--his slowness toperceive the effect of his merit--his succeeding rapture, whenconviction was at length forced upon his mind; and his conduct upondiscovering Julia, proved to her at once the delicacy and the strengthof his passion, and she yielded her heart to sensations of pure andunmixed delight. She was roused from this state of visionaryhappiness, by a summons from the marquis to attend him in the library. A circumstance so unusual surprized her, and she obeyed with tremblingcuriosity. She found him pacing the room in deep thought, and she hadshut the door before he perceived her. The authoritative severity inhis countenance alarmed her, and prepared her for a subject ofimportance. He seated himself by her, and continued a moment silent. At length, steadily observing her, 'I sent for you, my child, ' saidhe, 'to declare the honor which awaits you. The Duke de Luovo hassolicited your hand. An alliance so splendid was beyond myexpectation. You will receive the distinction with the gratitude itclaims, and prepare for the celebration of the nuptials. '

This speech fell like the dart of death upon the heart of Julia. Shesat motionless--stupified and deprived of the power of utterance. Themarquis observed her consternation; and mistaking its cause, 'Iacknowledge, ' said he, 'that there is somewhat abrupt in this affair;but the joy occasioned by a distinction so unmerited on your part, ought to overcome the little feminine weakness you might otherwiseindulge. Retire and compose yourself; and observe, ' continued he, in astern voice, 'this is no time for finesse. ' These words roused Juliafrom her state of horrid stupefaction. 'O! sir, ' said she, throwingherself at his feet, 'forbear to enforce authority upon a point whereto obey you would be worse than death; if, indeed, to obey you werepossible. '--'Cease, ' said the marquis, 'this affectation, and practicewhat becomes you. '--'Pardon me, my lord, ' she replied, 'my distressis, alas! unfeigned. I cannot love the duke. '--'Away!' interrupted themarquis, 'nor tempt my rage with objections thus childish andabsurd. '--'Yet hear me, my lord, ' said Julia, tears swelling in hereyes, 'and pity the sufferings of a child, who never till this momenthas dared to dispute your commands. '

'Nor shall she now, ' said the marquis. 'What--when wealth, honor, anddistinction, are laid at my feet, shall they be refused, because afoolish girl--a very baby, who knows not good from evil, cries, andsays she cannot love! Let me not think of it--My just anger may, perhaps, out-run discretion, and tempt me to chastise yourfolly. --Attend to what I say--accept the duke, or quit this castle forever, and wander where you will. ' Saying this, he burst away, andJulia, who had hung weeping upon his knees, fell prostrate upon thefloor. The violence of the fall completed the effect of her distress, and she fainted. In this state she remained a considerable time. Whenshe recovered her senses, the recollection of her calamity burst uponher mind with a force that almost again overwhelmed her. She at lengthraised herself from the ground, and moved towards her own apartment, but had scarcely reached the great gallery, when Hippolitus enteredit. Her trembling limbs would no longer support her; she caught at abannister to save herself; and Hippolitus, with all his speed, wasscarcely in time to prevent her falling. The pale distress exhibitedin her countenance terrified him, and he anxiously enquired concerningit. She could answer him only with her tears, which she found itimpossible to suppress; and gently disengaging herself, tottered toher closet. Hippolitus followed her to the door, but desisted fromfurther importunity. He pressed her hand to his lips in tendersilence, and withdrew, surprized and alarmed. 

Julia, resigning herself to despair, indulged in solitude the excessof her grief. A calamity, so dreadful as the present, had never beforepresented itself to her imagination. The union proposed would havebeen hateful to her, even if she had no prior attachment; what thenmust have been her distress, when she had given her heart to him whodeserved all her admiration, and returned all her affection. 

The Duke de Luovo was of a character very similar to that of themarquis. The love of power was his ruling passion;--with him no gentleor generous sentiment meliorated the harshness of authority, ordirected it to acts of beneficence. He delighted in simple undisguisedtyranny. He had been twice married, and the unfortunate womensubjected to his power, had fallen victims to the slow but corrodinghand of sorrow. He had one son, who some years before had escaped thetyranny of his father, and had not been since heard of. At the latefestival the duke had seen Julia; and her beauty made so strong animpression upon him, that he had been induced now to solicit her hand. The marquis, delighted with the prospect of a connection so flatteringto his favorite passion, readily granted his consent, and immediatelysealed it with a promise. 

Julia remained for the rest of the day shut up in her closet, wherethe tender efforts of Madame and Emilia were exerted to soften herdistress. Towards the close of evening Ferdinand entered. Hippolitus, shocked at her absence, had requested him to visit her, to alleviateher affliction, and, if possible, to discover its cause. Ferdinand, who tenderly loved his sister, was alarmed by the words of Hippolitus, and immediately sought her. Her eyes were swelled with weeping, andher countenance was but too expressive of the state of her mind. Ferdinand's distress, when told of his father's conduct, was scarcelyless than her own. He had pleased himself with the hope of uniting thesister of his heart with the friend whom he loved. An act of cruelauthority now dissolved the fairy dream of happiness which his fancyhad formed, and destroyed the peace of those most dear to him. He satfor a long time silent and dejected; at length, starting from hismelancholy reverie, he bad Julia good-night, and returned toHippolitus, who was waiting for him with anxious impatience in thenorth hall. 

Ferdinand dreaded the effect of that despair, which the intelligencehe had to communicate would produce in the mind of Hippolitus. Herevolved some means of softening the dreadful truth; but Hippolitus, quick to apprehend the evil which love taught him to fear, seized atonce upon the reality. 'Tell me all, ' said he, in a tone of assumedfirmness. 'I am prepared for the worst. ' Ferdinand related the decreeof the marquis, and Hippolitus soon sunk into an excess of grief whichdefied, as much as it required, the powers of alleviation. 

Julia, at length, retired to her chamber, but the sorrow whichoccupied her mind withheld the blessings of sleep. Distracted andrestless she arose, and gently opened the window of her apartment. Thenight was still, and not a breath disturbed the surface of the waters. The moon shed a mild radiance over the waves, which in gentleundulations flowed upon the sands. The scene insensibly tranquilizedher spirits. A tender and pleasing melancholy diffused itself over hermind; and as she mused, she heard the dashing of distant oars. Presently she perceived upon the light surface of the sea a smallboat. The sound of the oars ceased, and a solemn strain of harmony(such as fancy wafts from the abodes of the blessed) stole upon thesilence of night. A chorus of voices now swelled upon the air, anddied away at a distance. In the strain Julia recollected the midnighthymn to the virgin, and holy enthusiasm filled her heart. The choruswas repeated, accompanied by a solemn striking of oars. A sigh ofexstacy stole from her bosom. Silence returned. The divine melody shehad heard calmed the tumult of her mind, and she sunk in sweet repose. 

She arose in the morning refreshed by light slumbers; but therecollection of her sorrows soon returned with new force, andsickening faintness overcame her. In this situation she received amessage from the marquis to attend him instantly. She obeyed, and hebade her prepare to receive the duke, who that morning purposed tovisit the castle. He commanded her to attire herself richly, and towelcome him with smiles. Julia submitted in silence. She saw themarquis was inflexibly resolved, and she withdrew to indulge theanguish of her heart, and prepare for this detested interview. 

The clock had struck twelve, when a flourish of trumpets announced theapproach of the duke. The heart of Julia sunk at the sound, and shethrew herself on a sopha, overwhelmed with bitter sensations. Here shewas soon disturbed by a message from the marquis. She arose, andtenderly embracing Emilia, their tears for some moments flowedtogether. At length, summoning all her fortitude, she descended to thehall, where she was met by the marquis. He led her to the saloon inwhich the duke sat, with whom having conversed a short time, hewithdrew. The emotion of Julia at this instant was beyond any thingshe had before suffered; but by a sudden and strange exertion offortitude, which the force of desperate calamity sometimes affords us, but which inferior sorrow toils after in vain, she recovered hercomposure, and resumed her natural dignity. For a moment she wonderedat herself, and she formed the dangerous resolution of throwingherself upon the generosity of the duke, by acknowledging herreluctance to the engagement, and soliciting him to withdraw his suit. 

The duke approached her with an air of proud condescension; and takingher hand, placed himself beside her. Having paid some formal andgeneral compliments to her beauty, he proceeded to profess himself heradmirer. She listened for some time to his professions, and when heappeared willing to hear her, she addressed him--'I am justlysensible, my lord, of the distinction you offer me, and must lamentthat respectful gratitude is the only sentiment I can return. Nothingcan more strongly prove my confidence in your generosity, than when Iconfess to you, that parental authority urges me to give my handwhither my heart cannot accompany it. '

She paused--the duke continued silent. --''Tis you only, my lord, whocan release me from a situation so distressing; and to your goodnessand justice I appeal, certain that necessity will excuse thesingularity of my conduct, and that I shall not appeal in vain. '

The duke was embarrassed--a flush of pride overspread his countenance, and he seemed endeavouring to stifle the feelings that swelled hisheart. 'I had been prepared, madam, ' said he, 'to expect a verydifferent reception, and had certainly no reason to believe that theDuke de Luovo was likely to sue in vain. Since, however, madam, youacknowledge that you have already disposed of your affections, I shallcertainly be very willing, if the marquis will release me from ourmutual engagements, to resign you to a more favored lover. '

'Pardon me, my lord, ' said Julia, blushing, 'suffer me to'--'I am noteasily deceived, madam, ' interrupted the duke, --'your conduct can beattributed only to the influence of a prior attachment; and though forso young a lady, such a circumstance is somewhat extraordinary, I havecertainly no right to arraign your choice. Permit me to wish you agood morning. ' He bowed low, and quitted the room. Julia nowexperienced a new distress; she dreaded the resentment of the marquis, when he should be informed of her conversation with the duke, of whosecharacter she now judged too justly not to repent the confidence shehad reposed in him. 

The duke, on quitting Julia, went to the marquis, with whom heremained in conversation some hours. When he had left the castle, themarquis sent for his daughter, and poured forth his resentment withall the violence of threats, and all the acrimony of contempt. Soseverely did he ridicule the idea of her disposing of her heart, andso dreadfully did he denounce vengeance on her disobedience, that shescarcely thought herself safe in his presence. She stood tremblingand confused, and heard his reproaches without the power to reply. Atlength the marquis informed her, that the nuptials would be solemnizedon the third day from the present; and as he quitted the room, a floodof tears came to her relief, and saved her from fainting. 

Julia passed the remainder of the day in her closet with Emilia. Nightreturned, but brought her no peace. She sat long after the departureof Emilia; and to beguile recollection, she selected a favoriteauthor, endeavouring to revive those sensations his page had onceexcited. She opened to a passage, the tender sorrow of which wasapplicable to her own situation, and her tears flowed wean. Her griefwas soon suspended by apprehension. Hitherto a deadly silence hadreigned through the castle, interrupted only by the wind, whose lowsound crept at intervals through the galleries. She now thought sheheard a footstep near her door, but presently all was still, for shebelieved she had been deceived by the wind. The succeeding moment, however, convinced her of her error, for she distinguished the lowwhisperings of some persons in the gallery. Her spirits, alreadyweakened by sorrow, deserted her: she was seized with an universalterror, and presently afterwards a low voice called her from without, and the door was opened by Ferdinand. 

She shrieked, and fainted. On recovering, she found herself supportedby Ferdinand and Hippolitus, who had stolen this moment of silence andsecurity to gain admittance to her presence. Hippolitus came to urge aproposal which despair only could have suggested. 'Fly, ' said he, 'from the authority of a father who abuses his power, and assert theliberty of choice, which nature assigned you. Let the desperatesituation of my hopes plead excuse for the apparent boldness of thisaddress, and let the man who exists but for you be the means of savingyou from destruction. Alas! madam, you are silent, and perhaps I haveforfeited, by this proposal, the confidence I so lately flatteredmyself I possessed. If so, I will submit to my fate in silence, andwill to-morrow quit a scene which presents only images of distress tomy mind. '

Julia could speak but with her tears. A variety of strong andcontending emotions struggled at her breast, and suppressed the powerof utterance. Ferdinand seconded the proposal of the count. 'It isunnecessary, ' my sister, said he, 'to point out the misery whichawaits you here. I love you too well tamely to suffer you to besacrificed to ambition, and to a passion still more hateful. I nowglory in calling Hippolitus my friend--let me ere long receive him asa brother. I can give no stronger testimony of my esteem for hischaracter, than in the wish I now express. Believe me he has a heartworthy of your acceptance--a heart noble and expansive as yourown. '--'Ah, cease, ' said Julia, 'to dwell upon a character of whoseworth I am fully sensible. Your kindness and his merit can never beforgotten by her whose misfortunes you have so generously suffered tointerest you. ' She paused in silent hesitation. A sense of delicacymade her hesitate upon the decision which her heart so warmlyprompted. If she fled with Hippolitus, she would avoid one evil, andencounter another. She would escape the dreadful destiny awaiting her, but must, perhaps, sully the purity of that reputation, which wasdearer to her than existence. In a mind like hers, exquisitelysusceptible of the pride of honor, this fear was able to counteractevery other consideration, and to keep her intentions in a state ofpainful suspense. She sighed deeply, and continued silent. Hippolituswas alarmed by the calm distress which her countenance exhibited. 'O!Julia, ' said he, 'relieve me from this dreadful suspense!--speak tome--explain this silence. ' She looked mournfully upon him---her lipsmoved, but no sounds were uttered. As he repeated his question, shewaved her hand, and sunk back in her chair. She had not fainted, butcontinued some time in a state of stupor not less alarming. Theimportance of the present question, operating upon her mind, alreadyharassed by distress, had produced a temporary suspension of reason. Hippolitus hung over her in an agony not to be described, andFerdinand vainly repeated her name. At length uttering a deep sigh, she raised herself, and, like one awakened from a dream, gazed aroundher. Hippolitus thanked God fervently in his heart. 'Tell me but thatyou are well, ' said he, 'and that I may dare to hope, and we willleave you to repose. '--'My sister, ' said Ferdinand, 'consult only yourown wishes, and leave the rest to me. Suffer a confidence in me todissipate the doubts with which you are agitated. '--'Ferdinand, ' saidJulia, emphatically, 'how shall I express the gratitude your kindnesshas excited?'--'Your gratitude, ' said he, 'will be best shown inconsulting your own wishes; for be assured, that whatever procuresyour happiness, will most effectually establish mine. Do not sufferthe prejudices of education to render you miserable. Believe me, thata choice which involves the happiness or misery of your whole life, ought to be decided only by yourself. '

'Let us forbear for the present, ' said Hippolitus, 'to urge thesubject. Repose is necessary for you, ' addressing Julia, 'and I willnot suffer a selfish consideration any longer to with-hold you fromit. --Grant me but this request--that at this hour to-morrow night, Imay return hither to receive my doom. ' Julia having consented toreceive Hippolitus and Ferdinand, they quitted the closet. In turninginto the grand gallery, they were surprised by the appearance of alight, which gleamed upon the wall that terminated their view. Itseemed to proceed from a door which opened upon a back stair-case. They pushed on, but it almost instantly disappeared, and upon thestair-case all was still. They then separated, and retired to theirapartments, somewhat alarmed by this circumstance, which induced themto suspect that their visit to Julia had been observed. 

Julia passed the night in broken slumbers, and anxious consideration. On her present decision hung the crisis of her fate. Her consciousnessof the influence of Hippolitus over her heart, made her fear toindulge its predilection, by trusting to her own opinion of itsfidelity. She shrunk from the disgraceful idea of an elopement; yetshe saw no means of avoiding this, but by rushing upon the fate sodreadful to her imagination. 

On the following night, when the inhabitants of the castle wereretired to rest, Hippolitus, whose expectation had lengthened thehours into ages, accompanied by Ferdinand, revisited the closet. Julia, who had known no interval of rest since they last left her, received them with much agitation. The vivid glow of health had fledher cheek, and was succeeded by a languid delicacy, less beautiful, but more interesting. To the eager enquiries of Hippolitus, shereturned no answer, but faintly smiling through her tears, presentedhim her hand, and covered her face with her robe. 'I receive it, 'cried he, 'as the pledge of my happiness;--yet--yet let your voiceratify the gift. ' 'If the present concession does not sink me in youresteem, ' said Julia, in a low tone, 'this hand is yours. '--'Theconcession, my love, (for by that tender name I may now call you)would, if possible, raise you in my esteem; but since that has beenlong incapable of addition, it can only heighten my opinion of myself, and increase my gratitude to you: gratitude which I will endeavour toshew by an anxious care of your happiness, and by the tenderattentions of a whole life. From this blessed moment, ' continued he, in a voice of rapture, 'permit me, in thought, to hail you as my wife. From this moment let me banish every vestige of sorrow;--let me drythose tears, ' gently pressing her cheek with his lips, 'never tospring again. '--The gratitude and joy which Ferdinand expressed uponthis occasion, united with the tenderness of Hippolitus to soothe theagitated spirits of Julia, and she gradually recovered hercomplacency. 

They now arranged their plan of escape; in the execution of which, notime was to be lost, since the nuptials with the duke were to besolemnized on the day after the morrow. Their scheme, whatever it wasthat should be adopted, they, therefore, resolved to execute on thefollowing night. But when they descended from the first warmth ofenterprize, to minuter examination, they soon found the difficultiesof the undertaking. The keys of the castle were kept by Robert, theconfidential servant of the marquis, who every night deposited them inan iron chest in his chamber. To obtain them by stratagem seemedimpossible, and Ferdinand feared to tamper with the honesty of thisman, who had been many years in the service of the marquis. Dangerousas was the attempt, no other alternative appeared, and they weretherefore compelled to rest all their hopes upon the experiment. Itwas settled, that if the keys could be procured, Ferdinand andHippolitus should meet Julia in the closet; that they should conveyher to the seashore, from whence a boat, which was to be kept inwaiting, would carry them to the opposite coast of Calabria, where themarriage might be solemnized without danger of interruption. But, asit was necessary that Ferdinand should not appear in the affair, itwas agreed that he should return to the castle immediately upon theembarkation of his sister. Having thus arranged their plan ofoperation, they separated till the following night, which was todecide the fate of Hippolitus and Julia. 

Julia, whose mind was soothed by the fraternal kindness of Ferdinand, and the tender assurances of Hippolitus, now experienced an intervalof repose. At the return of day she awoke refreshed, and tolerablycomposed. She selected a few clothes which were necessary, andprepared them for her journey. A sentiment of generosity justified herin the reserve she preserved to Emilia and Madame de Menon, whosefaithfulness and attachment she could not doubt, but whom shedisdained to involve in the disgrace that must fall upon them, shouldtheir knowledge of her flight be discovered. 

In the mean time the castle was a scene of confusion. The magnificentpreparations which were making for the nuptials, engaged all eyes, andbusied all hands. The marchioness had the direction of the whole; andthe alacrity with which she acquitted herself, testified how much shewas pleased with the alliance, and created a suspicion, that it hadnot been concerted without some exertion of her influence. Thus wasJulia designed the joint victim of ambition and illicit love. 

The composure of Julia declined with the day, whose hours had creptheavily along. As the night drew on, her anxiety for the success ofFerdinand's negociation with Robert increased to a painful degree. Avariety of new emotions pressed at her heart, and subdued her spirits. When she bade Emilia good night, she thought she beheld her for thelast time. The ideas of the distance which would separate them, of thedangers she was going to encounter, with a train of wild and fearfulanticipations, crouded upon her mind, tears sprang in her eyes, and itwas with difficulty she avoided betraying her emotions. Of madame, too, her heart took a tender farewell. At length she heard the marquisretire to his apartment, and the doors belonging to the severalchambers of the guests successively close. She marked with tremblingattention the gradual change from bustle to quiet, till all was still. 

She now held herself in readiness to depart at the moment in whichFerdinand and Hippolitus, for whose steps in the gallery she eagerlylistened, should appear. The castle clock struck twelve. The soundseemed to shake the pile. Julia felt it thrill upon her heart. 'I hearyou, ' sighed she, 'for the last time. ' The stillness of deathsucceeded. She continued to listen; but no sound met her ear. For aconsiderable time she sat in a state of anxious expectation not to bedescribed. The clock chimed the successive quarters; and her fear roseto each additional sound. At length she heard it strike one. Hollowwas that sound, and dreadful to her hopes; for neither Hippolitus norFerdinand appeared. She grew faint with fear and disappointment. Hermind, which for two hours had been kept upon the stretch ofexpectation, now resigned itself to despair. She gently opened thedoor of her closet, and looked upon the gallery; but all was lonelyand silent. It appeared that Robert had refused to be accessary totheir scheme; and it was probable that he had betrayed it to themarquis. Overwhelmed with bitter reflections, she threw herself uponthe sopha in the first distraction of despair. Suddenly she thoughtshe heard a noise in the gallery; and as she started from her postureto listen to the sound, the door of her closet was gently opened byFerdinand. 'Come, my love, ' said he, 'the keys are ours, and we havenot a moment to lose; our delay has been unavoidable; but this is notime for explanation. ' Julia, almost fainting, gave her hand toFerdinand, and Hippolitus, after some short expression of histhankfulness, followed. They passed the door of madame's chamber; andtreading the gallery with slow and silent steps, descended to thehall. This they crossed towards a door, after opening which, theywere to find their way, through various passages, to a remote part ofthe castle, where a private door opened upon the walls. Ferdinandcarried the several keys. They fastened the hall door after them, andproceeded through a narrow passage terminating in a stair-case. 

They descended, and had hardly reached the bottom, when they heard aloud noise at the door above, and presently the voices of severalpeople. Julia scarcely felt the ground she trod on, and Ferdinand flewto unlock a door that obstructed their way. He applied the differentkeys, and at length found the proper one; but the lock was rusted, andrefused to yield. Their distress was not now to be conceived. Thenoise above increased; and it seemed as if the people were forcing thedoor. Hippolitus and Ferdinand vainly tried to turn the key. A suddencrash from above convinced them that the door had yielded, when makinganother desperate effort, the key broke in the lock. Trembling andexhausted, Julia gave herself up for lost. As she hung upon Ferdinand, Hippolitus vainly endeavoured to sooth her--the noise suddenly ceased. They listened, dreading to hear the sounds renewed; but, to theirutter astonishment, the silence of the place remained undisturbed. They had now time to breathe, and to consider the possibility ofeffecting their escape; for from the marquis they had no mercy tohope. Hippolitus, in order to ascertain whether the people had quittedthe door above, began to ascend the passage, in which he had not gonemany steps when the noise was renewed with increased violence. Heinstantly retreated; and making a desperate push at the door below, which obstructed their passage, it seemed to yield, and by anothereffort of Ferdinand, burst open. They had not an instant to lose; forthey now heard the steps of persons descending the stairs. The avenuethey were in opened into a kind of chamber, whence three passagesbranched, of which they immediately chose the first. Another door nowobstructed their passage; and they were compelled to wait whileFerdinand applied the keys. 'Be quick, ' said Julia, 'or we are lost. O! if this lock too is rusted!'--'Hark!' said Ferdinand. They nowdiscovered what apprehension had before prevented them fromperceiving, that the sounds of pursuit were ceased, and all again wassilent. As this could happen only by the mistake of their pursuers, intaking the wrong _route_, they resolved to preserve their advantage, by concealing the light, which Ferdinand now covered with his cloak. The door was opened, and they passed on; but they were perplexed inthe intricacies of the place, and wandered about in vain endeavour tofind their way. Often did they pause to listen, and often did fancygive them sounds of fearful import. At length they entered on thepassage which Ferdinand knew led directly to a door that opened on thewoods. Rejoiced at this certainty, they soon reached the spot whichwas to give them liberty. 

Ferdinand turned the key; the door unclosed, and, to their infinitejoy, discovered to them the grey dawn. 'Now, my love, ' saidHippolitus, 'you are safe, and I am happy. '--Immediately a loud voicefrom without exclaimed, 'Take, villain, the reward of your perfidy!'At the same instant Hippolitus received a sword in his body, anduttering a deep sigh, fell to the ground. Julia shrieked and fainted;Ferdinand drawing his sword, advanced towards the assassin, upon whosecountenance the light of his lamp then shone, and discovered to himhis father! The sword fell from his grasp, and he started back in anagony of horror. He was instantly surrounded, and seized by theservants of the marquis, while the marquis himself denounced vengeanceupon his head, and ordered him to be thrown into the dungeon of thecastle. At this instant the servants of the count, who were awaitinghis arrival on the seashore, hearing the tumult, hastened to thescene, and there beheld their beloved master lifeless and weltering inhis blood. They conveyed the bleeding body, with loud lamentations, on board the vessel which had been prepared for him, and immediatelyset sail for Italy. 

Julia, on recovering her senses, found herself in a small room, ofwhich she had no remembrance, with her maid weeping over her. Recollection, when it returned, brought to her mind an energy ofgrief, which exceeded even all former conceptions of sufferings. Yether misery was heightened by the intelligence which she now received. She learned that Hippolitus had been borne away lifeless by hispeople, that Ferdinand was confined in a dungeon by order of themarquis, and that herself was a prisoner in a remote room, from which, on the day after the morrow, she was to be removed to the chapel ofthe castle, and there sacrificed to the ambition of her father, andthe absurd love of the Duke de Luovo. 

This accumulation of evil subdued each power of resistance, andreduced Julia to a state little short of distraction. No person wasallowed to approach her but her maid, and the servant who brought herfood. Emilia, who, though shocked by Julia's apparent want ofconfidence, severely sympathized in her distress, solicited to seeher; but the pain of denial was so sharply aggravated by rebuke, thatshe dared not again to urge the request. 

In the mean time Ferdinand, involved in the gloom of a dungeon, wasresigned to the painful recollection of the past, and a horridanticipation of the future. From the resentment of the marquis, whosepassions were wild and terrible, and whose rank gave him an unlimitedpower of life and death in his own territories, Ferdinand had much tofear. Yet selfish apprehension soon yielded to a more noble sorrow. He mourned the fate of Hippolitus, and the sufferings of Julia. Hecould attribute the failure of their scheme only to the treachery ofRobert, who had, however, met the wishes of Ferdinand with strongapparent sincerity, and generous interest in the cause of Julia. Onthe night of the intended elopement, he had consigned the keys toFerdinand, who, immediately on receiving them, went to the apartmentof Hippolitus. There they were detained till after the clock hadstruck one by a low noise, which returned at intervals, and convincedthem that some part of the family was not yet retired to rest. Thisnoise was undoubtedly occasioned by the people whom the marquis hademployed to watch, and whose vigilance was too faithful to suffer thefugitives to escape. The very caution of Ferdinand defeated itspurpose; for it is probable, that had he attempted to quit the castleby the common entrance, he might have escaped. The keys of the granddoor, and those of the courts, remaining in the possession of Robert, the marquis was certain of the intended place of their departure; andwas thus enabled to defeat their hopes at the very moment when theyexulted in their success. 

When the marchioness learned the fate of Hippolitus, the resentment ofjealous passion yielded to emotions of pity. Revenge was satisfied, and she could now lament the sufferings of a youth whose personalcharms had touched her heart as much as his virtues had disappointedher hopes. Still true to passion, and inaccessible to reason, shepoured upon the defenceless Julia her anger for that calamity of whichshe herself was the unwilling cause. By a dextrous adaptation of herpowers, she had worked upon the passions of the marquis so as torender him relentless in the pursuit of ambitious purposes, andinsatiable in revenging his disappointment. But the effects of herartifices exceeded her intention in exerting them; and when she meantonly to sacrifice a rival to her love, she found she had given up itsobject to revenge. 

CHAPTER IV

The nuptial morn, so justly dreaded by Julia, and so impatientlyawaited by the marquis, now arrived. The marriage was to be celebratedwith a magnificence which demonstrated the joy it occasioned to themarquis. The castle was fitted up in a style of grandeur superior toany thing that had been before seen in it. The neighbouring nobilitywere invited to an entertainment which was to conclude with a splendidball and supper, and the gates were to be thrown open to all who choseto partake of the bounty of the marquis. At an early hour the duke, attended by a numerous retinue, entered the castle. Ferdinand heardfrom his dungeon, where the rigour and the policy of the marquis stillconfined him, the loud clattering of hoofs in the courtyard above, therolling of the carriage wheels, and all the tumultuous bustle whichthe entrance of the duke occasioned. He too well understood the causeof this uproar, and it awakened in him sensations resembling thosewhich the condemned criminal feels, when his ears are assailed by thedreadful sounds that precede his execution. When he was able to thinkof himself, he wondered by what means the marquis would reconcile hisabsence to the guests. He, however, knew too well the dissipatedcharacter of the Sicilian nobility, to doubt that whatever storyshould be invented would be very readily believed by them; who, evenif they knew the truth, would not suffer a discovery of theirknowledge to interrupt the festivity which was offered them. 

The marquis and marchioness received the duke in the outer hall, andconducted him to the saloon, where he partook of the refreshmentsprepared for him, and from thence retired to the chapel. The marquisnow withdrew to lead Julia to the altar, and Emilia was ordered toattend at the door of the chapel, in which the priest and a numerouscompany were already assembled. The marchioness, a prey to theturbulence of succeeding passions, exulted in the near completion ofher favorite scheme. --A disappointment, however, was prepared for her, which would at once crush the triumph of her malice and her pride. Themarquis, on entering the prison of Julia, found it empty! Hisastonishment and indignation upon the discovery almost overpowered hisreason. Of the servants of the castle, who were immediately summoned, he enquired concerning her escape, with a mixture of fury and sorrowwhich left them no opportunity to reply. They had, however, noinformation to give, but that her woman had not appeared during thewhole morning. In the prison were found the bridal habiliments whichthe marchioness herself had sent on the preceding night, together witha letter addressed to Emilia, which contained the following words:

'Adieu, dear Emilia; never more will you see your wretched sister, whoflies from the cruel fate now prepared for her, certain that she cannever meet one more dreadful. --In happiness or misery--in hope ordespair--whatever may be your situation--still remember me with pityand affection. Dear Emilia, adieu!--You will always be the sister ofmy heart--may you never be the partner of my misfortunes!'

While the marquis was reading this letter, the marchioness, whosupposed the delay occasioned by some opposition from Julia, flew tothe apartment. By her orders all the habitable parts of the castlewere explored, and she herself assisted in the search. At length theintelligence was communicated to the chapel, and the confusion becameuniversal. The priest quitted the altar, and the company returned tothe saloon. 

The letter, when it was given to Emilia, excited emotions which shefound it impossible to disguise, but which did not, however, protecther from a suspicion that she was concerned in the transaction, herknowledge of which this letter appeared intended to conceal. 

The marquis immediately dispatched servants upon the fleetest horsesof his stables, with directions to take different routs, and to scourevery corner of the island in pursuit of the fugitives. When theseexertions had somewhat quieted his mind, he began to consider by whatmeans Julia could have effected her escape. She had been confined in asmall room in a remote part of the castle, to which no person had beenadmitted but her own woman and Robert, the confidential servant of themarquis. Even Lisette had not been suffered to enter, unlessaccompanied by Robert, in whose room, since the night of the fataldiscovery, the keys had been regularly deposited. Without them it wasimpossible she could have escaped: the windows of the apartment beingbarred and grated, and opening into an inner court, at a prodigiousheight from the ground. Besides, who could she depend upon forprotection--or whither could she intend to fly for concealment?--Theassociates of her former elopement were utterly unable to assist hereven with advice. Ferdinand himself a prisoner, had been deprived ofany means of intercourse with her, and Hippolitus had been carriedlifeless on board a vessel, which had immediately sailed for Italy. 

Robert, to whom the keys had been entrusted, was severely interrogatedby the marquis. He persisted in a simple and uniform declaration ofhis innocence; but as the marquis believed it impossible that Juliacould have escaped without his knowledge, he was ordered intoimprisonment till he should confess the fact. 

The pride of the duke was severely wounded by this elopement, whichproved the excess of Julia's aversion, and compleated the disgracefulcircumstances of his rejection. The marquis had carefully concealedfrom him her prior attempt at elopement, and her consequentconfinement; but the truth now burst from disguise, and stood revealedwith bitter aggravation. The duke, fired with indignation at theduplicity of the marquis, poured forth his resentment in terms ofproud and bitter invective; and the marquis, galled by recentdisappointment, was in no mood to restrain the impetuosity of hisnature. He retorted with acrimony; and the consequence would have beenserious, had not the friends of each party interposed for theirpreservation. The disputants were at length reconciled; it was agreedto pursue Julia with united, and indefatigable search; and thatwhenever she should be found, the nuptials should be solemnizedwithout further delay. With the character of the duke, this conductwas consistent. His passions, inflamed by disappointment, andstrengthened by repulse, now defied the power of obstacle; and thoseconsiderations which would have operated with a more delicate mind toovercome its original inclination, served only to encrease theviolence of his. 

Madame de Menon, who loved Julia with maternal affection, was aninterested observer of all that passed at the castle. The cruel fateto which the marquis destined his daughter she had severely lamented, yet she could hardly rejoice to find that this had been avoided byelopement. She trembled for the future safety of her pupil; and hertranquillity, which was thus first disturbed for the welfare ofothers, she was not soon suffered to recover. 

The marchioness had long nourished a secret dislike to Madame deMenon, whose virtues were a silent reproof to her vices. Thecontrariety of their disposition created in the marchioness anaversion which would have amounted to contempt, had not that dignityof virtue which strongly characterized the manners of madame, compelled the former to fear what she wished to despise. Herconscience whispered her that the dislike was mutual; and she nowrejoiced in the opportunity which seemed to offer itself of loweringthe proud integrity of madame's character. Pretending, therefore, tobelieve that she had encouraged Ferdinand to disobey his father'scommands, and had been accessary to the elopement, she accused her ofthese offences, and stimulated the marquis to reprehend her conduct. But the integrity of Madame de Menon was not to be questioned withimpunity. Without deigning to answer the imputation, she desired toresign an office of which she was no longer considered worthy, and toquit the castle immediately. This the policy of the marquis would notsuffer; and he was compelled to make such ample concessions to madame, as induced her for the present to continue at the castle. 

The news of Julia's elopement at length reached the ears of Ferdinand, whose joy at this event was equalled only by his surprize. He lost, for a moment, the sense of his own situation, and thought only of theescape of Julia. But his sorrow soon returned with accumulated forcewhen he recollected that Julia might then perhaps want that assistancewhich his confinement alone could prevent his affording her. 

The servants, who had been sent in pursuit, returned to the castlewithout any satisfactory information. Week after week elapsed infruitless search, yet the duke was strenuous in continuing thepursuit. Emissaries were dispatched to Naples, and to the severalestates of the Count Vereza, but they returned without anysatisfactory information. The count had not been heard of since hequitted Naples for Sicily. 

During these enquiries a new subject of disturbance broke out in thecastle of Mazzini. On the night so fatal to the hopes of Hippolitusand Julia, when the tumult was subsided, and all was still, a lightwas observed by a servant as he passed by the window of the greatstair-case in the way to his chamber, to glimmer through the casementbefore noticed in the southern buildings. While he stood observing it, it vanished, and presently reappeared. The former mysteriouscircumstances relative to these buildings rushed upon his mind; andfired with wonder, he roused some of his fellow servants to come andbehold this phenomenon. 

As they gazed in silent terror, the light disappeared, and soon after, they saw a small door belonging to the south tower open, and a figurebearing a light issue forth, which gliding along the castle walls, wasquickly lost to their view. Overcome with fear they hurried back totheir chambers, and revolved all the late wonderful occurrences. Theydoubted not, that this was the figure formerly seen by the lady Julia. The sudden change of Madame de Menon's apartments had not passedunobserved by the servants, but they now no longer hesitated to whatto attribute the removal. They collected each various and uncommoncircumstance attendant on this part of the fabric; and, comparing themwith the present, their superstitious fears were confirmed, and theirterror heightened to such a degree, that many of them resolved to quitthe service of the marquis. 

The marquis surprized at this sudden desertion, enquired into itscause, and learned the truth. Shocked by this discovery, he yetresolved to prevent, if possible, the ill effects which might beexpected from a circulation of the report. To this end it wasnecessary to quiet the minds of his people, and to prevent theirquitting his service. Having severely reprehended them for the idleapprehension they encouraged, he told them that, to prove the fallacyof their surmises, he would lead them over that part of the castlewhich was the subject of their fears, and ordered them to attend himat the return of night in the north hall. Emilia and Madame de Menon, surprised at this procedure, awaited the issue in silent expectation. 

The servants, in obedience to the commands of the marquis, assembledat night in the north hall. The air of desolation which reignedthrough the south buildings, and the circumstance of their having beenfor so many years shut up, would naturally tend to inspire awe; but tothese people, who firmly believed them to be the haunt of an unquietspirit, terror was the predominant sentiment. 

The marquis now appeared with the keys of these buildings in hishands, and every heart thrilled with wild expectation. He orderedRobert to precede him with a torch, and the rest of the servantsfollowing, he passed on. A pair of iron gates were unlocked, and theyproceeded through a court, whose pavement was wildly overgrown withlong grass, to the great door of the south fabric. Here they met withsome difficulty, for the lock, which had not been turned for manyyears, was rusted. 

During this interval, the silence of expectation sealed the lips ofall present. At length the lock yielded. That door which had not beenpassed for so many years, creaked heavily upon its hinges, anddisclosed the hall of black marble which Ferdinand had formerlycrossed. 'Now, ' cried the marquis, in a tone of irony as he entered, 'expect to encounter the ghosts of which you tell me; but if you failto conquer them, prepare to quit my service. The people who live withme shall at least have courage and ability sufficient to defend mefrom these spiritual attacks. All I apprehend is, that the enemy willnot appear, and in this case your valour will go untried. '

No one dared to answer, but all followed, in silent fear, the marquis, who ascended the great stair-case, and entered the gallery. 'Unlockthat door, ' said he, pointing to one on the left, 'and we will soonunhouse these ghosts. ' Robert applied the key, but his hand shook soviolently that he could not turn it. 'Here is a fellow, ' cried themarquis, 'fit to encounter a whole legion of spirits. Do you, Anthony, take the key, and try your valour. '

'Please you, my lord, ' replied Anthony, 'I never was a good one atunlocking a door in my life, but here is Gregory will do it. '--'No, mylord, an' please you, ' said Gregory, 'here is Richard. '--'Stand off, 'said the marquis, 'I will shame your cowardice, and do it myself. '

Saying this he turned the key, and was rushing on, but the doorrefused to yield; it shook under his hands, and seemed as if partiallyheld by some person on the other side. The marquis was surprized, andmade several efforts to move it, without effect. He then ordered hisservants to burst it open, but, shrinking back with one accord, theycried, 'For God's sake, my lord, go no farther; we are satisfied hereare no ghosts, only let us get back. '

'It is now then my turn to be satisfied, ' replied the marquis, 'andtill I am, not one of you shall stir. Open me that door. '--'Mylord!'--'Nay, ' said the marquis, assuming a look of sternauthority--'dispute not my commands. I am not to be trifled with. '

They now stepped forward, and applied their strength to the door, whena loud and sudden noise burst from within, and resounded through thehollow chambers! The men started back in affright, and were rushingheadlong down the stair-case, when the voice of the marquis arrestedtheir flight. They returned, with hearts palpitating with terror. 'Observe what I say, ' said the marquis, 'and behave like men. Yonderdoor, ' pointing to one at some distance, 'will lead us through otherrooms to this chamber--unlock it therefore, for I will know the causeof these sounds. ' Shocked at this determination, the servants againsupplicated the marquis to go no farther; and to be obeyed, he wasobliged to exert all his authority. The door was opened, anddiscovered a long narrow passage, into which they descended by a fewsteps. It led to a gallery that terminated in a back stair-case, whereseveral doors appeared, one of which the marquis unclosed. A spaciouschamber appeared beyond, whose walls, decayed and discoloured by thedamps, exhibited a melancholy proof of desertion. 

They passed on through a long suite of lofty and noble apartments, which were in the same ruinous condition. At length they came to thechamber whence the noise had issued. 'Go first, Robert, with thelight, ' said the marquis, as they approached the door; 'this is thekey. ' Robert trembled--but obeyed, and the other servants followed insilence. They stopped a moment at the door to listen, but all wasstill within. The door was opened, and disclosed a large vaultedchamber, nearly resembling those they had passed, and on lookinground, they discovered at once the cause of the alarm. --A part of thedecayed roof was fallen in, and the stones and rubbish of the ruinfalling against the gallery door, obstructed the passage. It wasevident, too, whence the noise which occasioned their terror hadarisen; the loose stones which were piled against the door being shookby the effort made to open it, had given way, and rolled to the floor. 

After surveying the place, they returned to the back stairs, whichthey descended, and having pursued the several windings of a longpassage, found themselves again in the marble hall. 'Now, ' said themarquis, 'what think ye? What evil spirits infest these walls?Henceforth be cautious how ye credit the phantasms of idleness, for yemay not always meet with a master who will condescend to undeceiveye. '--They acknowledged the goodness of the marquis, and professingthemselves perfectly conscious of the error of their formersuspicions, desired they might search no farther. 'I chuse to leavenothing to your imagination, ' replied the marquis, 'lest hereafter itshould betray you into a similar error. Follow me, therefore; youshall see the whole of these buildings. ' Saying this, he led them tothe south tower. They remembered, that from a door of this tower thefigure which caused their alarm had issued; and notwithstanding thelate assertion of their suspicions being removed, fear still operatedpowerfully upon their minds, and they would willingly have beenexcused from farther research. 'Would any of you chuse to explore thistower?' said the marquis, pointing to the broken stair-case; 'formyself, I am mortal, and therefore fear to venture; but you, who holdcommunion with disembodied spirits, may partake something of theirnature; if so, you may pass without apprehension where the ghost hasprobably passed before. ' They shrunk at this reproof, and were silent. 

The marquis turning to a door on his right hand, ordered it to beunlocked. It opened upon the country, and the servants knew it to bethe same whence the figure had appeared. Having relocked it, 'Liftthat trapdoor; we will desend into the vaults, ' said the marquis. 'What trapdoor, my Lord?' said Robert, with encreased agitation; 'Isee none. ' The marquis pointed, and Robert, perceived a door, whichlay almost concealed beneath the stones that had fallen from thestair-case above. He began to remove them, when the marquis suddenlyturning--'I have already sufficiently indulged your folly, ' said he, 'and am weary of this business. If you are capable of receivingconviction from truth, you must now be convinced that these buildingsare not the haunt of a supernatural being; and if you are incapable, it would be entirely useless to proceed. You, Robert, may thereforespare yourself the trouble of removing the rubbish; we will quit thispart of the fabric. '

The servants joyfully obeyed, and the marquis locking the severaldoors, returned with the keys to the habitable part of the castle. 

Every enquiry after Julia had hitherto proved fruitless; and theimperious nature of the marquis, heightened by the present vexation, became intolerably oppressive to all around him. As the hope ofrecovering Julia declined, his opinion that Emilia had assisted her toescape strengthened, and he inflicted upon her the severity of hisunjust suspicions. She was ordered to confine herself to her apartmenttill her innocence should be cleared, or her sister discovered. FromMadame de Menon she received a faithful sympathy, which was the solerelief of her oppressed heart. Her anxiety concerning Julia dailyencreased, and was heightened into the most terrifying apprehensionsfor her safety. She knew of no person in whom her sister couldconfide, or of any place where she could find protection; the mostdeplorable evils were therefore to be expected. 

One day, as she was sitting at the window of her apartment, engaged inmelancholy reflection, she saw a man riding towards the castle on fullspeed. Her heart beat with fear and expectation; for his haste madeher suspect he brought intelligence of Julia; and she could scarcelyrefrain from breaking through the command of the marquis, and rushinginto the hall to learn something of his errand. She was right in herconjecture; the person she had seen was a spy of the marquis's, andcame to inform him that the lady Julia was at that time concealed in acottage of the forest of Marentino. The marquis, rejoiced at thisintelligence, gave the man a liberal reward. He learned also, that shewas accompanied by a young cavalier; which circumstance surprized himexceedingly; for he knew of no person except the Count de Vereza withwhom she could have entrusted herself, and the count had fallen by hissword! He immediately ordered a party of his people to accompany themessenger to the forest of Marentino, and to suffer neither Julia northe cavalier to escape them, on pain of death. 

When the Duke de Luovo was informed of this discovery, he entreatedand obtained permission of the marquis to join in the pursuit. Heimmediately set out on the expedition, armed, and followed by a numberof his servants. He resolved to encounter all hazards, and to practicethe most desperate extremes, rather than fail in the object of hisenterprize. In a short time he overtook the marquis's people, and theyproceeded together with all possible speed. The forest lay severalleagues distant from the castle of Mazzini, and the day was closingwhen they entered upon the borders. The thick foliage of the treesspread a deeper shade around; and they were obliged to proceed withcaution. Darkness had long fallen upon the earth when they reachedthe cottage, to which they were directed by a light that glimmeredfrom afar among the trees. The duke left his people at some distance;and dismounted, and accompanied only by one servant, approached thecottage. When he reached it he stopped, and looking through thewindow, observed a man and woman in the habit of peasants seated attheir supper. They were conversing with earnestness, and the duke, hoping to obtain farther intelligence of Julia, endeavoured to listento their discourse. They were praising the beauty of a lady, whom theduke did not doubt to be Julia, and the woman spoke much in praise ofthe cavalier. 'He has a noble heart, ' said she; 'and I am sure, byhis look, belongs to some great family. '--'Nay, ' replied hercompanion, 'the lady is as good as he. I have been at Palermo, andought to know what great folks are, and if she is not one of them, never take my word again. Poor thing, how she does take on! It made myheart ache to see her. '

They were some time silent. The duke knocked at the door, and enquiredof the man who opened it concerning the lady and cavalier then in hiscottage. He was assured there were no other persons in the cottagethan those he then saw. The duke persisted in affirming that thepersons he enquired for were there concealed; which the man being asresolute in denying, he gave the signal, and his people approached, and surrounded the cottage. The peasants, terrified by thiscircumstance, confessed that a lady and cavalier, such as the dukedescribed, had been for some time concealed in the cottage; but thatthey were now departed. 

Suspicious of the truth of the latter assertion, the duke ordered hispeople to search the cottage, and that part of the forest contiguousto it. The search ended in disappointment. The duke, however, resolved to obtain all possible information concerning the fugitives;and assuming, therefore, a stern air, bade the peasant, on pain ofinstant death, discover all he knew of them. 

The man replied, that on a very dark and stormy night, about a weekbefore, two persons had come to the cottage, and desired shelter. Thatthey were unattended; but seemed to be persons of consequence indisguise. That they paid very liberally for what they had; and thatthey departed from the cottage a few hours before the arrival of theduke. 

The duke enquired concerning the course they had taken, and havingreceived information, remounted his horse, and set forward in pursuit. The road lay for several leagues through the forest, and the darkness, and the probability of encountering banditti, made the journeydangerous. About the break of day they quitted the forest, and enteredupon a wild and mountainous country, in which they travelled somemiles without perceiving a hut, or a human being. No vestige ofcultivation appeared, and no sounds reached them but those of theirhorses feet, and the roaring of the winds through the deep foreststhat overhung the mountains. The pursuit was uncertain, but the dukeresolved to persevere. 

They came at length to a cottage, where he repeated his enquiries, andlearned to his satisfaction that two persons, such as he described, had stopped there for refreshment about two hours before. He found itnow necessary to stop for the same purpose. Bread and milk, the onlyprovisions of the place, were set before him, and his attendants wouldhave been well contented, had there been sufficient of this homelyfare to have satisfied their hunger. 

Having dispatched an hasty meal, they again set forward in the waypointed out to them as the route of the fugitives. The countryassumed a more civilized aspect. Corn, vineyards, olives, and grovesof mulberry-trees adorned the hills. The vallies, luxuriant in shade, were frequently embellished by the windings of a lucid stream, anddiversified by clusters of half-seen cottages. Here the rising turretsof a monastery appeared above the thick trees with which they weresurrounded; and there the savage wilds the travellers had passed, formed a bold and picturesque background to the scene. 

To the questions put by the duke to the several persons he met, hereceived answers that encouraged him to proceed. At noon he halted ata village to refresh himself and his people. He could gain nointelligence of Julia, and was perplexed which way to chuse; butdetermined at length to pursue the road he was then in, andaccordingly again set forward. He travelled several miles withoutmeeting any person who could give the necessary information, and beganto despair of success. The lengthened shadows of the mountains, andthe fading light gave signals of declining day; when having gained thesummit of a high hill, he observed two persons travelling on horsebackin the plains below. On one of them he distinguished the habilimentsof a woman; and in her air he thought he discovered that of Julia. While he stood attentively surveying them, they looked towards thehill, when, as if urged by a sudden impulse of terror, they set off onfull speed over the plains. The duke had no doubt that these were thepersons he sought; and he, therefore, ordered some of his people topursue them, and pushed his horse into a full gallop. Before hereached the plains, the fugitives, winding round an abrupt hill, werelost to his view. The duke continued his course, and his people, whowere a considerable way before him, at length reached the hill, behindwhich the two persons had disappeared. No traces of them were to beseen, and they entered a narrow defile between two ranges of high andsavage mountains; on the right of which a rapid stream rolled along, and broke with its deep resounding murmurs the solemn silence of theplace. The shades of evening now fell thick, and the scene was soonenveloped in darkness; but to the duke, who was animated by a strongand impetuous passion, these were unimportant circumstances. Althoughhe knew that the wilds of Sicily were frequently infested withbanditti, his numbers made him fearless of attack. Not so hisattendants, many of whom, as the darkness increased, testifiedemotions not very honourable to their courage: starting at every bush, and believing it concealed a murderer. They endeavoured to dissuadethe duke from proceeding, expressing uncertainty of their being in theright route, and recommending the open plains. But the duke, whose eyehad been vigilant to mark the flight of the fugitives, and who was notto be dissuaded from his purpose, quickly repressed their arguments. They continued their course without meeting a single person. 

The moon now rose, and afforded them a shadowy imperfect view of thesurrounding objects. The prospect was gloomy and vast, and not a humanhabitation met their eyes. They had now lost every trace of thefugitives, and found themselves bewildered in a wild and savagecountry. Their only remaining care was to extricate themselves from soforlorn a situation, and they listened at every step with anxiousattention for some sound that might discover to them the haunts ofmen. They listened in vain; the stillness of night was undisturbed butby the wind, which broke at intervals in low and hollow murmurs fromamong the mountains. 

As they proceeded with silent caution, they perceived a light breakfrom among the rocks at some distance. The duke hesitated whether toapproach, since it might probably proceed from a party of the bandittiwith which these mountains were said to be infested. While hehesitated, it disappeared; but he had not advanced many steps when itreturned. He now perceived it to issue from the mouth of a cavern, andcast a bright reflection upon the overhanging rocks and shrubs. 

He dismounted, and followed by two of his people, leaving the rest atsome distance, moved with slow and silent steps towards the cave. Ashe drew near, he heard the sound of many voices in high carousal. Suddenly the uproar ceased, and the following words were sung by aclear and manly voice:

SONG

 Pour the rich libation high; The sparkling cup to Bacchus fill; His joys shall dance in ev'ry eye, And chace the forms of future ill!

 Quick the magic raptures steal O'er the fancy-kindling brain. Warm the heart with social zeal, And song and laughter reign. 

 Then visions of pleasure shall float on our sight, While light bounding our spirits shall flow; And the god shall impart a fine sense of delight Which in vain _sober_ mortals would know. 

The last verse was repeated in loud chorus. The duke listened withastonishment! Such social merriment amid a scene of such savagewildness, appeared more like enchantment than reality. He would nothave hesitated to pronounce this a party of banditti, had not thedelicacy of expression preserved in the song appeared unattainable bymen of their class. 

He had now a full view of the cave; and the moment which convinced himof his error served only to encrease his surprize. He beheld, by thelight of a fire, a party of banditti seated within the deepest recessof the cave round a rude kind of table formed in the rock. The tablewas spread with provisions, and they were regaling themselves withgreat eagerness and joy. The countenances of the men exhibited astrange mixture of fierceness and sociality; and the duke could almosthave imagined he beheld in these robbers a band of the early Romansbefore knowledge had civilized, or luxury had softened them. But hehad not much time for meditation; a sense of his danger bade him flywhile to fly was yet in his power. As he turned to depart, he observedtwo saddle-horses grazing upon the herbage near the mouth of the cave. It instantly occurred to him that they belonged to Julia and hercompanion. He hesitated, and at length determined to linger awhile, and listen to the conversation of the robbers, hoping from thence tohave his doubts resolved. They talked for some time in a strain ofhigh conviviality, and recounted in exultation many of their exploits. They described also the behaviour of several people whom they hadrobbed, with highly ludicrous allusions, and with much rude humour, while the cave re-echoed with loud bursts of laughter and applause. They were thus engaged in tumultuous merriment, till one of themcursing the scanty plunder of their late adventure, but praising thebeauty of a lady, they all lowered their voices together, and seemedas if debating upon a point uncommonly interesting to them. Thepassions of the duke were roused, and he became certain that it wasJulia of whom they had spoken. In the first impulse of feeling he drewhis sword; but recollecting the number of his adversaries, restrainedhis fury. He was turning from the cave with a design of summoning hispeople, when the light of the fire glittering upon the bright blade ofhis weapon, caught the eye of one of the banditti. He started fromhis seat, and his comrades instantly rising in consternation, discovered the duke. They rushed with loud vociferation towards themouth of the cave. He endeavoured to escape to his people; but two ofthe banditti mounting the horses which were grazing near, quicklyovertook and seized him. His dress and air proclaimed him to be aperson of distinction; and, rejoicing in their prospect of plunder, they forced him towards the cave. Here their comrades awaited them;but what were the emotions of the duke, when he discovered in theperson of the principal robber his own son! who, to escape the gallingseverity of his father, had fled from his castle some years before, and had not been heard of since. 

He had placed himself at the head of a party of banditti, and, pleasedwith the liberty which till then he had never tasted, and with thepower which his new situation afforded him, he became so much attachedto this wild and lawless mode of life, that he determined never toquit it till death should dissolve those ties which now made his rankonly oppressive. This event seemed at so great a distance, that heseldom allowed himself to think of it. Whenever it should happen, hehad no doubt that he might either resume his rank without danger ofdiscovery, or might justify his present conduct as a frolic which afew acts of generosity would easily excuse. He knew his power wouldthen place him beyond the reach of censure, in a country where thepeople are accustomed to implicit subordination, and seldom dare toscrutinize the actions of the nobility. 

His sensations, however, on discovering his father, were not verypleasing; but proclaiming the duke, he protected him from fartheroutrage. 

With the duke, whose heart was a stranger to the softer affections, indignation usurped the place of parental feeling. His pride was theonly passion affected by the discovery; and he had the rashness toexpress the indignation, which the conduct of his son had excited, interms of unrestrained invective. The banditti, inflamed by theopprobium with which he loaded their order, threatened instantpunishment to his temerity; and the authority of Riccardo could hardlyrestrain them within the limits of forbearance. 

The menaces, and at length entreaties of the duke, to prevail with hisson to abandon his present way of life, were equally ineffectual. Secure in his own power, Riccardo laughed at the first, and wasinsensible to the latter; and his father was compelled to relinquishthe attempt. The duke, however, boldly and passionately accused him ofhaving plundered and secreted a lady and cavalier, his friends, at thesame time describing Julia, for whose liberation he offered largerewards. Riccardo denied the fact, which so much exasperated the duke, that he drew his sword with an intention of plunging it in the breastof his son. His arm was arrested by the surrounding banditti, whohalf unsheathed their swords, and stood suspended in an attitude ofmenace. The fate of the father now hung upon the voice of the son. Riccardo raised his arm, but instantly dropped it, and turned away. The banditti sheathed their weapons, and stepped back. 

Riccardo solemnly swearing that he knew nothing of the personsdescribed, the duke at length became convinced of the truth of theassertion, and departing from the cave, rejoined his people. All theimpetuous passions of his nature were roused and inflamed by thediscovery of his son in a situation so wretchedly disgraceful. Yet itwas his pride rather than his virtue that was hurt; and when he wishedhim dead, it was rather to save himself from disgrace, than his sonfrom the real indignity of vice. He had no means of reclaiming him; tohave attempted it by force, would have been at this time the excess oftemerity, for his attendants, though numerous, were undisciplined, andwould have fallen certain victims to the power of a savage anddexterous banditti. 

With thoughts agitated in fierce and agonizing conflict, he pursuedhis journey; and having lost all trace of Julia, sought only for anhabitation which might shelter him from the night, and affordnecessary refreshment for himself and his people. With this, however, there appeared little hope of meeting. 

CHAPTER V

The night grew stormy. The hollow winds swept over the mountains, andblew bleak and cold around; the clouds were driven swiftly over theface of the moon, and the duke and his people were frequently involvedin total darkness. They had travelled on silently and dejectedly forsome hours, and were bewildered in the wilds, when they suddenly heardthe bell of a monastery chiming for midnight-prayer. Their heartsrevived at the sound, which they endeavoured to follow, but they hadnot gone far, when the gale wafted it away, and they were abandoned tothe uncertain guide of their own conjectures. 

They had pursued for some time the way which they judged led to themonastery, when the note of the bell returned upon the wind, anddiscovered to them that they had mistaken their route. After muchwandering and difficulty they arrived, overcome with weariness, at thegates of a large and gloomy fabric. The bell had ceased, and all wasstill. By the moonlight, which through broken clouds now streamed uponthe building, they became convinced it was the monastery they hadsought, and the duke himself struck loudly upon the gate. 

Several minutes elapsed, no person appeared, and he repeated thestroke. A step was presently heard within, the gate was unbarred, anda thin shivering figure presented itself. The duke solicitedadmission, but was refused, and reprimanded for disturbing the conventat the hour sacred to prayer. He then made known his rank, and badethe friar inform the Superior that he requested shelter from thenight. The friar, suspicious of deceit, and apprehensive of robbers, refused with much firmness, and repeated that the convent was engagedin prayer; he had almost closed the gate, when the duke, whom hungerand fatigue made desperate, rushed by him, and passed into the court. It was his intention to present himself to the Superior, and he hadnot proceeded far when the sound of laughter, and of many voices inloud and mirthful jollity, attracted his steps. It led him throughseveral passages to a door, through the crevices of which lightappeared. He paused a moment, and heard within a wild uproar ofmerriment and song. He was struck with astonishment, and couldscarcely credit his senses!

He unclosed the door, and beheld in a large room, well lighted, acompany of friars, dressed in the habit of their order, placed round atable, which was profusely spread with wines and fruits. The Superior, whose habit distinguished him from his associates, appeared at thehead of the table. He was lifting a large goblet of wine to his lips, and was roaring out, 'Profusion and confusion, ' at the moment when theduke entered. His appearance caused a general alarm; that part of thecompany who were not too much intoxicated, arose from their seats; andthe Superior, dropping the goblet from his hands, endeavoured toassume a look of austerity, which his rosy countenance belied. Theduke received a reprimand, delivered in the lisping accents ofintoxication, and embellished with frequent interjections of hiccup. He made known his quality, his distress, and solicited a night'slodging for himself and his people. When the Superior understood thedistinction of his guest, his features relaxed into a smile of joyouswelcome; and taking him by the hand, he placed him by his side. 

The table was quickly covered with luxurious provisions, and orderswere given that the duke's people should be admitted, and taken careof. He was regaled with a variety of the finest wines, and at length, highly elevated by monastic hospitality, he retired to the apartmentallotted him, leaving the Superior in a condition which precluded allceremony. 

He departed in the morning, very well pleased with the accommodatingprinciples of monastic religion. He had been told that the enjoymentof the good things of this life was the surest sign of our gratitudeto Heaven; and it appeared, that within the walls of a Sicilianmonastery, the precept and the practice were equally enforced. 

He was now at a loss what course to chuse, for he had no clue todirect him towards the object of his pursuit; but hope stillinvigorated, and urged him to perseverance. He was not many leaguesfrom the coast; and it occurred to him that the fugitives might maketowards it with a design of escaping into Italy. He thereforedetermined to travel towards the sea and proceed along the shore. 

At the house where he stopped to dine, he learned that two persons, such as he described, had halted there about an hour before hisarrival, and had set off again in much seeming haste. They had takenthe road towards the coast, whence it was obvious to the duke theydesigned to embark. He stayed not to finish the repast set beforehim, but instantly remounted to continue the pursuit. 

To the enquiries he made of the persons he chanced to meet, favorableanswers were returned for a time, but he was at length bewildered inuncertainity, and travelled for some hours in a direction whichchance, rather than judgment, prompted him to take. 

The falling evening again confused his prospects, and unsettled hishopes. The shades were deepened by thick and heavy clouds thatenveloped the horizon, and the deep sounding air foretold a tempest. The thunder now rolled at a distance, and the accumulated clouds grewdarker. The duke and his people were on a wild and dreary heath, roundwhich they looked in vain for shelter, the view being terminated onall sides by the same desolate scene. They rode, however, as hard astheir horses would carry them; and at length one of the attendantsspied on the skirts of the waste a large mansion, towards which theyimmediately directed their course. 

They were overtaken by the storm, and at the moment when they reachedthe building, a peal of thunder, which seemed to shake the pile, burstover their heads. They now found themselves in a large and ancientmansion, which seemed totally deserted, and was falling to decay. Theedifice was distinguished by an air of magnificence, which illaccorded with the surrounding scenery, and which excited some degreeof surprize in the mind of the duke, who, however, fully justified theowner in forsaking a spot which presented to the eye only views ofrude and desolated nature. 

The storm increased with much violence, and threatened to detain theduke a prisoner in his present habitation for the night. The hall, ofwhich he and his people had taken possession, exhibited in everyfeature marks of ruin and desolation. The marble pavement was in manyplaces broken, the walls were mouldering in decay, and round the highand shattered windows the long grass waved to the lonely gale. Curiosity led him to explore the recesses of the mansion. He quittedthe hall, and entered upon a passage which conducted him to a remotepart of the edifice. He wandered through the wild and spaciousapartments in gloomy meditation, and often paused in wonder at theremains of magnificence which he beheld. 

The mansion was irregular and vast, and he was bewildered in itsintricacies. In endeavouring to find his way back, he only perplexedhimself more, till at length he arrived at a door, which he believedled into the hall he first quitted. On opening it he discovered, bythe faint light of the moon, a large place which he scarcely knewwhether to think a cloister, a chapel, or a hall. It retired in longperspective, in arches, and terminated in a large iron gate, throughwhich appeared the open country. 

The lighting flashed thick and blue around, which, together with thethunder that seemed to rend the wide arch of heaven, and themelancholy aspect of the place, so awed the duke, that heinvoluntarily called to his people. His voice was answered only by thedeep echoes which ran in murmurs through the place, and died away at adistance; and the moon now sinking behind a cloud, left him in totaldarkness. 

He repeated the call more loudly, and at length heard the approach offootsteps. A few moments relieved him from his anxiety, for his peopleappeared. The storm was yet loud, and the heavy and sulphureousappearance of the atmosphere promised no speedy abatement of it. Theduke endeavoured to reconcile himself to pass the night in his presentsituation, and ordered a fire to be lighted in the place he was in. This with much difficulty was accomplished. He then threw himself onthe pavement before it, and tried to endure the abstinence which hehad so ill observed in the monastery on the preceding night. But tohis great joy his attendants, more provident than himself, had notscrupled to accept a comfortable quantity of provisions which had beenoffered them at the monastery; and which they now drew forth from awallet. They were spread upon the pavement; and the duke, afterrefreshing himself, delivered up the remains to his people. Havingordered them to watch by turns at the gate, he wrapt his cloak roundhim, and resigned himself to repose. 

The night passed without any disturbance. The morning arose fresh andbright; the Heavens exhibited a clear and unclouded concave; even thewild heath, refreshed by the late rains, smiled around, and sent upwith the morning gale a stream of fragrance. 

The duke quitted the mansion, re-animated by the cheerfulness of morn, and pursued his journey. He could gain no intelligence of thefugitives. About noon he found himself in a beautiful romanticcountry; and having reached the summit of some wild cliffs, he rested, to view the picturesque imagery of the scene below. A shadowysequestered dell appeared buried deep among the rocks, and in thebottom was seen a lake, whose clear bosom reflected the impendingcliffs, and the beautiful luxuriance of the overhanging shades. 

But his attention was quickly called from the beauties of inanimatenature, to objects more interesting; for he observed two persons, whomhe instantly recollected to be the same that he had formerly pursuedover the plains. They were seated on the margin of the lake, under theshade of some high trees at the foot of the rocks, and seemedpartaking of a repast which was spread upon the grass. Two horses weregrazing near. In the lady the duke saw the very air and shape ofJulia, and his heart bounded at the sight. They were seated withtheir backs to the cliffs upon which the duke stood, and he thereforesurveyed them unobserved. They were now almost within his power, butthe difficulty was how to descend the rocks, whose stupendous heightsand craggy steeps seemed to render them impassable. He examined themwith a scrutinizing eye, and at length espied, where the rock receded, a narrow winding sort of path. He dismounted, and some of hisattendants doing the same, followed their lord down the cliffs, treading lightly, lest their steps should betray them. Immediatelyupon their reaching the bottom, they were perceived by the lady, whofled among the rocks, and was presently pursued by the duke's people. The cavalier had no time to escape, but drew his sword, and defendedhimself against the furious assault of the duke. 

The combat was sustained with much vigour and dexterity on both sidesfor some minutes, when the duke received the point of his adversary'ssword, and fell. The cavalier, endeavouring to escape, was seized bythe duke's people, who now appeared with the fair fugitive; but whatwas the disappointment--the rage of the duke, when in the person ofthe lady he discovered a stranger! The astonishment was mutual, butthe accompanying feelings were, in the different persons, of a veryopposite nature. In the duke, astonishment was heightened by vexation, and embittered by disappointment:--in the lady, it was softened by thejoy of unexpected deliverance. 

This lady was the younger daughter of a Sicilian nobleman, whoseavarice, or necessities, had devoted her to a convent. To avoid thethreatened fate, she fled with the lover to whom her affections hadlong been engaged, and whose only fault, even in the eye of herfather, was inferiority of birth. They were now on their way to thecoast, whence they designed to pass over to Italy, where the churchwould confirm the bonds which their hearts had already formed. Therethe friends of the cavalier resided, and with them they expected tofind a secure retreat. 

The duke, who was not materially wounded, after the first transport ofhis rage had subsided, suffered them to depart. Relieved from theirfears, they joyfully set forward, leaving their late pursuer to theanguish of defeat, and fruitless endeavour. He was remounted on hishorse; and having dispatched two of his people in search of a housewhere he might obtain some relief, he proceeded slowly on his returnto the castle of Mazzini. 

It was not long ere he recollected a circumstance which, in the firsttumult of his disappointment, had escaped him, but which soessentially affected the whole tenour of his hopes, as to make himagain irresolute how to proceed. He considered that, although thesewere the fugitives he had pursued over the plains, they might not bethe same who had been secreted in the cottage, and it was thereforepossible that Julia might have been the person whom they had for sometime followed from thence. This suggestion awakened his hopes, whichwere however quickly destroyed; for he remembered that the onlypersons who could have satisfied his doubts, were now gone beyond thepower of recall. To pursue Julia, when no traces of her flightremained, was absurd; and he was, therefore, compelled to return tothe marquis, as ignorant and more hopeless than he had left him. Withmuch pain he reached the village which his emissaries had discovered, when fortunately he obtained some medical assistance. Here he wasobliged by indisposition to rest. The anguish of his mind equalledthat of his body. Those impetuous passions which so strongly markedhis nature, were roused and exasperated to a degree that operatedpowerfully upon his constitution, and threatened him with the mostalarming consequences. The effect of his wound was heightened by theagitation of his mind; and a fever, which quickly assumed a veryserious aspect, co-operated to endanger his life. 

CHAPTER VI

The castle of Mazzini was still the scene of dissension and misery. The impatience and astonishment of the marquis being daily increasedby the lengthened absence of the duke, he dispatched servants to theforest of Marentino, to enquire the occasion of this circumstance. They returned with intelligence that neither Julia, the duke, nor anyof his people were there. He therefore concluded that his daughter hadfled the cottage upon information of the approach of the duke, who, hebelieved, was still engaged in the pursuit. With respect toFerdinand, who yet pined in sorrow and anxiety in his dungeon, therigour of the marquis's conduct was unabated. He apprehended that hisson, if liberated, would quickly discover the retreat of Julia, and byhis advice and assistance confirm her in disobedience. 

Ferdinand, in the stillness and solitude of his dungeon, brooded overthe late calamity in gloomy ineffectual lamentation. The idea ofHippolitus--of Hippolitus murdered--arose to his imagination in busyintrusion, and subdued the strongest efforts of his fortitude. Juliatoo, his beloved sister--unprotected--unfriended--might, even at themoment he lamented her, be sinking under sufferings dreadful tohumanity. The airy schemes he once formed of future felicity, resulting from the union of two persons so justly dear to him--withthe gay visions of past happiness--floated upon his fancy, and thelustre they reflected served only to heighten, by contrast, theobscurity and gloom of his present views. He had, however, a newsubject of astonishment, which often withdrew his thoughts from theiraccustomed object, and substituted a sensation less painful, thoughscarcely less powerful. One night as he lay ruminating on the past, inmelancholy dejection, the stillness of the place was suddenlyinterrupted by a low and dismal sound. It returned at intervals inhollow sighings, and seemed to come from some person in deep distress. So much did fear operate upon his mind, that he was uncertain whetherit arose from within or from without. He looked around his dungeon, but could distinguish no object through the impenetrable darkness. Ashe listened in deep amazement, the sound was repeated in moans morehollow. Terror now occupied his mind, and disturbed his reason; hestarted from his posture, and, determined to be satisfied whether anyperson beside himself was in the dungeon, groped, with arms extended, along the walls. The place was empty; but coming to a particular spot, the sound suddenly arose more distinctly to his ear. He called aloud, and asked who was there; but received no answer. Soon after all wasstill; and after listening for some time without hearing the soundsrenewed, he laid himself down to sleep. On the following day hementioned to the man who brought him food what he had heard, andenquired concerning the noise. The servant appeared very muchterrified, but could give no information that might in the leastaccount for the circumstance, till he mentioned the vicinity of thedungeon to the southern buildings. The dreadful relation formerlygiven by the marquis instantly recurred to the mind of Ferdinand, whodid not hesitate to believe that the moans he heard came from therestless spirit of the murdered Della Campo. At this conviction, horror thrilled his nerves; but he remembered his oath, and wassilent. His courage, however, yielded to the idea of passing anothernight alone in his prison, where, if the vengeful spirit of themurdered should appear, he might even die of the horror which itsappearance would inspire. 

The mind of Ferdinand was highly superior to the general influence ofsuperstition; but, in the present instance, such strong correlativecircumstances appeared, as compelled even incredulity to yield. He hadhimself heard strange and awful sounds in the forsaken southernbuildings; he received from his father a dreadful secret relative tothem--a secret in which his honor, nay even his life, was bound up. His father had also confessed, that he had himself there seenappearances which he could never after remember without horror, andwhich had occasioned him to quit that part of the castle. All theserecollections presented to Ferdinand a chain of evidence too powerfulto be resisted; and he could not doubt that the spirit of the dead hadfor once been permitted to revisit the earth, and to call downvengeance on the descendants of the murderer. 

This conviction occasioned him a degree of horror, such as noapprehension of mortal powers could have excited; and he determined, if possible, to prevail on Peter to pass the hours of midnight withhim in his dungeon. The strictness of Peter's fidelity yielded to thepersuasions of Ferdinand, though no bribe could tempt him to incur theresentment of the marquis, by permitting an escape. Ferdinand passedthe day in lingering anxious expectation, and the return of nightbrought Peter to the dungeon. His kindness exposed him to a dangerwhich he had not foreseen; for when seated in the dungeon alone withhis prisoner, how easily might that prisoner have conquered him andleft him to pay his life to the fury of the marquis. He was preservedby the humanity of Ferdinand, who instantly perceived his advantage, but disdained to involve an innocent man in destruction, and spurnedthe suggestion from his mind. 

Peter, whose friendship was stronger than his courage, trembled withapprehension as the hour drew nigh in which the groans had been heardon the preceding night. He recounted to Ferdinand a variety ofterrific circumstances, which existed only in the heated imaginationsof his fellow-servants, but which were still admitted by them asfacts. Among the rest, he did not omit to mention the light and thefigure which had been seen to issue from the south tower on the nightof Julia's intended elopement; a circumstance which he embellishedwith innumerable aggravations of fear and wonder. He concluded withdescribing the general consternation it had caused, and the consequentbehaviour of the marquis, who laughed at the fears of his people, yetcondescended to quiet them by a formal review of the buildings whencetheir terror had originated. He related the adventure of the doorwhich refused to yield, the sounds which arose from within, and thediscovery of the fallen roof; but declared that neither he, nor any ofhis fellow servants, believed the noise or the obstruction proceededfrom that, 'because, my lord, ' continued he, 'the door seemed to beheld only in one place; and as for the noise--O! Lord! I never shallforget what a noise it was!--it was a thousand times louder than whatany stones could make. '

Ferdinand listened to this narrative in silent wonder! wonder notoccasioned by the adventure described, but by the hardihood andrashness of the marquis, who had thus exposed to the inspection of hispeople, that dreadful spot which he knew from experience to be thehaunt of an injured spirit; a spot which he had hitherto scrupulouslyconcealed from human eye, and human curiosity; and which, for so manyyears, he had not dared even himself to enter. Peter went on, but waspresently interrupted by a hollow moan, which seemed to come frombeneath the ground. 'Blessed virgin!' exclaimed he: Ferdinand listenedin awful expectation. A groan longer and more dreadful was repeated, when Peter started from his seat, and snatching up the lamp, rushedout of the dungeon. Ferdinand, who was left in total darkness, followed to the door, which the affrighted Peter had not stopped tofasten, but which had closed, and seemed held by a lock that could beopened only on the outside. The sensations of Ferdinand, thuscompelled to remain in the dungeon, are not to be imagined. Thehorrors of the night, whatever they were to be, he was to endurealone. By degrees, however, he seemed to acquire the valour ofdespair. The sounds were repeated, at intervals, for near an hour, when silence returned, and remained undisturbed during the rest of thenight. Ferdinand was alarmed by no appearance, and at length, overcomewith anxiety and watching, he sunk to repose. 

On the following morning Peter returned to the dungeon, scarcelyknowing what to expect, yet expecting something very strange, perhapsthe murder, perhaps the supernatural disappearance of his young lord. Full of these wild apprehensions, he dared not venture thither alone, but persuaded some of the servants, to whom he had communicated histerrors, to accompany him to the door. As they passed along herecollected, that in the terror of the preceding night he had forgotto fasten the door, and he now feared that his prisoner had made hisescape without a miracle. He hurried to the door; and his surprize wasextreme to find it fastened. It instantly struck him that this was thework of a supernatural power, when on calling aloud, he was answeredby a voice from within. His absurd fear did not suffer him torecognize the voice of Ferdinand, neither did he suppose thatFerdinand had failed to escape, he, therefore, attributed the voice tothe being he had heard on the preceding night; and starting back fromthe door, fled with his companions to the great hall. There the uproaroccasioned by their entrance called together a number of persons, amongst whom was the marquis, who was soon informed of the cause ofalarm, with a long history of the circumstances of the foregoingnight. At this information, the marquis assumed a very stern look, andseverely reprimanded Peter for his imprudence, at the same timereproaching the other servants with their undutifulness in thusdisturbing his peace. He reminded them of the condescension he hadpractised to dissipate their former terrors, and of the result oftheir examination. He then assured them, that since indulgence hadonly encouraged intrusion, he would for the future be severe; andconcluded with declaring, that the first man who should disturb himwith a repetition of such ridiculous apprehensions, or should attemptto disturb the peace of the castle by circulating these idle notions, should be rigorously punished, and banished his dominions. They shrunkback at his reproof, and were silent. 'Bring a torch, ' said themarquis, 'and shew me to the dungeon. I will once more condescend toconfute you. '

They obeyed, and descended with the marquis, who, arriving at thedungeon, instantly threw open the door, and discovered to theastonished eyes of his attendants--Ferdinand!--He started withsurprize at the entrance of his father thus attended. Themarquis darted upon him a severe look, which he perfectlycomprehended. --'Now, ' cried he, turning to his people, 'what do yousee? My son, whom I myself placed here, and whose voice, whichanswered to your calls, you have transformed into unknown sounds. Speak, Ferdinand, and confirm what I say. ' Ferdinand did so. 'Whatdreadful spectre appeared to you last night?' resumed the marquis, looking stedfastly upon him: 'gratify these fellows with a descriptionof it, for they cannot exist without something of the marvellous. ''None, my lord, ' replied Ferdinand, who too well understood the mannerof the marquis. ''Tis well, ' cried the marquis, 'and this is the lasttime, ' turning to his attendants, 'that your folly shall be treatedwith so much lenity. ' He ceased to urge the subject, and forbore toask Ferdinand even one question before his servants, concerning thenocturnal sounds described by Peter. He quitted the dungeon with eyessteadily bent in anger and suspicion upon Ferdinand. The marquissuspected that the fears of his son had inadvertently betrayed toPeter a part of the secret entrusted to him, and he artfullyinterrogated Peter with seeming carelessness, concerning thecircumstances of the preceding night. From him he drew such answers ashonorably acquitted Ferdinand of indiscretion, and relieved himselffrom tormenting apprehensions. 

The following night passed quietly away; neither sound nor appearancedisturbed the peace of Ferdinand. The marquis, on the next day, thought proper to soften the severity of his sufferings, and he wasremoved from his dungeon to a room strongly grated, but exposed to thelight of day. 

Meanwhile a circumstance occurred which increased the general discord, and threatened Emilia with the loss of her last remaining comfort--theadvice and consolation of Madame de Menon. The marchioness, whosepassion for the Count de Vereza had at length yielded to absence, andthe pressure of present circumstances, now bestowed her smiles upon ayoung Italian cavalier, a visitor at the castle, who possessed toomuch of the spirit of gallantry to permit a lady to languish in vain. The marquis, whose mind was occupied with other passions, wasinsensible to the misconduct of his wife, who at all times had theaddress to disguise her vices beneath the gloss of virtue and innocentfreedom. The intrigue was discovered by madame, who, having one dayleft a book in the oak parlour, returned thither in search of it. Asshe opened the door of the apartment, she heard the voice of thecavalier in passionate exclamation; and on entering, discovered himrising in some confusion from the feet of the marchioness, who, darting at madame a look of severity, arose from her seat. Madame, shocked at what she had seen, instantly retired, and buried in her ownbosom that secret, the discovery of which would most essentially havepoisoned the peace of the marquis. The marchioness, who was a strangerto the generosity of sentiment which actuated Madame de Menon, doubtednot that she would seize the moment of retaliation, and expose herconduct where most she dreaded it should be known. The consciousnessof guilt tortured her with incessant fear of discovery, and from thisperiod her whole attention was employed to dislodge from the castlethe person to whom her character was committed. In this it was notdifficult to succeed; for the delicacy of madame's feelings made herquick to perceive, and to withdraw from a treatment unsuitable to thenatural dignity of her character. She therefore resolved to departfrom the castle; but disdaining to take an advantage even over asuccessful enemy, she determined to be silent on that subject whichwould instantly have transferred the triumph from her adversary toherself. When the marquis, on hearing her determination to retire, earnestly enquired for the motive of her conduct, she forbore toacquaint him with the real one, and left him to incertitude anddisappointment. 

To Emilia this design occasioned a distress which almost subdued theresolution of madame. Her tears and intreaties spoke the artlessenergy of sorrow. In madame she lost her only friend; and she too wellunderstood the value of that friend, to see her depart without feelingand expressing the deepest distress. From a strong attachment to thememory of the mother, madame had been induced to undertake theeducation of her daughters, whose engaging dispositions hadperpetuated a kind of hereditary affection. Regard for Emilia andJulia had alone for some time detained her at the castle; but this wasnow succeeded by the influence of considerations too powerful to beresisted. As her income was small, it was her plan to retire to hernative place, which was situated in a distant part of the island, andthere take up her residence in a convent. 

Emilia saw the time of madame's departure approach with increaseddistress. They left each other with a mutual sorrow, which did honourto their hearts. When her last friend was gone, Emilia wanderedthrough the forsaken apartments, where she had been accustomed toconverse with Julia, and to receive consolation and sympathy from herdear instructress, with a kind of anguish known only to those who haveexperienced a similar situation. Madame pursued her journey with aheavy heart. Separated from the objects of her fondest affections, andfrom the scenes and occupations for which long habit had formed claimsupon her heart, she seemed without interest and without motive forexertion. The world appeared a wide and gloomy desert, where no heartwelcomed her with kindness--no countenance brightened into smiles ather approach. It was many years since she quitted Calini--and in theinterval, death had swept away the few friends she left there. Thefuture presented a melancholy scene; but she had the retrospect ofyears spent in honorable endeavour and strict integrity, to cheer herheart and encouraged her hopes. 

But her utmost endeavours were unable to express the anxiety withwhich the uncertain fate of Julia overwhelmed her. Wild and terrificimages arose to her imagination. Fancy drew the scene;--she deepenedthe shades; and the terrific aspect of the objects she presented washeightened by the obscurity which involved them. 

[End of Vol. I]

CHAPTER VII

Towards the close of day Madame de Menon arrived at a small villagesituated among the mountains, where she purposed to pass the night. The evening was remarkably fine, and the romantic beauty of thesurrounding scenery invited her to walk. She followed the windings ofa stream, which was lost at some distance amongst luxuriant groves ofchesnut. The rich colouring of evening glowed through the darkfoliage, which spreading a pensive gloom around, offered a scenecongenial to the present temper of her mind, and she entered theshades. Her thoughts, affected by the surrounding objects, graduallysunk into a pleasing and complacent melancholy, and she was insensiblyled on. She still followed the course of the stream to where the deepshades retired, and the scene again opening to day, yielded to her aview so various and sublime, that she paused in thrilling anddelightful wonder. A group of wild and grotesque rocks rose in asemicircular form, and their fantastic shapes exhibited Nature in hermost sublime and striking attitudes. Here her vast magnificenceelevated the mind of the beholder to enthusiasm. Fancy caught thethrilling sensation, and at her touch the towering steeps becameshaded with unreal glooms; the caves more darkly frowned--theprojecting cliffs assumed a more terrific aspect, and the wildoverhanging shrubs waved to the gale in deeper murmurs. The sceneinspired madame with reverential awe, and her thoughts involuntarilyrose, 'from Nature up to Nature's God. ' The last dying gleams of daytinted the rocks and shone upon the waters, which retired through arugged channel and were lost afar among the receding cliffs. While shelistened to their distant murmur, a voice of liquid and melodioussweetness arose from among the rocks; it sung an air, whose melancholyexpression awakened all her attention, and captivated her heart. Thetones swelled and died faintly away among the clear, yet languishingechoes which the rocks repeated with an effect like that ofenchantment. Madame looked around in search of the sweet warbler, andobserved at some distance a peasant girl seated on a small projectionof the rock, overshadowed by drooping sycamores. She moved slowlytowards the spot, which she had almost reached, when the sound of hersteps startled and silenced the syren, who, on perceiving a stranger, arose in an attitude to depart. The voice of madame arrested her, andshe approached. Language cannot paint the sensation of madame, when inthe disguise of a peasant girl, she distinguished the features ofJulia, whose eyes lighted up with sudden recollection, and who sunkinto her arms overcome with joy. When their first emotions weresubsided, and Julia had received answers to her enquiries concerningFerdinand and Emilia, she led madame to the place of her concealment. This was a solitary cottage, in a close valley surrounded bymountains, whose cliffs appeared wholly inaccessible to mortal foot. The deep solitude of the scene dissipated at once madame's wonder thatJulia had so long remained undiscovered, and excited surprize how shehad been able to explore a spot thus deeply sequestered; but madameobserved with extreme concern, that the countenance of Julia no longerwore the smile of health and gaiety. Her fine features had receivedthe impressions not only of melancholy, but of grief. Madame sighed asshe gazed, and read too plainly the cause of the change. Juliaunderstood that sigh, and answered it with her tears. She pressed thehand of madame in mournful silence to her lips, and her cheeks weresuffused with a crimson glow. At length, recovering herself, 'I havemuch, my dear madam, to tell, ' said she, 'and much to explain, 'ereyou will admit me again to that esteem of which I was once so justlyproud. I had no resource from misery, but in flight; and of that Icould not make you a confidant, without meanly involving you in itsdisgrace. '--'Say no more, my love, on the subject, ' replied madame;'with respect to myself, I admired your conduct, and felt severely foryour situation. Rather let me hear by what means you effected yourescape, and what has since be fallen you. '--Julia paused a moment, asif to stifle her rising emotion, and then commenced her narrative. 

'You are already acquainted with the secret of that night, so fatal tomy peace. I recall the remembrance of it with an anguish which Icannot conceal; and why should I wish its concealment, since I mournfor one, whose noble qualities justified all my admiration, anddeserved more than my feeble praise can bestow; the idea of whom willbe the last to linger in my mind till death shuts up this painfulscene. ' Her voice trembled, and she paused. After a few moments sheresumed her tale. 'I will spare myself the pain of recurring to sceneswith which you are not unacquainted, and proceed to those which moreimmediately attract your interest. Caterina, my faithful servant, youknow, attended me in my confinement; to her kindness I owe my escape. She obtained from her lover, a servant in the castle, that assistancewhich gave me liberty. One night when Carlo, who had been appointed myguard, was asleep, Nicolo crept into his chamber, and stole from himthe keys of my prison. He had previously procured a ladder of ropes. O! I can never forget my emotions, when in the dead hour of thatnight, which was meant to precede the day of my sacrifice, I heard thedoor of my prison unlock, and found myself half at liberty! Mytrembling limbs with difficulty supported me as I followed Caterina tothe saloon, the windows of which being low and near to the terrace, suited our purpose. To the terrace we easily got, where Nicoloawaited us with the rope-ladder. He fastened it to the ground; andhaving climbed to the top of the parapet, quickly slided down on theother side. There he held it, while we ascended and descended; and Isoon breathed the air of freedom again. But the apprehension of beingretaken was still too powerful to permit a full enjoyment of myescape. It was my plan to proceed to the place of my faithfulCaterina's nativity, where she had assured me I might find a safeasylum in the cottage of her parents, from whom, as they had neverseen me, I might conceal my birth. This place, she said, was entirelyunknown to the marquis, who had hired her at Naples only a few monthsbefore, without any enquiries concerning her family. She had informedme that the village was many leagues distant from the castle, but thatshe was very well acquainted with the road. At the foot of the wallswe left Nicolo, who returned to the castle to prevent suspicion, butwith an intention to leave it at a less dangerous time, and repair toFarrini to his good Caterina. I parted from him with many thanks, andgave him a small diamond cross, which, for that purpose, I had takenfrom the jewels sent to me for wedding ornaments. '

CHAPTER VIII

'About a quarter of a league from the walls we stopped, and I assumedthe habit in which you now see me. My own dress was fastened to someheavy stones, and Caterina threw it into the stream, near the almondgrove, whose murmurings you have so often admired. The fatigue andhardship I endured in this journey, performed almost wholly on foot, at any other time would have overcome me; but my mind was so occupiedby the danger I was avoiding that these lesser evils were disregarded. We arrived in safety at the cottage, which stood at a little distancefrom the village of Ferrini, and were received by Caterina's parentswith some surprise and more kindness. I soon perceived it would beuseless, and even dangerous, to attempt to preserve the character Ipersonated. In the eyes of Caterina's mother I read a degree ofsurprise and admiration which declared she believed me to be ofsuperior rank; I, therefore, thought it more prudent to win herfidelity by entrusting her with my secret than, by endeavouring toconceal it, leave it to be discovered by her curiosity or discernment. Accordingly, I made known my quality and my distress, and receivedstrong assurances of assistance and attachment. For further security, I removed to this sequestered spot. The cottage we are now in belongsto a sister of Caterina, upon whose faithfulness I have been hithertofully justified in relying. But I am not even here secure fromapprehension, since for several days past horsemen of a suspiciousappearance have been observed near Marcy, which is only half a leaguefrom hence. '

Here Julia closed her narration, to which madame had listened with amixture of surprise and pity, which her eyes sufficiently discovered. The last circumstance of the narrative seriously alarmed her. Sheacquainted Julia with the pursuit which the duke had undertaken; andshe did not hesitate to believe it a party of his people whom Juliahad described. Madame, therefore, earnestly advised her to quit herpresent situation, and to accompany her in disguise to the monasteryof St Augustin, where she would find a secure retreat; because, evenif her place of refuge should be discovered, the superior authority ofthe church would protect her. Julia accepted the proposal with muchjoy. As it was necessary that madame should sleep at the village whereshe had left her servants and horses, it was agreed that at break ofday she should return to the cottage, where Julia would await her. Madame took all affectionate leave of Julia, whose heart, in spite ofreason, sunk when she saw her depart, though but for the necessaryinterval of repose. 

At the dawn of day madame arose. Her servants, who were hired for thejourney, were strangers to Julia: from them, therefore, she hadnothing to apprehend. She reached the cottage before sunrise, havingleft her people at some little distance. Her heart foreboded evil, when, on knocking at the door, no answer was returned. She knockedagain, and still all was silent. Through the casement she coulddiscover no object, amidst the grey obscurity of the dawn. She nowopened the door, and, to her inexpressible surprise and distress, found the cottage empty. She proceeded to a small inner room, wherelay a part of Julia's apparel. The bed had no appearance of havingbeing slept in, and every moment served to heighten and confirm herapprehensions. While she pursued the search, she suddenly heard thetrampling of feet at the cottage door, and presently after some peopleentered. Her fears for Julia now yielded to those for her own safety, and she was undetermined whether to discover herself, or remain in herpresent situation, when she was relieved from her irresolution by theappearance of Julia. 

On the return of the good woman, who had accompanied madame to thevillage on the preceding night, Julia went to the cottage at Farrini. Her grateful heart would not suffer her to depart without taking leaveof her faithful friends, thanking them for their kindness, andinforming them of her future prospects. They had prevailed upon her tospend the few intervening hours at this cot, whence she had just risento meet madame. 

They now hastened to the spot where the horses were stationed, andcommenced their journey. For some leagues they travelled in silenceand thought, over a wild and picturesque country. The landscape wastinted with rich and variegated hues; and the autumnal lights, whichstreamed upon the hills, produced a spirited and beautiful effect uponthe scenery. All the glories of the vintage rose to their view: thepurple grapes flushed through the dark green of the surroundingfoliage, and the prospect glowed with luxuriance. 

They now descended into a deep valley, which appeared more like ascene of airy enchantment than reality. Along the bottom flowed aclear majestic stream, whose banks were adorned with thick groves oforange and citron trees. Julia surveyed the scene in silentcomplacency, but her eye quickly caught an object which changed withinstantaneous shock the tone of her feelings. She observed a party ofhorsemen winding down the side of a hill behind her. Their uncommonspeed alarmed her, and she pushed her horse into a gallop. On lookingback Madame de Menon clearly perceived they were in pursuit. Soonafter the men suddenly appeared from behind a dark grove within asmall distance of them; and, upon their nearer approach, Julia, overcome with fatigue and fear, sunk breathless from her horse. Shewas saved from the ground by one of the pursuers, who caught her inhis arms. Madame, with the rest of the party, were quickly overtaken;and as soon as Julia revived, they were bound, and reconducted to thehill from whence they had descended. Imagination only can paint theanguish of Julia's mind, when she saw herself thus delivered up to thepower of her enemy. Madame, in the surrounding troop, discovered noneof the marquis's people, and they were therefore evidently in thehands of the duke. After travelling for some hours, they quitted themain road, and turned into a narrow winding dell, overshadowed by hightrees, which almost excluded the light. The gloom of the placeinspired terrific images. Julia trembled as she entered; and heremotion was heightened, when she perceived at some distance, throughthe long perspective of the trees, a large ruinous mansion. The gloomof the surrounding shades partly concealed it from her view; but, asshe drew near, each forlorn and decaying feature of the fabric wasgradually disclosed, and struck upon her heart a horror such as shehad never before experienced. The broken battlements, enwreathed withivy, proclaimed the fallen grandeur of the place, while the shatteredvacant window-frames exhibited its desolation, and the high grass thatovergrew the threshold seemed to say how long it was since mortal foothad entered. The place appeared fit only for the purposes of violenceand destruction: and the unfortunate captives, when they stopped atits gates, felt the full force of its horrors. 

They were taken from their horses, and conveyed to an interior part ofthe building, which, if it had once been a chamber, no longer deservedthe name. Here the guard said they were directed to detain them tillthe arrival of their lord, who had appointed this the place ofrendezvous. He was expected to meet them in a few hours, and thesewere hours of indescribable torture to Julia and madame. From thefurious passions of the duke, exasperated by frequent disappointment, Julia had every evil to apprehend; and the loneliness of the spot hehad chosen, enabled him to perpetrate any designs, however violent. For the first time, she repented that she had left her father's house. Madame wept over her, but comfort she had none to give. The dayclosed--the duke did not appear, and the fate of Julia yet hung inperilous uncertainty. At length, from a window of the apartment shewas in, she distinguished a glimmering of torches among the trees, andpresently after the clattering of hoofs convinced her the duke wasapproaching. Her heart sunk at the sound; and throwing her arms roundmadame's neck, she resigned herself to despair. She was soon roused bysome men, who came to announce the arrival of their lord. In a fewmoments the place, which had lately been so silent, echoed withtumult; and a sudden blaze of light illumining the fabric, served toexhibit more forcibly its striking horrors. Julia ran to the window;and, in a sort of court below, perceived a group of men dismountingfrom their horses. The torches shed a partial light; and while sheanxiously looked round for the person of the duke, the whole partyentered the mansion. She listened to a confused uproar of voices, which sounded from the room beneath, and soon after it sunk into a lowmurmur, as if some matter of importance was in agitation. For somemoments she sat in lingering terror, when she heard footstepsadvancing towards the chamber, and a sudden gleam of torchlightflashed upon the walls. 'Wretched girl! I have at least secured you!'said a cavalier, who now entered the room. He stopped as he perceivedJulia; and turning to the men who stood without, 'Are these, ' said he, 'the fugitives you have taken?'--'Yes, my lord. '--'Then you havedeceived yourselves, and misled me; this is not my daughter. ' Thesewords struck the sudden light of truth and joy upon the heart ofJulia, whom terror had before rendered almost lifeless; and who hadnot perceived that the person entering was a stranger. Madame nowstepped forward, and an explanation ensued, when it appeared that thestranger was the Marquis Murani, the father of the fair fugitive whomthe duke had before mistaken for Julia. 

The appearance and the evident flight of Julia had deceived thebanditti employed by this nobleman, into a belief that she was theobject of their search, and had occasioned her this unnecessarydistress. But the joy she now felt, on finding herself thusunexpectedly at liberty, surpassed, if possible, her precedingterrors. The marquis made madame and Julia all the reparation in hispower, by offering immediately to reconduct them to the main road, andto guard them to some place of safety for the night. This offer waseagerly and thankfully accepted; and though faint from distress, fatigue, and want of sustenance, they joyfully remounted their horses, and by torchlight quitted the mansion. After some hours travellingthey arrived at a small town, where they procured the accommodation sonecessary to their support and repose. Here their guides quitted themto continue their search. 

They arose with the dawn, and continued their journey, continuallyterrified with the apprehension of encountering the duke's people. Atnoon they arrived at Azulia, from whence the monastery, or abbey of StAugustin, was distant only a few miles. Madame wrote to the _PadreAbate_, to whom she was somewhat related, and soon after received ananswer very favourable to her wishes. The same evening they repairedto the abbey; where Julia, once more relieved from the fear ofpursuit, offered up a prayer of gratitude to heaven, and endeavouredto calm her sorrows by devotion. She was received by the abbot with asort of paternal affection, and by the nuns with officious kindness. Comforted by these circumstances, and by the tranquil appearance ofevery thing around her, she retired to rest, and passed the night inpeaceful slumbers. 

In her present situation she found much novelty to amuse, and muchserious matter to interest her mind. Entendered by distress, sheeasily yielded to the pensive manners of her companions and to theserene uniformity of a monastic life. She loved to wander through thelonely cloisters, and high-arched aisles, whose long perspectivesretired in simple grandeur, diffusing a holy calm around. She foundmuch pleasure in the conversation of the nuns, many of whom wereuncommonly amiable, and the dignified sweetness of whose mannersformed a charm irresistibly attractive. The soft melancholy impressedupon their countenances, pourtrayed the situation of their minds, andexcited in Julia a very interesting mixture of pity and esteem. Theaffectionate appellation of sister, and all that endearing tendernesswhich they so well know how to display, and of which they so wellunderstand the effect, they bestowed on Julia, in the hope of winningher to become one of their order. 

Soothed by the presence of madame, the assiduity of the nuns, and bythe stillness and sanctity of the place, her mind gradually recovereda degree of complacency to which it had long been a stranger. Butnotwithstanding all her efforts, the idea of Hippolitus would atintervals return upon her memory with a force that at once subdued herfortitude, and sunk her in a temporary despair. 

Among the holy sisters, Julia distinguished one, the singular fervorof whose devotion, and the pensive air of whose countenance, softenedby the languor of illness, attracted her curiosity, and excited astrong degree of pity. The nun, by a sort of sympathy, seemedparticularly inclined towards Julia, which she discovered byinnumerable acts of kindness, such as the heart can quickly understandand acknowledge, although description can never reach them. Inconversation with her, Julia endeavoured, as far as delicacy wouldpermit, to prompt an explanation of that more than common dejectionwhich shaded those features, where beauty, touched by resignation andsublimed by religion, shone forth with mild and lambent lustre. 

The Duke de Luovo, after having been detained for some weeks by thefever which his wounds had produced, and his irritated passions hadmuch prolonged, arrived at the castle of Mazzini. 

When the marquis saw him return, and recollected the futility of thoseexertions, by which he had boastingly promised to recover Julia, theviolence of his nature spurned the disguise of art, and burst forth incontemptuous impeachment of the valour and discernment of the duke, who soon retorted with equal fury. The consequence might have beenfatal, had not the ambition of the marquis subdued the suddenirritation of his inferior passions, and induced him to soften theseverity of his accusations, by subsequent concessions. The duke, whose passion for Julia was heightened by the difficulty which opposedit, admitted such concessions as in other circumstances he would haverejected; and thus each, conquered by the predominant passion of themoment, submitted to be the slave of his adversary. 

Emilia was at length released from the confinement she had so unjustlysuffered. She had now the use of her old apartments, where, solitaryand dejected, her hours moved heavily along, embittered by incessantanxiety for Julia, by regret for the lost society of madame. Themarchioness, whose pleasures suffered a temporary suspense during thepresent confusion at the castle, exercised the ill-humoured caprice, which disappointment and lassitude inspired, upon her remainingsubject. Emilia was condemned to suffer, and to endure without theprivilege of complaining. In reviewing the events of the last fewweeks, she saw those most dear to her banished, or imprisoned by thesecret influence of a woman, every feature of whose character wasexactly opposite to that of the amiable mother she had been appointedto succeed. 

The search after Julia still continued, and was still unsuccessful. The astonishment of the marquis increased with his disappointments;for where could Julia, ignorant of the country, and destitute offriends, have possibly found an asylum? He swore with a terrible oathto revenge on her head, whenever she should be found, the trouble andvexation she now caused him. But he agreed with the duke to relinquishfor a while the search; till Julia, gaining confidence from theobservation of this circumstance, might gradually suppose herselfsecure from molestation, and thus be induced to emerge fromconcealment. 

CHAPTER IX

Meanwhile Julia, sheltered in the obscure recesses of St Augustin, endeavoured to attain a degree of that tranquillity which sostrikingly characterized the scenes around her. The abbey of StAugustin was a large magnificent mass of Gothic architecture, whosegloomy battlements, and majestic towers arose in proud sublimity fromamid the darkness of the surrounding shades. It was founded in thetwelfth century, and stood a proud monument of monkish superstitionand princely magnificence. In the times when Italy was agitated byinternal commotions, and persecuted by foreign invaders, this edificeafforded an asylum to many noble Italian emigrants, who hereconsecrated the rest of their days to religion. At their death theyenriched the monastery with the treasures which it had enabled them tosecure. 

The view of this building revived in the mind of the beholder thememory of past ages. The manners and characters which distinguishedthem arose to his fancy, and through the long lapse of years hediscriminated those customs and manners which formed so striking acontrast to the modes of his own times. The rude manners, theboisterous passions, the daring ambition, and the gross indulgenceswhich formerly characterized the priest, the nobleman, and thesovereign, had now begun to yield to learning--the charms of refinedconversation--political intrigue and private artifices. Thus do thescenes of life vary with the predominant passions of mankind, and withthe progress of civilization. The dark clouds of prejudice break awaybefore the sun of science, and gradually dissolving, leave thebrightening hemisphere to the influence of his beams. But through thepresent scene appeared only a few scattered rays, which served to shewmore forcibly the vast and heavy masses that concealed the form oftruth. Here prejudice, not reason, suspended the influence of thepassions; and scholastic learning, mysterious philosophy, and craftysanctity supplied the place of wisdom, simplicity, and pure devotion. 

At the abbey, solitude and stillness conspired with the solemn aspectof the pile to impress the mind with religious awe. The dim glass ofthe high-arched windows, stained with the colouring of monkishfictions, and shaded by the thick trees that environed the edifice, spread around a sacred gloom, which inspired the beholder withcongenial feelings. 

As Julia mused through the walks, and surveyed this vast monument ofbarbarous superstition, it brought to her recollection an ode whichshe often repeated with melancholy pleasure, as the composition ofHippolitus. 

SUPERSTITIONAN ODE

 High mid Alverna's awful steeps, Eternal shades, and silence dwell. Save, when the gale resounding sweeps, Sad strains are faintly heard to swell:

 Enthron'd amid the wild impending rocks, Involved in clouds, and brooding future woe, The demon Superstition Nature shocks, And waves her sceptre o'er the world below. 

 Around her throne, amid the mingling glooms, Wild--hideous forms are slowly seen to glide, She bids them fly to shade earth's brightest blooms, And spread the blast of Desolation wide. 

 See! in the darkened air their fiery course! The sweeping ruin settles o'er the land, Terror leads on their steps with madd'ning force, And Death and Vengeance close the ghastly band!

 Mark the purple streams that flow! Mark the deep empassioned woe! Frantic Fury's dying groan! Virtue's sigh, and Sorrow's moan!

 Wide--wide the phantoms swell the loaded air With shrieks of anguish--madness and despair!

 Cease your ruin! spectres dire! Cease your wild terrific sway! Turn your steps--and check your ire, Yield to peace the mourning day!

She wept to the memory of times past, and there was a romantic sadnessin her feelings, luxurious and indefinable. Madame behaved to Juliawith the tenderest attention, and endeavoured to withdraw her thoughtsfrom their mournful subject by promoting that taste for literature andmusic, which was so suitable to the powers of her mind. 

But an object seriously interesting now obtained that regard, whichthose of mere amusement failed to attract. Her favorite nun, for whomher love and esteem daily increased, seemed declining under thepressure of a secret grief. Julia was deeply affected with hersituation, and though she was not empowered to administer consolationto her sorrows, she endeavoured to mitigate the sufferings of illness. She nursed her with unremitting care, and seemed to seize with aviditythe temporary opportunity of escaping from herself. The nun appearedperfectly reconciled to her fate, and exhibited during her illness somuch sweetness, patience, and resignation as affected all around herwith pity and love. Her angelic mildness, and steady fortitudecharacterized the beatification of a saint, rather than the death of amortal. Julia watched every turn of her disorder with the utmostsolicitude, and her care was at length rewarded by the amendment ofCornelia. Her health gradually improved, and she attributed thiscircumstance to the assiduity and tenderness of her young friend, towhom her heart now expanded in warm and unreserved affection. Atlength Julia ventured to solicit what she had so long and so earnestlywished for, and Cornelia unfolded the history of her sorrows. 

'Of the life which your care has prolonged, ' said she, 'it is but justthat you should know the events; though those events are neither new, or striking, and possess little power of interesting personsunconnected with them. To me they have, however, been unexpectedlydreadful in effect, and my heart assures me, that to you they will notbe indifferent. 

'I am the unfortunate descendant of an ancient and illustrious Italianfamily. In early childhood I was deprived of a mother's care, but thetenderness of my surviving parent made her loss, as to my welfare, almost unfelt. Suffer me here to do justice to the character of mynoble father. He united in an eminent degree the mild virtues ofsocial life, with the firm unbending qualities of the noble Romans, his ancestors, from whom he was proud to trace his descent. Theirmerit, indeed, continually dwelt on his tongue, and their actions hewas always endeavouring to imitate, as far as was consistent with thecharacter of his times, and with the limited sphere in which he moved. The recollection of his virtue elevates my mind, and fills my heartwith a noble pride, which even the cold walls of a monastery have notbeen able to subdue. 

'My father's fortune was unsuitable to his rank. That his son mighthereafter be enabled to support the dignity of his family, it wasnecessary for me to assume the veil. Alas! that heart was unfit to beoffered at an heavenly shrine, which was already devoted to an earthlyobject. My affections had long been engaged by the younger son of aneighbouring nobleman, whose character and accomplishments attractedmy early love, and confirmed my latest esteem. Our families wereintimate, and our youthful intercourse occasioned an attachment whichstrengthened and expanded with our years. He solicited me of myfather, but there appeared an insuperable barrier to our union. Thefamily of my lover laboured under a circumstance of similar distresswith that of my own--it was noble--but poor! My father, who wasignorant of the strength of my affection, and who considered amarriage formed in poverty as destructive to happiness, prohibited hissuit. 

'Touched with chagrin and disappointment, he immediately entered intothe service of his Neapolitan majesty, and sought in the tumultuousscenes of glory, a refuge from the pangs of disappointed passion. 

'To me, whose hours moved in one round of full uniformity--who had nopursuit to interest--no variety to animate my drooping spirits--to methe effort of forgetfulness was ineffectual. The loved idea of Angelostill rose upon my fancy, and its powers of captivation, heightened byabsence, and, perhaps even by despair, pursued me with incessantgrief. I concealed in silence the anguish that preyed upon my heart, and resigned myself a willing victim to monastic austerity. But I wasnow threatened with a new evil, terrible and unexpected. I was sounfortunate as to attract the admiration of the Marquis Marinelli, andhe applied to my father. He was illustrious at once in birth andfortune, and his visits could only be unwelcome to me. Dreadful wasthe moment in which my father disclosed to me the proposal. Mydistress, which I vainly endeavoured to command, discovered the exactsituation of my heart, and my father was affected. 

'After along and awful pause, he generously released me from mysufferings by leaving it to my choice to accept the marquis, or toassume the veil. I fell at his feet, overcome by the nobledisinterestedness of his conduct, and instantly accepted the latter. 

'This affair removed entirely the disguise with which I had hithertoguarded my heart;--my brother--my generous brother! learned the truestate of its affections. He saw the grief which prayed upon my health;he observed it to my father, and he nobly--oh how nobly! to restore myhappiness, desired to resign apart of the estate which had alreadydescended to him in right of his mother. Alas! Hippolitus, ' continuedCornelia, deeply sighing, 'thy virtues deserved a better fate. '

'Hippolitus!' said Julia, in a tremulous accent, 'Hippolitus, Count deVereza!'--'The same, ' replied the nun, in a tone of surprize. Juliawas speechless; tears, however, came to her relief. The astonishmentof Cornelia for some moment surpassed expression; at length a gleam ofrecollection crossed her mind, and she too well understood the scenebefore her. Julia, after some time revived, when Cornelia tenderlyapproaching her, 'Do I then embrace my sister!' said she. 'United insentiment, are we also united in misfortune?' Julia answered with hersighs, and their tears flowed in mournful sympathy together. At lengthCornelia resumed her narrative. 

'My father, struck with the conduct of Hippolitus, paused upon theoffer. The alteration in my health was too obvious to escape hisnotice; the conflict between pride and parental tenderness, held himfor some time in indecision, but the latter finally subdued everyopposing feeling, and he yielded his consent to my marriage withAngelo. The sudden transition from grief to joy was almost too muchfor my feeble frame; judge then what must have been the effect of thedreadful reverse, when the news arrived that Angelo had fallen in aforeign engagement! Let me obliterate, if possible, the impression ofsensations so dreadful. The sufferings of my brother, whose generousheart could so finely feel for another's woe, were on this occasioninferior only to my own. 

'After the first excess of my grief was subsided, I desired to retirefrom a world which had tempted me only with illusive visions ofhappiness, and to remove from those scenes which promptedrecollection, and perpetuated my distress. My father applauded myresolution, and I immediately was admited a noviciate into thismonastery, with the Superior of which my father had in his youth beenacquainted. 

'At the expiration of the year I received the veil. Oh! I wellremember with what perfect resignation, with what comfortablecomplacency I took those vows which bound me to a life of retirement, and religious rest. 

'The high importance of the moment, the solemnity of the ceremony, thesacred glooms which surrounded me, and the chilling silence thatprevailed when I uttered the irrevocable vow--all conspired to impressmy imagination, and to raise my views to heaven. When I knelt at thealtar, the sacred flame of pure devotion glowed in my heart, andelevated my soul to sublimity. The world and all its recollectionsfaded from my mind, and left it to the influence of a serene and, holyenthusiasm which no words can describe. 

'Soon after my noviciation, I had the misfortune to lose my dearfather. In the tranquillity of this monastery, however, in thesoothing kindness of my companions, and in devotional exercises, mysorrows found relief, and the sting of grief was blunted. My reposewas of short continuance. A circumstance occurred that renewed themisery, which, can now never quit me but in the grave, to which I lookwith no fearful apprehension, but as a refuge from calamity, trustingthat the power who has seen good to afflict me, will pardon theimperfectness of my devotion, and the too frequent wandering of mythoughts to the object once so dear to me. '

As she spoke she raised her eyes, which beamed with truth and meekassurance to heaven; and the fine devotional suffusion of hercountenance seemed to characterize the beauty of an inspired saint. 

'One day, Oh! never shall I forget it, I went as usual to theconfessional to acknowledge my sins. I knelt before the father witheyes bent towards the earth, and in a low voice proceeded to confess. I had but one crime to deplore, and that was the too tenderremembrance of him for whom I mourned, and whose idea, impressed uponmy heart, made it a blemished offering to God. 

'I was interrupted in my confession by a sound of deep sobs, andrising my eyes, Oh God, what were my sensations, when in the featuresof the holy father I discovered Angelo! His image faded like a visionfrom my sight, and I sunk at his feet. On recovering I found myself onmy matrass, attended by a sister, who I discovered by her conversationhad no suspicion of the occasion of my disorder. Indispositionconfined me to my bed for several days; when I recovered, I saw Angelono more, and could almost have doubted my senses, and believed that anillusion had crossed my sight, till one day I found in my cell awritten paper. I distinguished at the first glance the handwriting ofAngelo, that well-known hand which had so often awakened me to otheremotions. I trembled at the sight; my beating heart acknowledged thebeloved characters; a cold tremor shook my frame, and half breathlessI seized the paper. But recollecting myself, I paused--I hesitated:duty at length yielded to the strong temptation, and I read the lines!Oh! those lines prompted by despair, and bathed in my tears! everyword they offered gave a new pang to my heart, and swelled its anguishalmost beyond endurance. I learned that Angelo, severely wounded in aforeign engagement, had been left for dead upon the field; that hislife was saved by the humanity of a common soldier of the enemy, whoperceiving signs of existence, conveyed him to a house. Assistance wassoon procured, but his wounds exhibited the most alarming symptoms. During several months he languished between life and death, till atlength his youth and constitution surmounted the conflict, and hereturned to Naples. Here he saw my brother, whose distress andastonishment at beholding him occasioned a relation of pastcircumstances, and of the vows I had taken in consequence of thereport of his death. It is unnecessary to mention the immediate effectof this narration; the final one exhibited a very singular proof ofhis attachment and despair;--he devoted himself to a monastic life, and chose this abbey for the place of his residence, because itcontained the object most dear to his affections. His letter informedme that he had purposely avoided discovering himself, endeavouring tobe contented with the opportunities which occurred of silentlyobserving me, till chance had occasioned the foregoing interview. --Butthat since its effects had been so mutually painful, he would relieveme from the apprehension of a similar distress, by assuring me, that Ishould see him no more. He was faithful to his promise; from that dayI have never seen him, and am even ignorant whether he yet inhabitsthis asylum; the efforts of religious fortitude, and the just fear ofexciting curiosity, having withheld me from enquiry. But the moment ofour last interview has been equally fatal to my peace and to myhealth, and I trust I shall, ere very long, be released from theagonizing ineffectual struggles occasioned by the consciousness ofsacred vows imperfectly performed, and by earthly affections notwholly subdued. '

Cornelia ceased, and Julia, who had listened to the narrative in deepattention, at once admired, loved, and pitied her. As the sister ofHippolitus, her heart expanded towards her, and it was now inviolablyattached by the fine ties of sympathetic sorrow. Similarity ofsentiment and suffering united them in the firmest bonds offriendship; and thus, from reciprocation of thought and feeling, flowed a pure and sweet consolation. 

Julia loved to indulge in the mournful pleasure of conversing ofHippolitus, and when thus engaged, the hours crept unheeded by. Athousand questions she repeated concerning him, but to those mostinteresting to her, she received no consolatory answer. Cornelia, whohad heard of the fatal transaction at the castle of Mazzini, deploredwith her its too certain consequence. 

CHAPTER X

Julia accustomed herself to walk in the fine evenings under the shadeof the high trees that environed the abbey. The dewy coolness of theair refreshed her. The innumerable roseate tints which the partingsun-beams reflected on the rocks above, and the fine vermil glowdiffused over the romantic scene beneath, softly fading from the eye, as the nightshades fell, excited sensations of a sweet and tranquilnature, and soothed her into a temporary forgetfulness of her sorrows. 

The deep solitude of the place subdued her apprehension, and oneevening she ventured with Madame de Menon to lengthen her walk. Theyreturned to the abbey without having seen a human being, except afriar of the monastery, who had been to a neighbouring town to orderprovision. On the following evening they repeated their walk; and, engaged in conversation, rambled to a considerable distance from theabbey. The distant bell of the monastery sounding for vespers, reminded them of the hour, and looking round, they perceived theextremity of the wood. They were returning towards the abbey, whenstruck by the appearance of some majestic columns which weredistinguishable between the trees, they paused. Curiosity tempted themto examine to what edifice pillars of such magnificent architecturecould belong, in a scene so rude, and they went on. 

There appeared on a point of rock impending over the valley thereliques of a palace, whose beauty time had impaired only to heightenits sublimity. An arch of singular magnificence remained almostentire, beyond which appeared wild cliffs retiring in grandperspective. The sun, which was now setting, threw a trembling lustreupon the ruins, and gave a finishing effect to the scene. They gazedin mute wonder upon the view; but the fast fading light, and the dewychillness of the air, warned them to return. As Julia gave a lastlook to the scene, she perceived two men leaning upon a part of theruin at some distance, in earnest conversation. As they spoke, theirlooks were so attentively bent on her, that she could have no doubtshe was the subject of their discourse. Alarmed at this circumstance, madame and Julia immediately retreated towards the abbey. They walkedswiftly through the woods, whose shades, deepened by the gloom ofevening, prevented their distinguishing whether they were pursued. They were surprized to observe the distance to which they had strayedfrom the monastery, whose dark towers were now obscurely seen risingamong the trees that closed the perspective. They had almost reachedthe gates, when on looking back, they perceived the same men slowlyadvancing, without any appearance of pursuit, but clearly as ifobserving the place of their retreat. 

This incident occasioned Julia much alarm. She could not but believethat the men whom she had seen were spies of the marquis;--if so, herasylum was discovered, and she had every thing to apprehend. Madamenow judged it necessary to the safety of Julia, that the _Abate_should be informed of her story, and of the sanctuary she had soughtin his monastery, and also that he should be solicited to protect herfrom parental tyranny. This was a hazardous, but a necessary step, toprovide against the certain danger which must ensue, should themarquis, if he demanded his daughter of the _Abate_, be the first toacquaint him with her story. If she acted otherwise, she feared thatthe _Abate_, in whose generosity she had not confided, and whose pityshe had not solicited, would, in the pride of his resentment, deliverher up, and thus would she become a certain victim to the Duke deLuovo. 

Julia approved of this communication, though she trembled for theevent; and requested madame to plead her cause with the _Abate_. Onthe following morning, therefore, madame solicited a private audienceof the _Abate_; she obtained permission to see him, and Julia, intrembling anxiety, watched her to the door of his apartment. Thisconference was long, and every moment seemed an hour to Julia, who, infearful expectation, awaited with Cornelia the sentence which woulddecide her destiny. She was now the constant companion of Cornelia, whose declining health interested her pity, and strengthened herattachment. 

Meanwhile madame developed to the _Abate_ the distressful story ofJulia. She praised her virtues, commended her accomplishments, anddeplored her situation. She described the characters of the marquisand the duke, and concluded with pathetically representing, that Juliahad sought in this monastery, a last asylum from injustice and misery, and with entreating that the _Abate_ would grant her his pity andprotection. 

The _Abate_ during this discourse preserved a sullen silence; his eyeswere bent to the ground, and his aspect was thoughful and solemn. Whenmadame ceased to speak, a pause of profound silence ensued, and shesat in anxious expectation. She endeavoured to anticipate in hiscountenance the answer preparing, but she derived no comfort fromthence. At length raising his head, and awakening from his deepreverie, he told her that her request required deliberation, and thatthe protection she solicited for Julia, might involve him in seriousconsequences, since, from a character so determined as the marquis's, much violence might reasonably be expected. 'Should his daughter berefused him, ' concluded the _Abate_, 'he may even dare to violate thesanctuary. '

Madame, shocked by the stern indifference of this reply, was a momentsilent. The _Abate_ went on. 'Whatever I shall determine upon, theyoung lady has reason to rejoice that she is admitted into this holyhouse; for I will even now venture to assure her, that if the marquisfails to demand her, she shall be permitted to remain in thissanctuary unmolested. You, Madam, will be sensible of this indulgence, and of the value of the sacrifice I make in granting it; for, in thusconcealing a child from her parent, I encourage her in disobedience, and consequently sacrifice my sense of duty, to what may be justlycalled a weak humanity. '

Madame listened to pompous declamation in silent sorrow andindignation. She made another effort to interest the _Abate_ in favorof Julia, but he preserved his stern inflexibility, and repeating thathe would deliberate upon the matter, and acquaint her with the result, he arose with great solemnity, and quitted the room. 

She now half repented of the confidence she had reposed in him, and ofthe pity she had solicited, since he discovered a mind incapable ofunderstanding the first, and a temper inaccessible to the influence ofthe latter. With an heavy heart she returned to Julia, who read in hercountenance, at the moment she entered the room, news of no happyimport. When madame related the particulars of the conference, Juliapresaged from it only misery, and giving herself up for lost--sheburst into tears. She severely deplored the confidence she had beeninduced to yield; for she now saw herself in the power of a man, sternand unfeeling in his nature: and from whom, if he thought it fit tobetray her, she had no means of escaping. But she concealed theanguish of her heart; and to console madame, affected to hope whereshe could only despair. 

Several days elapsed, and no answer was returned from the _Abate_. Julia too well understood this silence. 

One morning Cornelia entering her room with a disturbed and impatientair, informed her that some emissaries from the marquis were then inthe monastery, having enquired at the gate for the _Abate_, with whom, they said, they had business of importance to transact. The _Abate_had granted them immediate audience, and they were now in closeconference. 

At this intelligence the spirits of Julia forsook her; she trembled, grew pale, and stood fixed in mute despair. Madame, though scarcelyless distressed, retained a presence of mind. She understood toojustly the character of the Superior to doubt that he would hesitatein delivering Julia to the hands of the marquis. On this moment, therefore, turned the crisis of her fate!--this moment she mightescape--the next she was a prisoner. She therefore advised Julia toseize the instant, and fly from the monastery before the conferencewas concluded, when the gates would most probably be closed upon her, assuring her, at the same time, she would accompany her in flight. 

The generous conduct of madame called tears of gratitude into the eyesof Julia, who now awoke from the state of stupefaction which distresshad caused. But before she could thank her faithful friend, a nunentered the room with a summons for madame to attend the _Abate_immediately. The distress which this message occasioned can not easilybe conceived. Madame advised Julia to escape while she detained the_Abate_ in conversation, as it was not probable that he had yet issuedorders for her detention. Leaving her to this attempt, with anassurance of following her from the abbey as soon as possible, madameobeyed the summons. The coolness of her fortitude forsook her as sheapproached the _Abate_'s apartment, and she became less certain as tothe occasion of this summons. 

The _Abate_ was alone. His countenance was pale with anger, and he waspacing the room with slow but agitated steps. The stern authority ofhis look startled her. 'Read this letter, ' said he, stretching forthhis hand which held a letter, 'and tell me what that mortal deserves, who dares insult our holy order, and set our sacred prerogative atdefiance. ' Madame distinguished the handwriting of the marquis, andthe words of the Superior threw her into the utmost astonishment. Shetook the letter. It was dictated by that spirit of proud vindictiverage, which so strongly marked the character of the marquis. Havingdiscovered the retreat of Julia, and believing the monastery affordedher a willing sanctuary from his pursuit, he accused the _Abate_ ofencouraging his child in open rebellion to his will. He loaded him andhis sacred order with opprobrium, and threatened, if she was notimmediately resigned to the emissaries in waiting, he would in personlead on a force which should compel the church to yield to thesuperior authority of the father. 

The spirit of the _Abate_ was roused by this menace; and Juliaobtained from his pride, that protection which neither his principleor his humanity would have granted. 'The man shall tremble, ' cried he, 'who dares defy our power, or question our sacred authority. The ladyJulia is safe. I will protect her from this proud invader of ourrights, and teach him at least to venerate the power he cannotconquer. I have dispatched his emissaries with my answer. '

These words struck sudden joy upon the heart of Madame de Menon, butshe instantly recollected, that ere this time Julia had quitted theabbey, and thus the very precaution which was meant to ensure hersafety, had probably precipitated her into the hand of her enemy. Thisthought changed her joy to anguish; and she was hurrying from theapartment in a sort of wild hope, that Julia might not yet be gone, when the stern voice of the _Abate_ arrested her. 'Is it thus, ' criedhe, 'that you receive the knowledge of our generous resolution toprotect your friend? Does such condescending kindness merit nothanks--demand no gratitude?' Madame returned in an agony of fear, lest one moment of delay might prove fatal to Julia, if haply she hadnot yet quitted the monastery. She was conscious of her deficiency inapparent gratitude, and of the strange appearance of her abruptdeparture from the _Abate_, for which it was impossible to apologize, without betraying the secret, which would kindle all his resentment. Yet some atonement his present anger demanded, and these circumstancescaused her a very painful embarrassment. She formed a hasty excuse;and expressing her sense of his goodness, again attempted to retire, when the _Abate_ frowning in deep resentment, his features inflamedwith pride, arose from his seat. 'Stay, ' said he; 'whence thisimpatience to fly from the presence of a benefactor?--If my generosityfails to excite gratitude, my resentment shall not fail to inspireawe. --Since the lady Julia is insensible of my condescension, she isunworthy of my protection, and I will resign her to the tyrant whodemands her. '

To this speech, in which the offended pride of the _Abate_ overcomingall sense of justice, accused and threatened to punish Julia for thefault of her friend, madame listened in dreadful impatience. Everyword that detained her struck torture to her heart, but the concludingsentence occasioned new terror, and she started at its purpose. Shefell at the feet of the _Abate_ in an agony of grief. 'Holy father, 'said she, 'punish not Julia for the offence which I only havecommitted; her heart will bless her generous protector, and formyself, suffer me to assure you that I am fully sensible of yourgoodness. '

'If this is true, ' said the _Abate_, 'arise, and bid the lady Juliaattend me. ' This command increased the confusion of madame, who had nodoubt that her detention had proved fatal to Julia. At length she wassuffered to depart, and to her infinite joy found Julia in her ownroom. Her intention of escaping had yielded, immediately after thedeparture of madame, to the fear of being discovered by the marquis'speople. This fear had been confirmed by the report of Cornelia, whoinformed her, that at that time several horsemen were waiting at thegates for the return of their companions. This was a dreadfulcircumstance to Julia, who perceived it was utterly impossible to quitthe monastery, without rushing upon certain destruction. She waslamenting her destiny, when madame recited the particulars of the lateinterview, and delivered the summons of the _Abate_. 

They had now to dread the effect of that tender anxiety, which hadexcited his resentment; and Julia, suddenly elated to joy by his firstdetermination, was as suddenly sunk to despair by his last. Shetrembled with apprehension of the coming interview, though each momentof delay which her fear solicited, would, by heightening theresentment of the _Abate_, only increase the danger she dreaded. 

At length, by a strong effort, she reanimated her spirits, and went tothe Abate's closet to receive her sentence. He was seated in hischair, and his frowning aspect chilled her heart. 'Daughter, ' said he, 'you have been guilty of heinous crimes. You have dared todispute--nay openly to rebel, against the lawful authority of yourfather. You have disobeyed the will of him whose prerogative yieldsonly to ours. You have questioned his right upon a point of all othersthe most decided--the right of a father to dispose of his child inmarriage. You have even fled from his protection--and you havedared--insidiously, and meanly have dared, to screen your disobediencebeneath this sacred roof. You have prophaned our sanctuary with yourcrime. You have brought insult upon our sacred order, and have causedbold and impious defiance of our high prerogative. What punishment isadequate to guilt like this?'

The father paused--his eyes sternly fixed on Julia, who, pale andtrembling, could scarcely support herself, and who had no power toreply. 'I will be merciful, and not just, ' resumed he, --'I will softenthe punishment you deserve, and will only deliver you to your father. 'At these dreadful words, Julia bursting into tears, sunk at the feetof the _Abate_, to whom she raised her eyes in supplicatingexpression, but was unable to speak. He suffered her to remain in thisposture. 'Your duplicity, ' he resumed, 'is not the least of youroffences. --Had you relied upon our generosity for forgiveness andprotection, an indulgence might have been granted;--but under thedisguise of virtue you concealed your crimes, and your necessitieswere hid beneath the mask of devotion. '

These false aspersions roused in Julia the spirit of indignant virtue;she arose from her knees with an air of dignity, that struck even the_Abate_. 'Holy father, ' said she, 'my heart abhors the crime youmention, and disclaims all union with it. Whatever are my offences, from the sin of hypocrisy I am at least free; and you will pardon meif I remind you, that my confidence has already been such, as fullyjustifies my claim to the protection I solicit. When I shelteredmyself within these walls, it was to be presumed that they wouldprotect me from injustice; and with what other term than injusticewould you, Sir, distinguish the conduct of the marquis, if the fear ofhis power did not overcome the dictates of truth?'

The _Abate_ felt the full force of this reproof; but disdaining toappear sensible to it, restrained his resentment. His wounded pridethus exasperated, and all the malignant passions of his nature thuscalled into action, he was prompted to that cruel surrender which hehad never before seriously intended. The offence which Madame deMenon had unintentionally given his haughty spirit urged him toretaliate in punishment. He had, therefore, pleased himself withexciting a terror which he never meant to confirm, and he resolved tobe further solicited for that protection which he had alreadydetermined to grant. But this reproof of Julia touched him where hewas most conscious of defect; and the temporary triumph which heimagined it afforded her, kindled his resentment into flame. He musedin his chair, in a fixed attitude. --She saw in his countenance thedeep workings of his mind--she revolved the fate preparing for her, and stood in trembling anxiety to receive her sentence. The _Abate_considered each aggravating circumstance of the marquis's menace, andeach sentence of Julia's speech; and his mind experienced that vice isnot only inconsistent with virtue, but with itself--for to gratify hismalignity, he now discovered that it would be necessary to sacrificehis pride--since it would be impossible to punish the object of thefirst without denying himself the gratification of the latter. Thisreflection suspended his mind in a state of torture, and he sat wraptin gloomy silence. 

The spirit which lately animated Julia had vanished with herwords--each moment of silence increased her apprehension; the deepbrooding of his thoughts confirmed her in the apprehension of evil, and with all the artless eloquence of sorrow she endeavoured to softenhim to pity. He listened to her pleadings in sullen stillness. Buteach instant now cooled the fervour of his resentment to her, andincreased his desire of opposing the marquis. At length thepredominant feature of his character resumed its original influence, and overcame the workings of subordinate passion. Proud of hisreligious authority, he determined never to yield the prerogative ofthe church to that of the father, and resolved to oppose the violenceof the marquis with equal force. 

He therefore condescended to relieve Julia from her terrors, byassuring her of his protection; but he did this in a manner soungracious, as almost to destroy the gratitude which the promisedemanded. She hastened with the joyful intelligence to Madame deMenon, who wept over her tears of thankfulness. 

CHAPTER XI

Near a fortnight had elapsed without producing any appearance ofhostility from the marquis, when one night, long after the hour ofrepose, Julia was awakened by the bell of the monastery. She knew itwas not the hour customary for prayer, and she listened to the sounds, which rolled through the deep silence of the fabric, with strongsurprise and terror. Presently she heard the doors of several cellscreak on their hinges, and the sound of quick footsteps in thepassages--and through the crevices of her door she distinguishedpassing lights. The whispering noise of steps increased, and everyperson of the monastery seemed to have awakened. Her terrorheightened; it occurred to her that the marquis had surrounded theabbey with his people, in the design of forcing her from her retreat;and she arose in haste, with an intention of going to the chamber ofMadame de Menon, when she heard a gentle tap at the door. Her enquiryof who was there, was answered in the voice of madame, and her fearswere quickly dissipated, for she learned the bell was a summons toattend a dying nun, who was going to the high altar, there to receiveextreme unction. 

She quitted the chamber with madame. In her way to the church, thegleam of tapers on the walls, and the glimpse which her eye oftencaught of the friars in their long black habits, descending silentlythrough the narrow winding passages, with the solemn toll of the bell, conspired to kindle imagination, and to impress her heart with sacredawe. But the church exhibited a scene of solemnity, such as she hadnever before witnessed. Its gloomy aisles were imperfectly seen by therays of tapers from the high altar, which shed a solitary gleam overthe remote parts of the fabric, and produced large masses of light andshade, striking and sublime in their effect. 

While she gazed, she heard a distant chanting rise through the aisles;the sounds swelled in low murmurs on the ear, and drew nearer andnearer, till a sudden blaze of light issued from one of the portals, and the procession entered. The organ instantly sounded a high andsolemn peal, and the voices rising altogether swelled the sacredstrain. In front appeared the _Padre Abate_, with slow and measuredsteps, bearing the holy cross. Immediately followed a litter, on whichlay the dying person covered with a white veil, borne along andsurrounded by nuns veiled in white, each carrying in her hand alighted taper. Last came the friars, two and two, cloathed in black, and each bearing a light. 

When they reached the high altar, the bier was rested, and in a fewmoments the anthem ceased. 'The _Abate_ now approached to perform theunction; the veil of the dying nun was lifted--and Julia discoveredher beloved Cornelia! Her countenance was already impressed with theimage of death, but her eyes brightened with a faint gleam ofrecollection, when they fixed upon Julia, who felt a cold thrill runthrough her frame, and leaned for support on madame. Julia now forthe first time distinguished the unhappy lover of Cornelia, on whosefeatures was depictured the anguish of his heart, and who hung paleand silent over the bier. The ceremony being finished, the anthemstruck up; the bier was lifted, when Cornelia faintly moved her hand, and it was again rested upon the steps of the altar. In a few minutesthe music ceased, when lifting her heavy eyes to her lover, with anexpression of ineffable tenderness and grief, she attempted to speak, but the sounds died on her closing lips. A faint smile passed over hercountenance, and was succeeded by a fine devotional glow; she foldedher hands upon her bosom, and with a look of meek resignation, raisingtowards heaven her eyes, in which now sunk the last sparkles ofexpiring life--her soul departed in a short deep sigh. 

Her lover sinking back, endeavoured to conceal his emotions, but thedeep sobs which agitated his breast betrayed his anguish, and thetears of every spectator bedewed the sacred spot where beauty, sense, and innocence expired. 

The organ now swelled in mournful harmony; and the voices of theassembly chanted in choral strain, a low and solemn requiem to thespirit of the departed. 

Madame hurried Julia, who was almost as lifeless as her departedfriend, from the church. A death so sudden heightened the grief whichseparation would otherwise have occasioned. It was the nature ofCornelia's disorder to wear a changeful but flattering aspect. Thoughshe had long been declining, her decay was so gradual andimperceptible as to lull the apprehensions of her friends intosecurity. It was otherwise with herself; she was conscious of thechange, but forbore to afflict them with the knowledge of the truth. The hour of her dissolution was sudden, even to herself; but it wascomposed, and even happy. In the death of Cornelia, Julia seemed tomourn again that of Hippolitus. Her decease appeared to dissolve thelast tie which connected her with his memory. 

In one of the friars of the convent, madame was surprized to find thefather who had confessed the dying Vincent. His appearance revived theremembrance of the scene she had witnessed at the castle of Mazzini;and the last words of Vincent, combined with the circumstances whichhad since occurred, renewed all her curiosity and astonishment. Buthis appearance excited more sensations than those of wonder. Shedreaded lest he should be corrupted by the marquis, to whom he wasknown, and thus be induced to use his interest with the _Abate_ forthe restoration of Julia. 

From the walls of the monastery, Julia now never ventured to stray. Inthe gloom of evening she sometimes stole into the cloisters, and oftenlingered at the grave of Cornelia, where she wept for Hippolitus, aswell as for her friend. One evening, during vespers, the bell of theconvent was suddenly rang out; the _Abate_, whose countenanceexpressed at once astonishment and displeasure, suspended the service, and quitted the altar. The whole congregation repaired to the hall, where they learned that a friar, retiring to the convent, had seen atroop of armed men advancing through the wood; and not doubting theywere the people of the marquis, and were approaching with hostileintention, had thought it necessary to give the alarm. The _Abate_ascended a turret, and thence discovered through the trees aglittering of arms, and in the succeeding moment a band of men issuedfrom a dark part of the wood, into a long avenue which immediatelyfronted the spot where he stood. The clattering of hoofs was nowdistinctly heard; and Julia, sinking with terror, distinguished themarquis heading the troops, which, soon after separating in twodivisions, surrounded the monastery. The gates were immediatelysecured; and the _Abate_, descending from the turret, assembled thefriars in the hall, where his voice was soon heard above every otherpart of the tumult. The terror of Julia made her utterly forgetful ofthe _Padre_'s promise, and she wished to fly for concealment to thedeep caverns belonging to the monastery, which wound under the woods. Madame, whose penetration furnished her with a just knowledge of the_Abate_'s character, founded her security on his pride. She thereforedissuaded Julia from attempting to tamper with the honesty of aservant who had the keys of the vaults, and advised her to relyentirely on the effect of the _Abate_'s resentment towards themarquis. While madame endeavoured to soothe her to composure, amessage from the _Abate_ required her immediate attendance. Sheobeyed, and he bade her follow him to a room which was directly overthe gates of the monastery. From thence she saw her father, accompanied by the Duke de Luovo; and as her spirits died away at thesight, the marquis called furiously to the _Abate_ to deliver herinstantly into his hands, threatening, if she was detained, to forcethe gates of the monastery. At this threat the countenance of the_Abate_ grew dark: and leading Julia forcibly to the window, fromwhich she had shrunk back, 'Impious menacer!' said he, 'eternalvengeance be upon thee! From this moment we expel thee from all therights and communities of our church. Arrogant and daring as you are, your threats I defy--Look here, ' said he, pointing to Julia, 'andlearn that you are in my power; for if you dare to violate thesesacred walls, I will proclaim aloud, in the face of day, a secretwhich shall make your heart's blood run cold; a secret which involvesyour honour, nay, your very existence. Now triumph and exult inimpious menace!' The marquis started involuntarily at this speech, andhis features underwent a sudden change, but he endeavoured to recoverhimself, and to conceal his confusion. He hesitated for a few moments, uncertain how to act--to desist from violence was to confess himselfconscious of the threatened secret; yet he dreaded to inflame theresentment of the _Abate_, whose menaces his own heart too surelyseconded. At length--'All that you have uttered, ' said he, 'I despiseas the dastardly subterfuge of monkish cunning. Your new insults addto the desire of recovering my daughter, that of punishing you. Iwould proceed to instant violence, but that would now be an imperfectrevenge. I shall, therefore, withdraw my forces, and appeal to ahigher power. Thus shall you be compelled at once to restore mydaughter and retract your scandalous impeachment of my honor. ' Sayingthis, the turned his horse from the gates, and his people followinghim, quickly withdrew, leaving the _Abate_ exulting in conquest, andJulia lost in astonishment and doubtful joy. When she recounted tomadame the particulars of the conference, she dwelt with emphasis onthe threats of the _Abate_; but madame, though her amazement washeightened at every word, very well understood how the secret, whatever it was, had been obtained. The confessor of Vincent she hadalready observed in the monastery, and there was no doubt that he haddisclosed whatever could be collected from the dying words of Vincent. She knew, also, that the secret would never be published, unless as apunishment for immediate violence, it being one of the firstprinciples of monastic duty, to observe a religious secrecy upon allmatters entrusted to them in confession. 

When the first tumult of Julia's emotions subsided, the joy which thesudden departure of the marquis occasioned yielded to apprehension. Hehad threatened to appeal to a higher power, who would compel the_Abate_ to surrender her. This menace excited a just terror, and thereremained no means of avoiding the tyranny of the marquis but byquitting the monastery. She therefore requested an audience of the_Abate_; and having represented the danger of her present situation, she intreated his permission to depart in quest of a safer retreat. The _Abate_, who well knew the marquis was wholly in his power, smiledat the repetition of his menaces, and denied her request, underpretence of his having now become responsible for her to the church. He bade her be comforted, and promised her his protection; but hisassurances were given in so distant and haughty a manner, that Julialeft him with fears rather increased than subdued. In crossing thehall, she observed a man hastily enter it, from an opposite door. Hewas not in the habit of the order, but was muffled up in a cloak, andseemed to wish concealment. As she passed he raised his head, andJulia discovered--her father! He darted at her a look of vengeance;but before she had time even to think, as if suddenly recollectinghimself, he covered his face, and rushed by her. Her trembling framecould scarcely support her to the apartment of madame, where she sunkspeechless upon a chair, and the terror of her look alone spoke theagony of her mind. When she was somewhat recovered, she related whatshe had seen, and her conversation with the _Abate_. But madame waslost in equal perplexity with herself, when she attempted to accountfor the marquis's appearance. Why, after his late daring menace, should he come secretly to visit the _Abate_, by whose connivancealone he could have gained admission to the monastery? And what couldhave influenced the _Abate_ to such a conduct? These circumstances, though equally inexplicable, united to confirm a fear of treachery andsurrender. To escape from the abbey was now inpracticable, for thegates were constantly guarded; and even was it possible to pass them, certain detection awaited Julia without from the marquis's people, whowere stationed in the woods. Thus encompassed with danger, she couldonly await in the monastery the issue of her destiny. 

While she was lamenting with madame her unhappy fate, she was summonedonce more to attend the _Abate_. At this moment her spirits entirelyforsook her; the crisis of her fate seemed arrived; for she did notdoubt that the _Abate_ intended to surrender her to the marquis, withwhom she supposed he had negotiated the terms of accommodation. It wassome time before she could recover composure sufficient to obey thesummons; and when she did, every step that bore her towards the_Abate_'s room increased her dread. She paused a moment at the door, 'ere she had courage to open it; the idea of her father's immediateresentment arose to her mind, and she was upon the point of retreatingto her chamber, when a sudden step within, near the door, destroyedher hesitation, and she entered the closet. The marquis was not there, and her spirits revived. The flush of triumph was diffused over thefeatures of the _Abate_, though a shade of unappeased resentment yetremained visible. 'Daughter, ' said he, 'the intelligence we have tocommunicate may rejoice you. Your safety now depends solely onyourself. I give your fate into your own hands, and its issue be uponyour head. ' He paused, and she was suspended in wondering expectationof the coming sentence. 'I here solemnly assure you of my protection, but it is upon one condition only--that you renounce the world, anddedicate your days to God. ' Julia listened with a mixture of grief andastonishment. 'Without this concession on your part, I possess not thepower, had I even the inclination, to protect you. If you assume theveil, you are safe within the pale of the church from temporalviolence. If you neglect or refuse to do this, the marquis may applyto a power from whom I have no appeal, and I shall be compelled atlast to resign you. 

'But to ensure your safety, should the veil be your choice, we willprocure a dispensation from the usual forms of noviciation, and a fewdays shall confirm your vows. ' He ceased to speak; but Julia, agitatedwith the most cruel distress, knew not what to reply. 'We grant youthree days to decide upon this matter, ' continued he, 'at theexpiration of which, the veil, or the Duke de Luovo, awaits you. 'Julia quitted the closet in mute despair, and repaired to madame, whocould now scarcely offer her the humble benefit of consolation. 

Meanwhile the _Abate_ exulted in successful vengeance, and the marquissmarted beneath the stings of disappointment. The menace of theformer was too seriously alarming to suffer the marquis to prosecuteviolent measures; and he had therefore resolved, by opposing avariceto pride, to soothe the power which he could not subdue. But he wasunwilling to entrust the _Abate_ with a proof of his compliance andhis fears by offering a bribe in a letter, and preferred the morehumiliating, but safer method, of a private interview. Hismagnificent offers created a temporary hesitation in the mind of the_Abate_, who, secure of his advantage, shewed at first no dispositionto be reconciled, and suffered the marquis to depart in anxiousuncertainty. After maturely deliberating upon the proposals, the prideof the _Abate_ surmounted his avarice, and he determined to prevailupon Julia effectually to destroy the hopes of the marquis, byconsecrating her life to religion. Julia passed the night and the nextday in a state of mental torture exceeding all description. The gatesof the monastery beset with guards, and the woods surrounded by themarquis's people, made escape impossible. From a marriage with theduke, whose late conduct had confirmed the odious idea which hischaracter had formerly impressed, her heart recoiled in horror, and tobe immured for life within the walls of a convent, was a fate littleless dreadful. Yet such was the effect of that sacred love she borethe memory of Hippolitus, and such her aversion to the duke, that shesoon resolved to adopt the veil. On the following evening she informedthe _Abate_ of her determination. His heart swelled with secret joy;and even the natural severity of his manner relaxed at theintelligence. He assured her of his approbation and protection, with adegree of kindness which he had never before manifested, and told herthe ceremony should be performed on the second day from the present. Her emotion scarcely suffered her to hear his last words. Now that herfate was fixed beyond recall, she almost repented of her choice. Herfancy attached to it a horror not its own; and that evil, which, whenoffered to her decision, she had accepted with little hesitation, shenow paused upon in dubious regret; so apt we are to imagine that thecalamity most certain, is also the most intolerable!

When the marquis read the answer of the _Abate_, all the balefulpassions of his nature were roused and inflamed to a degree whichbordered upon distraction. In the first impulse of his rage, he wouldhave forced the gates of the monastery, and defied the utmost maliceof his enemy. But a moment's reflection revived his fear of thethreatened secret, and he saw that he was still in the power of theSuperior. 

The _Abate_ procured the necessary dispensation, and preparations wereimmediately began for the approaching ceremony. Julia watched thedeparture of those moments which led to her fate with the calmfortitude of despair. She had no means of escaping from the comingevil, without exposing herself to a worse; she surveyed it thereforewith a steady eye, and no longer shrunk from its approach. 

On the morning preceding the day of her consecration, she was informedthat a stranger enquired for her at the grate. Her mind had been solong accustomed to the vicissitudes of apprehension, that fear was theemotion which now occurred; she suspected, yet scarcely knew why, thatthe marquis was below, and hesitated whether to descend. A littlereflection determined her, and she went to the parlour--where, to herequal joy and surprise, she beheld--Ferdinand!

During the absence of the marquis from his castle, Ferdinand, who hadbeen informed of the discovery of Julia, effected his escape fromimprisonment, and had hastened to the monastery in the design ofrescuing her. He had passed the woods in disguise, with muchdifficulty eluding the observation of the marquis's people, who wereyet dispersed round the abbey. To the monastery, as he came alone, hehad been admitted without difficulty. 

When he learned the conditions of the _Abate_'s protection, and thatthe following day was appointed for the consecration of Julia, he wasshocked, and paused in deliberation. A period so short as was thisinterval, afforded little opportunity for contrivance, and less forhesitation. The night of the present day was the only time thatremained for the attempt and execution of a plan of escape, which ifit then failed of success, Julia would not only be condemned for lifeto the walls of a monastery, but would be subjected to whateverpunishment the severity of the _Abate_, exasperated by the detection, should think fit to inflict. The danger was desperate, but theoccasion was desperate also. 

The nobly disinterested conduct of her brother, struck Julia withgratitude and admiration; but despair of success made her now hesitatewhether she should accept his offer. She considered that hisgenerosity would most probably involve him in destruction withherself; and she paused in deep deliberation, when Ferdinand informedher of a circumstance which, till now, he had purposely concealed, andwhich at once dissolved every doubt and every fear. 'Hippolitus, ' saidFerdinand, 'yet lives. '--'Lives!' repeated Julia faintly, --'lives, Oh!tell me where--how. '--Her breath refused to aid her, and she sunk inher chair overcome with the strong and various sensations that pressedupon her heart. Ferdinand, whom the grate withheld from assisting her, observed her situation with extreme distress. When she recovered, heinformed her that a servant of Hippolitus, sent no doubt by his lordto enquire concerning Julia, had been lately seen by one of themarquis's people in the neighbourhood of the castle. From him it wasknown that the Count de Vereza was living, but that his life had beendespaired of; and he was still confined, by dangerous wounds, in anobscure town on the coast of Italy. The man had steadily refused tomention the place of his lord's abode. Learning that the marquis wasthen at the abbey of St Augustin, whither he pursued his daughter, theman disappeared from Mazzini, and had not since been heard of. 

It was enough for Julia to know that Hippolitus lived; her fears ofdetection, and her scruples concerning Ferdinand, instantly vanished;she thought only of escape--and the means which had lately appeared soformidable--so difficult in contrivance, and so dangerous inexecution, now seemed easy, certain, and almost accomplished. 

They consulted on the plan to be adopted, and agreed, that inattempting to bribe a servant of the monastery to their interest, theyshould incur a danger too imminent, yet it appeared scarcelypracticable to succeed in their scheme without risquing this. Aftermuch consideration, they determined to entrust their secret to noperson but to madame. Ferdinand was to contrive to conceal himselftill the dead of night in the church, between which and the monasterywere several doors of communication. When the inhabitants of the abbeywere sunk in repose, Julia might without difficulty pass to thechurch, where Ferdinand awaiting her, they might perhaps escape eitherthrough an outer door of the fabric, or through a window, for whichlatter attempt Ferdinand was to provide ropes. 

A couple of horses were to be stationed among the rocks beyond thewoods, to convey the fugitives to a sea-port, whence they could easilypass over to Italy. Having arranged this plan, they separated in theanxious hope of meeting on the ensuing night. 

Madame warmly sympathized with Julia in her present expectations, andwas now somewhat relieved from the pressure of that self-reproach, with which the consideration of having withdrawn her young friend froma secure asylum, had long tormented her. In learning that Hippolituslived, Julia experienced a sudden renovation of life and spirits. From the languid stupefaction which despair had occasioned she revivedas from a dream, and her sensations resembled those of a personsuddenly awakened from a frightful vision, whose thoughts are yetobscured in the fear and uncertainty which the passing images haveimpressed on his fancy. She emerged from despair; joy illumined hercountenance; yet she doubted the reality of the scene which now openedto her view. The hours rolled heavily along till the evening, whenexpectation gave way to fear, for she was once more summoned by the_Abate_. He sent for her to administer the usual necessary exhortationon the approaching solemnity; and having detained her a considerabletime in tedious and severe discourse, dismissed her with a formalbenediction. 

CHAPTER XII

The evening now sunk in darkness, and the hour was fast approachingwhich would decide the fate of Julia. Trembling anxiety subdued everyother sensation; and as the minutes passed, her fears increased. Atlength she heard the gates of the monastery fastened for the night;the bell rang the signal for repose; and the passing footsteps of thenuns told her they were hastening to obey it. After some time, all wassilent. Julia did not yet dare to venture forth; she employed thepresent interval in interesting and affectionate conversation withMadame de Menon, to whom, notwithstanding her situation, her heartbade a sorrowful adieu. 

The clock struck twelve, when she arose to depart. Having embraced herfaithful friend with tears of mingled grief and anxiety, she took alamp in her hand, and with cautious, fearful steps, descended throughthe long winding passages to a private door, which opened into thechurch of the monastery. The church was gloomy and desolate; and thefeeble rays of the lamp she bore, gave only light enough to discoverits chilling grandeur. As she passed silently along the aisles, shecast a look of anxious examination around--but Ferdinand was no whereto be seen. She paused in timid hesitation, fearful to penetrate thegloomy obscurity which lay before her, yet dreading to return. 

As she stood examining the place, vainly looking for Ferdinand, yetfearing to call, lest her voice should betray her, a hollow groanarose from apart of the church very near her. It chilled her heart, and she remained fixed to the spot. She turned her eyes a little tothe left, and saw light appear through the chinks of a sepulchre atsome distance. The groan was repeated--a low murmuring succeeded, andwhile she yet gazed, an old man issued from the vault with a lightedtaper in his hand. Terror now subdued her, and she utterred aninvoluntary shriek. In the succeeding moment, a noise was heard in aremote part of the fabric; and Ferdinand rushing forth from hisconcealment, ran to her assistance. The old man, who appeared to be afriar, and who had been doing penance at the monument of a saint, nowapproached. His countenance expressed a degree of surprise and terroralmost equal to that of Julia's, who knew him to be the confessor ofVincent. Ferdinand seized the father; and laying his hand upon hissword, threatened him with death if he did not instantly swear toconceal for ever his knowledge of what he then saw, and also assistthem to escape from the abbey. 

'Ungracious boy!' replied the father, in a calm voice, 'desist fromthis language, nor add to the follies of youth the crime of murdering, or terrifying a defenceless old man. Your violence would urge me tobecome your enemy, did not previous inclination tempt me to be yourfriend. I pity the distresses of the lady Julia, to whom I am nostranger, and will cheerfully give her all the assistance in mypower. '

At these words Julia revived, and Ferdinand, reproved by thegenerosity of the father, and conscious of his own inferiority, shrunkback. 'I have no words to thank you, ' said he, 'or to entreat yourpardon for the impetuosity of my conduct; your knowledge of mysituation must plead my excuse. '--'It does, ' replied the father, 'butwe have no time to lose;--follow me. '

They followed him through the church to the cloisters, at theextremity of which was a small door, which the friar unlocked. Itopened upon the woods. 

'This path, ' said he, 'leads thro' an intricate part of the woods, tothe rocks that rise on the right of the abbey; in their recesses youmay secrete yourselves till you are prepared for a longer journey. Butextinguish your light; it may betray you to the marquis's people, whoare dispersed about this spot. Farewell! my children, and God'sblessing be upon ye. '

Julia's tears declared her gratitude; she had no time for words. Theystepped into the path, and the father closed the door. They were nowliberated from the monastery, but danger awaited them without, whichit required all their caution to avoid. Ferdinand knew the path whichthe friar had pointed out to be the same that led to the rocks wherehis horses were stationed, and he pursued it with quick and silentsteps. Julia, whose fears conspired with the gloom of night to magnifyand transform every object around her, imagined at each step that shetook, she perceived the figures of men, and fancied every whisper ofthe breeze the sound of pursuit. 

They proceeded swiftly, till Julia, breathless and exhausted, could gono farther. They had not rested many minutes, when they heard arustling among the bushes at some distance, and soon afterdistinguished a low sound of voices. Ferdinand and Julia instantlyrenewed their flight, and thought they still heard voices advance uponthe wind. This thought was soon confirmed, for the sounds now gainedfast upon them, and they distinguished words which served only toheighten their apprehensions, when they reached the extremity of thewoods. The moon, which was now up, suddenly emerging from a darkcloud, discovered to them several man in pursuit; and also shewed tothe pursuers the course of the fugitives. They endeavoured to gain therocks where the horses were concealed, and which now appeared in view. These they reached when the pursuers had almost overtaken them--buttheir horses were gone! Their only remaining chance of escape was tofly into the deep recesses of the rock. They, therefore, entered awinding cave, from whence branched several subterraneous avenues, atthe extremity of one of which they stopped. The voices of men nowvibrated in tremendous echoes through the various and secret cavernsof the place, and the sound of footsteps seemed fast approaching. Julia trembled with terror, and Ferdinand drew his sword, determinedto protect her to the last. A confused volley of voices now sounded upthat part of the cave were Ferdinand and Julia lay concealed. In afew moments the steps of the pursuers suddenly took a differentdirection, and the sounds sunk gradually away, and were heard no more. Ferdinand listened attentively for a considerable time, but thestillness of the place remained undisturbed. It was now evident thatthe men had quitted the rock, and he ventured forth to the mouth ofthe cave. He surveyed the wilds around, as far as his eye couldpenetrate, and distinguished no human being; but in the pauses of thewind he still thought he heard a sound of distant voices. As helistened in anxious silence, his eye caught the appearance of ashadow, which moved upon the ground near where he stood. He startedback within the cave, but in a few minutes again ventured forth. Theshadow remained stationary, but having watched it for some time, Ferdinand saw it glide along till it disappeared behind a point ofrock. He had now no doubt that the cave was watched, and that it wasone of his late pursuers whose shade he had seen. He returned, therefore, to Julia, and remained near an hour hid in the deepestrecess of the rock; when, no sound having interrupted the profoundsilence of the place, he at length once more ventured to the mouth ofthe cave. Again he threw a fearful look around, but discerned no humanform. The soft moon-beam slept upon the dewy landscape, and the solemnstillness of midnight wrapt the world. Fear heightened to thefugitives the sublimity of the hour. Ferdinand now led Julia forth, and they passed silently along the shelving foot of the rocks. 

They continued their way without farther interruption; and among thecliffs, at some distance from the cave, discovered, to theirinexpressible joy, their horses, who having broken their fastenings, had strayed thither, and had now laid themselves down to rest. Ferdinand and Julia immediately mounted; and descending to the plains, took the road that led to a small sea-port at some leagues distant, whence they could embark for Italy. 

They travelled for some hours through gloomy forests of beech andchesnut; and their way was only faintly illuminated by the moon, whichshed a trembling lustre through the dark foliage, and which was seenbut at intervals, as the passing clouds yielded to the power of herrays. They reached at length the skirts of the forest. The grey dawnnow appeared, and the chill morning air bit shrewdly. It was withinexpressible joy that Julia observed the kindling atmosphere; andsoon after the rays of the rising sun touching the tops of themountains, whose sides were yet involved in dark vapours. 

Her fears dissipated with the darkness. --The sun now appeared amidclouds of inconceivable splendour; and unveiled a scene which in othercircumstances Julia would have contemplated with rapture. From theside of the hill, down which they were winding, a vale appeared, fromwhence arose wild and lofty mountains, whose steeps were cloathed withhanging woods, except where here and there a precipice projected itsbold and rugged front. Here, a few half-withered trees hung from thecrevices of the rock, and gave a picturesque wildness to the object;there, clusters of half-seen cottages, rising from among tuftedgroves, embellished the green margin of a stream which meandered inthe bottom, and bore its waves to the blue and distant main. 

The freshness of morning breathed over the scene, and vivified eachcolour of the landscape. The bright dewdrops hung trembling from thebranches of the trees, which at intervals overshadowed the road; andthe sprightly music of the birds saluted the rising day. Notwithstanding her anxiety the scene diffused a soft complacency overthe mind of Julia. 

About noon they reached the port, where Ferdinand was fortunate enoughto obtain a small vessel; but the wind was unfavourable, and it waspast midnight before it was possible for them to embark. 

When the dawn appeared, Julia returned to the deck; and viewed with asigh of unaccountable regret, the receding coast of Sicily. But sheobserved, with high admiration, the light gradually spreading throughthe atmosphere, darting a feeble ray over the surface of the waters, which rolled in solemn soundings upon the distant shores. Fiery beamsnow marked the clouds, and the east glowed with increasing radiance, till the sun rose at once above the waves, and illuminating them witha flood of splendour, diffused gaiety and gladness around. The boldconcave of the heavens, uniting with the vast expanse of the ocean, formed, a _coup d'oeil_, striking and sublime magnificence of thescenery inspired Julia with delight; and her heart dilating with highenthusiasm, she forgot the sorrows which had oppressed her. 

The breeze wafted the ship gently along for some hours, when itgradually sunk into a calm. The glassy surface of the waters was notcurled by the lightest air, and the vessel floated heavily on thebosom of the deep. Sicily was yet in view, and the present delayagitated Julia with wild apprehension. Towards the close of day alight breeze sprang up, but it blew from Italy, and a train of darkvapours emerged from the verge of the horizon, which graduallyaccumulating, the heavens became entirely overcast. The evening shutin suddenly; the rising wind, the heavy clouds that loaded theatmosphere, and the thunder which murmured afar off terrified Julia, and threatened a violent storm. 

The tempest came on, and the captain vainly sounded for anchorage: itwas deep sea, and the vessel drove furiously before the wind. Thedarkness was interrupted only at intervals, by the broad expanse ofvivid lightnings, which quivered upon the waters, and disclosing thehorrible gaspings of the waves, served to render the succeedingdarkness more awful. The thunder, which burst in tremendous crashesabove, the loud roar of the waves below, the noise of the sailors, andthe sudden cracks and groanings of the vessel conspired to heightenthe tremendous sublimity of the scene. 

 Far on the rocky shores the surges sound, The lashing whirlwinds cleave the vast profound; While high in air, amid the rising storm, Driving the blast, sits Danger's black'ning form. 

Julia lay fainting with terror and sickness in the cabin, andFerdinand, though almost hopeless himself, was endeavouring to supporther, when aloud and dreadful crash was heard from above. It seemed asif the whole vessel had parted. The voices of the sailors now rosetogether, and all was confusion and uproar. Ferdinand ran up to thedeck, and learned that part of the main mast, borne away by the wind, had fallen upon the deck, whence it had rolled overboard. 

It was now past midnight, and the storm continued with unabated fury. For four hours the vessel had been driven before the blast; and thecaptain now declared it was impossible she could weather the tempestmuch longer, ordered the long boat to be in readiness. His orders werescarcely executed, when the ship bulged upon a reef of rocks, and theimpetuous waves rushed into the vessel:--a general groan ensued. Ferdinand flew to save his sister, whom he carried to the boat, whichwas nearly filled by the captain and most of the crew. The sea ran sohigh that it appeared impracticable to reach the shore: but the boathad not moved many yards, when the ship went to pieces. The captainnow perceived, by the flashes of lightning, a high rocky coast atabout the distance of half a mile. The men struggled hard at the oars;but almost as often as they gained the summit of a wave, it dashedthem back again, and made their labour of little avail. 

After much difficulty and fatigue they reached the coast, where a newdanger presented itself. They beheld a wild rocky shore, whose cliffsappeared inaccessible, and which seemed to afford little possibilityof landing. A landing, however, was at last affected; and the sailors, after much search, discovered a kind of pathway cut in the rock, whichthey all ascended in safety. 

The dawn now faintly glimmered, and they surveyed the coast, but coulddiscover no human habitation. They imagined they were on the shores ofSicily, but possessed no means of confirming this conjecture. Terror, sickness, and fatigue had subdued the strength and spirits of Julia, and she was obliged to rest upon the rocks. 

The storm now suddenly subsided, and the total calm which succeeded tothe wild tumult of the winds and waves, produced a striking andsublime effect. The air was hushed in a deathlike stillness, but thewaves were yet violently agitated; and by the increasing light, partsof the wreck were seen floating wide upon the face of the deep. Somesailors, who had missed the boat, were also discovered clinging topieces of the vessel, and making towards the shore. On observing this, their shipmates immediately descended to the boat; and, putting off tosea, rescued them from their perilous situation. When Julia wassomewhat reanimated, they proceeded up the country in search of adwelling. 

They had travelled near half a league, when the savage features of thecountry began to soften, and gradually changed to the picturesquebeauty of Sicilian scenery. They now discovered at some distance avilla, seated on a gentle eminence, crowned with woods. It was thefirst human habitation they had seen since they embarked for Italy;and Julia, who was almost sinking with fatigue, beheld it withdelight. The captain and his men hastened towards it to make knowntheir distress, while Ferdinand and Julia slowly followed. Theyobserved the men enter the villa, one of whom quickly returned toacquaint them with the hospitable reception his comrades had received. 

Julia with difficulty reached the edifice, at the door of which shewas met by a young cavalier, whose pleasing and intelligentcountenance immediately interested her in his favor. He welcomed thestrangers with a benevolent politeness that dissolved at once everyuncomfortable feeling which their situation had excited, and producedan instantaneous easy confidence. Through a light and elegant hall, rising into a dome, supported by pillars of white marble, and adornedwith busts, he led them to a magnificent vestibule, which opened upona lawn. Having seated them at a table spread with refreshments he leftthem, and they surveyed, with surprise, the beauty of the adjacentscene. 

The lawn, which was on each side bounded by hanging woods, descendedin gentle declivity to a fine lake, whose smooth surface reflected thesurrounding shades. Beyond appeared the distant country, arising onthe left into bold romantic mountains, and on the right exhibiting asoft and glowing landscape, whose tranquil beauty formed a strikingcontrast to the wild sublimity of the opposite craggy heights. Theblue and distant ocean terminated the view. 

In a short time the cavalier returned, conducting two ladies of a veryengaging appearance, whom he presented as his wife and sister. Theywelcomed Julia with graceful kindness; but fatigue soon obliged her toretire to rest, and a consequent indisposition increased so rapidly, as to render it impracticable for her to quit her present abode onthat day. The captain and his men proceeded on their way, leavingFerdinand and Julia at the villa, where she experienced every kind andtender affection. 

The day which was to have devoted Julia to a cloister, was ushered inat the abbey with the usual ceremonies. The church was ornamented, andall the inhabitants of the monastery prepared to attend. The _PadreAbate_ now exulted in the success of his scheme, and anticipated, inimagination, the rage and vexation of the marquis, when he shoulddiscover that his daughter was lost to him for ever. 

The hour of celebration arrived, and he entered the church with aproud firm step, and with a countenance which depictured his inwardtriumph; he was proceeding to the high altar, when he was told thatJulia was no where to be found. Astonishment for awhile suspendedother emotions--he yet believed it impossible that she could haveeffected an escape, and ordered every part of the abbey to besearched--not forgetting the secret caverns belonging to themonastery, which wound beneath the woods. When the search was over, and he became convinced she was fled, the deep workings of hisdisappointed passions fermented into rage which exceeded all bounds. He denounced the most terrible judgments upon Julia; and calling forMadame de Menon, charged her with having insulted her holy religion, in being accessary to the flight of Julia. Madame endured thesereproaches with calm dignity, and preserved a steady silence, but shesecretly determined to leave the monastery, and seek in another therepose which she could never hope to find in this. 

The report of Julia's disappearance spread rapidly beyond the walls, and soon reached the ears of the marquis, who rejoiced in thecircumstance, believing that she must now inevitably fall into hishands. 

After his people, in obedience to his orders, had carefully searchedthe surrounding woods and rocks, he withdrew them from the abbey; andhaving dispersed them various ways in search of Julia, he returned tothe castle of Mazzini. Here new vexation awaited him, for he nowfirst learned that Ferdinand had escaped from confinement. 

The mystery of Julia's flight was now dissolved; for it was evident bywhose means she had effected it, and the marquis issued orders to hispeople to secure Ferdinand wherever he should be found. 

CHAPTER XIII

Hippolitus, who had languished under a long and dangerous illnessoccasioned by his wounds, but heightened and prolonged by the distressof his mind, was detained in a small town in the coast of Calabria, and was yet ignorant of the death of Cornelia. He scarcely doubtedthat Julia was now devoted to the duke, and this thought was at timespoison to his heart. After his arrival in Calabria, immediately on therecovery of his senses, he dispatched a servant back to the castle ofMazzini, to gain secret intelligence of what had passed after hisdeparture. The eagerness with which we endeavour to escape frommisery, taught him to encourage a remote and romantic hope that Juliayet lived for him. Yet even this hope at length languished intodespair, as the time elapsed which should have brought his servantfrom Sicily. Days and weeks passed away in the utmost anxiety toHippolitus, for still his emissary did not appear; and at last, concluding that he had been either seized by robbers, or discoveredand detained by the marquis, the Count sent off a second emissary tothe castle of Mazzini. By him he learned the news of Julia's flight, and his heart dilated with joy; but it was suddenly checked when heheard the marquis had discovered her retreat in the abbey of StAugustin. The wounds which still detained him in confinement, nowbecame intolerable. Julia might yet be lost to him for ever. But evenhis present state of fear and uncertainty was bliss compared with theanguish of despair, which his mind had long endured. 

As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, he quitted Italy for Sicily, in the design of visiting the monastery of St Augustin, where it waspossible Julia might yet remain. That he might pass with the secrecynecessary to his plan, and escape the attacks of the marquis, he lefthis servants in Calabria, and embarked alone. 

It was morning when he landed at a small port of Sicily, and proceededtowards the abbey of St Augustin. As he travelled, his imaginationrevolved the scenes of his early love, the distress of Julia, and thesufferings of Ferdinand, and his heart melted at the retrospect. Heconsidered the probabilities of Julia having found protection from herfather in the pity of the _Padre Abate_; and even ventured to indulgehimself in a flattering, fond anticipation of the moment when Juliashould again be restored to his sight. 

He arrived at the monastery, and his grief may easily be imagined, when he was informed of the death of his beloved sister, and of theflight of Julia. He quitted St Augustin's immediately, without evenknowing that Madame de Menon was there, and set out for a town at someleagues distance, where he designed to pass the night. 

Absorbed in the melancholy reflections which the late intelligenceexcited, he gave the reins to his horse, and journeyed on unmindful ofhis way. The evening was far advanced when he discovered that he hadtaken a wrong direction, and that he was bewildered in a wild andsolitary scene. He had wandered too far from the road to hope toregain it, and he had beside no recollection of the objects leftbehind him. A choice of errors, only, lay before him. The view on hisright hand exhibited high and savage mountains, covered with heath andblack fir; and the wild desolation of their aspect, together with thedangerous appearance of the path that wound up their sides, and whichwas the only apparent track they afforded, determined Hippolitus notto attempt their ascent. On his left lay a forest, to which the pathhe was then in led; its appearance was gloomy, but he preferred it tothe mountains; and, since he was uncertain of its extent, there was apossibility that he might pass it, and reach a village before thenight was set in. At the worst, the forest would afford him a shelterfrom the winds; and, however he might be bewildered in its labyrinths, he could ascend a tree, and rest in security till the return of lightshould afford him an opportunity of extricating himself. Among themountains there was no possibility of meeting with other shelter thanwhat the habitation of man afforded, and such a shelter there waslittle probability of finding. Innumerable dangers also threatened himhere, from which he would be secure on level ground. 

Having determined which way to pursue, he pushed his horse into agallop, and entered the forest as the last rays of the sun trembled onthe mountains. The thick foliage of the trees threw a gloom around, which was every moment deepened by the shades of evening. The path wasuninterrupted, and the count continued to follow it till alldistinction was confounded in the veil of night. Total darkness nowmade it impossible for him to pursue his way. He dismounted, andfastening his horse to a tree, climbed among the branches, purposingto remain there till morning. 

He had not been long in this situation, when a confused sound ofvoices from a distance roused his attention. The sound returned atintervals for some time, but without seeming to approach. He descendedfrom the tree, that he might the better judge of the direction whenceit came; but before he reached the ground, the noise was ceased, andall was profoundly silent. He continued to listen, but the silenceremaining undisturbed, he began to think he had been deceived by thesinging of the wind among the leaves; and was preparing to reascend, when he perceived a faint light glimmer through the foliage from afar. The sight revived a hope that he was near some place of humanhabitation; he therefore unfastened his horse, and led him towards thespot whence the ray issued. The moon was now risen, and threw acheckered gleam over his path sufficient to direct him. 

Before he had proceeded far the light disappeared. He continued, however, his way as nearly as he could guess, towards the place whenceit had issued; and after much toil, found himself in a spot where thetrees formed a circle round a kind of rude lawn. The moonlightdiscovered to him an edifice which appeared to have been formerly amonastery, but which now exhibited a pile of ruins, whose grandeur, heightened by decay, touched the beholder with reverential awe. Hippolitus paused to gaze upon the scene; the sacred stillness ofnight increased its effect, and a secret dread, he knew not wherefore, stole upon his heart. 

The silence and the character of the place made him doubt whether thiswas the spot he had been seeking; and as he stood hesitating whetherto proceed or to return, he observed a figure standing under anarch-way of the ruin; it carried a light in its hand, and passingsilently along, disappeared in a remote part of the building. Thecourage of Hippolitus for a moment deserted him. An invinciblecuriosity, however, subdued his terror, and he determined to pursue, if possible, the way the figure had taken. 

He passed over loose stones through a sort of court till he came tothe archway; here he stopped, for fear returned upon him. Resuming hiscourage, however, he went on, still endeavouring to follow the way thefigure had passed, and suddenly found himself in an enclosed part ofthe ruin, whose appearance was more wild and desolate than any he hadyet seen. Seized with unconquerable apprehension, he was retiring, when the low voice of a distressed person struck his ear. His heartsunk at the sound, his limbs trembled, and he was utterly unable tomove. 

The sound which appeared to be the last groan of a dying person, wasrepeated. Hippolitus made a strong effort, and sprang forward, when alight burst upon him from a shattered casement of the building, and atthe same instant he heard the voices of men!

He advanced softly to the window, and beheld in a small room, whichwas less decayed than the rest of the edifice, a group of men, who, from the savageness of their looks, and from their dress, appeared tobe banditti. They surrounded a man who lay on the ground wounded, andbathed in blood, and who it was very evident had uttered the groansheard by the count. 

The obscurity of the place prevented Hippolitus from distinguishingthe features of the dying man. From the blood which covered him, andfrom the surrounding circumstances, he appeared to be murdered; andthe count had no doubt that the men he beheld were the murderers. Thehorror of the scene entirely overcame him; he stood rooted to thespot, and saw the assassins rifle the pockets of the dying person, who, in a voice scarcely articulate, but which despair seemed to aid, supplicated for mercy. The ruffians answered him only withexecrations, and continued their plunder. His groans and hissufferings served only to aggravate their cruelty. They wereproceeding to take from him a miniature picture, which was fastenedround his neck, and had been hitherto concealed in his bosom; when bya sudden effort he half raised himself from the ground, and attemptedto save it from their hands. The effort availed him nothing; a blowfrom one of the villains laid the unfortunate man on the floor withoutmotion. The horrid barbarity of the act seized the mind of Hippolitusso entirely, that, forgetful of his own situation, he groaned aloud, and started with an instantaneous design of avenging the deed. Thenoise he made alarmed the banditti, who looking whence it came, discovered the count through the casement. They instantly quittedtheir prize, and rushed towards the door of the room. He was nowreturned to a sense of his danger, and endeavoured to escape to theexterior part of the ruin; but terror bewildered his senses, and hemistook his way. Instead of regaining the arch-way, he perplexedhimself with fruitless wanderings, and at length found himself onlymore deeply involved in the secret recesses of the pile. 

The steps of his pursuers gained fast upon him, and he continued toperplex himself with vain efforts at escape, till at length, quiteexhausted, he sunk on the ground, and endeavoured to resign himself tohis fate. He listened with a kind of stern despair, and was surprisedto find all silent. On looking round, he perceived by a ray ofmoonlight, which streamed through a part of the ruin from above, thathe was in a sort of vault, which, from the small means he had ofjudging, he thought was extensive. 

In this situation he remained for a considerable time, ruminating onthe means of escape, yet scarcely believing escape was possible. If hecontinued in the vault, he might continue there only to be butchered;but by attempting to rescue himself from the place he was now in, hemust rush into the hands of the banditti. Judging it, therefore, thesafer way of the two to remain where he was, he endeavoured to awaithis fate with fortitude, when suddenly the loud voices of themurderers burst upon his ear, and he heard steps advancing quicklytowards the spot where he lay. 

Despair instantly renewed his vigour; he started from the ground, andthrowing round him a look of eager desperation, his eye caught theglimpse of a small door, upon which the moon-beam now fell. He madetowards it, and passed it just as the light of a torch gleamed uponthe walls of the vault. 

He groped his way along a winding passage, and at length came to aflight of steps. Notwithstanding the darkness, he reached the bottomin safety. 

He now for the first time stopped to listen--the sounds of pursuitwere ceased, and all was silent! Continuing to wander on in effectualendeavours to escape, his hands at length touched cold iron, and hequickly perceived it belonged to a door. The door, however, wasfastened, and resisted all his efforts to open it. He was giving upthe attempt in despair, when a loud scream from within, followed by adead and heavy noise, roused all his attention. Silence ensued. Helistened for a considerable time at the door, his imagination filledwith images of horror, and expecting to hear the sound repeated. Hethen sought for a decayed part of the door, through which he mightdiscover what was beyond; but he could find none; and after waitingsome time without hearing any farther noise, he was quitting the spot, when in passing his arm over the door, it struck against somethinghard. On examination he perceived, to his extreme surprize, that thekey was in the lock. For a moment he hesitated what to do; butcuriosity overcame other considerations, and with a trembling hand heturned the key. The door opened into a large and desolate apartment, dimly lighted by a lamp that stood on a table, which was almost theonly furniture of the place. The Count had advanced several stepsbefore he perceived an object, which fixed all his attention. This wasthe figure of a young woman lying on the floor apparently dead. Herface was concealed in her robe; and the long auburn tresses which fellin beautiful luxuriance over her bosom, served to veil a part of theglowing beauty which the disorder of her dress would have revealed. 

Pity, surprize, and admiration struggled in the breast of Hippolitus;and while he stood surveying the object which excited these differentemotions, he heard a step advancing towards the room. He flew to thedoor by which he had entered, and was fortunate enough to reach itbefore the entrance of the persons whose steps he heard. Having turnedthe key, he stopped at the door to listen to their proceedings. Hedistinguished the voices of two men, and knew them to be those of theassassins. Presently he heard a piercing skriek, and at the sameinstant the voices of the ruffians grew loud and violent. One of themexclaimed that the lady was dying, and accused the other of havingfrightened her to death, swearing, with horrid imprecations, that shewas his, and he would defend her to the last drop of his blood. Thedispute grew higher; and neither of the ruffians would give up hisclaim to the unfortunate object of their altercation. 

The clashing of swords was soon after heard, together with a violentnoise. The screams were repeated, and the oaths and execrations of thedisputants redoubled. They seemed to move towards the door, behindwhich Hippolitus was concealed; suddenly the door was shook with greatforce, a deep groan followed, and was instantly succeeded by a noiselike that of a person whose whole weight falls at once to the ground. For a moment all was silent. Hippolitus had no doubt that one of theruffians had destroyed the other, and was soon confirmed in thebelief--for the survivor triumphed with brutal exultation over hisfallen antagonist. The ruffian hastily quitted the room, andHippolitus soon after heard the distant voices of several persons inloud dispute. The sounds seemed to come from a chamber over the placewhere he stood; he also heard a trampling of feet from above, andcould even distinguish, at intervals, the words of the disputants. From these he gathered enough to learn that the affray which had justhappened, and the lady who had been the occasion of it, were thesubjects of discourse. The voices frequently rose together, andconfounded all distinction. 

At length the tumult began to subside, and Hippolitus coulddistinguish what was said. The ruffians agreed to give up the lady inquestion to him who had fought for her; and leaving him to his prize, they all went out in quest of farther prey. The situation of theunfortunate lady excited a mixture of pity and indignation inHippolitus, which for some time entirely occupied him; he revolved themeans of extricating her from so deplorable a situation, and in thesethoughts almost forgot his own danger. He now heard her sighs; andwhile his heart melted to the sounds, the farther door of theapartment was thrown open, and the wretch to whom she had beenallotted, rushed in. Her screams now redoubled, but they were of noavail with the ruffian who had seized her in his arms; when the count, who was unarmed, insensible to every pulse but that of a generouspity, burst into the room, but became fixed like a statue when hebeheld his Julia struggling in the grasp of the ruffian. Ondiscovering Hippolitus, she made a sudden spring, and liberatedherself; when, running to him, she sunk lifeless in his arms. 

Surprise and fury sparkled in the eyes of the ruffian, and he turnedwith a savage desperation upon the count; who, relinquishing Julia, snatched up the sword of the dead ruffian, which lay upon the floor, and defended himself. The combat was furious, but Hippolitus laid hisantagonist senseless at his feet. He flew to Julia, who now revived, but who for some time could speak only by her tears. The transitionsof various and rapid sensations, which her heart experienced, and thestrangely mingled emotions of joy and terror that agitated Hippolitus, can only be understood by experience. He raised her from the floor, and endeavoured to soothe her to composure, when she called wildlyupon Ferdinand. At his name the count started, and he instantlyremembered the dying cavalier, whose countenance the glooms hadconcealed from his view. His heart thrilled with secret agony, yet heresolved to withhold his terrible conjectures from Julia, of whom helearned that Ferdinand, with herself, had been taken by banditti inthe way from the villa which had offered them so hospitable areception after the shipwreck. They were on the road to a port whencethey designed again to embark for Italy, when this misfortune overtookthem. Julia added, that Ferdinand had been immediately separated fromher; and that, for some hours, she had been confined in the apartmentwhere Hippolitus found her. 

The Count with difficulty concealed his terrible apprehensions forFerdinand, and vainly strove to soften Julia's distress. But there wasno time to be lost--they had yet to find a way out of the edifice, andbefore they could accomplish this, the banditti might return. It wasalso possible that some of the party were left to watch this theirabode during the absence of the rest, and this was anothercircumstance of reasonable alarm. 

After some little consideration, Hippolitus judged it most prudent toseek an outlet through the passage by which he entered; he thereforetook the lamp, and led Julia to the door. They entered the avenue, andlocking the door after them, sought the flight of steps down which thecount had before passed; but having pursued the windings of the avenuea considerable time without finding them, he became certain he hadmistaken the way. They, however, found another flight, which theydescended and entered upon a passage so very narrow and low, as not toadmit of a person walking upright. This passage was closed by a door, which on examination was found to be chiefly of iron. Hippolitus wasstartled at the sight, but on applying his strength found it graduallyyield, when the imprisoned air rushed out, and had nearly extinguishedthe light. They now entered upon a dark abyss; and the door whichmoved upon a spring, suddenly closed upon them. On looking round theybeheld a large vault; and it is not easy to imagine their horror ondiscovering they were in a receptacle for the murdered bodies of theunfortunate people who had fallen into the hands of the banditti. 

The count could scarcely support the fainting spirits of Julia; he ranto the door, which he endeavoured to open, but the lock was soconstructed that it could be moved only on the other side, and all hisefforts were useless. He was constrained, therefore, to seek foranother door, but could find none. Their situation was the mostdeplorable that can be imagined; for they were now inclosed in a vaultstrewn with the dead bodies of the murdered, and must there become thevictims of famine, or of the sword. The earth was in several placesthrown up, and marked the boundaries of new-made graves. The bodieswhich remained unburied were probably left either from hurry ornegligence, and exhibited a spectacle too shocking for humanity. Thesufferings of Hippolitus were increased by those of Julia, who wassinking with horror, and who he endeavoured to support to apart of thevault which fell into a recess--where stood a bench. 

They had not been long in this situation, when they heard a noisewhich approached gradually, and which did not appear to come from theavenue they had passed. 

The noise increased, and they could distinguish voices. Hippolitusbelieved the murderers were returned; that they had traced hisretreat, and were coming towards the vault by some way unknown to him. He prepared for the worst--and drawing his sword, resolved to defendJulia to the last. Their apprehension, however, was soon dissipatedby a trampling of horses, which sound had occasioned his alarm, andwhich now seemed to come from a courtyard above, extremely near thevault. He distinctly heard the voices of the banditti, together withthe moans and supplications of some person, whom it was evident theywere about to plunder. The sound appeared so very near, thatHippolitus was both shocked and surprised; and looking round thevault, he perceived a small grated window placed very high in thewall, which he concluded overlooked the place where the robbers wereassembled. He recollected that his light might betray him; andhorrible as was the alternative, he was compelled to extinguish it. Henow attempted to climb to the grate, through which he might obtain aview of what was passing without. This at length he effected, for theruggedness of the wall afforded him a footing. He beheld in a ruinouscourt, which was partially illuminated by the glare of torches, agroup of banditti surrounding two persons who were bound on horseback, and who were supplicating for mercy. 

One of the robbers exclaiming with an oath that this was a goldennight, bade his comrades dispatch, adding he would go to find Pauloand the lady. 

The effect which the latter part of this sentence had upon theprisoners in the vault, may be more easily imagined than described. They were now in total darkness in this mansion of the murdered, without means of escape, and in momentary expectation of sharing afate similar to that of the wretched objects around them. Julia, overcome with distress and terror, sunk on the ground; and Hippolitus, descending from the grate, became insensible of his own danger in hisapprehension for her. 

In a short time all without was confusion and uproar; the ruffian whohad left the court returned with the alarm that the lady was fled, andthat Paulo was murdered, The robbers quitting their booty to go insearch of the fugitive, and to discover the murderer, dreadfulvociferations resounded through every recess of the pile. 

The tumult had continued a considerable time, which the prisoners hadpassed in a state of horrible suspence, when they heard the uproaradvancing towards the vault, and soon after a number of voices shouteddown the avenue. The sound of steps quickened. Hippolitus again drewhis sword, and placed himself opposite the entrance, where he had notstood long, when a violent push was made against the door; it flewopen, and a party of men rushed into the vault, Hippolitus kept his position, protesting he would destroy the firstwho approached. At the sound of his voice they stopped; but presentlyadvancing, commanded him in the king's name to surrender. He nowdiscovered what his agitation had prevented him from observing sooner, that the men before him were not banditti, but the officers ofjustice. They had received information of this haunt of villainy fromthe son of a Sicilian nobleman, who had fallen into the hands of thebanditti, and had afterwards escaped from their power. 

The officers came attended by a guard, and were every way prepared toprosecute a strenuous search through these horrible recesses. 

Hippolitus inquired for Ferdinand, and they all quitted the vault insearch of him. In the court, to which they now ascended, the greaterpart of the banditti were secured by a number of the guard. The countaccused the robbers of having secreted his friend, whom he described, and demanded to have liberated. 

With one voice they denied the fact, and were resolute in persistingthat they knew nothing of the person described. This denial confirmedHippolitus in his former terrible surmise; that the dying cavalier, whom he had seen, was no other than Ferdinand, and he became furious. He bade the officers prosecute their search, who, leaving a guard overthe banditti they had secured, followed him to the room where the latedreadful scene had been acted. 

The room was dark and empty; but the traces of blood were visible onthe floor; and Julia, though ignorant of the particular apprehensionof Hippolitus, almost swooned at the sight. On quitting the room, theywandered for some time among the ruins, without discovering any thingextraordinary, till, in passing under the arch-way by which Hippolitushad first entered the building, their footsteps returned a deep sound, which convinced them that the ground beneath was hollow. On closeexamination, they perceived by the light of their torch, a trapdoor, which with some difficulty they lifted, and discovered beneath anarrow flight of steps. They all descended into a low winding passage, where they had not been long, when they heard a trampling of horsesabove, and a loud and sudden uproar. 

The officers apprehending that the banditti had overcome the guard, rushed back to the trapdoor, which they had scarcely lifted, when theyheard a clashing of swords, and a confusion of unknown voices. Lookingonward, they beheld through the arch, in an inner sort of court, alarge party of banditti who were just arrived, rescuing theircomrades, and contending furiously with the guard. 

On observing this, several of the officers sprang forward to theassistance of their friends; and the rest, subdued by cowardice, hurried down the steps, letting the trapdoor fall after them with athundering noise. They gave notice to Hippolitus of what was passingabove, who hurried Julia along the passage in search of some outlet orplace of concealment. They could find neither, and had not longpursued the windings of the way, when they heard the trapdoor lifted, and the steps of persons descending. Despair gave strength to Julia, and winged her flight. But they were now stopped by a door whichclosed the passage, and the sound of distant voices murmured along thewalls. 

The door was fastened by strong iron bolts, which Hippolitus vainlyendeavoured to draw. The voices drew near. After much labour anddifficulty the bolts yielded--the door unclosed--and light dawned uponthem through the mouth of a cave, into which they now entered. Onquitting the cave they found themselves in the forest, and in a shorttime reached the borders. They now ventured to stop, and looking backperceived no person in pursuit. 

CHAPTER XIV

When Julia had rested, they followed the track before them, and in ashort time arrived at a village, where they obtained security andrefreshment. 

But Julia, whose mind was occupied with dreadful anxiety forFerdinand, became indifferent to all around her. Even the presence ofHippolitus, which but lately would have raised her from misery to joy, failed to soothe her distress. The steady and noble attachment of herbrother had sunk deep in her heart, and reflection only aggravated heraffliction. Yet the banditti had steadily persisted in affirming thathe was not concealed in their recesses; and this circumstance, whichthrew a deeper shade over the fears of Hippolitus, imparted aglimmering of hope to the mind of Julia. 

A more immediate interest at length forced her mind from thissorrowful subject. It was necessary to determine upon some line ofconduct, for she was now in an unknown spot, and ignorant of any placeof refuge. The count, who trembled at the dangers which environed her, and at the probabilities he saw of her being torn from him for ever, suffered a consideration of them to overcome the dangerous delicacywhich at this mournful period required his silence. He entreated herto destroy the possibility of separation, by consenting to become hisimmediately. He urged that a priest could be easily procured from aneighboring convent, who would confirm the bonds which had so longunited their hearts, and who would thus at once arrest the destinythat so long had threatened his hopes. 

This proposal, though similar to the one she had before accepted; andthough the certain means of rescuing her from the fate she dreaded, she now turned from in sorrow and dejection. She loved Hippolitus witha steady and tender affection, which was still heightened by thegratitude he claimed as her deliverer; but she considered it aprophanation of the memory of that brother who had suffered so muchfor her sake, to mingle joy with the grief which her uncertaintyconcerning him occasioned. She softened her refusal with a tendergrace, that quickly dissipated the jealous doubt arising in the mindof Hippolitus, and increased his fond admiration of her character. 

She desired to retire for a time to some obscure convent, there toawait the issue of the event, which at present involved her inperplexity and sorrow. 

Hippolitus struggled with his feelings and forbore to press fartherthe suit on which his happiness, and almost his existence, nowdepended. He inquired at the village for a neighbouring convent, andwas told, that there was none within twelve leagues, but that near thetown of Palini, at about that distance, were two. He procured horses;and leaving the officers to return to Palermo for a stronger guard, he, accompanied by Julia, entered on the road to Palini. 

Julia was silent and thoughtful; Hippolitus gradually sunk into thesame mood, and he often cast a cautious look around as they travelledfor some hours along the feet of the mountains. They stopped to dineunder the shade of some beach-trees; for, fearful of discovery, Hippolitus had provided against the necessity of entering many inns. Having finished their repast, they pursued their journey; butHippolitus now began to doubt whether he was in the right direction. Being destitute, however, of the means of certainty upon this point, he followed the road before him, which now wound up the side of asteep hill, whence they descended into a rich valley, where theshepherd's pipe sounded sweetly from afar among the hills. The eveningsun shed a mild and mellow lustre over the landscape, and softenedeach feature with a vermil glow that would have inspired a mind lessoccupied than Julia's with sensations of congenial tranquillity. 

The evening now closed in; and as they were doubtful of the road, andfound it would be impossible to reach Palini that night, they took theway to a village, which they perceived at the extremity of the valley. 

They had proceeded about half a mile, when they heard a sudden shoutof voices echoed from among the hills behind them; and looking backperceived faintly through the dusk a party of men on horseback makingtowards them. As they drew nearer, the words they spoke weredistinguishable, and Julia heard her own name sounded. Shocked at thiscircumstance, she had now no doubt that she was discovered by a partyof her father's people, and she fled with Hippolitus along the valley. The pursuers, however, were almost come up with them, when theyreached the mouth of a cavern, into which she ran for concealment. Hippolitus drew his sword; and awaiting his enemies, stood to defendthe entrance. 

In a few moments Julia heard the clashing of swords. Her hearttrembled for Hippolitus; and she was upon the point of returning toresign herself at once to the power of her enemies, and thus avert thedanger that threatened him, when she distinguished the loud voice ofthe duke. 

She shrunk involuntarily at the sound, and pursuing the windings ofthe cavern, fled into its inmost recesses. Here she had not been longwhen the voices sounded through the cave, and drew near. It was nowevident that Hippolitus was conquered, and that her enemies were insearch of her. She threw round a look of unutterable anguish, andperceived very near, by a sudden gleam of torchlight, a low and deeprecess in the rock. The light which belonged to her pursuers, grewstronger; and she entered the rock on her knees, for the overhangingcraggs would not suffer her to pass otherwise; and having gone a fewyards, perceived that it was terminated by a door. The door yielded toher touch, and she suddenly found herself in a highly vaulted cavern, which received a feeble light from the moon-beams that streamedthrough an opening in the rock above. 

She closed the door, and paused to listen. The voices grew louder, andmore distinct, and at last approached so near, that she distinguishedwhat was said. Above the rest she heard the voice of the duke. 'It isimpossible she can have quitted the cavern, ' said he, 'and I will notleave it till I have found her. Seek to the left of that rock, while Iexamine beyond this point. '

These words were sufficient for Julia; she fled from the door acrossthe cavern before her, and having ran a considerable way, withoutcoming to a termination, stopped to breathe. All was now still, and asshe looked around, the gloomy obscurity of the place struck upon herfancy all its horrors. She imperfectly surveyed the vastness of thecavern in wild amazement, and feared that she had precipitated herselfagain into the power of banditti, for whom along this place appeared afit receptacle. Having listened a long time without hearing a returnof voices, she thought to find the door by which she had entered, butthe gloom, and vast extent of the cavern, made the endeavour hopeless, and the attempt unsuccessful. Having wandered a considerable timethrough the void, she gave up the effort, endeavoured to resignherself to her fate, and to compose her distracted thoughts. Theremembrance of her former wonderful escape inspired her withconfidence in the mercy of God. But Hippolitus and Ferdinand were nowboth lost to her--lost, perhaps, for ever--and the uncertainty oftheir fate gave force to fancy, and poignancy to sorrow. 

Towards morning grief yielded to nature, and Julia sunk to repose. Shewas awakened by the sun, whose rays darting obliquely through theopening in the rock, threw a partial light across the cavern. Hersenses were yet bewildered by sleep, and she started in affright onbeholding her situation; as recollection gradually stole upon hermind, her sorrows returned, and she sickened at the fatal retrospect. 

She arose, and renewed her search for an outlet. The light, imperfectas it was, now assisted her, and she found a door, which she perceivedwas not the one by which she had entered. It was firmly fastened; shediscovered, however, the bolts and the lock that held it, and atlength unclosed the door. It opened upon a dark passage, which sheentered. 

She groped along the winding walls for some time, when she perceivedthe way was obstructed. She now discovered that another doorinterrupted her progress, and sought for the bolts which might fastenit. These she found; and strengthened by desparation forced them back. The door opened, and she beheld in a small room, which received itsfeeble light from a window above, the pale and emaciated figure of awoman, seated, with half-closed eyes, in a kind of elbow-chair. Onperceiving Julia, she started from her seat, and her countenanceexpressed a wild surprise. Her features, which were worn by sorrow, still retained the traces of beauty, and in her air was a mild dignitythat excited in Julia an involuntary veneration. 

She seemed as if about to speak, when fixing her eyes earnestly andsteadily upon Julia, she stood for a moment in eager gaze, andsuddenly exclaiming, 'My daughter!' fainted away. 

The astonishment of Julia would scarcely suffer her to assist the ladywho lay senseless on the floor. A multitude of strange imperfect ideasrushed upon her mind, and she was lost in perplexity; but as sheexamined the features of the stranger; which were now rekindling intolife, she thought she discovered the resemblance of Emilia!

The lady breathing a deep sigh, unclosed her eyes; she raised them toJulia, who hung over her in speechless astonishment, and fixing themupon her with a tender earnest expression--they filled with tears. Shepressed Julia to her heart, and a few moments of exquisite, unutterable emotion followed. When the lady became more composed, 'Thank heaven!' said she, 'my prayer is granted. I am permitted toembrace one of my children before I die. Tell me what brought youhither. Has the marquis at last relented, and allowed me once more tobehold you, or has his death dissolved my wretched bondage?'

Truth now glimmered upon the mind of Julia, but so faintly, thatinstead of enlightening, it served only to increase her perplexity. 

'Is the marquis Mazzini living?' continued the lady. These words werenot to be doubted; Julia threw herself at the feet of her mother, andembracing her knees in an energy of joy, answered only in sobs. 

The marchioness eagerly inquired after her children, 'Emilia isliving, ' answered Julia, 'but my dear brother--' 'Tell me, ' cried themarchioness, with quickness. An explanation ensued; When she wasinformed concerning Ferdinand, she sighed deeply, and raising her eyesto heaven, endeavoured to assume a look of pious resignation; but thestruggle of maternal feelings was visible in her countenance, andalmost overcame her powers of resistance. 

Julia gave a short account of the preceding adventures, and of herentrance into the cavern; and found, to her inexpressible surprize, that she was now in a subterranean abode belonging to the southernbuildings of the castle of Mazzini! The marchioness was beginning hernarrative, when a door was heard to unlock above, and the sound of afootstep followed. 

'Fly!' cried the marchioness, 'secret yourself, if possible, for themarquis is coming. ' Julia's heart sunk at these words; she paused nota moment, but retired through the door by which she had entered. Thisshe had scarcely done, when another door of the cell was unlocked, andshe heard the voice of her father. Its sounds thrilled her with auniversal tremour; the dread of discovery so strongly operated uponher mind, that she stood in momentary expectation of seeing the doorof the passage unclosed by the marquis; and she was deprived of allpower of seeking refuge in the cavern. 

At length the marquis, who came with food, quitted the cell, andrelocked the door, when Julia stole forth from her hiding-place. Themarchioness again embraced, and wept over her daughter. The narrativeof her sufferings, upon which she now entered, entirely dissipated themystery which had so long enveloped the southern buildings of thecastle. 

'Oh! why, ' said the marchioness, 'is it my task to discover to mydaughter the vices of her father? In relating my sufferings, I revealhis crimes! It is now about fifteen years, as near as I can guess fromthe small means I have of judging, since I entered this horribleabode. My sorrows, alas! began not here; they commenced at an earlierperiod. But it is sufficient to observe, that the passion whenceoriginated all my misfortunes, was discovered by me long before Iexperienced its most baleful effects. 

'Seven years had elapsed since my marriage, when the charms of Mariade Vellorno, a young lady singularly beautiful, inspired the marquiswith a passion as violent as it was irregular. I observed, with deepand silent anguish, the cruel indifference of my lord towards me, andthe rapid progress of his passion for another. I severely examined mypast conduct, which I am thankful to say presented a retrospect ofonly blameless actions; and I endeavoured, by meek submission, andtender assiduities, to recall that affection which was, alas! gone forever. My meek submission was considered as a mark of a servile andinsensible mind; and my tender assiduities, to which his heart nolonger responded, created only disgust, and exalted the proud spiritit was meant to conciliate. 

'The secret grief which this change occasioned, consumed my spirits, and preyed upon my constitution, till at length a severe illnessthreatened my life. I beheld the approach of death with a steady eye, and even welcomed it as the passport to tranquillity; but it wasdestined that I should linger through new scenes of misery. 

'One day, which it appears was the paroxysm of my disorder, I sunk into a state of total torpidity, in which I lay for several hours. It isimpossible to describe my feelings, when, on recovering, I foundmyself in this hideous abode. For some time I doubted my senses, andafterwards believed that I had quitted this world for another; but Iwas not long suffered to continue in my error, the appearance of themarquis bringing me to a perfect sense of my situation. 

'I now understood that I had been conveyed by his direction to thisrecess of horror, where it was his will I should remain. My prayers, my supplications, were ineffectual; the hardness of his heart repelledmy sorrows back upon myself; and as no entreaties could prevail uponhim to inform me where I was, or of his reason for placing me here, Iremained for many years ignorant of my vicinity to the castle, and ofthe motive of my confinement. 

'From that fatal day, until very lately, I saw the marquis nomore--but was attended by a person who had been for some yearsdependant upon his bounty, and whom necessity, united to an insensibleheart, had doubtless induced to accept this office. He generallybrought me a week's provision, at stated intervals, and I remarkedthat his visits were always in the night. 

'Contrary to my expectation, or my wish, nature did that for me whichmedicine had refused, and I recovered as if to punish withdisappointment and anxiety my cruel tyrant. I afterwards learned, that in obedience to the marquis's order, I had been carried to thisspot by Vincent during the night, and that I had been buried in effigyat a neighbouring church, with all the pomp of funeral honor due to myrank. '

At the name of Vincent Julia started; the doubtful words he haduttered on his deathbed were now explained--the cloud of mystery whichhad so long involved the southern buildings broke at once away: andeach particular circumstance that had excited her former terror, aroseto her view entirely unveiled by the words of the marchioness. --Thelong and total desertion of this part of the fabric--the light thathad appeared through the casement--the figure she had seen issue fromthe tower--the midnight noises she had heard--were circumstancesevidently dependant on the imprisonment of the marchioness; the latterof which incidents were produced either by Vincent, or the marquis, intheir attendance upon her. 

When she considered the long and dreadful sufferings of her mother, and that she had for many years lived so near her, ignorant of hermisery, and even of her existence--she was lost in astonishment andpity. 

'My days, ' continued the marchioness, 'passed in a dead uniformity, more dreadful than the most acute vicissitudes of misfortune, andwhich would certainly have subdued my reason, had not those firmprinciples of religious faith, which I imbibed in early youth, enabledme to withstand the still, but forceful pressure of my calamity. 

'The insensible heart of Vincent at length began to soften to mymisfortunes. He brought me several articles of comfort, of which I hadhitherto been destitute, and answered some questions I put to himconcerning my family. To release me from my present situation, howeverhis inclination might befriend me, was not to be expected, since hislife would have paid the forfeiture of what would be termed his duty. 

'I now first discovered my vicinity to the castle. I learned also, that the marquis had married Maria de Vellorno, with whom he hadresided at Naples, but that my daughters were left at Mazzini. Thislast intelligence awakened in my heart the throbs of warm maternaltenderness, and on my knees I supplicated to see them. So earnestly Ientreated, and so solemnly I promised to return quietly to my prison, that, at length, prudence yielded to pity, and Vincent consented to myrequest. 

'On the following day he came to the cell, and informed me my childrenwere going into the woods, and that I might see them from a windownear which they would pass. My nerves thrilled at these words, and Icould scarcely support myself to the spot I so eagerly sought. He ledme through long and intricate passages, as I guessed by the frequentturnings, for my eyes were bound, till I reached a hall of the southbuildings. I followed to a room above, where the full light of dayonce more burst upon my sight, and almost overpowered me. Vincentplaced me by a window, which looked towards the woods. Oh! whatmoments of painful impatience were those in which I awaited yourarrival!

'At length you appeared. I saw you--I saw my children--and was neitherpermitted to clasp them to my heart, or to speak to them! You wasleaning on the arm of your sister, and your countenances spoke thesprightly happy innocence of youth. --Alas! you knew not the wretchedfate of your mother, who then gazed upon you! Although you were at toogreat a distance for my weak voice to reach you, with the utmostdifficulty I avoided throwing open the window, and endeavouring todiscover myself. The remembrance of my solemn promise, and that thelife of Vincent would be sacrificed by the act, alone restrained me. Istruggled for some time with emotions too powerful for my nature, andfainted away. 

'On recovering I called wildly for my children, and went to thewindow--but you were gone! Not all the entreaties of Vincent could forsome time remove me from this station, where I waited in the fondexpectation of seeing you again--but you appeared no more! At last Ireturned to my cell in an ecstasy of grief which I tremble even toremember. 

'This interview, so eagerly sought, and so reluctantly granted, proveda source of new misery--instead of calming, it agitated my mind with arestless, wild despair, which bore away my strongest powers ofresistance. I raved incessantly of my children, and incessantlysolicited to see them again--Vincent, however, had found but too muchcause to repent of his first indulgence, to grant me a second. 

'About this time a circumstance occurred which promised me a speedyrelease from calamity. About a week elapsed, and Vincent did notappear. My little stock of provision was exhausted, and I had been twodays without food, when I again heard the doors that led to my prisoncreek on their hinges. An unknown step approached, and in a fewminutes the marquis entered my cell! My blood was chilled at thesight, and I closed my eyes as I hoped for the last time. The sound ofhis voice recalled me. His countenance was dark and sullen, and Iperceived that he trembled. He informed me that Vincent was no more, and that henceforward his office he should take upon himself. Iforbore to reproach--where reproach would only have produced newsufferings, and withheld supplication where it would have exasperatedconscience and inflamed revenge. My knowledge of the marquis's secondmarriage I concealed. 

'He usually attended me when night might best conceal his visits;though these were irregular in their return. Lately, from what motiveI cannot guess, he has ceased his nocturnal visits, and comes only inthe day. 

'Once when midnight increased the darkness of my prison, and seemed torender silence even more awful, touched by the sacred horrors of thehour, I poured forth my distress in loud lamentation. Oh! never can Iforget what I felt, when I heard a distant voice answered to my moan!A wild surprize, which was strangely mingled with hope, seized me, andin my first emotion I should have answered the call, had not arecollection crossed me, which destroyed at once every half-raisedsensation of joy. I remembered the dreadful vengeance which themarquis had sworn to execute upon me, if I ever, by any means, endeavoured to make known the place of my concealment; and though lifehad long been a burden to me, I dared not to incur the certainty ofbeing murdered. I also well knew that no person who might discover mysituation could effect my enlargement, for I had no relations todeliver me by force; and the marquis, you know, has not only power toimprison, but also the right of life and death in his own domains; I, therefore, forbore to answer the call, though I could not entirelyrepress my lamentation. I long perplexed myself with endeavouring toaccount for this strange circumstance, and am to this moment ignorantof its cause. '

Julia remembering that Ferdinand had been confined in a dungeon of thecastle, it instantly occurred to her that his prison, and that of themarchioness, were not far distant; and she scrupled not to believethat it was his voice which her mother had heard. She was right inthis belief, and it was indeed the marchioness whose groans hadformerly caused Ferdinand so much alarm, both in the marble hall ofthe south buildings, and in his dungeon. 

When Julia communicated her opinion, and the marchioness believed thatshe had heard the voice of her son--her emotion was extreme, and itwas some time before she could resume her narration. 

'A short time since, ' continued the marchioness, 'the marquis broughtme a fortnight's provision, and told me that I should probably see himno more till the expiration of that term. His absence at this periodyou have explained in your account of the transactions at the abbey ofSt Augustin. How can I ever sufficiently acknowledge the obligations Iowe to my dear and invaluable friend Madame de Menon! Oh! that itmight be permitted me to testify my gratitude. '

Julia attended to the narrative of her mother in silent astonishment, and gave all the sympathy which sorrow could demand. 'Surely, ' criedshe, 'the providence on whom you have so firmly relied, and whoseinflictions you have supported with a fortitude so noble, hasconducted me through a labyrinth of misfortunes to this spot, for thepurpose of delivering you! Oh! let us hasten to fly this horridabode--let us seek to escape through the cavern by which I entered. '

She paused in earnest expectation awaiting a reply. 'Whither can Ifly?' said the marchioness, deeply sighing. This question, spokenwith the emphasis of despair, affected Julia to tears, and she was fora while silent. 

'The marquis, ' resumed Julia, 'would not know where to seek you, or ifhe found you beyond his own domains, would fear to claim you. Aconvent may afford for the present a safe asylum; and whatever shallhappen, surely no fate you may hereafter encounter can be moredreadful than the one you now experience. '

The marchioness assented to the truth of this, yet her broken spirits, the effect of long sorrow and confinement, made her hesitate how toact; and there was a kind of placid despair in her look, which toofaithfully depicted her feelings. It was obvious to Julia that thecavern she had passed wound beneath the range of mountains on whoseopposite side stood the castle of Mazzini. The hills thus risingformed a screen which must entirely conceal their emergence from themouth of the cave, and their flight, from those in the castle. Sherepresented these circumstances to her mother, and urged them soforcibly that the lethargy of despair yielded to hope, and themarchioness committed herself to the conduct of her daughter. 

'Oh! let me lead you to light and life!' cried Julia with warmenthusiasm. 'Surely heaven can bless me with no greater good than bymaking me the deliverer of my mother. ' They both knelt down; and themarchioness, with that affecting eloquence which true piety inspires, and with that confidence which had supported her through so manymiseries, committed herself to the protection of God, and implored hisfavor on their attempt. 

They arose, but as they conversed farther on their plan, Juliarecollected that she was destitute of money--the banditti havingrobbed her of all! The sudden shock produced by this remembrancealmost subdued her spirits; never till this moment had she understoodthe value of money. But she commanded her feelings, and resolved toconceal this circumstance from the marchioness, preferring the chanceof any evil they might encounter from without, to the certain miseryof this terrible imprisonment. 

Having taken what provision the marquis had brought, they quitted thecell, and entered upon the dark passage, along which they passed withcautious steps. Julia came first to the door of the cavern, but whocan paint her distress when she found it was fastened! All her effortsto open it were ineffectual. --The door which had closed after her, washeld by a spring lock, and could be opened on this side only with akey. When she understood this circumstance, the marchioness, with aplacid resignation which seemed to exalt her above humanity, addressedherself again to heaven, and turned back to her cell. Here Juliaindulged without reserve, and without scruple, the excess of hergrief. The marchioness wept over her. 'Not for myself, ' said she, 'doI grieve. I have too long been inured to misfortune to sink under itspressure. This disappointment is intrinsically, perhaps, little--for Ihad no certain refuge from calamity--and had it even been otherwise, afew years only of suffering would have been spared me. It is for you, Julia, who so much lament my fate; and who in being thus delivered tothe power of your father, are sacrificed to the Duke de Luovo--that myheart swells. '

Julia could make no reply, but by pressing to her lips the hand whichwas held forth to her, she saw all the wretchedness of her situation;and her fearful uncertainty concerning Hippolitus and Ferdinand, formed no inferior part of her affliction. 

'If, ' resumed the marchioness, 'you prefer imprisonment with yourmother, to a marriage with the duke, you may still secret yourself inthe passage we have just quitted, and partake of the provision whichis brought me. '

'O! talk not, madam, of a marriage with the duke, ' said Julia; 'surelyany fate is preferable to that. But when I consider that in remaininghere, I am condemned only to the sufferings which my mother has solong endured, and that this confinement will enable me to soften, bytender sympathy, the asperity of her misfortunes, I ought to submit tomy present situation with complacency, even did a marriage with theduke appear less hateful to me. '

'Excellent girl!' exclaimed the marchioness, clasping Julia to herbosom; 'the sufferings you lament are almost repaid by this proof ofyour goodness and affection! Alas! that I should have been so longdeprived of such a daughter!'

Julia now endeavoured to imitate the fortitude of her mother, andtenderly concealed her anxiety for Ferdinand and Hippolitus, the ideaof whom incessantly haunted her imagination. When the marquis broughtfood to the cell, she retired to the avenue leading to the cavern, andescaped discovery. 

CHAPTER XV

The marquis, meanwhile, whose indefatigable search after Julia failedof success, was successively the slave of alternate passions, and hepoured forth the spleen of disappointment on his unhappy domestics. 

The marchioness, who may now more properly be called Maria deVellorno, inflamed, by artful insinuations, the passions alreadyirritated, and heightened with cruel triumph his resentment towardsJulia and Madame de Menon. She represented, what his feelings tooacutely acknowledged, --that by the obstinate disobedience of thefirst, and the machinations of the last, a priest had been enabled toarrest his authority as a father--to insult the sacred honor of hisnobility--and to overturn at once his proudest schemes of power andambition. She declared it her opinion, that the _Abate_ was acquaintedwith the place of Julia's present retreat, and upbraided the marquiswith want of spirit in thus submitting to be outwitted by a priest, and forbearing an appeal to the pope, whose authority would compel the_Abate_ to restore Julia. 

This reproach stung the very soul of the marquis; he felt all itsforce, and was at the same time conscious of his inability to obviateit. The effect of his crimes now fell in severe punishment upon hisown head. The threatened secret, which was no other than theimprisonment of the marchioness, arrested his arm of vengeance, andcompelled him to submit to insult and disappointment. But the reproachof Maria sunk deep in his mind; it fomented his pride into redoubledfury, and he now repelled with disdain the idea of submission. 

He revolved the means which might effect his purpose--he saw butone--this was the death of the marchioness. 

The commission of one crime often requires the perpetration ofanother. When once we enter on the ladyrinth of vice, we can seldomreturn, but are led on, through correspondent mazes, to destruction. To obviate the effect of his first crime, it was now necessary themarquis should commit a second, and conceal the _imprisonment_ of themarchioness by her _murder_. Himself the only living witness of herexistence, when she was removed, the allegations of the _Padre Abate_would by this means be unsupported by any proof, and he might thenboldly appeal to the pope for the restoration of his child. 

He mused upon this scheme, and the more he accustomed his mind tocontemplate it, the less scrupulous he became. The crime from which hewould formerly have shrunk, he now surveyed with a steady eye. Thefury of his passions, unaccustomed to resistance, uniting with theforce of what ambition termed necessity--urged him to the deed, and hedetermined upon the murder of his wife. The means of effecting hispurpose were easy and various; but as he was not yet so entirelyhardened as to be able to view her dying pangs, and embrue his ownhands in her blood, he chose to dispatch her by means of poison, whichhe resolved to mingle in her food. 

But a new affliction was preparing for the marquis, which attacked himwhere he was most vulnerable; and the veil, which had so longovershadowed his reason, was now to be removed. He was informed byBaptista of the infidelity of Maria de Vellorno. In the first emotionof passion, he spurned the informer from his presence, and disdainedto believe the circumstance. A little reflection changed the object ofhis resentment; he recalled the servant, whose faithfulness he had noreason to distrust, and condescended to interrogate him on the subjectof his misfortune. 

He learned that an intimacy had for some time subsisted between Mariaand the Cavalier de Vincini; and that the assignation was usually heldat the pavilion on the sea-shore, in an evening. Baptista fartherdeclared, that if the marquis desired a confirmation of his words, hemight obtain it by visiting this spot at the hour mentioned. 

This information lighted up the wildest passions of his nature; hisformer sufferings faded away before the stronger influence of thepresent misfortune, and it seemed as if he had never tasted miserytill now. To suspect the wife upon whom he doated with romanticfondness, on whom he had centered all his firmest hopes of happiness, and for whose sake he had committed the crime which embittered evenhis present moment, and which would involve him in still deeperguilt--to find _her_ ungrateful to his love, and a traitoress to hishonor--produced a misery more poignant than any his imagination hadconceived. He was torn by contending passions, and oppositeresolutions:--now he resolved to expiate her guilt with her blood--andnow he melted in all the softness of love. Vengeance and honor badehim strike to the heart which had betrayed him, and urged himinstantly to the deed--when the idea of her beauty--her winningsmiles--her fond endearments stole upon his fancy, and subdued hisheart; he almost wept to the idea of injuring her, and in spight ofappearances, pronounced her faithful. The succeeding moment plungedhim again into uncertainty; his tortures acquired new vigour fromcessation, and again he experienced all the phrenzy of despair. He wasnow resolved to end his doubts by repairing to the pavilion; but againhis heart wavered in irresolution how to proceed should his fears beconfirmed. In the mean time he determined to watch the behaviour ofMaria with severe vigilance. 

They met at dinner, and he observed her closely, but discovered notthe smallest impropriety in her conduct. Her smiles and her beautyagain wound their fascinations round his heart, and in the excess oftheir influence he was almost tempted to repair the injury which hislate suspicions had done her, by confessing them at her feet. Theappearance of the Cavalier de Vincini, however, renewed hissuspicions; his heart throbbed wildly, and with restless impatience hewatched the return of evening, which would remove his suspence. 

Night at length came. He repaired to the pavilion, and secretedhimself among the trees that embowered it. Many minutes had notpassed, when he heard a sound of low whispering voices steal fromamong the trees, and footsteps approaching down the alley. He stoodalmost petrified with terrible sensations, and presently heard somepersons enter the pavilion. The marquis now emerged from hishiding-place; a faint light issued from the building. He stole to thewindow, and beheld within, Maria and the Cavalier de Vincini. Firedat the sight, he drew his sword, and sprang forward. The sound of hisstep alarmed the cavalier, who, on perceiving the marquis, rushed byhim from the pavilion, and disappeared among the woods. The marquispursued, but could not overtake him; and he returned to the pavilionwith an intention of plunging his sword in the heart of Maria, when hediscovered her senseless on the ground. Pity now suspended hisvengeance; he paused in agonizing gaze upon her, and returned hissword into the scabbard. 

She revived, but on observing the marquis, screamed and relapsed. Hehastened to the castle for assistance, inventing, to conceal hisdisgrace, some pretence for her sudden illness, and she was conveyedto her chamber. 

The marquis was now not suffered to doubt her infidelity, but thepassion which her conduct abused, her faithlessness could not subdue;he still doated with absurd fondness, and even regretted thatuncertainty could no longer flatter him with hope. It seemed as if hisdesire of her affection increased with his knowledge of the loss ofit; and the very circumstance which should have roused his aversion, by a strange perversity of disposition, appeared to heighten hispassion, and to make him think it impossible he could exist withouther. 

When the first energy of his indignation was subsided, he determined, therefore, to reprove and to punish, but hereafter to restore her tofavor. 

In this resolution he went to her apartment, and reprehended herfalsehood in terms of just indignation. 

Maria de Vellorno, in whom the late discovery had roused resentment, instead of awakening penitence; and exasperated pride without excitingshame--heard the upbraidings of the marquis with impatience, andreplied to them with acrimonious violence. 

She boldly asserted her innocence, and instantly invented a story, theplausibility of which might have deceived a man who had evidence lesscertain than his senses to contradict it. She behaved with ahaughtiness the most insolent; and when she perceived that the marquiswas no longer to be misled, and that her violence failed to accomplishits purpose, she had recourse to tears and supplications. But theartifice was too glaring to succeed; and the marquis quitted herapartment in an agony of resentment. 

His former fascinations, however, quickly returned, and again held himin suspension between love and vengeance. That the vehemence of hispassion, however, might not want an object, he ordered Baptista todiscover the retreat of the Cavalier de Vincini on whom he meant torevenge his lost honor. Shame forbade him to employ others in thesearch. 

This discovery suspended for a while the operations of the fatalscheme, which had before employed the thoughts of the marquis; but ithad only suspended--not destroyed them. The late occurrence hadannihilated his domestic happiness; but his pride now rose to rescuehim from despair, and he centered all his future hopes upon ambition. In a moment of cool reflection, he considered that he had derivedneither happiness or content from the pursuit of dissipated pleasures, to which he had hitherto sacrificed every opposing consideration. Heresolved, therefore, to abandon the gay schemes of dissipation whichhad formerly allured him, and dedicate himself entirely to ambition, in the pursuits and delights of which he hoped to bury all his cares. He therefore became more earnest than ever for the marriage of Juliawith the Duke de Luovo, through whose means he designed to involvehimself in the interests of the state, and determined to recover herat whatever consequence. He resolved, without further delay, to appealto the pope; but to do this with safety it was necessary that themarchioness should die; and he returned therefore to the considerationand execution of his diabolical purpose. 

He mingled a poisonous drug with the food he designed for her; andwhen night arrived, carried it to the cell. As he unlocked the door, his hand trembled; and when he presented the food, and lookedconsciously for the last time upon the marchioness, who received itwith humble thankfulness, his heart almost relented. His countenance, over which was diffused the paleness of death, expressed the secretmovements of his soul, and he gazed upon her with eyes of stiffenedhorror. Alarmed by his looks, she fell upon her knees to supplicatehis pity. 

Her attitude recalled his bewildered senses; and endeavouring toassume a tranquil aspect, he bade her rise, and instantly quitted thecell, fearful of the instability of his purpose. His mind was not yetsufficiently hardened by guilt to repel the arrows of conscience, andhis imagination responded to her power. As he passed through the longdreary passages from the prison, solemn and mysterious sounds seemedto speak in every murmur of the blast which crept along theirwindings, and he often started and looked back. 

He reached his chamber, and having shut the door, surveyed the room infearful examination. Ideal forms flitted before his fancy, and for thefirst time in his life he feared to be alone. Shame only withheld himfrom calling Baptista. The gloom of the hour, and the death-likesilence that prevailed, assisted the horrors of his imagination. Hehalf repented of the deed, yet deemed it now too late to obviate it;and he threw himself on his bed in terrible emotion. His head grewdizzy, and a sudden faintness overcame him; he hesitated, and atlength arose to ring for assistance, but found himself unable tostand. 

In a few moments he was somewhat revived, and rang his bell; butbefore any person appeared, he was seized with terrible pains, andstaggering to his bed, sunk senseless upon it. Here Baptista, who wasthe first person that entered his room, found him struggling seeminglyin the agonies of death. The whole castle was immediately roused, andthe confusion may be more easily imagined than described. Emilia, amid the general alarm, came to her father's room, but the sight ofhim overcame her, and she was carried from his presence. By the helpof proper applications the marquis recovered his senses and his painshad a short cessation. 

'I am dying, ' said he, in a faultering accent; 'send instantly for themarchioness and my son. '

Ferdinand, in escaping from the hands of the banditti, it was nowseen, had fallen into the power of his father. He had been sinceconfined in an apartment of the castle, and was now liberated to obeythe summons. The countenance of the marquis exhibited a ghastly image;Ferdinand, when he drew near the bed, suddenly shrunk back, overcomewith horror. The marquis now beckoned his attendants to quit the room, and they were preparing to obey, when a violent noise was heard fromwithout; almost in the same instant the door of the apartment wasthrown open, and the servant, who had been sent for the marchioness, rushed in. His look alone declared the horror of his mind, for wordshe had none to utter. He stared wildly, and pointed to the gallery hehad quitted. Ferdinand, seized with new terror, rushed the way hepointed to the apartment of the marchioness. A spectacle of horrorpresented itself. Maria lay on a couch lifeless, and bathed in blood. A poignard, the instrument of her destruction, was on the floor; andit appeared from a letter which was found on the couch beside her, that she had died by her own hand. The paper contained these words:

 TO THE MARQUIS DE MAZZINIYour words have stabbed my heart. No power on earth couldrestore the peace you have destroyed. I will escape from mytorture. When you read this, I shall be no more. But thetriumph shall no longer be yours--the draught you have drankwas given by the hand of the injured MARIA DE MAZZINI. 

It now appeared that the marquis was poisoned by the vengeance of thewoman to whom he had resigned his conscience. The consternation anddistress of Ferdinand cannot easily be conceived: he hastened back tohis father's chamber, but determined to conceal the dreadfulcatastrophe of Maria de Vellorno. This precaution, however, wasuseless; for the servants, in the consternation of terror, hadrevealed it, and the marquis had fainted. 

Returning pains recalled his senses, and the agonies he suffered weretoo shocking for the beholders. Medical endeavours were applied, butthe poison was too powerful for antidote. The marquis's pains atlength subsided; the poison had exhausted most of its rage, and hebecame tolerably easy. He waved his hand for the attendants to leavethe room; and beckoning to Ferdinand, whose senses were almost stunnedby this accumulation of horror, bade him sit down beside him. 'Thehand of death is now upon me, ' said he; 'I would employ these lastmoments in revealing a deed, which is more dreadful to me than all thebodily agonies I suffer. It will be some relief to me to discover it. 'Ferdinand grasped the hand of the marquis in speechless terror. 'Theretribution of heaven is upon me, ' resumed the marquis. 'My punishmentis the immediate consequence of my guilt. Heaven has made that womanthe instrument of its justice, whom I made the instrument of mycrimes;----that woman, for whose sake I forgot conscience, and bravedvice--for whom I imprisoned an innocent wife, and afterwards murderedher. '

At these words every nerve of Ferdinand thrilled; he let go themarquis's hand and started back. 'Look not so fiercely on me, ' saidthe marquis, in a hollow voice; 'your eyes strike death to my soul; myconscience needs not this additional pang. '--'My mother!' exclaimedFerdinand--'my mother! Speak, tell me. '--'I have no breath, ' said themarquis. 'Oh!--Take these keys--the south tower--the trapdoor. --'Tispossible--Oh!--'

The marquis made a sudden spring upwards, and fell lifeless on thebed; the attendants were called in, but he was gone for ever. His lastwords struck with the force of lightning upon the mind of Ferdinand;they seemed to say that his mother might yet exist. He took the keys, and ordering some of the servants to follow, hastened to the southernbuilding; he proceeded to the tower, and the trapdoor beneath thestair-case was lifted. They all descended into a dark passage, whichconducted them through several intricacies to the door of the cell. Ferdinand, in trembling horrible expectation, applied the key; thedoor opened, and he entered; but what was his surprize when he foundno person in the cell! He concluded that he had mistaken the place, and quitted it for further search; but having followed the windings ofthe passage, by which he entered, without discovering any other door, he returned to a more exact examination of the cell. He now observedthe door, which led to the cavern, and he entered upon the avenue, butno person was found there and no voice answered to his call. Havingreached the door of the cavern, which was fastened, he returned lostin grief, and meditating upon the last words of the marquis. He nowthought that he had mistaken their import, and that the words ''tispossible, ' were not meant to apply to the life of the marchioness, heconcluded, that the murder had been committed at a distant period; andhe resolved, therefore, to have the ground of the cell dug up, and theremains of his mother sought for. 

When the first violence of the emotions excited by the late scenes wassubsided, he enquired concerning Maria de Vellorno. 

It appeared that on the day preceding this horrid transaction, themarquis had passed some hours in her apartment; that they were heardin loud dispute;--that the passion of the marquis grew high;--that heupbraided her with her past conduct, and threatened her with a formalseparation. When the marquis quitted her, she was heard walking quickthrough the room, in a passion of tears; she often suddenly stopped invehement but incoherent exclamation; and at last threw herself on thefloor, and was for some time entirely still. Here her woman found her, upon whose entrance she arose hastily, and reproved her for appearinguncalled. After this she remained silent and sullen. 

She descended to supper, where the marquis met her alone at table. Little was said during the repast, at the conclusion of which theservants were dismissed; and it was believed that during the intervalbetween supper, and the hour of repose, Maria de Vellorno contrived tomingle poison with the wine of the marquis. How she had procured thispoison was never discovered. 

She retired early to her chamber; and her woman observing that sheappeared much agitated, inquired if she was ill? To this she returneda short answer in the negative, and her woman was soon afterwardsdismissed. But she had hardly shut the door of the room when she heardher lady's voice recalling her. She returned, and received sometrifling order, and observed that Maria looked uncommonly pale; therewas besides a wildness in her eyes which frightened her, but she didnot dare to ask any questions. She again quitted the room, and hadonly reached the extremity of the gallery when her mistress's bellrang. She hastened back, Maria enquired if the marquis was gone tobed, and if all was quiet? Being answered in the affirmative, shereplied, 'This is a still hour and a dark one!--Good night!'

Her woman having once more left the room, stopped at the door tolisten, but all within remaining silent, she retired to rest. 

It is probable that Maria perpetrated the fatal act soon after thedismission of her woman; for when she was found, two hours afterwards, she appeared to have been dead for some time. On examination a woundwas discovered on her left side, which had doubtless penetrated to theheart, from the suddenness of her death, and from the effusion ofblood which had followed. 

These terrible events so deeply affected Emilia that she was confinedto her bed by a dangerous illness. Ferdinand struggled against theshock with manly fortitude. But amid all the tumult of the presentscenes, his uncertainty concerning Julia, whom he had left in thehands of banditti, and whom he had been withheld from seeking orrescuing, formed, perhaps, the most affecting part of his distress. 

The late Marquis de Mazzini, and Maria de Vellorno, were interred withthe honor due to their rank in the church of the convent of St Nicolo. Their lives exhibited a boundless indulgence of violent and luxuriouspassions, and their deaths marked the consequences of such indulgence, and held forth to mankind a singular instance of divine vengeance. 

CHAPTER XVI

In turning up the ground of the cell, it was discovered that itcommunicated with the dungeon in which Ferdinand had been confined, and where he had heard those groans which had occasioned him so muchterror. 

The story which the marquis formerly related to his son, concerningthe southern buildings, it was now evident was fabricated for thepurpose of concealing the imprisonment of the marchioness. In thechoice of his subject, he certainly discovered some art; for thecircumstance related was calculated, by impressing terror, to preventfarther enquiry into the recesses of these buildings. It served, also, to explain, by supernatural evidence, the cause of those sounds, andof that appearance which had been there observed, but which were, inreality, occasioned only by the marquis. 

The event of the examination in the cell threw Ferdinand into newperplexity. The marquis had confessed that he poisoned his wife--yether remains were not to be found; and the place which he signified tobe that of her confinement, bore no vestige of her having been there. There appeared no way by which she could have escaped from her prison;for both the door which opened upon the cell, and that whichterminated the avenue beyond, were fastened when tried by Ferdinand. 

But the young marquis had no time for useless speculation--seriousduties called upon him. He believed that Julia was still in the powerof banditti; and, on the conclusion of his father's funeral, he setforward himself to Palermo, to give information of the abode of therobbers, and to repair with the officers of justice, accompanied by aparty of his own people, to the rescue of his sister. On his arrivalat Palermo he was informed, that a banditti, whose retreat had beenamong the ruins of a monastery, situated in the forest of Marentino, was already discovered; that their abode had been searched, andthemselves secured for examples of public justice--but that no captivelady had been found amongst them. This latter intelligence excited inFerdinand a very serious distress, and he was wholly unable toconjecture her fate. He obtained leave, however, to interrogate thoseof the robbers, who were imprisoned at Palermo, but could draw fromthem no satisfactory or certain information. 

At length he quitted Palermo for the forest of Marentino, thinking itpossible that Julia might be heard of in its neighbourhood. Hetravelled on in melancholy and dejection, and evening overtook himlong before he reached the place of his destination. The night came onheavily in clouds, and a violent storm of wind and rain arose. Theroad lay through a wild and rocky country, and Ferdinand could obtainno shelter. His attendants offered him their cloaks, but he refused toexpose a servant to the hardship he would not himself endure. Hetravelled for some miles in a heavy rain; and the wind, which howledmournfully among the rocks, and whose solemn pauses were filled by thedistant roarings of the sea, heightened the desolation of the scene. At length he discerned, amid the darkness from afar, a red lightwaving in the wind: it varied with the blast, but never totallydisappeared. He pushed his horse into a gallop, and made towards it. 

The flame continued to direct his course; and on a nearer approach, heperceived, by the red reflection of its fires, streaming a longradiance upon the waters beneath--a lighthouse situated upon a pointof rock which overhung the sea. He knocked for admittance, and thedoor was opened by an old man, who bade him welcome. 

Within appeared a cheerful blazing fire, round which were seatedseveral persons, who seemed like himself to have sought shelter fromthe tempest of the night. The sight of the fire cheered him, and headvanced towards it, when a sudden scream seized his attention; thecompany rose up in confusion, and in the same instant he discoveredJulia and Hippolitus. The joy of that moment is not to be described, but his attention was quickly called off from his own situation tothat of a lady, who during the general transport had fainted. Hissensations on learning she was his mother cannot be described. 

She revived. 'My son!' said she, in a languid voice, as she pressedhim to her heart. 'Great God, I am recompensed! Surely this moment mayrepay a life of misery!' He could only receive her caresses insilence; but the sudden tears which started in his eyes spoke alanguage too expressive to be misunderstood. 

When the first emotion of the scene was passed, Julia enquired by whatmeans Ferdinand had come to this spot. He answered her generally, andavoided for the present entering upon the affecting subject of thelate events at the castle of Mazzini. Julia related the history of heradventures since she parted with her brother. In her narration, itappeared that Hippolitus, who was taken by the Duke de Luovo at themouth of the cave, had afterwards escaped, and returned to the cavernin search of Julia. The low recess in the rock, through which Juliahad passed, he perceived by the light of his flambeau. He penetratedto the cavern beyond, and from thence to the prison of themarchioness. No colour of language can paint the scene which followed;it is sufficient to say that the whole party agreed to quit the cellat the return of night. But this being a night on which it was knownthe marquis would visit the prison, they agreed to defer theirdeparture till after his appearance, and thus elude the danger to beexpected from an early discovery of the escape of the marchioness. 

At the sound of footsteps above, Hippolitus and Julia had secretedthemselves in the avenue; and immediately on the marquis's departurethey all repaired to the cavern, leaving, in the hurry of theirflight, untouched the poisonous food he had brought. Having escapedfrom thence they proceeded to a neighbouring village, where horseswere procured to carry them towards Palermo. Here, after a tediousjourney, they arrived, in the design of embarking for Italy. Contrarywinds had detained them till the day on which Ferdinand left thatcity, when, apprehensive and weary of delay, they hired a smallvessel, and determined to brave the winds. They had soon reason torepent their temerity; for the vessel had not been long at sea whenthe storm arose, which threw them back upon the shores of Sicily, andbrought them to the lighthouse, where they were discovered byFerdinand. 

On the following morning Ferdinand returned with his friends toPalermo, where he first disclosed the late fatal events of the castle. They now settled their future plans; and Ferdinand hastened to thecastle of Mazzini to fetch Emilia, and to give orders for the removalof his household to his palace at Naples, where he designed to fix hisfuture residence. The distress of Emilia, whom he found recovered fromher indisposition, yielded to joy and wonder, when she heard of theexistence of her mother, and the safety of her sister. She departedwith Ferdinand for Palermo, where her friends awaited her, and wherethe joy of the meeting was considerably heightened by the appearanceof Madame de Menon, for whom the marchioness had dispatched amessenger to St Augustin's. Madame had quitted the abbey for anotherconvent, to which, however, the messenger was directed. This happyparty now embarked for Naples. 

From this period the castle of Mazzini, which had been the theatre ofa dreadful catastrophe; and whose scenes would have revived in theminds of the chief personages connected with it, painful and shockingreflections--was abandoned. 

On their arrival at Naples, Ferdinand presented to the king a clearand satisfactory account of the late events at the castle, inconsequence of which the marchioness was confirmed in her rank, andFerdinand was received as the sixth Marquis de Mazzini. 

The marchioness, thus restored to the world, and to happiness, residedwith her children in the palace at Naples, where, after time hadsomewhat mellowed the remembrance of the late calamity, the nuptialsof Hippolitus and Julia were celebrated. The recollection of thedifficulties they had encountered, and of the distress they hadendured for each other, now served only to heighten by contrast thehappiness of the present period. 

Ferdinand soon after accepted a command in the Neapolitan army; andamidst the many heroes of that warlike and turbulent age, distinguished himself for his valour and ability. The occupations ofwar engaged his mind, while his heart was solicitous in promoting thehappiness of his family. 

Madame de Menon, whose generous attachment to the marchioness had beenfully proved, found in the restoration of her friend a living witnessof her marriage, and thus recovered those estates which had beenunjustly withheld from her. But the marchioness and her family, grateful to her friendship, and attached to her virtues, prevailedupon her to spend the remainder of her life at the palace of Mazzini. 

Emilia, wholly attached to her family, continued to reside with themarchioness, who saw her race renewed in the children of Hippolitusand Julia. Thus surrounded by her children and friends, and engaged informing the minds of the infant generation, she seemed to forget thatshe had ever been otherwise than happy. 

 * * * * *

Here the manuscript annals conclude. In reviewing this story, weperceive a singular and striking instance of moral retribution. Welearn, also, that those who do only THAT WHICH IS RIGHT, endurenothing in misfortune but a trial of their virtue, and from trialswell endured derive the surest claim to the protection of heaven. 

FINIS

[Transcriber's Note: Some words which appear to be typos are printedthus in the original book. A list of these possible words follows:cioset, skriek, ladyrinth, and bad (presumably for bade, "he badJulia good-night"). In addition, the book contains (and I haveretained) inconsistant spelling of both common words (e. G. Extacy, exstacy) and proper nouns (Farrini, Ferrini). I have used the_underscore_ notation to indicate italics. (The text in CAPITALS isprinted as it appears in the original book). Finally, the line ofspaced asterisks, was used to indicate an additional blank lineseperating sections of the text. ]