"I will not indulge in them if I can help it, rest a.s.sured, sweet Ebba,"
he replied. "But my spirits are not always under my control. I am surprised at my own cheerfulness this evening."
"I never felt so happy," she replied; "and the whole scene is in unison with my feelings. How soothing is the calm river flowing at our feet!--how tender is the warm sky, still flushed with red, though the sun has set!--And see, yonder hangs the crescent moon. She is in her first quarter."
"The moon in her first quarter!" cried Auriol, in a tone of anguish.
"All then is over."
"What means this sudden change?" cried Ebba, frightened by his looks.
"Oh, Ebba," he replied, "I must leave you. I have allowed myself to dream of happiness too long. I am an accursed being, doomed only to bring misery upon those who love me. I warned you on the onset, but you would not believe me. Let me go, and perhaps it may not yet be too late to save you."
"Oh no, do not leave me!" cried Ebba. "I have no fear while you are with me."
"But you do not know the terrible fate I am linked to," he said. "This is the night when it will be accomplished."
"Your moody fancies do not alarm me as they used to do, dear Auriol,"
she rejoined, "because I know them to be the fruit of a diseased imagination. Come, let us continue our walk," she added, taking his arm kindly.
"Ebba," he cried, "I implore you to let me go! I have not the power to tear myself away unless you aid me."
"I"m glad to hear it," she rejoined, "for then I shall hold you fast."
"You know not what you do!" cried Auriol. "Release me! oh, release me!"
"In a few moments the fit will be pa.s.sed," she rejoined. "Let us walk towards the abbey."
"It is in vain to struggle against fate," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Auriol despairingly.
And he suffered himself to be led in the direction proposed.
Ebba continued to talk, but her discourse fell upon a deaf ear, and at last she became silent too. In this way they proceeded along Millbank Street and Abingdon Street, until, turning off on the right, they found themselves before an old and partly-demolished building. By this time it had become quite dark, for the moon was hidden behind a rack of clouds, but a light was seen in the upper storey of the structure, occasioned, no doubt, by a fire within it, which gave a very picturesque effect to the broken outline of the walls.
Pausing for a moment to contemplate the ruin, Ebba expressed a wish to enter it. Auriol offered no opposition, and pa.s.sing through an arched doorway, and ascending a short, spiral, stone staircase, they presently arrived at a roofless chamber, which it was evident, from the implements and rubbish lying about, was about to be razed to the ground. On one side there was a large arch, partly bricked up, through which opened a narrow doorway, though at some height from the ground. With this a plank communicated, while beneath it lay a great heap of stones, amongst which were some grotesque carved heads. In the centre of the chamber was a large square opening, like the mouth of a trap-door, from which the top of a ladder projected, and near it stood a flaming brazier, which had cast forth the glare seen from below. Over the ruinous walls on the right hung the crescent moon, now emerged from the cloud, and shedding a ghostly glimmer on the scene.
"What a strange place!" cried Ebba, gazing around with some apprehension. "It looks like a spot one reads of in romance. I wonder where that trap leads to?"
"Into the vault beneath, no doubt," replied Auriol. "But why did we come hither?"
As he spoke, there was a sound like mocking laughter, but whence arising it was difficult to say.
"Did you hear that sound?" cried Auriol.
"It was nothing but the echo of laughter from the street," she replied.
"You alarm yourself without reason, Auriol."
"No, not without reason," he cried. "I am in the power of a terrible being, who seeks to destroy you, and I know that he is at hand. Listen to me, Ebba, and however strange my recital may appear, do not suppose it the ravings of a madman, but be a.s.sured it is the truth."
"Beware!" cried a deep voice, issuing apparently from the depths of the vault.
"Some one spoke," cried Ebba. "I begin to share your apprehensions. Let us quit this place."
"Come, then," said Auriol.
"Not so fast," cried a deep voice.
And they beheld the mysterious owner of the black cloak barring their pa.s.sage out.
"Ebba, you are mine," cried the stranger. "Auriol has brought you to me."
"It is false!" cried Auriol. "I never will yield her to you."
"Remember your compact," rejoined the stranger, with a mocking laugh.
"Oh, Auriol!" cried Ebba, "I fear for your soul. You have not made a compact with this fiend?"
"He has," replied the stranger; "and by that compact you are surrendered to me."
And, as he spoke, he advanced towards her, and enveloping her in his cloak, her cries were instantly stifled.
"You shall not go!" cried Auriol, seizing him. "Release her, or I renounce you wholly."
"Fool!" cried the stranger, "since you provoke my wrath, take your doom."
And he stamped on the ground. At this signal an arm was thrust from the trap-door, and Auriol"s hand was seized with an iron grasp.
While this took place, the stranger bore his lovely burden swiftly up the plank leading to the narrow doorway in the wall, and just as he was pa.s.sing through it he pointed towards the sky, and shouted with a mocking smile to Auriol--"Behold! the moon is in her first quarter. My words are fulfilled!"
And he disappeared.
Auriol tried to disengage himself from the grasp imposed upon him in vain. Uttering e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of rage and despair, he was dragged forcibly backwards into the vault.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Seizure of Ebba.]
CHAPTER X
THE STATUE AT CHARING CROSS
One morning, two persons took their way along Parliament Street and Whitehall, and, chatting as they walked, turned into the entrance of Spring Gardens, for the purpose of looking at the statue at Charing Cross. One of them was remarkable for his dwarfish stature and strange withered features. The other was a man of middle size, thin, rather elderly, and with a sharp countenance, the sourness of which was redeemed by a strong expression of benevolence. He was clad in a black coat, rather rusty, but well brushed, b.u.t.toned up to the chin, black tights, short drab gaiters, and wore a white neckcloth and spectacles.
Mr. Loftus (for so he was called) was a retired merchant, of moderate fortune, and lived in Abingdon Street. He was a bachelor, and therefore pleased himself; and being a bit of an antiquary, rambled about all day long in search of some object of interest. His walk, on the present occasion, was taken with that view.
"By Jove! what a n.o.ble statue that is, Morse!" cried Loftus, gazing at it. "The horse is magnificent--positively magnificent."
"I recollect when the spot was occupied by a gibbet, and when, in lieu of a statue, an effigy of the martyred monarch was placed there,"