CHAP. III.
Ou suis-je? O Ciel ou suis je? ou porte je mes voeux?
Zayre, Nerestan--couple ingrat, couple affreux, Traitres arracher moi ce jour que je respire, Ce jour souille par vous.
----Ah que vois-je? Ah ma soeur Zayre!... Elle n"est plus.--Ah monstre ah jour horrible!
ZAYRE PAR VOLTAIRE.
"Rage almost choked me as I exclaimed:--"Villain! you here, and lurking under my windows at this hour!" He shook with cowardly apprehension, and attempted some excuse, which, however, his terror rendered inarticulate: still the momentary pause gave me time for recollection, and disdaining to a.s.sault an unarmed man, I threw him one of my pistols, and bade him defend himself: again in faltering tones he murmured some a.s.surances that he merely came to see Lady St. Aubyn"s favourite servant, a Spanish girl named Theresa; but this hacknied excuse was too shallow to obtain a moment"s credit, and I still pressed him to an instant decision of this affair. He now, somewhat more firmly, requested me to recollect, that if we fought, and he fell, what would be the appearance of a man found in my grounds murdered, as it would seem; and on the other hand he appealed to my generosity, what would be his situation should I be killed, and above all, what a slur would be cast on the reputation of Lady St. Aubyn by such a business. Calmed by these representations, which certainly had some justice in them, I finally consented to wait till the next evening: the time between, he told me, he should pa.s.s at a little Posada in the neighbourhood, where, he said, he had a friend waiting for him, who would come with him to a spot I mentioned near the mountains; and during the same s.p.a.ce I said I would ride to Almana (the next small town), where a gentleman resided with whom I had some acquaintance, and on whom I would prevail to be my second in this affair: then bidding him retain the pistol, and bring it prepared, as I should do its fellow, to the place of meeting, I sternly told him, that should I see him again lurking beneath my walls, I would not wait the event of the next evening, but treat him as a midnight robber deserved to be treated. I then left him and returned to the house: a faint light yet gleamed from the windows of Rosolia"s room, but the rope ladder was withdrawn, and the curtains closed, so that I concluded she had given up all expectation of seeing De Sylva again that night. I watched, however, till morning, but all was still, and I then threw myself on my bed to obtain one hour"s repose; after which I rose, and spent some time in settling my affairs, and writing some letters, to be delivered in case I should fall in the duel with De Sylva.
"After this I went to Lady St. Aubyn"s room: at the door I met Bayfield, who, pale, and with her eyes swollen with weeping, looked as if she had, like myself, watched all night.
"My good Bayfield," said I, "where is your Lady, and why do you look thus alarmed and haggard?"
"She answered me, but with some confusion, that her Lady was just dressed, and that she had been induced to watch in the chamber next Lady St. Aubyn"s almost all night, having heard some noises which had induced her to _rise at midnight_, and go to her Lady"s apartment, whom she found also much agitated, and therefore had remained there till morning.
I made no doubt, and I afterwards found this conjecture was just, that my faithful old servant"s suspicions having been excited, she had gone to her room, and by interrupting her, had caused the sudden dismissal of De Sylva, and had since pa.s.sed the night in bewailing Rosolia"s evil propensities. Without staying for any explanation, however, I left her, and pa.s.sed into the Countess"s apartment: she started at the sight of me, for of late we had seldom met but at meals, and her guilty conscience taught her to consider my visit as extraordinary. I told her sternly to be seated and hear me, and I then related to her the events of the preceding night: at first she trembled and turned pale, but soon recovering her effrontery, she attempted, as usual, to make a jest of what she affected to term my ridiculous jealousy.
"Mark me, Rosolia!" cried I rising, and eagerly grasping her arm, for, with affected scorn, she attempted to rush past me. "Mark me! I am no longer thus to be deceived. _This evening, this evening shall revenge my too long endured injuries_--the _wretch_ who has so deeply wronged me, _this arm shall punish_."
"At that moment, while my angry looks were fixed upon her countenance, where rage and disdain contended with shame and fear, Edmund entered the room, and must, I knew, have heard the threats I uttered: he started and looked amazed, for frequent as were our altercations, they had never before risen to a height so alarming.
"I left them together, and taking my horse, rode to Almana, where, most unfortunately, I did not find my friend at home; and after waiting his return till I feared I should not arrive at my villa in time enough to keep my appointment, I left the place alone, and merely going into the house to take my pistol, I hastened to the appointed spot. There I waited, vainly waited, for nearly two hours: no De Sylva arrived; and concluding that he then meant not to keep his appointment, and some vague fears pressing on my mind that possibly Rosolia might be the partner of his flight, I hurried back to the villa. It was almost dark when I arrived, and just as I entered the hall, heated, disordered, not having changed my dress since the night before, and in the confusion of my thoughts not even concealing the pistol I had carried in my hand, I met Edmund, who eagerly asked me where his sister was.
"I know not," said I; but a thousand suspicions darted into my bosom, and gave to my countenance and manner an agitation which must have appeared to him extraordinary. "Is she not in her own apartment? I have been out all day and have not seen her since I left her with you this morning."
"Nor I," said Edmund, "since half an hour before I saw you return on horseback; she then complained of a violent head-ache, and said she would try if the evening air would remove it: I offered to walk with her, but she said she would rather be alone, for she had enough to occupy her thoughts: she kissed me too," added Edmund, "and bade me farewell, sighing bitterly, and saying her heart was heavy and full of terror: why then," said I, "will you go alone, sister? why not let me walk with you? I really think there _is_ danger in being out late so near the mountains." She forced a smile, and replied, she feared nothing from the mountains: all her misery and terrors arose at home."
"Ungrateful Rosolia," I replied, as Edmund told me this; to which he answered:--
"Ah, my Lord, it grieves me to see you both so unhappy; I hope my grandfather"s return will soon restore in some degree your domestic comfort; he will persuade Rosolia to be more accommodating to your wishes."
"I sighed, and asked him which way his sister had gone.
"Through the cork grove," he replied, "and towards the Hermitage, which is I know her favourite retreat."
""Surely," said I, "she would not remain in that lonely place till this late hour; yet, so strange for sometime has been her conduct, I know not what to suppose: call the servants, my dear Edmund, to bring lights, for in that gloomy retreat it will be quite dark, and let us go in search of her."
"We set out accordingly, attended by two men servants and my good Bayfield, who, fearing, as she said, her Lady might be ill, insisted on accompanying us. The place to which we directed our steps was a quarter of a mile from the villa, and, as I had said, by the time we had reached it the darkness of night had come on.
"This gloomy cell stood at the foot of a rock deep embowered in thick groves: a mountain stream fell from a considerable height near it, and the dash of its waters alone broke the silence of this secluded retreat, which was called the Hermitage, from the peculiar style in which it was fitted up. For some time before we reached it we made the surrounding thickets resound with Rosolia"s name: but all was silent, save the murmuring breeze and the dashing of the waterfall. I concluded that my wife was gone off with the infamous De Sylva, and my whole frame shook with rage and agitation.
"Why do you tremble so, my Lord?" said the affrighted Edmund, who hung upon my arm: "do you think any harm has happened to my sister?"
"I know not," I replied, "but I fear it, greatly fear it!"
"Just then we entered the gloomy Hermitage: all was dark and still; the echo of our steps alone broke the awful silence. The men who accompanied us lifted their torches to throw a fuller light into the cell; and--ah!
my Ellen, I dread to shock your tender nature by describing the horrid scene which met our view.--Imagine our sensations when we saw the unfortunate Rosolia extended on the earth! her white garments dyed in _blood_! in that blood which some hand, either accidentally or by design, had shed! for on raising the body, by this time stiff and cold, a wound was discovered in the back of her head, which was evidently the effect of a pistol-ball, and had caused her death. You tremble and turn pale, my love: it grieves me to distress you, but think what was _my_ distress, when Edmund, who, in frantic despair, had thrown himself by his murdered sister, found the fatal weapon which had done this deed of horror, and I saw at once it was the fellow pistol to that I had in my hand when he met me in the hall, remarkable for its peculiar construction and workmanship; the very one, in short, which I had given to De Sylva. Never, never shall I forget the glance of his dark eyes at that moment: I saw the direful suspicions he, at that instant, conceived, and which were still more fatally confirmed by what immediately followed.
"My poor Bayfield, full of grief and horror, was arranging, with all the care circ.u.mstances would admit, the removal of the body to the house, when seeing something glitter amidst the horrible darkness which surrounded us, and our fading torches scarcely broke, she stooped and picked up _my ring_, that well-known ring, which I indeed had lost, but had not said so; and which she, from some impulsive feeling, perhaps fearing the sight of it in that place might implicate me in the late sad event, attempted to conceal in her bosom.
"What is that?" exclaimed the half-frantic Edmund, darting towards her and seizing her hand. "_Your ring_, my Lord, _your ring_! at this time--in this place. The pistol too--those dreadful threatenings of revenge.--Ah G.o.d! Ah G.o.d!--what horrible conviction flashes on me.--Rosolia! poor dear sister!--Ah, basely, basely murdered!" and he fell senseless on the ground.
"The domestics who attended us were Spaniards, and did not understand a word he said: but Bayfield stood the image of dismay.
"Ah, my Lord," said she, "fly, if indeed your hand by accident has done this deed, for think what will become of you amidst the bigotted Catholics, who will seek to revenge it."
"Fly!" I repeated, "my good old friend! Can you believe me guilty?"
"Oh no, my dear Lord," she replied, never, never! but think what these unfortunate appearances will say against you to those who know you less than I do."
"Whatever they say, I will brave," I exclaimed: "nor care I much after this dreadful moment what becomes of me; but never will I, by an ignominious flight, tacitly avow myself guilty, when I know and surely cannot fail to prove my innocence."
"In a few minutes one of the men, who, on Edmund"s falling into the deathlike trance from which we yet vainly sought to recover him, had fled towards the house for more a.s.sistance, returned with almost all the domestics, who eagerly crowded to satisfy their curiosity, and whose astonishment and impatient questions may be easily conceived. Between them they conveyed into the house their murdered mistress, and the still insensible Edmund, whose spirit we at one time imagined had really followed hers. To paint the confusion which ensued would be impossible: one express was instantly sent off to the Duke de Castel Nuovo, and several men I sent into the mountains and round the neighbourhood to seek for De Sylva, by whose hand I doubted not the fatal wound, either by accident or design, had been given. I described his person and appearance, saying that such a man had been seen lurking about the house the night before.
"Some of the servants having remarked the capricious character, and, of late, the melancholy manners of Rosolia, suggested an idea that she had destroyed herself; but the situation of the wound prevented such a possibility. Forgive me, my love, these shocking details: they are indeed unsuited to the tenderness of your nature; but without a very accurate account of this unfortunate event, it would be impossible for you to judge what evidences there were of my apparent guilt, or real innocence.
"Edmund slowly recovered from his deep swoon, but his reason for a time was flown, and all the skill of the medical people about us failed for weeks to recover it. Yet still he knew me--still with an expression of the most vindictive hatred his eyes pursued me. His words frequently pointed out the nature of his suspicions; but he raved so constantly, that they remained unnoticed, save by me and Bayfield: too fatally, alas! we understood them. To her I fully explained all that had pa.s.sed, and she told me she had no hesitation in believing that De Sylva was the author of this direful tragedy. To find that villain appeared impossible: my servants returned, after a week"s search in every direction, without having discovered the slightest trace of him. Indeed, to track a fugitive in that wild romantic country is extremely difficult: immense woods, deep caves, and the recesses of vast ruins, might easily shelter such a one from pursuit.
"To the servants I held out an idea that some banditti from the mountains had found their Lady in her lonely walk, as indeed they all knew I often had feared would be the case, and had murdered her for the sake of the money and jewels she had about her; and in truth many of them had seen her go out with some rich ornaments, which she generally wore, and which certainly were removed from the body.
"On searching the Hermitage the next morning, a parcel was found, containing a complete Spanish habit for a boy, and a letter--at least a part of one, for part was torn away, and the remainder contained only these words:
_At the Hermitage this evening we must fly directly St. Aubyn will wait for come alone_
"I easily imagined this was part of a letter from De Sylva, appointing Rosolia to meet him at the Hermitage. "St. Aubyn will wait for"
evidently alluded to my waiting for him at the place he had appointed to meet me; yet even these words seemed fatally to implicate me in this horrid transaction: whereas, if the whole had been preserved, it would have entirely exculpated me from blame: so unfortunately did circ.u.mstances combine to throw the appearance of guilt upon me.
"When my messenger returned from Madrid, I learned that the venerable Duke de Castel Nuovo was too ill to travel: he left the whole management of this melancholy affair in my hands, expressing himself convinced that some of the banditti, who it was well known infested the Sierra Morena, had been the murderers of his granddaughter. He entreated me to take the greatest care of Edmund, and invited me, when he should be sufficiently recovered, to accompany him to Madrid, or if I could not make that convenient, to send him by some person in whom I could confide, and who would see him placed safely under his own care; and concluded by very kind expressions of regret that it had been so totally out of his power to pay me those personal attentions during my stay in Spain, which he had so anxiously wished to do.
"Thus then I found myself completely exonerated from all suspicion of having had any share of the late dreadful event, except in the mind of Edmund, who had by this time recovered his reason, and was by slow degrees regaining his health, yet still looked on me with horror and aversion, and was buried in the most profound and gloomy melancholy.
"Unable long to bear this state of estrangement and anxiety, I one day went to his room, and sitting down by the couch on which he lay, "I see, Edmund," said I, "too plainly I see, the horrible suspicions you have formed, and the gloomy hatred so unnatural to your character, which preys upon your vitals. Neither can you long support a state so wretched. St. Aubyn was not born to be the object of suspicions so cruel, nor Edmund to endure them. Hear me then patiently; and though, in tenderness to the memory of the unfortunate Rosolia, I would, if possible, have concealed her misconduct from the whole world, and most of all from you, yet circ.u.mstances call on me so imperatively to disclose it, that I can no longer be silent."
"I then, my Ellen, related to him every circ.u.mstance, as I have done to you; and though he evidently wavered, yet so strong was the prejudice he had conceived, that he was not wholly convinced.
"For the pistol," said he, "you have in some measure accounted: it might, if this story be true, have been placed there by De Sylva: his accursed hand it might have been which shed that blood--that precious blood, which yet in imagination I see flowing at my feet! But ah! St.
Aubyn, whence came that _ring_--that well known ring, which I so often have heard you declare you valued more than all the jewels in your possession?"
"Fully to account for that," said I, "is not in my power; but on my honour, I a.s.sure you, I had missed it several days, though, in hopes of discovering the thief, I did not mention it. You know several of Rosolia"s jewels have lately been lost; and many times, since we have been here, she has asked me for sums of money, though here she could have had no use for them; but willing to gratify her in even her fancies, while they did not militate against my peace and honour, I never denied her, or desired any explanation; yet, in searching her escritoire and drawers, no money has been found. This leads me to believe, nay, to be sure, that either the wretch, De Sylva, stole this ring and the other valuable articles missing, or she gave them to him in the meetings which Bayfield now owns she is convinced they _have of late_ frequently had."
"Impossible, impossible!" cried the n.o.ble but prejudiced youth: "Rosolia could not have condescended to favour, even with her friendship, so mean a wretch as one who would have received money or jewels at her hands.
This story, my Lord, hangs ill together, and for it I have only your word--the word of one to whom it is of the utmost importance that I should believe it. But think, O think, what a chain of circ.u.mstances appear in proof against you!--The threats _I_ heard you utter, that your own hand should that very evening revenge your injuries! My meeting you, heated and confused, after two hours absence, no one knew whither, with one pistol in your hand--the fellow pistol found discharged by the dear murdered Rosolia--and, more than all, your ring, which Bayfield, impressed no doubt by similar suspicions, strove to conceal! Place all these in array against you, and tell me, tell me yourself, what I must, what I ought to believe."
""It is enough," I replied: "I yield myself then to your will. Take me, if such is your desire, to a prison, to death: your evidence I well perceive will be sufficient to convict me--to rob me of my honour and my life. But do you reckon for nothing your former knowledge of my character and disposition? Am I a man likely to have committed such a deed?--to have invented such a tale to excuse it, if I had? I swear to you, Edmund, by all that is most sacred, _I am innocent_--I will swear it to the latest moment of my existence."
"Moved by these words, by the remembrance of all my former friendship for him--permit me to say, by the remembrance of years which I had so spent as to impress him with a firm opinion of my virtue and veracity, the generous youth paused awhile, and at length said--