CHAP. I.

AUGUSTUS Tankerville, Marquis of Sevig­ne, was a native of Switzerland, the last descend­ant of an ancient and noble family, who on the decease of his Marchioness, came over to reside in England, in o [...]r to try if by changing the scene he could divert the melancholy which was his inse­parable companion, in the southern clime.

The Dowager Lady Mentoria, his aunt, who was fondly endeared to him during the whole course of his life, determined to accompany him and his charming offspring; the eldest of whom, [Page 8] a son, had very lately taken the title of St. Lau­rens, and the ladies, Adela and Louisa, were then in their seventeenth and eighteenth years, charm­ing accomplished women, who had improved an elegant education by a refined understanding mould­ed to every impression of virtue and genius; in short it was an arduous decision to adjudge the prize of beauty or sensibility to one in preference to the other.

Lady Adela was tall and of exquisite pro­portion, and her complexion beautifully transpa­rent; and the roseat bloom of health diffused its beauties on her cheek, her profuse hair of the pal­est brown, and the benignant softness that beam­ed from her fine blue eyes, gave her the appear­ance of a celestial divinity.

Lady Louisa was rather shorter than he sister, yet sufficiently tall to be a gracefully elegant figure. Her hair was auburn, and sported in the fantastic luxuriance of nature on a bosom and shoulders of the finest form; her complexion clear, her teeth beautifully white and regular, and a thousand dimples played round her coral lips; her eyes were dark and expressive, yet tempered with ineffable sweetness; her voice exquisitely melodi­ous, and her genius lively and expanded; of the French and Italian languages she was perfect mistress; the science of music was her chief delight, [Page 9] and she touched the piano and harp to perfection; in the dance she was the sprightly aerial of the scene, where her inimitable attitude and grace captivated every beholder.

Lady Adela with a constitution more delicate, had never studied to excel in that accomplishment, yet she joined the festive group, with a peculiar degree of graceful ease, but her principal perfec­tion consisted in copying minutely elegant draw­ings, from the choicest collection of the most emi­nent proficients, add to which her natural taste, and the picturesque views that bounded the con­fines of the castle, gave unlimited scope to the pro­lific and accurate traces of her animated crayon.

Her amiable brother, Lord Edwin St. Laurens, possessed a noble spirit, a generous expansion of soul, and an understanding chaste and refined, while liberality, gratitude, and generosity were the aspiring virtues of his heart. He was now just of age, and was preparing to make an excur [...] ion through Switzerland, and explore the beauties of that country, before he undertook his trip to In­dia, accompanied by his juvenile friend, the Cheva­lier D' Aubigne, then at Paris, and with whom he intended passing some weeks before his return: La­dies Adela and Louisa reluctantly parted with their brother, accompanied only by his faithful valet Carlos, who earnestly entreated to attend his mas­ter, [Page 10] "for there," sighed he, "in a romantic cot­tage, on the mountains dwells my sweet little Marcella, and if you will indulge me, honoured Sir, in this request, my life and services shall be ever devoted in gratitude." A manly tear was hastily brushed away, and Lord Edwin's acquies­cent smile sealed his hopes.

The morning of departure arrived, and the Marquis embracing his son, bid him write often, and never forget he had left a parent in England, anxious for the welfare of a dear and loved child, the pride and glory of his declining years.

Lord Edwin pressed his hand, uttered an affec­tionate avowel of obedience, and tenderly salut­ing his lovely sisters, departed from the castle.

The faithful Carlos, all gratitude for the fa­vour of attending his master, redoubled his assi­duity on every occasion. Carlos, though the son of a Swiss peasant, possessed great natural abili­ties, and had been instructed in the early part of his life in many necessary accomplishments, to ful­fil the duties of his present station, by a gentle­man residing in Savoy, who had recommended him to the patronage of Lord Edwin about two years since, possessing great good nature and a natural­ly lively disposition: Lord Edwin would often wonder at the visible gloom that sometimes over­spread [Page 11] his countenance, in spite of every endea­vour to conceal it, but since the name of Marcel­la had escaped his lips, he was all life, all happi­ness, and merrily passed the hours with due defer­ence and distinction to his noble master, who was now at no loss to guess the cause of his suspicions.

About the second week they arrived at the foot of the mountain, on whose summit the well known cottage of Marcella's parents reared its humble shelter; Carlos swiftly darting to the door, peep­ed through the casement, and gently tapped, in­stantly the latch was drawn and Marcella flew to the arms of Carlos.—Lord Edwin seated at a dis­tance on an impending jut of the craggy steep, be­held with delight the faithful and sincere raptures of these artless lovers. Marcella was a pretty little figure, habited in a pale brown stuff jacket, with a short blue petticoat, that displayed one of the prettiest legs and yellow slippers in Savoy; her dark ringlets were confined by a blue silk net, through the folds of which many sportive curls wantoned o'er her polished forehead, a small hand­kerchief of lawn shaded her bosom, and on her arm was suspended a basket of luxuriant grapes just gathered from the vineyard behind the cottage.

After the moment of surprise was over, she ad­vanced with Carlos towards Lord Edwin, and [Page 12] modestly offering the produce of her basket, en­treated his Lordship to walk in and take shelter from the meridian sun-beams, as the day was grow­ing sultry. A cluster of the purple vintage was as gratefully accepted as bestowed, but the visit to the cottage was declined; Lord Edwin in fact did not mean to intrude on the worthy inmates, but wished to stroll and amuse himself for half an hour, he then promised Carlos he should return in three days and pass [...] week with these happy mountaineers, while he paid a visit to a family about thirty miles distant. Marcella's eyes glowing with delight seemed to thank him, and Carlos, filled with ad­miration of his kindness, bowed his grateful ac­knowledgments of the favour conferred with so much real condescension.

Lord Edwin kept his promise of sparing the en­raptured Carlos, but his departure mightily plea­sed him, the poor fellow had arisen by day break, and at five he crept down stairs to wake the servants, and saddle his mule, which he fastened to the back gate, and entering the hall was met by Lord Edwin, who, tempted by the beauty of the morning, had arose to give him some orders for­got the preceding evening. ‘Are you already equipped, Carlos?’ ‘Yes, my Lord, I shall now be off in five minutes,’ answered he, very de­liberately, tying up his little bundle of linen, in which he had actually packed up one boot: Lord [Page 13] Edwin observed the circumstance, and stifled his [...]isibility 'till the package was completely finish­ed, and the poor fellow half crazy with delight, and his every thought employed in anticipating the joyful meeting, begging to know, if his Lord­ship had any farther commands; being answered in the negative, instantly made his respectful obei­sance and mounted his mule.

"Stop, Carlos," cried Lord Edwin, "do they usually travel here with one boot?"—Carlos in­stantly cast his eyes on his right leg, and beheld it only equipped with a stocking and slipper: "'Tis very true my Lord," answered he, ‘but heaven knows where I have left it.’ ‘Why, if you should have occasion to make use of it,’ rejoined Lord Ed [...], ‘only untie your bundle and you'll find it carefully wedged in.’ Carlos instantly laid his hand on the handkerchief and to his great confusion felt the truth of his conviction: "Bless my heart," cried h [...], twitching the knot, ‘'twas Walter's fault, for he was asking me so many questions about Marcella all the time, that I could attend to nothing but the pleasure of gratifying his inquiries.’ Lord Edwin en­joyed a hearty laugh at the bustle that detained the anxious traveller, who had not even waited to swallow a morsel of breakfast, but a few mo­ments [Page 14] completed the arrangements and once more mounting he galloped off and was out of sight in in an instant.

Time did not hobble on crutches with Carlos and Marcella, and at the appointed time he re­turned, delighted with the promise of again pas­sing her cottage to bid adieu, in his way to Eng­land.

CHAP. II.

LORD EDWIN's tour again commenced and he determined visiting the Vale of Chamouny, he therefore hired a guide and bent his course to that beautifully romantic scene. Here he rested to contemplate the roseat tints of morn interspersed with golden fluids, reflecting its glowing beam on on the summit of the mountains: A murmuring cascade broke the solemn silence that reigned a­round; the dulcet notes of a shepherd's pipe waft­ed on the bosom of the breeze sounded from the valley; here a huge cliff bent its lowering brow majestically grand; there one more fertilized ex­hibited the traces of the plough, on its rugged sides, while blooming wild weeds luxuriantly hung in waving wreaths from innumerable im­pending projections of rocks; many beautiful va­grant rills gently stole through various crevices, while some impeded in their course by rude frag­ments of stone impetuously broke a passage and precipitated the sparkling foam down a tremendous [Page 16] declivity 'till it paused in the mazy windings of a gentle stream.

"How sublimely beautiful is this wild luxu­riance of prolific nature," exclaimed the en­raptured spectator. The sun was rising to ani­mate each picturesque beauty, but the heat was great; "Let us descend the mountains," "said Lord Edwin, ‘I am very thirsty, and perhaps at those distant cottages I could procure a draught of milk,’ ‘Aye plenty, your honour,’ replied the guide, ‘if you will condescend to accept some at the cottage of Reuben and Giraldine Desmoulines, where the sweet girls will be up, and can supply your ho­nour with an excellent breakfast, for I am al­ways welcome as a prince, and any compa­ny I conduct are shewn the greatest respect.’ "proceed," said Lord Edwin, ‘my curiosity may possibly be yet more gratified.’

Slowly they descended a winding path 'till they reached the valley, and here they again rested. On every side the towering Glaci­ers reared their snow-crowned heads in a thousand fantastic forms, and proudly contrasted their ad­mirable superiority of magnificence with the fertilized mountains beneath, while scattered on their summit and various tracts of the acclivity in irregular romantic shelterings of the steep peeped the white cottages of the peasants; in [Page 17] short, no situation could exhibit a scene more di­versified and pleasing; here the eye wandered from one beauty to another more enchanting, and when it seemed to have discovered some still more superior view, the slightest glance presented ano­ther if possible more inviting and wonderful, ap­parantly raised by the power of magic to capti­vate the astonished beholder.

The shining bee stole from her hive, and mur­muring through the air was busily extracting from the bloom her liquid sweet; two or three hovels only situate in perilous apertures of the mountain, had suffer devastation by the falling of the snow from the tremendous heights, where a coagulated mass had lately been driven by the winds, bearing in its passage mouldering fragments of rock, whose inevitable direction had crushed and partly smo­thered the desolated roofs. Lord Edwin shudder­ed, yet the spectacle was truly grand, for part of the mass had fallen in different directions, some on the edge of the steep, some in the meandering ri­vulet, and part rested on the rustic one-railed bridge that crossed the stream, from whose un­couth structure suspended innumerable isicles of the most curious form; the aerial choristers were warbling their oraisons, and the inhabitants of the vale seemed the only undelighted enjoyers of the scene, because to them it exhibited no novelty, [Page 18] consequently but little allurement; the eye of the stranger alone beheld it with admiration, and the heart of sensibility could alone feel the exqui­site sensations of delight its contemplation in­spired.

By the most inviting paths, bordered with flow­ers, strewn by the hand of nature, they at length arrived at the cottage; nothing could be more centrically situated to command the surrounding beauties of this magic spot: The door was open, and a charming girl had just entered with a lap full of flowers to deck her burnished casement, whose chequered pane glowed with the refulgence of the rising sun.

"Ah! Madelon," said the guide, "is dame Giraldine up? Can you furnish his honour with a cup of milk, an oat cake, or a glass of your ex­cellent mead?" Madelon dropped a curtsey, and blushing more beautiful than the roses she held in her hand, modestly entreated Lord Edwin to walk in and accept their humble fare. Not at all displeased at his guide's perspicuity in whis­pering that Madelon was a pretty girl, he con­templated, as he walked by her side, the sweet [...]mplicity of her regular features, which though they could not be deemed handsome, yet an in­describable something in her modest smile told [Page 19] you her bosom was the recess of tranquility, the mansion of peace.

She then led him to a neat apartment, where a second female was merrily turning the spinning wheel, and sweetly singing some rural ballad, but the moment Lord Edwin entered, the song ceased, and the wheel was stopped, while the enchanting countenance of the industrious peasant present­ing him her chair with a graceful curtsey, made him start with astonishment, her straw Hat, which hung on the back of it was instantly tied on, and modestly intended to shade the deranged plaits of a neat lawn cap, which confined part of her luxuriant light tresses, while a few straggling ringlets played on her lovely face; her sparkling blue eyes beamed the very soul of sensibility through the shades of the finest dark eye lashes, that resembled fringe of the most beautiful gloss and texture, and the exquisitely traced arches of the same colour, penciled by the hand of nature, added a still superior elegance to her features; her dress was simple yet the very model of neat­ness, and while Lord Edwin gazed with rapture, his fancy compared her to a flower of exquisite beauty and delicacy, reared in an uncultivated soil by the hand of Providence, blooming in the [...]ades of obscurity.

Entranced by the delightful contemplation, he was roused from his reverse by the voice of his [Page 20] guide, addressing a pretty little girl about twelve years old, who was tenderly gazing on a nest of young birds she humanely was endeavouring to feed. In tears my little Josephine, reiterated he. "What have you there, sweet cottager," asked Lord Edwin, peeping over her shoulder, "that causes that compassionate tear?

"A nest of unfledged birds, your honour," replied she, wiping off the christal pendant on the back of her worsted mitten, "I bought them this morning of there cruel boys, who were going to torment them; I had but one florin which they gladly took, so I popped them into my apron, and tying up the bundle of faggots I had been to pick up, placed them on my head, and come home pretty well loaded; but what vexes me most is, they wont eat, and I can't help shed­ding a tear they seem so pitiful."

Well, thought Lord Edwin, what perfection shall I next discover in this enviable vale; al­ready have I been enchanted with the beauties of nature, and the aspiring virtues of generosity and humanity have just presented themselves to com­plete the picture.

In one corner sat a pleasing looking woman about fifty, mending a net, who, with the utmost cordiality begged his honour would partake their [Page 21] humble breakfast [...] [...]out [...] [...] soon be home with the milk; said she, "and Madelon shall spread the table in a minute."

Carlos, who was lolling II Pen [...]erose over the back of his mule, at the door, happened to address his master by the title of my Lord, and the e [...]r of dame Giraldine catching the sound, she s [...]d from her seat, and whispering Rosalie she instant­ly tripped up stairs and brought down an old fash­ioned high-backed chair, with a yellow stuff-cushion. "Your Lordship," said the sweetly blushing maid, "unused to so hard a seat, wi [...] do us the honour to accept this as much easier."

Lord Edwin smiled, and to prevent apologies Instantly exchanged, and drew near the table, which was expeditiously spread with grapes, hard eggs, cream cheese, a piece of honeycomb, a brown loaf, some oat cakes, with a bottle of mead and some delicate whey, the milk only was want­ing to complete the dejun [...], which was brought in a few minutes, frothed, in a large pitcher, borne by the venerable cottager, whose arrived was announced by the caresses of a little lame Cha­mois ^*, who left his straw basket and limped out to welcome his return: 'Twas [...] Chamois, [Page 22] she had found it almost famished and expiring with a fractured leg on the mountains about a twelve-month since, and it had been from that time her fa­vourite cosset, partially grateful to herself and Reuben, but scarce ever noticed the rest of the family.

Reuben, who had shrunk behind Lord Edwin's chair, reluctantly took his seat at the earnest so­licitation of his noble guest, though he would much rather have kept his station in the rear. ‘This breakfast is to me superior to the most sumptuous treat!’ said Lord Edwin, ‘and the pleasure of memory will often retract with the highest satisfaction, the delight I have ex­perienced in the society of this hospitable fami­ly; yes, Desmoulines, I truly envy your allotted portion of happiness."’

Rosalie probably attending more to the energy of this eloquent address, and adoring the condes­cension of the illustrious speaker, than paying at­tention to what she was about, forgot the sharp­ness of the [...]i [...]e she was using, and her negligent hand slipping, the pointed steel made an incision in her left arm, from whence the blood issued fast, and Lord Edwin alarmed at the accident, hastily snatched his handkerchief from his pocket, and bound it [...]ound the w [...]nd. This mark of polite­ness suffused a blush on the cheek of Rosalie, her [Page 23] heart palpitated she knew not why, and the pain had instantly vanished, since the application of the magic handkerchief, while she timidly apolo­gized, and hoped he would give her leave to keep it 'till his return through the vale, when it should be properly washed and carefully restored."

Lord Edwin, who did not want perspecuity to discover the reality of this little strategem, repli­ed, he thought he should alter his rout, and not pass the vale on his return. "Ah! then," repli­ed Rosalie with faltering voice, while the rose vanished from her cheek, "we shall never see you again, and this delicate handkerchief must be wash­ed through while you stay." Lord Edwin was now convinced of the reality of his ideas; he had observed her fine eyes earnestly fixed on his unknowing the magic influence their lustre beam­ed—and gently taking her hand, "don't trouble yourself about such a trifle," said he, "keep it 'till I call again, 'tis very probable I may return in the course of a fortnight, and if the pain of your arm will permit you to enjoy a walk, you and your sisters shall be the directresses of my foot­steps to explore the farther beauties of this charming elysium: Lead on then, sweet girls, and give me proof of your taste in the different views you each shall point out."

[Page 24]Rosalie's heart leaped with delight, and the hats and mittens were on in an instant. Reuben led the way, and Madelon soon arrived at her fa­vourite spot, which Lord Edwin acknowledged to be well worth remark and admiration. "Then you'll not approve my choice," sighed Rosalie, "for every body says its a pleasing prospect but too dull, turn on the left and descend to that ri­vulet."—Lord Edwin obeyed in silence, 'till his wandering steps brought him to the most beauti­fully romantic recess among the cliffs, art or na­ture could devise. From the crevices of a moun­tain burst an irregular cascade, spangling in its fall innumerable flowers that sprang on the craggy steep, while in various niches apparently almost impracticable to climb, rested the straggling Cha­mois from the excesses of the sun; but what most attracted Lord Edwin's notice was a small marble shrine, shaded by a luxuriant cypress, while a thic­ket of rose trees guarded it with its blomming branches, and a profusion of twi [...]ing flowers en­circled it on every side; on a small tablet was engraved the following lines, "Sacred to the me­mory of L. S. G. the loveliest rose of Chamouny," a small lute was tied with a black ribbon to the bough of a cypress that wept over the tomb; and Reuben as he turned away dropt a tear.

[Page 25]"Whose shade owns this emblem of grati­tude? asked Lord Edwin. Reuben shook his head and pointing to Rosalie clasped his hands and walked slowly and pensively on. "When your Lordship honours us with another visit, time, I hope, will not be so precious as it is now, and then you shall hear the history of this valued shrine; but the day is hurrying on, and if your Lordship means to proceed 'tis time to pursue your course over the mountains, before the night draws in, as you will not find accommodation farther on. Lord Edwin repressed his curiosity, and taking his advice, returned to the cottage.

Rosalie's prolific pen frequently produced some poetic composition, and Madelon one even­ing found her fertile imagination deeply em­ployed in penciling down the following lines as she had taken her seat in this favourite romantic recess at the foot of the cypress, whether she [...]d strolled to indulge her exquisitely enjoyed Penso­roso.

[Page 27]Rosalie quitting the room, soon after returned with a basket which she had filled with grapes pomegranates, and almonds. "Here my Lord." said the lovely girl, as she entered, placing her hand on her bosom, to convince him the ejacula­tion came from its most sacred recess, "Here, alas! is the only tribute my gratitude can offer for your polite condescension," casting her eyes at the same instant on the handkerchief that envelop­ed her wounded arm, 'tis a poor recompense, to be sure, but the best our vineyard produces to refresh a thirsty traveller, and our good mother is preparing a few eggs and dried tongues, with a bottle of mead, which we hope your Lordship won't be offended at, for Mr. Carlos can fasten them on his mule."

Lord Edwin heartily thanked her, and shaking hands with the whole family, promised to call in ten days for his handkerchief, and bring little Josephine, a bird for her humanity to the cal­low brood her last florin had purchased, and accept­ing a bunch of roses from Madelon he mounted his mule.

"Bless me," said Rosalie, "this basket has los [...] [...]ts handle, and will tire Mr. Carlos's hand to c [...]y, but I believe I have got a string that will [Page 28] fasten it," Saying which she drew a piece of blue ribbon from her bosom and twisting it through the plaiting lifted it upon the saddle whilst Lord Ed­win transfixed to his seat, had observed with a sen­sation of pleasure this last act of Rosalie. "God bless you, sweet cottagers," said he, "and remem­ber, Rosalie, not to remove the bandage too soon," then waving his hand rode off. Ah! thought Ro­salie, I needed not that injunction, 'tis too soft to remove for a coarser, and I shall never, never have such an honour again. Alas! poor girl, little did thy innocent bosom suspect a deeper wound was pierced within thy heart.

From the small casement of her chamber she secretly watched the track of the mules 'till the envious mountain's obtruding steep hid the scarce­ly discernable objects, and closing the window with an unusual sullen reluctance, she descended to her spinning, but she did not sing; once she attempted the balled she was warbling when Lord Edwin entered the cottage, but her voice failed and the song was never repeated.

As she sat meditating on the visit of Lord Edwin to their cottage, for which she conceived the honour totally owing to the friendship and favour of his guide; gratitude to the poor but friendly muleteer inspired her pen to dedicate a few lines expressive of his occupation, as her fan­cy [Page 29] suggested the idea of his usual perilous tract over the mountains, subject to the emergent haste of the evening traveller, through the rigours of gloomy winter, or effervent heat of sultry sum­mer.

CHAP. III.

IT was the tenth evening, as Lord Edwin pro­missed, when he returned to Chamouny; Rosalie and Madelon had strolled to the top of the moun­tain to discover if the traveller approached; their best grey stuff jackets had been neatly put on, and their clean lawn caps were fastened with primrose top-knots, each took their spindles and seated them­selves on the summit of the steep, to watch his ar­rival; the shades of the evening veiled the fading landscape, and the moon was rising in faint silvery gleam. Rosalie grew restless, she tangled the flax, threw the spindle aside, took it up again, and again the flax broke: her patience was every way exhaust­ed, and once more 'ere she returned to the cottage, she climbed an impending part of the mountain, and with earnest and outstretched eyes, she at a great dis­tance descried the mules slowly pacing the winding track; instantly the blood forsook her cheek—re­turned—fled—and returned again. Madelon obser­ved her agitation with the deepest regret, and care­fully [Page 32] concealed her thoughts, determined however to mark the reception on all sides, and Lord Edwin soon after gained the summit. "How are my sweet girls?" said he, extending a hand to each, "I have a trifle for Madelon, a charming bird for Josephine, and a lute for Rosalie, who, I am informed, plays delightfully." Rosalie thanked him more eloquent­ly with her eyes than her lips, and they descended to the vale.

Impatient to impart the pleasing news, Rosalie tripped quickly on to apprise Giraldine, while Lord Edwin chatted with Madelon, and passing a whithered rose-tree. "Bless me" said he, "how the roses have faded in Chamouny, and even the cheeks of Rosalie have lost their usual bloom since I saw them. "Ah!" replied Madelon, "they have drooped indeed, but I still entertain a hope, some of them may revive."

The peculiar emphasis rested on the word some, accompanied by an arch look and half a smile, did not escape Lord Edwin, and he would have asked an explanation had not Rosalie and Josephine at that moment joined them.

"Where are your little birds?" asked he, tap­ping the rosy cheeks of Josephine." "Oh, all dead, my Lord," answered she, shaking her head, they did not live two days after you left us; [Page 33] poor Rosalie's arm was so painful [...] she could not spin, so I was obliged to help her, and perhaps neglected them."

"Never mind," replied Lord Edwin, "Carlos has a sweet bird for you." At that moment the faithful domestic entered with the portmanteau and bird: Josephine eagerly examined its beauty, but wished it had been a parroquet, that she might have taught it the name of the generous donor. "Do you sing?" asked Lord Edwin. Josephine again shook her head; "ask Rosalie, my Lord, she's our sweetest nightingale, though she has not sung a song this week past." Lovely innocent, thought Lord Edwin, how sweetly hast thou re­vealed the ill secreted thorn that rankles in the bosom of thy charming sister.

Supper was served by Madelon soon after, and Lord Edwin entreated to stay and accept a spare bed they sometimes accommodated travellers with, while Carlos was provided with another at a neighbouring cottage.

The blushing tints of rosy morning scarcely dawned when Lord Edwin was awakened by the plaintive melody of Rosalie's lute under his win­dow, and rising he peeped through his casement; she had taken her seat in a little arbour which half concealed her by the profusion of roses that de­pended [Page 34] from the rural lattice, while the expressive beauty of her countenance depicted her to the eye of fancy the most perfect semblance of the queen of love reposing in her Paphian bower. She had fastened the lute to a violet ribbon which hung at her side, and when she had finished her plaintive air, gently let it fall to its appropriate situation, and remained some moments in a deep reverie 'till the approach of Josephine with a fine basket of peaches roused her from the attitude of contem­plation.

Some few words, uttered in a low key escaped the attentive ear of Lord Edwin, but as they en­tered the house he plainly distinguished the voice of Rosalie, utter the following words.

"Don't, touch them Josephine, 'till his Lord­ship comes down, I dare say he likes peaches, and at least we can give him our share; 'twas lucky Lindor should send them, step up and listen if his Lordship is stirring, while I gather a few blossoms to ornament the parlour."

The voice was then silent, and Lord Edwin drawing aside the little muslin curtain that had cautiously concealed him, finished his dress, when casting his eyes round to admire the neatness of his apartment, he observed a miniature suspended on a small hook by a piece of black ribbon much [Page 35] worn. Curiosity was on the wing, he approach­ed, and taking it in his hand, strictly examined it. "Whose could it be," it was rather improbable it should belong to any of the family, and he had never yet seen any one in this cottage whom it resembled, certain he was if it proved a real copy, the original must be a most beautiful woman, and the robe she wore, added to the band of pearls which confined part of her flowing tresses, be­spoke her at least a person of dignity; in short, it was a mystery his penetration could not unfold▪ he hung it up and viewing it at a distance, fancied he could trace the bewitching smile of Rosalie, yet the idea seemed so absurd he instantly altered his opinion, when a transient thought recalled to his memory the promised explanation of the little shrine he had visited in the recess of the mountain, and half convinced him this miniature tended to elucidate his surmise, and he descended the stairs with a full determination of claiming Reuben's promise.

CHAP. IV.

CICELY, the notable girl who performed the drudgery of the family, smoothed her clean yarn apron, and dropping a very low curtsey, ush­ered him into the little parlour, where the break­fast awaited his descent. The family were all as­sembled and each hoped he had rested well. "Perfectly so," answered Lord Edwin, "if the nightingales in this part of the world did but lull one to sleep by their evening song, instead of chaunting so merrily of a morning."

Rosalie's cheek instantly felt the force of his address, Madelon smiled, and Giraldine nodded at Rosalie, expressive of her condemnation, in hav­ing disturbed the slumberer.

"I hope your Lordship will excuse it," said the worthy Reuben. "Rosalie would deem her­self ungrateful not to delight in her new present, the charming proof of condescention and polite­ness [Page 37] in so illustrious a stranger as your Lordship, 'tis an early hour I presume with your honour, but for us peasants 'tis almost noon day."

"True," replied Lord Edwin, "but it was not sleep occasioned my absence, for in fact I have been this half hour contemplating an elegant mi­niature up stairs, and if it would not be deemed impertinent, I should like to know whose resem­blance it was."

Madelon looked earnestly at her mother, while Rosalie's cheek turned pale, and a starting tear irradiated her eye; every one was silent but the innocent and loquacious Josephine, who, clasp­ing her hands, and gazing tenderly on Rosalie, cried, "Oh! my Lord, don't you think it very like our sweet Rosalie, why its her own dear mam­ma's picture."

Confusion and surprise prevented Lord Edwin's reply, and as no one appeared able or willing to contradict the assertion, he was pretty well con­vinced of the reality of the story. At length re­covering the power of articulation, he ventured to inquire a few particulars, and Josephine being silenced, Giraldine proceeded to relate the narra­tive of Rosalie, "who, she said, was born in that cottage about seventeen years since, that M. Tour­ville [Page 38] their noble landlord, one evening, at a late hour, brought a most beautiful lady wrap­ped in a close veil, in a chaise and four, that a gentleman accompanied them, and an elderly ser­vant on horseback. M. Tourville told her the Lady was a widow in very unhappy circumstances, and near her time, earnestly begging Giraldine to undertake the charge of the infant, if it lived, and also be faithful and diligent to the lady, for whose board she should receive an ample compensation, as her health was in a very precarious state, and she wished to live recluse.

Giraldine added, the lady appeared almost dis­tracted at parting with her companions, and as the carriage drove off she heard the servant ask the postilions if the Marquis meant to cross the mountain with guides and lamps, or if he staid in the vale 'till morning; but they replying they had orders to proceed, drove on; by this she con­ceived her lovely inmate was some person of con­sequence in disguise, and did not doubt but one day this strange adventure would be cleared up; that she passed by the name of Madam Lavinia de St. Clair, and was brought to bed of the charm­ing daughter he now beheld, to whom the enrap­tured parent gave the name of Rosalie; but, alas! continued the worthy Giraldine, the dear affable lady was never cheerful, and a visible and hasty decline soon succeeded.

[Page 39]M. Tourville came often to see her, and at his earnest entreaty she was removed to Montpelier for change of air: Ah! never shall I forget our parting; the sweet babe was left, drowned in tears, to my care, for I could not leave my fami­ly, and as she took a last kiss, she tied that minia­ture round the bosom of the infant, "take care of it Giraldine, for my child," said she, "it may one day be useful, I need not say it is the faith­ful resemblance of her wretched mother, she was then helped into the chaise, and drove off in an­agony of grief.

Since that time our sweet change has never left us. M. Tourville constantly vi [...]ted us twice a year, and would take the greatest delight in see­ing Miss Rosalie grow up so handsome, books of all sorts were brought by him for her instruction, but she was never suffered to visit him at Paris: Poor dear Madam de St. Clair, alas! lived but three weeks after her arrival at Montpelier, leaving her sweet infant to the guardianship of M. Tourville and the gentleman who brought her first here, but being a great personage, he ne­ver condescends to pay us a visit, but sends his old steward once a year with a handsome salary for her board, and it is now near three months since we have received news of M. Tourville, who we fear is ill.

[Page 40]"God avert such a misfortune!" exclaimed Rosalie, "It is much about the time our annual vi­sitor arrives, Oh, methinks I long to see good Mr. Montague."

"Montague," cried Lord Edwin, "pray what sort of a man may he be, is his hair remarkable white, and has he a small red mark on the left cheek?"

Yes, that he has," answered Josephine, "and I often look at it as I sit on his knee."

"And does he not live with the Marquis of Sevigne?" answered Lord Edwin, with apparent agitation.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Rosalie, "he tells us he is bound to secrecy, and we must not ask, but he hopes one day to convey me to Eng­land in all the splendour I deserve, and frequent­ly he sheds tears as he fits gazing on me; in vain have I conjured him on my knees to reveal my hapless tale, but he always evades my request, and while my pension is constantly remitted I am happy in the protection of my adopted parent, who has faithfully and tenderly guarded my help­less infancy, and sorrowful will be the day if I should ever leave them; but 'tis strange, my Lord, you should know Mr. Montague, I wish [Page 41] he may come to-morrow for he is expected this week."

"I wish he may," replied Lord Edwin, much embarrassed, "and I will prolong my stay a day or two in consequence; for should he prove to be the person I suspect, it may be in my power to render myself serviceable to you; but tell me, sweet girl, how that miniature came to be left in a stranger's chamber, suppose they had purloined it?"

"Oh lack-a-day," answered Giraldine, "we have no thieves in Chamouny, and 'tis hard to suspect; but you must know, my Lord, that cham­ber is our dear young lady's, but she is so affable and kind that she frequently sleeps with Madelon, to accommodate strangers whom the guide often calls with, to taste my mead; for though we are private cottagers, we are always happy to oblige any traveller who will honour us with their com­pany."

"You are very good and bountiful," said Lord Edwin, "and I must now claim my friend Reu­ben's promise relative to the little sh [...]ine, although I can partly guess to whose memory it is conse­crated."

[Page 42]"Then doubtless your Lordship can suppose it no other than Madame St. Clair's, and so it is: You must know, the dear lady used frequently to stroll to that spot, which she called the Recess of Solitude, and there she would pass whole days in reading and weeping, so soon after she died I erec­ted that tomb, and as all our neighbours used to adore the very path she trod, and admire her beau­ty, I thought it would be no offence to stile her the sweetest Rose of Chamouny, and such is the inscription you have read; This romantic place you may be sure is dear to us all, for every eye in the vale has shed its grateful tears there▪ a [...]d our lovely charge too often indulges melancholy at the foot of that cypress, when she can steal out alone."

"And could you never learn the family or con­nections of Madam St. Clair!" said Lord Ed­win.

"No, your honour, we never dare ask M. Tourville, he was always so secret, and Madame never dropped the least [...]int; and sure it could be no business of ours, for as we could not relieve her sorrows, why should we ever [...] to know them?"

Rosalie sighed, and a responsive one echoed from to [...] bosom of Lord Edwin: "I have caught [Page 43] the infection of your low spirits, sweet girl," said he, "do fetch your lute and enliven us with some of your favourite melody.

Rosalie obeyed, and Lord Edwin taught her a beautiful air, of which he was passionately fond, and which the admirable taste of Rosalie seemed to improve.

CHAP. V.

MOST part of the day was past in viewing the beauties of the vale, and when the gold-empur­pled ray of evening shed its parting gleam upon the mountains, a poor blind youth from a neigh­bouring hamlet playing on a fantastic pipe and ta­bor soon summoned the cottagers to a little lawn▪ where a rustic ballet was formed, to the great amusement of Lord Edwin, who, seated on a dis­tant bench, enjoyed the innocent delight that manifested itself in each smiling countenance, and [Page 44] when the piper and the villagers retired, the fa­mily turned into their cottage to partake of their simple supper which Giraldine had prepared, and at an early hour they sought the soothing in­sensibility of tranquil slumber sacred to the soul of peace.

The night was majestically beautiful, a solemn silence prevailed—Lord Edwin gently opened his casement, silvered by the moon, which exactly beamed on the miniature; a rustling gale agitated the poplars, and gently waved the dew-weighed heads of the full blown roses that encircled the chequered pane, and the perfume they exhaled was exquisite. Sleep's magic fillet could not veil his eye, Montague was hourly expected, Montague, the steward of his father! 'Twas strange! 'twas mysterious! He knew Montague constantly visit­ed Italy every summer, but he always understood his own private affairs demanded his attendance; his father too had been very circumspect in his conduct, for he had never heard the most distant hint that could awaken suspicion, he would there­fore wait the event of Montague's arrival; and with such reflection he closed his window, and re­tired to his cleanly coarse pillow, 'till the voice of Rosalie, and the trampling of mules under his window awakened him from his disturbed and ir­regular slumbers.

[Page 45]He was not long dressing, for the voice of Mon­tague maddened his impatience, and faltering yet resolute, he descended to the parlour, where the good old man had seated Josephine on his knee, and was answering her quick-repeated questions concerning a favourite lap-dog she had given him last year, when the voice of Lord Edwin com­plimenting him jocularly on his safe arrival at the cottage, petrified him to his chair. "You are a man of taste, Montague," cried he, "to prefer the hospitable reception of these worthy peasants in preference to any accommodation you could receive in the vale of Chamouny; Giral­dine's cream cheeses suit your palate, Rosalie's grapes are more luscious than any vineyard here produces, and the dried tongues and oat cakes of Madelon's preparing, are a most inviting bon [...]ouche to refresh a fatigued traveller, hobbling over uncouth mountains purely through kindness to his relations."

A sarcastic smile accompanied these last words▪ and Montague abashed and confounded, felt their full force on his cheek, where the flush of con­scious duplicity indicated the explicit truth, as he faintly acknowledged that he frequently called as he passed.

"Nay," replied Lord Edwin, "spare those lips the disgrace of a falsehood, we all know the [Page 46] extent of your travels never exceeds the bounda­ry of this vale, I am also acquainted with the motives of your embassy, therefore be candid, you need not fear reproof when acting on the principles of honesty and benevolence; but you and I must have some private conversation on the subject, for depend on it I shall revert to facts, such as have long been entrusted to your secrecy, and expect an impartial and faithful account of this mysterious conduct, you know the irritabi­lity of my temper, and your ready compliance with my wish will alone prove the sincerity of the attachment you have ever professed for me.

CHAP. VI.

LORD EDWIN then left the room with a countenance expressive of unusual ferocity, and such as the faithful Montague during a service of twenty [...]five years had never seen clouded with the furious storms of anger; for his young Lord he would readily have braved every danger, but to betray the confidence reposed in him by the Mar­quis, after being so strictly enjoined to secrecy, was a point of honour he could not reconcile himself to give up, and he conceived himself plunged in an inextricable labyrinth, yet as Lord Edwin had discovered this charming protegee, and seemed to be perfectly acquainted with great part of the affair, doubtless his information had been accidentally obtained from Giraldine or Ro­salie, consequently, on a moment's reflection, he concluded the Marquis could never reproach him for explaining the remainder, which would ever [Page 48] reflect honour on himself, and could be no farther prejudice to Lord Edwin; he therefore determi­ned to disclose every circumstance within his knowledge, and leave the event to Providence.

He then snatched up his hat and crossing the lawn entered the vineyard, where he beheld Lord Edwin reclining on a rustic bench, mi­nutely examining the miniature of Madame de St. Clair. "Come hither," said he, seizing the arm of Montague with a degree of impetuous energy, "Do you know the original of this copy?" The poor old man (who knew an eva­sive answer would only tend to irritate Lord Edwin) replied he had seen the lady whose re­semblance it bore, but did not know who she was, or ever should." "Why not?" asked his Lordship, "you must be more explicit; where did you first see her, and, with whom?"

"With my Lord the Marquis," answered Montague, "about seventeen years since, and all I know of the transaction is, I was one evening at ten o'clock ordered to pack a small portman­teau, in consequence of a letter my Lord had just received from a private hand, which ap­peared to have agitated him greatly; the carri­age was immediately ordered with post horses, and myself the only person permitted to attend him, and we pursued our jour [...]ey to Paris as [Page 49] fast as carriages and vessels could carry us, but the Marquis observed a solemn silence the great­est part of the way, and when he did condescend to ask a question, 'twas sullen and snappish."

"At length we arrived at an obscure inn very late in the evening, where a very elegant lady faint­ed on my master's shoulder, and I was ordered by a French gentleman to leave the room; in half an hour fresh horses were ordered, and the above lady and gentleman stepped into the carriage with the Marquis, and drove quickly off.

Shall I confess my curiosity was awakened, and I ventured to ask Janette, the bar-maid, if she knew the parties, but she, poor girl, spoke very little English, and that in so complicated a dialect, I could not gain one particle of the desired infor­mation, for they were perfect strangers, and "Je ne scais pas," was the prevalent answer from the Maitre d'Hotel to Le Valet d'Ecurie.

About three days after, the carriage stopped one evening at this cottage, good dame Giral­dine's candle would have been extinguished in another moment, (for the good folks were just undressing) when I was ordered to tap at the door, out popped the head of Reuben to inquire who disturbed them, and the voice of M. Tourville [Page 50] from the carriage instantly brought him to the door.

"I know the remaining circumstances of Ma­dame St. Clair's story, therefore abridge that part and proceed from the Marquis's departure." Montague bowed and continued.

We then returned to the confines of Paris, where we left M. Tourville and made the best of our way to England, where about five weeks after the Marquis's sister, who was a nun in some convent, died, and the next post brought account of the death of Madame St. Clair. Ah! I shall never forget being called into the Marquis's chamber; Montague, said he, poor Madame St. Clair has paid the debt of nature, after giving birth to a lovely daughter; I trust you have never revealed the circumstances of our tour, or her departure from Paris, after the secrecy I enjoined you to observe; you, and you only, are acquainted with the business, swear you will never divulge the confidence I am going to repose in your bosom, as it is of the utmost importance to be concealed at present; to your hands then I shall remit proper sums for the maintenance of this infant, to whom I am left guardian you shall convey it every summer, and bring me proper information how she is, and [Page 51] when it is in my power to bring her to England, I shall feel myself happy in having her under my more immediate care, which at present her infant state prevents me.

Such was the promise I engaged to fulfil, [...] as M. Tourville is very lately dead [...] depute [...] to convey Miss Rosalie to the castle, and from thence to Thornley Abbey."

"To the solitudes of Thornley," cried Lord Edwin, "is my father going to immure this blossom, amidst the rest of his secluded sweets, bu­ried in oblivion there?"

"Why she was to have staid at the castle, but when I told the Marquis how handsome she was, he instantly altered his mind."

"She goes to Thornley then," said he, "'till the departure of Edwin, for should he see her with the same partial eyes you do, I know not the consequence, and then the measure of my un­easiness would be complete."

"A charming plan," replied Lord Edwin, "but some deep mystery remains, which I will endeavour to elucidate: Charming Rosalie! if she loves like me, no power on earth shall sepa­rate us; take her to England, I will follow every [Page 52] stage in disguise, to protect her, and by the time she has inhabited the antique abbey about a week, I shall make my formal entre, by popping in upon lady Mentoria and her fair companion, in the midst of their dinner, when least expected."

"Mercy defend me," exclaimed Montague, "is it possible my Lord will risk the Marquis's eternal displeasure, by fixing his affection almost instantaneously on the very object his caution would conceal, and utmost vigilance separate?"

"Every remonstrance is vain," replied Lord Edwin, rising hastily from his seat, "I am going in search of Rosalie, and in the mean time do you inform Giraldine." He then turned into the cottage, and found Rosalie at her busy wheel. "Lay your spinning aside," said he, "we must have a few moments conversation: You are going to England, charming Rosalie, with Montague, in two days, he has brought a letter expressive of the Marquis's commands, and you must obey them. Rosalie involuntarily laid her hand on his arm, "Oh, my Lord, how shall I reconcile my­self to leave this peaceful home, these dear-loved protectors of my infancy," and a tear trembled in her eye. "Make yourself happy," replied Lord Edwin, "I will conduct you, sweet inno­cent, my arm shall guard you safe from every danger to the shores of England."

[Page 53]"Ah no, my Lord, you jest but with my sor­row, how is it possible?" cried she, clasping her hands, "at any rate, I am most probably going to be stationed in some menial capacity in the Marquis's family, for an orphan dependant on his bounty can expect little else, my gratitude then shall lead me to obey with cheerfulness the commands of my benefactor; but the task of parting will I fear much grieve poor Giraldine, she is old, and I shall never perhaps see her more."

Lord Edwin now found it necessary to explain the mystery, by declaring himself the son of the Marquis, avowing his ardent love for her, and declaring she alone should ever share his happi­ness. "Why then so reluctant, sweet girl, more pleasing prospects shall unveil to your view, and the sunshine of prosperity shall shed its ray, and renovate my beauteous blossom though transplant­ed from its native soil," and he kissed the tear that fell upon her hand.

Rosalie appeared much agitated: "Alas! that I am every way unworthy the honour your Lord­ship has conferred," said she, "I am perfectly convinced, retract then your vow, my Lord, and view only with the eye of beneficent friend­ship, the ill-fated cottager of Chamouny; ah [...] why was I doomed to be the sport of capricious [Page 54] fate, or create one moment's uneasiness to one whose superiority prevents my retaliation of af­fection, without incurring the consure such pre­sumption would merit, and dared this erring heart reproach Providence, 'twould murmur that relentless fate should have instigated your visit to this peaceful vale, where you will have plucked from us the blooming rose of happiness, and left us only the thorns of regret. If I solicit to re­main with this happy family, I fear I shall never enjoy the peace I once knew, for a continual dread of having offended my benefactor, and the idea of ingratitude to your Lordship would break my heart, yet persist not in accompanying me to the Abbey, after the strict injunctions the Mar­quis has enjoined Montague."

"Say not a word," replied Lord Edwin, "my plan is formed, and I am determined to execute it; go to Giraldine, who is apprised of your depar­ture, take only one dress with you, for Montague has orders to furnish you with a genteel habili­ment as soon as you arrive in England, and re­member when we meet at the Abbey necessity will compel us to be strangers 'till the mystery of your parentage can be explained."

Thus ended the discourse, and Rosalie promis­ing to observe discretion on her part, rushed to [Page 55] her chamber, and threw herself across the bed, her bosom agitated by the contesting passions of love, gratitude, hope, and obedience; but time was swiftly passing, her stay would be short, and she determined dividing her cloaths equally be­tween Madelon and Josephine, and she was going down in search of them when the miniature c [...]ught her attention, she took it down, and fastening it to her bosom, earnestly examined every feature. "Would to heaven thou could speak," sighed she, "I should then be acquainted with my desti­ny; miserable girl that I am, thus to be ignorant of every circumstance relative to my family."

Again she would have indulged a moment's re­flection, if the foot of Madelon had not roused her reverie; she opened the door, Madelon was in tears; she kissed the cheek of Rosalie, and wept on her shoulder:—"Thursday," sobbed she, "we lose our dear sister."

Rosalie endeavoured to pacify her, assuring her she would write as often as possible, for Mon­tague had promised her a conveyance at least four times a year. "Ah! that will be poor consola­tion to me," replied Madelon, "but we must submit."

What a mixture of pain did these charming girls struggle to suppress, 'twas the real sorrow. [Page 56] of separation. To Madelon and Josephine her cloaths were equally divided, a straggling ring­let was purloined by each as the treasured relic of a dear loved friend, a valued sister, her lute on­ly was reserved to take to England, for that was too valuable to be parted with even to Madelon. Every thing being settled for their departure, it was agreed Lord Edwin should proceed with the travellers the whole way, and as he spoke the Italian to perfection, and Rosalie also, he con­ceived passing by the title of Signior Carlini and sister, he should elude all suspicion during their tour; he meant also to procure a veil at the first convenient situation, which Rosalie should keep closely drawn, and never take off, which being almost a usual custom in that country, would by no means appear a singularity.

CHAP. VII.

THE supper was prepared on the second even­ing, and the family assembled:—Giraldine sat gazing on, vacancy jogging her foot, and lost in thought; Reuben drew the cork of a choice bottle, the produce of his well-cultured vineyard, to revive their drooping spirits, but it would not do—no one's appetite served.

Madelon's hand rested on the shoulder of Ro­salie, who was caressing with plaintive adieu the little Chamois, that rested in her lap, unconscious of the loss he too was going to sustain. Joseph­ine, the innocent sprightly Josephine, was ear­nestly entreating to accompany them about three miles over the mountains, but as the guide could not return with her, and Madelon was obliged to stay and console her mother; a prudent ob­servation of Lord Edwin, not to experience a [Page 58] second parting scene, repelled the wish, and it was no more repeated.

Montague to hide his feelings, and prevent join­ing in conversation, had taken his solitary seat at the door: The prattle of Josephine no longer en­livened him: Rosalie's spinning wheel ceased to turn: Madelon's little garden had not received its evening visitor's refreshing care, to renovate and tie up the drooping plants, and Giraldine's basket of knitting hung neglected on the branch of a rose tree that encircled the casement.

Carlos musing on the thoughts of his separation from Marcella, in like manner was no very live­ly companion to Montague; as he was pensively lolling over the gate of the vineyard, contem­plating the arrival of a group of peasantry, who were advancing in procession, but not one smile beamed on their countenance. They were come to take leave of Rosalie, each had brought some little pledge of esteem: A curious osier basket, a purse, a pair of mittens, a silk net for her hair, a variegated pincushion, a curious jar of the choic­est honey, a few pomegranates, with various other trifles according to the age and distinction of the donor.

Lord Edwin was enraptured to behold the un­ [...]eigned tear of real sincerity that dimmed the [Page 59] bright eyes of the female peasants for his beloved Rosalie—they chatted about half an hour and then took an affectionate farewell.

"The dust," said Carlos, as he watched their departure▪ "won [...] [...] very troublesome to-mor­row, Montague, for [...]nks the plentiful show­ers that have fallen from the eyes of these faith­ful affectionate peasants will abate the inconveni­ence of our being blinded by it should the wind even rise, 'tis the first time, Montague, you or I ever witnessed such a scene but as my Lord justly observes, this Vale abounds with rari­ties."

"A similar shower may perhaps lave the flinty roads of Savoy," replied Montague, "'ere Car­los returns to England, and recounts the drops that fell in Chamouny."

The chord of sympathy was touched, and its vibration was strong and severe. "Montague's raillery might amuse and cheer our hospitable friends within," answered Carlos, "suppose we see if we can render ourselves serviceable?"

Montague assented, and they turned into the cottage, where Rosalie was packing her presents in a small portmanteau, which, with a basket of refreshment, was to be fastened on Carlos's mule. [Page 60] Again and again they took leave, and retired to rest, for the mules were to be saddled by six o'clock.

Sleep's magic fillet, steeped in poppied essence, for the first time lost its power over the whole family. Not a soul closed their eyes; Reuben and Giraldine talked the tedious night away; Ma­delon and Josephine steeped their pillows in a bri­ny bath, while Rosalie pretended sleep to prevent encouraging the painful ideas of separation, and Lord Edwin alone had retired with a light heart enraptured to have discovered the mine that con­cealed so inestimable a jewel, whose brilliancy would dazzle every beholder, when polished by emulation, and who would not envy him its posses­ssion.

They were all up by five, and again the parting tear fringed with gems the down [...]cast eyelids. T [...] morning was serenely beautiful, and Rosalie as her dejected eyes wandered, for the last time, over the picturesque beauties that bounded her view, secretly thought the Vale of Chamouny had never before looked so beautiful: A small purse of Louis presented by Lord Edwin to Ma­delon and Josephine, and a liberal compliment from the Marquis by the hands of Montague, amply satisfied the careful guardians of this love­ly protegee; a short adieu was all Lord Edwin [Page 61] could permit, and the handkerchiefs of Madelon and Josephine were just discovered to wave in the breeze as Rosalie took a last look from the summit of the mountain.

CHAP. VIII.

AFTER the departure of Lord Edwin from the Castle, the Marquis, as was his usual custom, retired to his library—'twas much about the time Montague paid his annual visit to Chamouny, and a certain presentiment, instilled by apprehen­sion, darted across his imagination. "Gone to France, and means to pass through Italy," ex­claimed he as he shut the door, "Ah! heaven avert he should discover the concealment of Ro­salie, but surely Edwin's disposition is not so ro­mantic as to search the obscure cottage to gratify his taste: No, no, the gallant and noble ancestry of his father will prevent my son from falling in­to the errors of commonality."

[Page 62]The Marquis's pride, which was ever his pre­dominant characterist [...], now reigned in full force, and ringing his bell with a degree of vio­lence, he ordered Montague to attend. The faithful steward obeyed the summons: He was the chosen regulator of the Marquis's plans, and had lived in the family twenty-five years, he was now in his fifty-seventh year, beloved and re­spected by every one in the family, and gratitude and obedience to his superiors, gentleness and courtesy to his fellow servants had gained him the esteem he so justly merited; the most implicit confidence sealed his lip where necessity required, and the most noble sentiments of liberality and compassion flowed from the dictates of his honest heart; he was still active and diligent, though he was stealing through the autumnal vale of life to the winter of a happy old age.

"Shut the door" said the Marquis, "and sit down," Montague obeyed in silence.—

"My son is gone to Paris," resumed he, "and as it is [...] the time of your annual trip, I would have you instantly set off, I have a strange presage he should meet with Rosalie: 'Tis time she should be brought to England, and as I am now her sole guardian, I shall place her at Thornly, under the inspection of Lady Mentoria Edwin, he will by that means never see her before his return from [Page 63] Italy, and by that time she will perhaps be dispo­sed of, for you alarmed me when you said she ex­ceeded your expectation in person and manners, and that such was the general opinion of every body, and if Edwin should discover her in his tour through those mountains, who can tell the consequence?"

"Good my Lord," cried Montague smiling, ‘don't raise imaginary evils, for should Lord Edwin meet with her, who is to unraval the mys­tery known now only to God and yourself?’

"Why true," answered the Marquis, "I did not reflect on that improbability: however, as the poor girl will be expecting you set off on Thursday, Edwin cannot reach that part of the world this fortnight, as he goes to Paris and makes some stay: Here," continued he, open­ing his escrutore, "is a sufficient sum to defray all expenses."

"I wish," said Montague, "the sweet lady, her mother was alive." The Marquis's colour mantled on his cheek, and he fetched a deep sigh. "I can assure you," resumed Montague, "Miss Rosalie is far handsomer than her mo­ther's picture." "Her mother's picture! cri­ed the Marquis how for God's sake should she come by it?" "Why Madam gave it to Giral­dine [Page 64] for the child when she went to Montpelier," "I charge you then," said the Marquis, "the moment you arrive, to demand it in my name, seal it instantly, and restore it safe and unseen by mortal eye to my hand; go, Montague strictly obey this injunction, and return soon as possible." He promised to observe his directions, bowed, and withdrew.

The Marquis remained some time ruminating, and then entered the breakfast parlour, where Lady Adela and Lady Louisa were winding some cotton for their tambour, very much tangled: The Marquis smiled at their perplexity, "I am much in your situation, my dear girls," said he, "for I am about to unravel a delicate skein, mysteriously tangled."

Lady Louisa let fall her hand to listen to the Marquis's strange address, and the winding ceas­ed. "What aenigma have you to puzzle us with, dear Sir" answered her lively Ladyship, "do give us the most easy clue to discover it, for real­ly our patience is almost exhausted, with this troublesome skein."

"The mystery I am going to unfold, my children, is not yet arrived at the proper crisis of explanation, nor must you require it 'till time [Page 65] and opportunity permit me to disclose the impor­tant secret."

"The lovely sisters involuntarily looked at each other in amaze. Adela then pensively cast her eyes on the ground, and waited the procedure, while Lady Louisa more susceptible, caught his hand, and fixing her fine eyes on his averted coun­tenance, cried, "Pray dear Sir, relieve our sus­pense."

Expectation was on the wing, 'twas the mo­ment of explanation, as the veil of secrecy gent­ly devolved the mystery long consigned to the recess of faithful silence, a moment elapsed, and the Marquis continued.

"I am going to introduce to your favour and protection a delicate plant, reared in an uncul­tivated soil, though sprung from a rich and fer­tile stem, which torn by the ruthless and capri­cious winds of fate, withered, drooped and di­ed, leaving to the more favourable breeze of hea­ven the nurture of its sole-surviving blossom; the soil of Italy was destined to fear this deso­lated flower, and now luxuriance and perfection mark the opening beauties of this tender vale­nursed lily, I shall transplant it with assiduous care to the protection of my amiable daughters, cherished by their fostering hand, it will, I trust, repay, with grateful blossom, their watch­ful attention▪ Such is the plant I wish them to [Page 66] preserve, if same with partial praise has not de­ceived me. Montague is commissioned to convey it safe to England, and if you find rusticity has veiled one charm, prune with discretion the im­peding leaf, while as its rising beauty witnesses improvement, a father's ardent love shall be the fond requital of your care."

He ceased, and the starting tear that glistened in his eye, reflected back the chrystal pendant that impearled the cheeks of his attentive audi­tors, but Lady Louisa's dimpled smile banished the tear, 'twas the incense of exquisite sensibility from hearts whose monitor was humanity.

"I perfectly understand you, my dear Sir," said she, "and conceive the plant you have so sweetly and interestedly described, partakes the sensitive nature, if so, when committed to the charge of Adela and myself, it shall at least be exempt from the rude pressure of derisive insensi­bles, whose unfeeling curiosity might be tempted to censure, where compassion should predominate."

"And after the inviolate secrecy which seals our father's lip," replied Lady Adela, "his daughters will ever prove themselves worthy the confidence reposed in them, by never seeking to explore the secret unpermitted, 'tis sufficient to [Page 67] us the lovely protegee is countenanced by a pa­rent who has ever evinced himself the faithful friend of the unfortunate.

The Marquis pressed them to his bosom, and, relying on their discretion, informed them he was guardian to the lovely orphan, that a genteel for­tune was left in his hands for her maintenance, and that he wished every affection to be shewn her as the relic of a friend dearly revered, but to whom he had sworn never to reveal her birth or connections 'till a convenient opportunity; he then wished them a good morning and with­drew.

His horse was soon after ordered, and he bow­ed to them as he crossed the lawn — The charming sisters, left to their own reflection on this interest­ing subject, formed a thousand conjectures; La­dy Adela wondered what friend's child it could be whose concerns required such strict secrecy. "I long to see her," said Lady Louisa; "I should like to know if she is handsome," continued she, adjusting her beautiful tresses through the solds of her muslin turban, while a spark of envy dart­ed through her bosom at the idea of a rival, though her natural sweetness of temper would have forgiven such a superiority, even to her most inveterate enemy, yet the suggestion was ve­ry apt in the bosom of a young female.

[Page 68]Sir Henry Lansdowne's elegant phaeton and four greys, at that moment crossing the lawn, caught the eye of Lady Louisa, "Good heavens!" exclaimed she, "here is Sir Henry's greys enter­ing the gate, how shall I escape, for positively he shall not see me en dishabille, for as he is most probably your swain, and I am on my preferment, it may mar my fortune, and I should be sorry to interrupt so charming a tete-a-tete, so adieu, dear Adela." The window invitingly open to the garden was low, and Lady Louisa instantly leaped out and flew for refuge to a recess in the shrubbery.

Sir Henry enquiring for the fair fugitive, was told she was dressing; by the side of the window hung a beautiful landscape, just framed, which attracted his admiration, and he placed himself with his back to the light in order to view more accurately some beau­ty Lady Adela was pointing out, when turning to the window to enjoy the perfume of the gerani­ums that encircled it, he perceived a pale green slipper hanging on the branch of a rose bush, with a small fragment of muslin floating on the briar.

"Bless me," cried he, "the owner of this slip­per has encountered the thorns, whether in search of the rose I can't say, but surely the fugitive, by leaving such evident traces had some particu­lar [Page 69] object to pursue or elude, had both slippers re­mained, one might have concluded some lovely saint had commenced her pilgrimage to Loretto from this favoured spot, and left these trophies to announce her departure."

Lady Adela's cheek flushed crimson: To have discovered her sister's retreat would have offended her, and yet the embarrassed state in which she had so precipitately left her demanded it, to ex­tricate her from the capability of raising a false­hood; Louisa's sarcasm also of Sir Henry being her lover, had so much deranged her for the moment, she scarce knew how to receive him, and to be left tete-a-tete was a double mortification, for never had the slightest partiality been visible in his conduct to Lady Adela; on the contrary, she had regarded her sister as the object of his repeat­ed visits, and whilst those ideas crowded her imagination, she scarce knew what answer to make.

"If the slipper is yours," repeated he, "per­mit me to reach it." "Oh no," answered Lady Adela, 'tis Louisa's, pray let it remain," catch­ing his sleeve as he stept over the Dutchess. "As 'tis Lady Louisa's," said the delighted Lansdowne, I will venture to restore it." Lady Adela's vex­ation increased, "Pray return, Sir Henry," cried she, "probably Sylvio may have stolen it from my sister's dressing room, he is very mis­chievous." "Do you think he tore this trans­parent [Page 70] strip from her gown at the same time, if he did, he was an arch fellow to lay the blame on the thorns, and make them the apparent depreda­tors of his ingenuity."

The fact was now too evident to be denied, and Lady Adela could only intreat him to return; "For heaven's sake, Sir Henry," cried she, fly­ing to the door, and well knowing Louisa could not be concealed far off, by the deprivation of her slipper, "Stay, at least 'till I have enquired if Andrew has removed the steel traps."

"O, I fear them not," replied Lansdowne, bowing saucily, and perfectly seeing through this excellent stratagem of his fair suppliant, "traps of steel nor chains of iron don't prevent my dis­covering the retreat of this lovely fugitive, be­sides, as I have a presentiment she has just trod­den the path before me, tis most probable from the silence which reigns she has escaped all such danger as your fears tend to magnify, or should she have fallen the victim of such a disaster, I will be the champion to extricate her, though a dra­gon guarded the shrubbery; yet dont attempt to follow 'till I have explored every avenue to en­sure your safety," added he, with a sarcastic smile.

Lady Adela turned her head to conceal her too visible confusion, while Lansdowne darting thro' [Page 71] the vista, was enclosed in the mazes of the shrub­bery in an instant, and Lady Adela gravely re­turned to her seat.

In vain he peeped through every aperture, she was not to be found; at length turning a corner into a very romantic shade, called the wilderness, he caught the glimpse of her gown darting swift­ly round the trees, and turning through the first path, sprung through a thicket of Suringo's, and caught the end of her [...]a [...], but his buckle un­fortunately entangling, h [...] rightly prize slip­ped the knot which confined the Persian to her waist, and leaving the trophy in his hand, reach­ed the house before him, and flew to her dressing­room.

Lady Adela followed her with a flush of an­ger on her countenance; "Is your ridiculous scamper over?" said she to the breathless Louisa, who had thrown herself on a couch, "never again, sister, subject me to form friv [...]lous ex [...], and when your folly is discovered act in so chil [...] a manner: What must Sir Henry think of your behaviour; half undressed, only one slipper, and flying without the least reason from a pursuit sure to overtake you; I have only to beg you'll adjust your dress and descend to apologize for your im­prudence."

[Page 72]Lady Louisa, who tenderly loved her sister, felt the force of this conversation most poignant, a reproach from Adela was a wound to her heart. "I have been guilty of a weakness," said she, "but the intention was a harmless frolic;" and as she passed the glass the con­viction of her error from the appearance of her robe brought an involuntary tear in her eye: Adela's admonition was kind, thought she, as she descended the stairs, and I will for the future sup­press my volatile spirits.

Agitated and vexed she gently opened the door, Lady Adela nodded a smile of approbation, and Sir Henry placed her on the sofa: "Had Lady Louisa attempted her agility in running for the celebrated apple, she had surely vanquished the swift footed Atalanta, and obtained the prize."

Lady Louisa blushed: "Which of us do you think was most to blame," cried she, "me for flying you in this ridiculous race, or you for pur­suing me when you must naturally suppose I had my reason for absenting myself, and I did not con­ceive my sister's attractions so few as not to be able to render you any amusement during my ab­sence, and I honestly declare my flight wa [...] [...]he whim of the moment to elude curiosity, how then could I imagine the polite Sir Henry would [Page 73] have intruded on my retirement, by boldly insist­ing on forcing me to discover myself when it was not agreeable."

Sir Henry stung with the severity of this last word, repelled as much as possible, the fiery glance that darted in his eye. "To err is human," re­plied he, "to forgive divine; and as I now ap­peal to a divinity, whose characteristic is com­passion and benevolence, thus let a suppliant sue for pardon," gracefully dropping on one knee, and presenting the sash and slipper: "The ardent desire of having one peep at so charming a fugi­tive, whom I had never consciously offended, in­duced me to explore your retreat, one fascinating smile seals my pardon, and Lansdowne vows ne­ver to intrude again 'till the benignant eye of Lady Louisa marks his fond wish, and permits him so great an indulgence."

"Sir Henry's elegant apology has sufficiently atoned for his frolic, and Louisa trusts forgive­ness beams as sincerely in her eye as it expands in her heart." An eloquent look at that moment confirmed the reality of her address, yet it conveyed to the bosom of Lansdowne an idea not easily for­gotten, for Sir Henry's partiality had long sub­sisted, and he waited only to be assured his hopes were not founded on a baseless fabric; thus the [Page 74] information he wished to obtain he conceived the eloquent eyes of Lady Louisa had powerfully ex­prest: That she entertained a respectful esteem was all he could at present flatter himself with, and as he well knew she possessed every social vir­tue, he did not doubt but in time sympathy would raise the spirit of friendship to the exalted and servent passion of love, for every perfection, in his opinion, centered in this paragon of excel­lence, and if an error ever blazed in her conduct, it could only be imputed to a peculiar flow of good spirits, the incense of a heart which knew no guile, and a quick sensibility and imagination unrestricted by prudery or affectation: she was youthful, innocent and gay, her heart had never known a pang of real sorrow, every hour had glided on the wing of happiness, nor had she ever been tempted to pluck the rose of love, conse­quently its thorns had never wounded her bosom.

CHAP. IX.

THE rest of the morning passed in chat 'till the Marquis's return, who, pleased with his vi­sitor, begged he would stay to dinner, for Sir Henry, as the son of his most favourite youth­ful companion, who trod with him in childhood the paths of learning, always found a hearty in­vitation at the castle: "About a fortnight hence," said the Marquis, "is the united birth-day of my daughters, which I intend to celebrate with all possible festivity; the neighbouring nobility and gentry will have general invitations, and the peasantry shall enjoy every harmony and pleasure their hearts can wish; I intend to form a fete champetre, and your presence will add to our felicity."

The high blood that flowed in the Marquis's veins had ever panted for an alliance with this noble youth, and he flattered himself one of his [Page 76] daughters might be able to captivate, in his opi­nion, so glorious a prize. The ample estate of Sir Henry, the elegant education he had receiv­ed, and improved to every advantage; the vir­tue of his ancestors shining in every action, and flowing in every sentence, had so inflated the pride of the Marquis, that every hope rested on this fa­vorite scheme.

Every elegance was preparing at the castle, and the most sumptuous luxuries procuring; every belle in the vicinity was racking her inven­tion to appear the most attractive object, and not a domestic but equally enjoyed the delightful an­ticipation of the approaching festival, and even the old gardener, whose venerable locks straggled in silvery threads on his wrinkled temples, was half persuaded to suffer his niece Agness, who was waiting maid to Lady Adela, to have them fasten­ed with a new black ribbon, and, wear a little powder on the occasion, but in vain did she endea­vour to rally and tell him he would look so young he should be her partner on the lawn.

"Don't teaze me Agnes," said he, "you nor any other female shall ever have the honour of decking my head."

Agnes smiled for the moment at his shrewd reply, yet as she recollected her worthy uncle had once loved and met a severe disappointment, she pitied [Page 77] him from her soul, as she was well convinced his attachment to a single life had not arisen from a froward disposition, or an absolute aversion to the sex in general, a sigh sacred to his sorrows escaped her, and Andrew perhaps at that moment felt a similar sensation, as he walked slow and pen­sively out of the servants hall.

"Well, I never liked old bachelors," said the little thin house-keeper, drawing up her head and smoothing her apron, "but I must say Andrew is the best tempered creature I ever lived with in my life, yet, as I often tell him, his genero­sity out-runs his pocket, poor good soul."

At this last ejaculation, uttered with a deep sigh, Agnes raised her eyes and fixed them on Mrs. Gertrude's little grey orbs, peeping over the dark circles of an ancient pair of green-glass spectacles.

"Was you ever in love?" asked the facetious Agnes, "or do you ever mean to marry?

"What is past," cried the little notable dame, "bears no very pleasing retrospect, and what's to come one must be more than mortal to de­vise."

"Why I can tell you," answered Agnes, de­termined to enjoy her frolic, and assuming the [Page 78] predelictive air of a fortune-teller, earnestly ga­zed on the palm of her hand—"What's to come is, Andrew—"

Gertrude started and withdrew her hand, half angry, yet half determined to forgive▪ "What of him for God's sake."

"Nay," replied Agnes, having slily observed Andrew crossing the lawn with a basket of fruit, what would you wish more than a present of some peaches this morning, which I prophesy will ar­rive in a few minutes for your acceptance."

Poor Gertrude, who had placed a different con­struction on the first hopeful words uttered by the mischief-loving Agnes, scarce knew how to extricate herself from the censure her agitation had incurred, and therefore thought it most proper to trip out of the room, and leave Agnes to receive the peaches and bearer; foralthough she conceiv­ed herself much past her prime, there was a degree of pleasure in knowing herself esteemed by so worthy a man as Andrew she could not forego.

"Love indeed" muttered she to herself as she trotted up stairs, "I should be an old fool to be in love now a-days; to be sure I have a great regard for Andrew, but I dare say he never had the least thoughts of me more than civility."

Thus argued Gertrude, yet she half wished to persuade herself Andrew's opinion might be dif­ferent [Page 79] to her conjecture, and as she crossed the looking glass vanity tapped her on the shoulder, and turning her head she conceived a pin was still wanting to adjust her ribbon which probably had never been thought of if Agnes's bewitching con­versation had not instilled the idea of attraction, but the bell ringing terminated her reflection, and she briskly descended to obey its summons.

The Marquis had as yet received but one letter from his son, and that arrived before he left Do­ver, and his silence was a mystery he could not explain. "'Tis probable his friends engross so much of his time," thought he, "that every hour not dedicated to them is devoted to refreshing slumber, to recover him from the excesses of dissi­pation; yet methinks he might have stole half an hour to gratify me, by hearing of his welfare; however, I trust as pleasure is his pursuit, pru­dence will conduct him safe."

The day following brought him a second letter, expressing Lord Edwin had changed his route, and had proceeded to Italy.

Had a spectre, the most horrible imagination could depict, presented itself at that moment, it could not have produced a greater agitation than the Marquis experienced—every nerve [...]i­brated, every feature was marked with ghastly astonishment—the very project he wished to stifle in embryo had burst forth, and presented the most [Page 80] formidable picture or vexation, tinged with the highest colouring the power of imagination could shade. Yet Montague's late conversation dart­ed a ray of comfort and composed his irritable mind.

When he met the ladies he slightly mentioned the subject, by saying Edwin was by this time in Italy. "Probably," said the lively Lady Loui­sa, "he may chance to meet our little Chamouny cottager."

The Marquis shrunk with apprehension; ‘if he does,’ answered he unguardedly, ‘What im­pression could a peasant make on him?’

"Impression!" repeated the lively Louisa, "Why, suppose I was a handsome peasant-girl, and you a Marquis, a slight impression of the lip might be no great degradation, and as Edwin loves to contemplate beauty, such a circumstance might occur."

Rage tinged the Marquis's cheek: "Ridicu­lous!" cried he, "Do you suppose the girl would suffer such an insult, or Montague permit it?"

"Well," said Lady Adela, "I cannot think a cot­tager would conceive it an insult; and as to Mon­tague's prevention, what are the remonstrances of [Page 81] an old man to the absolute determinations of a young one, to whom obedience and respect demanded his silence,"

The sting of an asp had not more severely wounded the bosom, than this applicable speech had the peace of the Marquis.

"I trust," said he, recovering his chagrine, "Rosalie has too much good sense ever to make me suspect her of such an imprudence, much more that occular demonstration should convince me the suggestion was become a reality; she is now chaste as the unsullied snow that crowns her native mountains, and it shall be my care too warm a sun does not dissolve and contaminate that purity it now so eminently possesses."

"If I should ever feel myself disposed to be in love," said the arch Louisa, "I'd take a trip to Lapland, and bring home my heart so thorough­ly chilled and cased with an impenetrable shield of ice, that should repel and defy the meridian beams of India's burning sun to dissolve it."

"Time will convince us, Louisa," re­turned the Marquis, "your intrepidity of being held captive, liberty is your motto, and a chain, even of gold, would be to you a galling fetter; [Page 82] but let us take a turn through the grounds, I want your genius and advice in the disposal of some or­naments in the grotto.

CHAP. X.

IT only wanted two days of the fete and the elegant arrangements of every device exhibited the taste of the ladies; innumerable fancies decorated every part of the castle: Sir Henry Lansdowne, and his friend, Lord Carlton, soon after arrived in the Baronet's elegant phaeton, and beautiful greys, followed by two smart little lads in scar­let jackets and velvet caps, which rendered the equipage an interesting and charming object from the windows, but, alas! the ladies were not there to admire them as they dashed over the lawn.

Lord Carlton's manly features lost their usual pensoroso on his arrival at the castle: He was the darling son of an Irish nobleman, well educated, possessing an ample fortune, and inferior to few [Page 83] in gentility of deportment, elegance of address, or amiability of disposition, but when compared to the lively and spirited Sir Henry, he was justly and frequently stiled the virtuous and benignant Mentor; and was his friend's superior in age, about two years, but the contrast of their dispo­sitions entitled them to the difference of ten.

The elegant Lady Adela and fascinating Louisa, were strolling on the arm of the Marquis, in a distant avenue of the shrubbery, when Sir Henry and Lord Carlton advanced to meet them.

They were dressed in their morning muslin robes, their hair wildly disordered by the wind, waved on their shoulders in irregular luxuriance, while the beams of the sun cast a pleasing reflection on their beautiful features, through the texture of small chip hats negligently fastened with a plain ribbon; on the arm of Lady Louisa hung a basket of flowers just selected from the green-house, while the delicate fingers of Lady Adela twined through the wires of a small cage that imprisoned an exquisite Virginia nightingale, which she was removing from a too sultry situation in a porti­co of oranges, where its enchanting song delight­ed every listening ear.

Lord Carlton held the arm of his friend: "One moments pause, Lansdowne," cried he "to con­template [Page 84] the most charming group I ever beheld: are those the divinities I am to be introduced to? And which is the lovely goddess at whose shrine you worship? What elegance and beauty! Me­thinks had there been one more, my fancy had not unjustly conceived the graces had strolled to this charming spot; that little floral deity seems to tread on air, as if her magic feet would scorn to crush the blossoms that invade her path, while the majestic and graceful carriage of the other presents one with the expressive resemblance, of the dignified Minerva, each reclined on the arm of a venerable and benignant sage, who seems dis­pensing smiles and happiness, blended no doubt with some precept of instruction, as appears by his pointed finger and earnest conversation."

"Why, Carlton, you are quite in heroics this morning," answered Sir Henry, "but recollect you are to sacrifice only at the shrine of Minerva, for that angelic Hebe, Flora, Thalia, or what you please to call her, is alone dedicated to wing each hour with rosy bliss for Lansdowne's future days, but they approach, and you shall judge far­ther."

"My friend, Lord Carlton, Sir," continued he, presenting him to the Marquis, "of whom impartially conversing your goodness permitted me to introduce."

[Page 85]The Marquis cordially extended his hand, and politely welcomed him to the castle, while a glow of confusion embarrassed the ladies at the surprise of so unexpected a visitor.

Carlton ventured a glance at the forbidden fruit, thought its temptation delicious, and im­mediately fixed his eyes on the serene features of Lady Adela, offering to convey the cage into the house, a politeness acknowledged by a graceful compliment quite her own.

"Sweet prisoner," cried he, admiring his beautiful plumage, "captivity with thee must lose its rigours, the attention of thy lovely mis­tress surely repays thy loss of liberty; fed by her gentle hand, and courted by her dulcet voice to warble thy sweet note, who would not envy thee, gay songstress?"

Lady Adela smiled. "His native clime had surely yet more charms, my Lord, where liber­ty, delightful liberty, was all his own, when at the evening hour he sweetly poured his plaintive melody, to hail his mate within the well known grove, but now captivity desires those joys the little solitaire softly diversifies his notes with tender thrilling strains, which oft' to fancy's ear seems to repeat some mournful plaint of sepa­rated love."

[Page 86]Carlton was delighted with the sweet beam of compassion that animated her countenance, each sentiment seemed so congenial to his own, and her soft and pleasing address rendered her the more captivating object of his esteem, whilst in the conversation of Lady Louisa he conceived he could distinguish a predominance of levity, though biassed by extreme politeness and affabi­lity: Such were the impartial ideas he formed of each, and Lord Carlton's opinion seldom de­viated from the most favourable yet real points of true discernment.

The most pleasing converse beguiled that day, and on the third the natal morn was ushured in by the five twinkling bells from the steeple of the romantic church about half a mile distant. A public breakfast in the Park commenced the fete, and the company assembled in elegant dishabille, numerous tables were spread under the shade of some venerable majestically-towering elms, while a band of music artfully concealed amid the luxurance of a portico of oranges and odo­riferous shrubs, at once delighted and surprised; profusive refreshments and delicacies furnished a superb dejune, and the repast ended at two o'clock, when an elegant gondola with flags, bearing the Marquis's arms, decorated with se­veral emblematic devices, and cushions of pale blue sattin covered the seats to receive the [Page 87] delightful group, who chose to enjoy the refreshing breezes, under an awning on the spa­cious canal, to the soft notes of the enchanting horn.

Others, whom timidity prevented joining the aquatic group, rapaired to a Turkish marquee, purposely erected for an accommodative shade to the ladies, as spectators of a select company of gentlemen, who were to exert their skill in ar­chery to obtain the silver arrow, and the rich bu­gle horn, prizes bestowed on the conqueror by the lovely directresses of the amusement.

The tent was composed of buff and green sattin in broad stripes, looped at the entrance by large tassels of silver, and fest [...]ons of bullion fringe; on the top was placed a superb sun of variegated luminous colours, that kept in perpetual moti­on, and produced a beautiful effect; sofas of correspondent sattin were placed on the inside, whilst various ensignas of archery suspended on falls of white sattin that lined the marquee. Sir Henry proved the fortunate claimant of the bu­gle horn, and the fair hands of Lady Louisa in­vested him with his trophy.

While the silver arrow was next adjudged to the Honorable Frederic Waldegrave, a resident in the vicinity of the castle, an orphan, of noble an­cestry, just returned from a short trip to his pater­nal [Page 88] seat, about five miles distant. He was po­lite, amiable, and engaging, his countenance pleasing, his conversation interesting, nineteen summers only had bloomed upon his brow, and as a young man totally left to follow the bent of his own inclination at that early period of life, could it be wondered if, distant from the restricti­ons of a morose guardian, his naturally lively disposition sometimes led him into error, yet ve­ry few had yet blazed in his conduct; instinc­tively inclined to cultivate a capacious, fertile and rising genius; his penetrating dark eyer beamed with delight, while his luxuriant hair of rich brown flowed on his well turned shoulders, as yet unconfined by the regulation of fashion, no ribbon confined it, no powder sullied its gloss: His jacket was composed of green sattin, his waist­coat buff, his hat black sattin, looped in front with a superb brilliant, and a green feather, ren­dered him the superior object of general admira­tion, for dignity, affability, and grace seemed to have combined their powers to complete the the perfection of this noble youth.

As he advanced to receive his reward, he drop­ped gracefully on one knee, and kissing the fair hand that bestowed the arrow, placed it in the front of his sash.

Lady Louisa, who sometimes amused herself with drawing the bow, chose to preside over the [Page 89] archers' party, whilst Lady Adela, in compli­ment to the rest of the assemblage, took her seat in the gondola.

The dresses of the lovely sisters were exactly alike: loose Grecian robes of transparent French lawn over sarsenet petticoats, the waist and sleeves clasped with bands of pearls, and their beautiful tresses shaded only by a veil of the same texture, thrown gracefully back and fastened with a lily of pearls, while the lower fall descended to the waist and joined the cestus. The simplicity and becomingness of this elegant dishabille is scarcely conceivable, and the sublimity of their countenances heightened by their charming blush­es created by the encomiums of the company, ve­ry aptly entitled them to the Duchess of Montre­ville's remark, who observed, they resembled the express character of vestal virgins, both from their real dispositions and negligently graceful dress.

Two hours thus devoted completed the morn­ing amusement, and the company retired to dress for the masked ball in the evening. The grand drawing-room was hung on the occasion with white sattin, over which in various forms suspend­ed wreaths of roses, while columns of variegated foils entwined with oak leaves and golden wheat divided the compartments: Three superb chande­liers [Page 90] of different colours, representing emeralds, rubies, topazes, amethists, &c. gave a most beau­tiful appearance; they were supported by ena­melled doves, suspended with chains from a rich painted ceiling; the sofas duchesses and chairs were covered with white sattin fringed with silver, and in various parts of the room were disposed golden eagles supporting on their backs delicate fillagree pedestals, on which were placed the most curious exotics, while small incense vases of fragrant aromatics blazed their magic flame on the chimney pieces, whose exquisite and matchless petrifactions formed a most beautiful spectacle.

On a portion of the lawn was erected a platform for the dancers, should the evening prove fine, and beautiful Luna in compliment shed her most refulgent beam to invite the harmonious and sprightly group: innumerable lamps were sus­pended and encircled the trees, which almost uni­ting at the top formed a vernal canopy, inter­cepted through the waving branches by contrast­ing moon-light: To complete the picturesque sylvan scene, a band of music stationed in a distant pavilion, and the beautifully illuminated grotto immediately opposite across the lake, furnished an interesting object of admiration to the dancers, for the reflecting mirrors, burnished fossils, shells [Page 91] and brilliants, gave to fancy the idea of enchant­ment, while irregularly flowing down a craggy flight of marble steps a murmuring cascade broke its passage from the mossy carpet of the grotto to the lake, where the trembling moon-light clearly distinguished its circling form in rapid descent, concordantly joining its murmur to the inspiring notes of the distant horn.

Sir Henry supported the character of a pilgrim —Lord Carlton a magician—the Hon. Frederic Waldegrave, as cupid, with an elegant bow and arrows tipt with gold, which he dexterously di­rected to every youthful female, while to the mar­ried ladies he distributed fetters of roses, which he assured them "were thornless." One arrow only missed its aim, it was levelled at an elegant nun, her foot stepped on it, and its texture being light and brittle, it snapped, and disconcerted the sly archer.

"I never refuge an enemy," cried the Relige­use; "although no enchantress, I possess a spell more powerful than your arrow, gentle Cupid, 'tis a heart defying thy magic, because every re­cess is guarded by reason, thy most dreaded foe; take thy aim amid the circles of gallantry, for my devoted sisterhood shrink from thee, vain boy, and every thought soars superior to thy influence." Cupid obediently drew the silken bandage across his eyes, and mingled with the group.

[Page 92]A flower-girl next addressed the magician, to explain her fortune: "Beauty," answered he, "fades like the blossoms in thy basket, cast them away and select others, among which choose the aloe, to watch its bloom will teach thee patience▪ add the blossoms of time, and place next to them the rose of happiness, carefully dividing the thorn from the heart's-ease, mingle the evergreens of truth and fidelity, and present the selection to the most generous purchaser." Promissing to observe his advice, she tripped away.

A beautiful figure of Hope courted universal-admiration, who proved to be Lady Adela. "Wilt thou, sweet maid, by thy magic inspira­tion, deign to lighten my burthen?" asked Cupid. "Apply to prudence to fledge your arrows, and beg constancy to step them in her purest essence, and my best exertion shall effectually crown your wishes," answered she.

The pilgrim next addressed her. "Whither are you wandering bare [...]oo [...]? asked the elegant enchantress, leaning in pensive attitude on a superb anchor, "Do you prefer the thorny paths of superstition? or do you only affect to deceive us in your pretended pilgrimage? Change your route if bound to Lor [...]tto, believe me you will not find green slippers on every rose- [...]ush to ease your feet as you travel on." "Oh, I'll [Page 93] compound for a few thorns," answered he, "pro­vided the path does not conceal steel traps." A significant pressure of her hand convinced her the compliment was returned in the very reality of seu d'esprit.

As he glided away, Lady Louisa's appearance, as the goddess of fortune with her splendid wheel drew the whole assembly's admiration, and her dulcet voice instantly claimed attention. "I have selected a few prizes," said she, "the keep-sakes of hope and fortune, which I shall dis­tribute as chance directs, the humble memorials of this day."

A sultana advanced and the fickle deity pre­sented the wheel, from which she drew a card, which adjudged her the embroidered handkerchief; a general congratulation was whispered round on the applicable prize, but as prudence and modesty sealed the lip of the donor, animadversion ceased. Numerous elegant bagatelles were distributed among the motley group, and each party, highly delighted with the [...]olite remembrance, treasured the little gift as an estimable memorial of friend­ship and respect.

At one the dancing ceased, when sumptuous tables, provided with every luxury the season produced, were spread in the grand saloon, where [Page 94] the Marquis presided, the most convivial and de­lighted spectator of the whole party: At the hour of three the company retired, and the in­mates of the castle stole to the pillow of Mor­pheus.

The utmost decorum had been observed by the domestics and peasantry, who had equally enjoy­ed the evening by dancing on the back lawn, to the enlivening pipe and tabor, where Mrs. Ger­trude condescended to lead down the first dance with Andrew, to the no small diversion of Wil­son and the Marquis's valet.

CHAP. XI.

LORD EDWIN and his lovely protegee pursued their journey over the mountains and environs for several days, 'till they reached the cottage of Marcella, where they rested and par­took some humble refreshment, while Carlos again repeated his faithful adieus.

[Page 95]The spot that surrounded the cottage was ro­mantically beautiful; from the protruding sides of the mountains depended clusters of the purple vintage in rich festoons, while in various parts of the acclevity the traces of the plough divided the velvet slopes, between whose chasms lofty water-falls in diamond showers spangled the ob­truding shrubs and flowers with its radiant crys­tals, as morn in saffron vesture tinted with her reflected orient beam the waving pines, that clad the mountain steep.

Marcella bade a thousand adieus as she wiped the intruding tear on the corner of her apron; her spinning was placed at the door, and as the mules slowly paced on she took her seat, her head rested on the arm that supported the in­active spindle, while her eyes were fixed on the lessening objects, and the hand that lay in her lap still held the little gold cross, the treasured keep-sake of her lover, consecrated with the heart-sprung tears that saved its burnished sides.

Rosalie involuntarily looked back a few paces distance; Carlos was transfixed to his mule a statue of despair, gazing a last look with an ex­tended hand that meant to wave, but the im­pulse of activity was suspended and the useless limb dropped by his side.

[Page 96]"Poor fellow," said Rosalie, her fine eyes absorbed in the tear of sensibility, "these are un­feigned sorrows of the heart."

"I pity them from my soul," added the benig­nant Lord Edwin, "Carlos in general possesses great fortitude, yet I find he is not proof to the innovations of love."

No particular circumstance occurred worthy observation 'till they arrived at Dieppe, where Carlos humbly petitioned to bestow his mite by a young female mendicant, instinctively stopped to listen to the voice of distress, while Mademoiselle Rosalie and his Lordship were taking lemonade vis-a-vis in a small room from whence they could observe his motion.

"Ah, the poor unfortunate," said Carlos search­ing his pocket for a few sous, very willingly drawn, while she presented a small basket of tooth­pics, "Le Souvenir," said Carlos, modestly tak­ing one, "I shall take this trifle to England, and when I look on it I shall be reminded of Janette: But I will not look to explore sorrows it is not in my power to alleviate—Adieu then, the tear that in spite of every effort to retain it bedews my cheek, is the incense of a heart that has nothing more to give, yet 'tis consecrated to the child of misery."

[Page 97]Jannette's tear mingled her thanks as she walk­ed pensively on, and Carlos with folded arms stood contemplating her neat figure, and wasted a sigh to her sorrows 'till the voice of Lord Edwin ten­dering him a few Louis roused him, and he light­ly skipped after Jannette, and chucking them into her basket pointed to his Lordship and returned.

Jannette curtsied low three times, and tying her little fortune up in a small leather purse, looked earnestly at it, clasped her hands, and raised her eyes in silent ejaculation to heaven for the unex­pected bounty of the benevolent strangers, put it in her pocket, wiped another tear, yet another still succeeded, 'twas the drop of sincere gratitude, it would intrude—the feelings of nature were not to be commanded, and the tooth-pick girl possess­ed them refined only by the hand that planted, not nurtured them, yet were they eminently imita­tive, and her expressive eyes had repeated the whole history of her misfortunes to Carlos, with­out one syllable escaping her lips; eloquent re­vealers, beaming the impartial truth, though oft­en pressed by bashful modesty to conceal the unpi­tied sorrows they relate, yet sweet compassion marks the timid glance, and joys to cheer the sad dejected eye long wandering o'er the gloomy che­quered landscape shaded by tempestuous clouds of human life.

[Page 98]The packet in which the travellers were to sail for England was very full, and Rosalie drew her veil close over her face, while Lord Edwin wrapped himself in a large cloak, and permitted his fine dark hair to shade his countenance, as a disguise more favourable to his stratagem, and which so much altered his features as to elude the resemblance he formerly bore the family, and as Signior Carlini and La Bella Rosara his sister, they took their seats in the cabin.

Rosalie soon found the motion of the boisterous wave agitate her stomach, and she fainted on the shoulder of Lord Edwin: This indisposition so alarmed him that he had nearly thrown off his dis­guise to assist her, and bearing her in his arms on deck for the benefit of air, blundered over a young buck who impeded the passage, and unfortunate­ly trod on the gouty foot of an old morose bache­lor, which compliment was returned by a hearty oath and a violent thrust. "Manners, you brute; have you no compassion you frisking Ita­lian devil?" exclaimed he, limping into the ca­bin.

Lord Edwin enraged at this invective, now thought proper to address him in the English language, and in fact to procure some assistance for the lovely burthen now senseless in his arms. "I shall teach you manners, friend," cried he, [Page 99] "when I come down again, at present I am too much engaged in the charge of my sister."

"Sister?" exclaimed the buck sarcastically sneering, "A mighty polite brother, methinks if he possessed a little more manners for strangers it would better become him; Oh, 'tis an absolute boar to be treated thus, my hair, my coat, my neckcloth bear testimony of the savage's feroci­ty."

These last words echoing in the ear of a stiff-starched little old maid, instantly made her bustle up. "Mercy defend us, a boar in the packet did you say, Sir? Gracious God! the fierce creature may tear us all to pieces, I hope he is chained; I would not have come for the world if I had known it."

"Oh you need not be alarmed, replied the buck, taking her brown shrivelled arm and seating her again, "it is only a two legged savage, that has caused this confusion, by stumbling over half a dozen of us with his prey in his paw."

"A savage with his prey?" reiterated the prim virgin, whose stupidity could not under­stand his rhodomontade, "what is it any thing like a monkey?"

[Page 100]"Oh yes! returned he, enjoying the joke at at her expence, while her features stiffened with terror, "It certainly is of that specie, though it stiles itself a man; in short to calm your fears, Madam, 'tis the famous Signior, who has just left the cabin: I am sure if my sister, like his, had shammed dead, I should not have thought proper to clamber up with her weight at the danger of my own legs, and crush half a dozen others.

"Aye, aye, you are right," cried old square toes, "self-preservation is the first law of nature, I never risked my precious limbs gadding after a parcel of pert toads, not I, fal-lal dangling non­sense."

By this time the antiquated Miss had drawn a small case bottle from her pocket, declaring her stomach, in consequence of the flurry she had just experienced, to be rather qualmish, and strongly recommended the old gentleman to taste it, assur­ing him it was very fine and unadulterated.

"It may, Madam," replied he, "but I am no dram drinker, however I thank you for your of­fer."

The little dame reddened with vexation, the odium of a dram-drinker had not escaped her no­tice. "Old churl," muttered she, applying it to [Page 101] her lips, and swallowing a small but usual porti­on▪ again consigned it to the bottom of her long pocket.

Lord Edwin had now left Montague and Carlos to attend Rosalie, as she preferred sitting on deck, while he descended in search of the two choleric gentleman he had so unintentionally offended.

"I hope your sister is better, Signior," asked the buck, with the most sarcastic effrontery.

Lord Edwin surveyed him from head to foot with an air of the most sovereign contempt, and then passed on to the old codger, "I am come to apologize as a gentleman to you, Sir, if in the hurry of conveying my sister up I was so unfor­tunate to do you an injury, but you must excuse me if I add, the hasty and ill-mannerly retaliated thrust and oath ill became a person of your years, and which perhaps makes me draw a conclusion of your birth and education probably unjust, but for which you must thank yourself: for the acci­dent I readily apologize, and I hope, as my senior, you will be induced politely to pardon, and ac­knowledge the ungentleman-like expressions you made use of where the result of a moment's passion, urged by an unlucky pressure of your lame foot, which I am sorry should have felt an additional pang from me."

[Page 102]"As for you, Sir," added he, turning to the young man, "I conceive far too contemptible a person to converse with, a mere composition of malice, foppery, and ignorance, quite beneath the notice of a gentleman."

To this address the pitiful spark thought fit to make no other reply than a sarcastic smile, and humming a tune▪ marched out of the cabbin, secretly mortified at betraying his folly; while the old gentleman finding Montague and Carlos des­cending to receive the Signior's orders, began to think his companion of more consequence than he at first suspected, and therefore extended his hand in token of forgiveness, which Lord Edwin's placid benignity accepted, and animosity ceased on all sides.

His curiosity being roused, the old gentleman determined to try what he could make of the ser­vants, as he had an inconceivable partiality to high connection, being a rich but miserly Don; he therefore watched the Signior's absence to accom­plish his scheme, and first addressed Montague with enquiring where his master and mistress were going.

"To England of course," replied the cautious domestic.

[Page 103]"Ah pray, friend, where might they last come from?"

"Paris," answered Montague, conning over the news-paper.

"Humph!" cried the old man, "that I knew before, but tell me if they are brother and sister; whether people of consequence, fortune or note in the gay world, and where they reside in Eng­land; come let's hear, let's enjoy half an hour's chat over a tiff of punch."

"Excuse me, Sir," said Montague, "I have not lived in the Signior's family twenty-five years, to turn tattler in my old age, and evince myself unworthy the confidence ever reposed in me, and which I have faithfully supported."

"Nay," cried the other, reddening with passion at the baulk of his project, "there's no harm in a civil question, it must be a matter of indifference to me to know who your master is, and if I had not taken a liken to him, I should not have trou­bled my head about him, pray is he married?"

Montague uttered his favourite monosyllable, and the disappointed enquirer walked away. Pas­sing the door of the lower cabin he espyed Carlos, "I hope your Lady's better," said the intruder, [Page 104] taking a seat, "and your master too seems a mighty affable pleasant companion, and a warm one too, I dare say.

"Why yes," answered Carlos, seeing the drift of his impertinent curiosity, "few men more so; 'tis warmish weather in our country."

"Aye you fly rogue," cried he tapping his his shoulder, and sagaciously winking, "I mean warm in the pocket."

"Perfectly so, and in every other respect," rejoined Carlos, "for generosity warms his hand, friendship his heart, virtue and gratitude his soul, while compassion blazes in his eye for every child of misfortune, and the cottage that shelters the victim of poverty feels the warmth of his benefi­cence in the blaze of the cheering faggots that form his little fire."

By every artful kind of stratagem did the old gentleman strive to obtain the wished intelligence, but Carlos's ingenuity evaded every possible disco­very and he left him to his own contemplation."

Finding himself baffled and derided, he again ventured to the cabin, where he consoled himself with smoaking a pipe, to the annoyance of seve­ral females, whose coughs and whisper were lit­tle [Page 105] noticed by him, self-comfort being his only consideration.

A plump dame surrounded by three shuffling boys, complained loudly of the offensive tobacco. "Bobby will certainly be sick," cried she, hug­ging up a rosy cheeked chub, the express image of herself, "you must either go a top of the deck, Sir, or I insist the window shall be open, for we shall be poisoned and stifled alive, as bad as thof we were stuffed in the black-hole at Calcoretta What d'ye callum place, I shall be a fine figure by the time I gets to Brighthamsted; this is my last clean apron, and it looks rare and smudgey, be­side we shall smell like pole-cats; God bless Bob­by, he's sick as death."

"If Bobby had stuffed less cold goose just now, his stomach would have been in a better state to bear these wholesome fumes," cried the old gen­tleman, "so a natural cascade won't do him much harm, pop him upon deck he'll do very well."

"Who asked your advice, squire nettletop?" returned she, clawing up the boy on one hip and waddling out of the cabin.

"Lord Edwin and Rosalie were seated on deck, praying for the hour that would discover the long expected shore, and free them from the disgusting [Page 106] party they had avoided associating with; the pas­sage was tedious, the wind contrary, but in six hours after they safely landed at Brighton, where the old gentleman taking his seat in the di­ligence for London, unwillingly quitted the Signi­or without the least clue of ever seeing him again.

Lord Edwin was now obliged to leave his fair charge, after passing two days, and the third morn­ing Rosalie was to proceed to the castle. Lord Edwin had ordered a muslin jacket to be made for for her on their arrival, and also a straw hat, plainly ornamented with a violet ribbon, habit­ed in this neat and simple dress confined by a sash of the same colour with her hat, innumerable ring­lets of the glossiest hue shading her soft blue-eyes, and the rose of health blooming on her cheek, she entered the room.

Lord Edwin surveyed her with delight. "En­chanting girl," thought he, "how will my fa­ther fix his eyes on that sweet angelic countenance, that graceful form, and soft bewitching smile, mingled with hope and fear, as the door opens to re­ceive the humble trembling stranger, a thousand adieu's trembled on each lip as the chaise drove off, and Lord Edwin, after watching the speedy vehi­cle out of sight, returned to his parlour with a de­jected eye and heavy hearty, 'till the packet sailed in the evening, in which he took his solitary seat [Page 107] on his way to Paris, where he amused himself in writing, but as the lovely form of Rosalie, con­tinually before his eyes, banished every other idea, his rapturous pen involuntarily obeyed the dic­tates of his heart, and traced the following lines.

CHAP. XII.

MONTAGUE had been ordered by the Mar­quis to apprise him of their arrival at Brighton, which injunction being punctually obeyed, the family where anxiously awaiting the appointed hour—the morning had passed and the traveller not arrived. The Marquis strolled with his daughters to a pavilion in the park, a beautiful edifice erected and ornamented entirely to the taste of the fair sisters▪ Its form was octagon, and the columns that supported it of curious marble, and a flight of steps with white and gold railing led to the Portico, the door of which was inlaid with pannals of looking-glass, reflecting the beautiful prospect, and deluding the eye with an imaginary view through the pavilion, which produced a charming effect. The window opened in the Ital­an stile, lattices of green wire supported the clus­tering roses that encircled one window, while as [Page 109] round the opposite one luxuriant passion-flowers corresponded their beautiful shade.

The door opening discovered a spacious room, around whose sides in various recesses the muses were beautifully represented; in one part an elegant piano forte, in another a noble library, while va­rious capital drawings, the performance of [...]dy Adela, embellished the compartments: Before the chimney was raised a stage filled with exotics. The Virginia Philomel, suspended at a third win­dow over a bowl of gold-fish; and at a fourth was fixed to a camera-obscura. The matting which covered the centre of the floor was com­posed of coloured straw, wove to the fancy in va­rious devices, and formed by the fair hands of the ladies, a charming specimen of their taste and abilities: Several pieces of embroidery, cloth, bead, fillagree, and various other curious per­formances were arranged in different situations, and the delighted Marquis had given it the ap­pellation of "the Pavillion of ingenuity."

Boundless was the landscape on either side, and from this delightful retreat Lady Adela's pencil traced the picturesque beauties of nature; here they constantly devoted several hours every morning, to indulge the wanderings of fancy, while some new invention formed an admirable chief d'ouvre from the fertility of their imagination, which furnish­ed them a continual source of amusement.

[Page 110]'Twas here the Marquis had taken a book at one of the windows, while Lady Adela was adding the last tints to a beautiful landscape, and Lady Louisa practising a new Italian air, on her piano, when Montague opened the door of the pavilion and presented Rosalie.

The Marquis started and the book dropped— the ladies instantly rose and conducted her to their father, where the lovely girl respectfully dropped on one knee, and suffused in blushes rais­ed her fine eyes absorbed in tears, as the Marquis pressed her hand, and bid her rise.

"My noble generous protector," cried the charming creature, "May the ill-fated girl your bounty has cherished, reward, by her grateful af­fection, the duty she owes her benefactor, long may she share the tender affection he has faithful­ly shewn her helpless infancy, sacred to the me­mory of an honored parent once possessing his fa­vour and esteem."

The Marquis clasped her hand, "Grateful Ro­salie," replied he, "the memory of thy valued mother steals from me an avowal of equal affec­tion for her lovely child, come then to my bosom and receive that blessing and protection no longer hers to bestow, while her angelic form hovers over us, and guards thee pure and spotless as her [...]i [...]ed spirit."

[Page 111]"But I must leave you, my children, for a short interval, Rosalie St. Clair is so expressly the image of her lovely mother, that it recalls a thousand painfully-pleasing ideas to my memory: You never knew the amiable lady St. Clair, my sweet girls, but as the friend of thy father receive with sisterly affection her hapless orphan, may you ever be united in an indissoluble band of love, and may happiness continually wave her banner round you."

He then retired from the pavilion to his libra­ry, and summoned Montague, from whom he re­ceived the miniature carefully sealed, which he instantly opened, and beheld indeed the most accu­rate resemblance of his adored Lavinia; thrice he pressed it to his lips, and then consigned it to the inmost recess of his escrutore, enclosed in a packet of papers, expressing every particular of of the birth of Rosalie, with several letters from Lady Lavinia, these were carefully sealed with the Marquis's arms, and directed for Rosalie."

"At my decease, Montague," said he, closing the drawer, "These papers will explain the present mystery, and my sacred promise will re­main unbroke, the faithful vow has never been revealed hy the lip of Augustus, and the angel who records it on the page of futurity shall never stain it with a blot."

[Page 112]"I think too I have totally prevented Edwin seeing her, he may now traverse Chamouny and not excite one fear in my bosom."

Montague trembled at the idea of investiga­tion, but as the Marquis did not imagine he had met his [...]n, the subject was not mentioned, and Montague was dismissed with orders to summon the ladies to tea, happy to have escaped advancing a falsehood, though had necessity compelled him, he must have submitted to the action of d [...]plicity, by concealing the fact, to preserve Lord Edwin's happiness.

So delighted were the charming sisters with their new companion, that the cot [...]ger of Cha­mouny, in their opinion, was metamorphosed to the goddess of innocence and heavenly complai­sance; her soul was congenial to their own, and fortune seemed to have presented them the friend they had long sought. Rosalie, charmed with the unexpected civility of her reception, was at [...] [...]s [...]o express the fervent gratitude she felt: their polite conversation, their encouraging smiles of approbation, gave her the most pleasing hopes that her endeavours would ensure the friendship she was so much indebted, and which it should be her study to preserve, and she almost conceived it ungrateful to give one [...]gh of regret to the memory of past happiness in Chamouny, [Page 113] while benignity beamed in every countenance at the castle, and welcomed her with the unfeigned smile of sincerity.

Passing the green-house, Andrew, whose curi­osity was ever alive, was purposely refreshing his blooming parterre, and on their approach had gathered a beautiful rose, from which his rusty scissars were clipping the thorns, "Would the lady do me the honour to accept a rose?" asked he, making a low bow, while his silver-threaded locks waved on his sun-burnt cheek.

Gratefully, friend," answered she placing it in her bosom. Andrew bowed as a [...]ush of plea­sure crossed his cheek.

"I subjoin this lily," cried Lady Louisa, gathering o [...]e that at the instant courted her hand, "Rose et Lis," added she, "will for the [...]ature be my favourite selection, I shall place them on the left side of my bosom, and I trust they'll not fade. Lady Adela complimented the bon mot, and Rosalie's blush outvied the bloom­ing present.

Returning to the house they were met in the hall by Mrs. Gertrude, Agnes, and Wilson, the attendant of Lady Louisa, to whom the news of Mademoiselle's arrival had been announced by [Page 114] Montague, cautiously guarding all possible ten­dency to discovery, of course then the cottage was not mentioned, he only knew her name to be Miss St. Clair, and that he brought her from a recluse family in Switzerland, that she had a gen­teel fortune, and was the Marquis's ward: The very idea of a recluse family instantly struck the imperious Wilson, who conceived the new inmate to be a person of no distinction, as she boasted nei­ther the title of your Grace, or my Lady, conse­quently was received by her as an humble intru­der, for insufferable was the hauteur of this fille de chambre. Each simpered and courtsied, as Ro­salie passed, and each in return met her grateful smile.

"No great things!" said Le Brun, the Mar­quis's valet, significantly shrugging his shoulders, and elevating his broad black eye-brows, as he carelessly threw himself across a chair, and treat­ed himself with a pinch of snuff; "No hauteur I'll allow, but mightily devoid of the t [...]e je ne scais quoi, we people of fashion are so noted for displaying in stile, what do you think ma petite Wilson, I'll bet your black sparklers against her insipid blue eyes ten to one."

"Bless me, Le Brun." (answered she, stretch­ing her leg across the hearth to kick a little Ita­lian dog, originally brought by Montague from [Page 115] Chamouny) "Don't plague me about Mademoi­selle, for I detest Italians, a set of crafty toads, always squeaking and drawling, I hope it won't fall to my lot to attend her, if she was any body of consequence one would not mind, but as she has been bred up among the mountains, migh­ty private it seems, I suppose she'll be frisk­ing up by sun-rise, when I shall be just in my first sleep, egad if she does she may huddle on her croatns as she can, I shan't attend her larum if it rings fifty times; Lord I should not have pa­tience not I, there's plague enough with this sham­moon dog, we dont want any more outlandish creatures methinks."

Gertrude now interfered to silence her scan­dalous [...]oquacity, "Suspend your opinion," cried she, "at least 'till time convinces you of the reality of your ill-natured suggestions, be lenient to the wasp 'till you feel its sting, 'tis then time enough to retaliate the injury, but here is Andrew, now judge by his opinion, "your tea is poured out and your matted chair ready placed for you An­drew," said she. "Oh, I don't want any," re­plied he, "I have had a sufficient feast upon such a smile as my eyes never saw before, in return for a few simple roses I presented that angelic visitor; powers of mercy, she shamed all my roses as she passed, please Heaven I'll be up early, for I heard her tell our ladies she loved to hear the lark's morning song."

[Page 116]"Ah deuce take it, I thought so," cried Wilson knitting her brows, and muttering in a low key, unheard by Andrew, "I suppose she sings morning hymns to the sun."

"Yes, yes, continued Andrew, chatting over his cup, "I shall be up, and perhaps I shall have another smile for my breakfast; Montaque says her name is Miss Rose—something, but as I dont understand the parley wooes, Le Brun will tell me how to pronounce it."

"Oh!" answered he, "its mighty pretty, quite in your stile, old boy, it means the charm­ing composition of roses and lilies, so you must call her Miss Rosalie.'

"Roses and lilies", reiterated Wilson, fine stuff indeed, I wish Madam dont prove more like thorns and thistles."

"I wish heartily,' answered Andrew, trotting out of the room, "that you had a thorn in your tongue, though tis sharp enough already, God knows, so perhaps, a thistle in your throat might be a more useful silencer of your spite."

Thus ended the controversy, and Agnes agreed she would officiate at Miss Rosalie's toilet to pre­vent any farther altercation. Accordingly at the hour of retiring she attended, but the amiable [Page 117] stranger declined giving her any more trouble than unpacking her portmanteau, for which she civilly presented the obliging Agnes with a small osier work-basket; her lamp was then lighted, her door fastened, and Agnes retired to the house-keepers room, with her curious present, to the no small surprise and vexation of Wilson, who se­cretly determined to have one also the first op­portunity.

CHAP. XIII.

THE dawn of day tinged with orient beam the windows of Rosalie's apartment, and as soon as the servants were stirring, she quitted her cham­ber, and descending the great stair case tripped out to enjoy the breezes of the morn; at the en­trance of the shrubbery she met Andrew with his spade and water-pots, indefatigably pursuing the labours of the day, who, on her approach, let down the corners of his woollen apron to conceal his morning stockings.

[Page 118]"Pray friend is Montague up? asked the fair stroller.

"No, my lady," answered he, "but I will call him."

"Not for the world," said Rosalie, "let him enjoy his repose; but as I did not know my way, I thought he might have conducted me over the grounds if he had been disengaged: Pray is this the way to the green house I passed last night, could you oblige me with a view of the plants?"

"To be sure my lady," answered the delight­ed gardener, "I'll just step in for my coat, with your leave, for I am not fit to attend you in this morning jacket."

"Oh don't trouble yourself to change it," replied Rosalie, "I shall not remark the jack­et while your civility furnishes me with other amusement; 'tis the venerable habit of labour, friend, never be ashamed of it, while it bears the marks of diligent attention to your em­ployment, 'tis a badge of honour in my opini­on, and a glory to the industrious wearer."

Highly pleased with this charming compli­ment, every syllable of which was treasured in [Page 119] his memory, Andrew bowed and led the way, longing to bless her for her goodness, yet not daring to utter a word, fearful of offending.

After conducting her to the green-house, ex­hibiting his store of exotics, and explaining their several names and properties, h [...] proceed­ed to the most favourite eminences to explore the adjacent country.

"But we boast far more beautiful views in Switzerland," said Rosalie smiling.

"Why, yes, Ma'am so I have heard my Lord the Marquis say; and our young master Lord Edwin, they say, is now gone over to enjoy them; Heaven preserve him, a better gentleman never was born; God help me, I remember his christening, and rare doings we had; he was always a lovely child, and now he's a man eve­ry body adores him he's so charitable and con­descending."

Andrew had jarred a tender string, and it vi­brated on the heart of Rosalie, who begged he would shew her the way to the pavilion, that she might indulge an hour in reading. They then proceeded through the shrubbery, and Andrew opening the door, "hoped he should not disturb her by pruning part of the foliage that obscured [Page 120] one of the windows, as the company were coming through the grounds that morning.

"I must set these geraniums too out of the way," continued he, "for one of the ladies is very fond of a greyhound, who always follows her horse, and suffers him to ramble over every thing in his way; the last time he scampered over these geraniums like mad, and snapt the head of my finest auricula, so if I dont take care we shall have a second part of the same tune▪ My Lord too was not pleased, but Miss Villars did not care, she only whistled him off."

"Whistled!" replied Rosalie, astonished at the idea.

"Oh, yes, my Lady, she can whistle vastly well, and rides a hunting with Lord Edwin's hounds, in a scarlet jacket and a jockey cap, and our huntsman, Robin, says she leaps a five-barred gate better than any woman in England; but my Lord don't ask her to ride when he can help it."

A second blush suffused the cheek of Rosalie, not that she dreaded the idea of a rival in a heart that had manifested its faithful uninterested at­tachment in every instance, nor would she for the world have drawn from Andrew the slightest question tending to curiosity, though had she been so disposed she could not have found a more [Page 121] intelligent being for her subject, but her noble soul scorned such mean artifice, and therefore telling Andrew she would not detain him longer, he went merrily to work with his shears, while Rosalie opening the library, drew from thence by chance Thomson's beautiful Poems; the book opened exactly on the story of Lavinia. The charming tale excited a tear—it reminded her of a far-dis­tant and valued friend. Palemon's generosity impressed the idea of Lord Edwin, and the cha­racter of Lavinia seemed nearly incident to her own: She shut the book, and raising her eyes per­ceived Andrew stedfastly gazing in apparent a­stonishment at the tear she thought private and imperceptibly shed, and a sigh escaped her, which was answered by an involuntary responsive one from Andrew, as he descended the ladder with his shears and basket.

Rosalie touched the guitar, but not knowing its art hung it up again. A port folio of draw­ings lay open on the table, and she ventured to peep at a few, when turning the leaves, the wind being very brisk, wafted a small vellum medal­lion into a thicket of woodbines. Terrified and fearful another breeze should catch it, she has­tened down the steps to regain it, but what was her delight and surprise on beholding the most perfect resemblance of Lord Edwin, sketched by the pencil of his sister. "Inestimable treasure!" [Page 122] cried she, "would I dared steal thee, or that I could trace such another, but that's impossible, yet would Lady Adela condescend to instruct me, I do think by constant practice I should soon be able to make an humble attempt, and if so, it shall be the first favour I solicit; however incapable I may be of attaining any degree of perfection, I will at least exert my best endeavours."

Again she examined every feature and then replac­ed it exactly in the same situation, when turning a few more leaves a profile drawing of Lady Louisa presented itself, and the dress being somewhat simi­lar to her mother's miniature, reminded her of the Marquis' [...] unkindly depriving her of it, without ever assigning any reason to her.

The hour of nine was now proclaimed by the clock from the chapel, an elegant edifice for the private use of the family, erected on an eminence in the park, terminating in a grove of lofty elms, and forming a most pleasing spectacle from the windows of the castle, and reminding her it was time to return to the breakfast parlour, where she found the family just assembling: Rosalie blush­ing beautiful as the enchanting morning, curtsied and took her seat."

"If you enjoy the delightful breezes of the morning, I don't know why you should steal the [Page 123] bloom of all our roses, covetous girl," said Lady Louisa patting her cheek.

"Indeed Ladies I am alone indebted to the same dispenser of bloom that reared those roses, bounti­ful Providence, who tinted their leaves with beauty, flushed my cheek with healthy; I have been up these two hours amusing myself in the pa­vilion with some elegant poems, which so much interested my attention▪ did not regard the hour 'till the chapel clock warned me to return.

" [...]e you fond of reading?" asked Lady Louisa.

"Extremely so," replied Rosalie, and my guar­dian. M. Tourville, who delighted in study, used to furnish me with numerous pleasant and instruc­tive books, by which means I employed every leisure hour in instructing myself and Madelon; he also made me write frequently, corrected my errors, and assisted my improvement, and every week I was obliged to translate, by the help of my dictionary and own genius some select piece for his inspection: Such was the system of my educa­tion under the friendly auspices of the most amia­ble of men, while my merit was constantly reward­ed by some new and interesting boo [...], and by this means I acquired the sole instruction I ever re­ceived, although I seldom saw my friendly pre­ceptor, every interval of his absence was dedica­ted to his parting injunction."

[Page 124]Rosalie wiped away a tear of affection to his memory, and the Marquis forgot to drink his chocolate, while he listened with silent rapture to the sentiments of his lovely protegee.

"Miss Villars will be here by two o'clock," said Lady Adela, "and in the mean time we will employ our morning in the pavilion, where you shall see my drawings and Louisa's embroidery and tambour, and which ever you prefer we will with pleasure instruct you in."

Rosalie readily acknowledged her partiality to the crayon, and also to obtain some instruction on the guitar. "I have a beautiful lute up stairs," said she, "the valued present of a friend at Chamouny."

"Oh, fetch it by all means," said Lady Lou­isa, "it will have a charming effect in the pa­vilion, and you must indulge us."

They then repaired thither, and anxiously await­ed the commencement of the dulcet melody from the lovely minstrel.

CHAP. XIV.

SOFTLY sweet the plaintive strain broke on the attentive ear, and she played with exquisite taste a pastoral air, whose beautiful simplicity de­lighted Lady Louisa.

'Pray who taught you, Rosalie?" asked she, charmed with her taste and execution.

"Lindor, the mountaineer," replied Rosalie, "the humble admirer of Madelon, consequently ever esteemed by me: Madelon could not learn, indeed she had not time, but my fancy was ever so delighted and inspired by music that I begged Lin­dor to become my instructor: Oh! how did I use to long for the hour of evening, that brought our lively youth to the cottage."

"Giraldine then took her knitting to the little bench at the door, Madelon and I pursued our spinning, Josephine wound our cotton, while Reu­ben [Page 126] listened with a smile of satisfaction to each romantic note. Thus passed the hours in inno­cent amusement 'till the rising moon warned him to depart, and as it lighted him home silvered the pain of our little casement, and guided us by its clear and beautiful beam to our pillows.

"Charming rusticity!" exclaimed Lady Adela, "I am delighted with your description." At that moment one of the windows became shaded, and Sir Henry tapped at it, mounted on Andrew's short ladder, which stood invitingly fixed, had been forgot to be removed, and climbing up with the agility of a squirrel, he popped in his head, but seeing Rosalie coming to remove a stand of flowers to facilitate his entrance, he drew back, begging pardon for his abrupt intrusion, not ex­pecting to meet the eye of a stranger.

"Pray step in," said Lady Louisa, "Sir Hen­ry's temerity seldom finds an obstacle his ingenu­ity and address cannot surmount, and as a fluent and eloquent apology would be no punishment to him to repeat impromptu, do not let us be depriv­ed of it—on those conditions we pardon, there­fore make an elegant entree."

Sir Henry obeyed. "I trust," said he, Lady Louisa will not deem it an impropriety to follow a good example, and as ladies now-a-days shew [Page 127] their dexterity in leaping out of windows, it is but proper gentlemen should keep them in coun­tenance, by evincing their agility in climbing in; do not then blame a self-raised action, charming fair; Miss Villars and her beaus are just behind, and probably they may be inclin­ed to try the same method by way of novel exercise."

"How ridiculous!" said Lady Louisa, turn­ing half angrily away.

At that moment a loud peal of laughter burst from the shrubbery, and Miss Villars, her brother, Colonel Ardvine, and Lord Carlton ascended to the pavilion; Miss Villars took her seat on the steps, declaring she was tired to death, and too hot be stived up in a close room, "So let me alone, Ardvine, you tiresome toad," continued she, stretching out her legs three parts displayed, "Do unlace my boot, I have hurt my ancle, and the confinement makes it painful.

Shocked at her indelicacy, Rosalie politely of­fered her assistance.

"No, thank you, answered the Amazon, with her arms crossed and her foot extended to the Co­lonel, "Ardvine is a very useful animal on such occasions, I will not trouble you."

[Page 128]Then leering at Lord Carleton in a half whis­per, "I presume this blushing Miss is the Mar­quis's ward I lately heard of, quite a composition of insipidity methinks, good eyes enough too, but not the least tincture of vivacity about them, mere­ly as if God had placed them in her head only to look with, not to express the passions of the soul, moves like clock-work, or as if the poor thing was afraid of damaging a basket of eggs every time she steps or turns round."

This speech finished by a tonish stare of impu­dence, accompanied with a rude loud laugh, much irritated Lord Carlton.

"Upon my word," replied he, "you are very severe, Miss Villars, and in my opi­nion where 'tis quite needless, I have heard much of Miss St. Clair's beauty and sensibility, and I confess I think the description of the former by no means partial, nor do I conceive I shall be much disappointed in the latter, at least from ap­pearances, however I shall draw no harsh conclu­sions, nor suffer myself to be biassed by so tran­sient a view, my motto is "lenity," and I always cautiously avoid censure, least I incur the charac­ter of a malicious scandalizer; and were I a fe­male, the idea of envy might also be attached; for, alas! that is become so glaring and predomi­nant a passion with them, that it moulds every vir­tue [Page 129] to its own jaundiced impression: for, like a nettle planted by a rose, you cannot attempt to admire or touch its innocent beauty but you feel the sting of its malicious and envious competitor, who, conscious of its inattractive powers, waves its poison to contaminate the harmless blossom, and undermines its tender leaves where least sus­pected; If such a weed rankles in the bosom of Ro­salie St. Clair, Ethelbert Carlton will endeavour to eradicate its pernicious root. Miss Villars may applaud or condemn his morality, but a mo­ment's reflection will convince her the lecture, however, unpleasing, is founded on truth, and I trust her candour and good sense will coincide to clear him from the imputation of prejudice or ri­gidity to the errors of levity."

This fervently addressed speech by no means pleased his auditor. "I think," cried she, Carl­ton would write a mighty good sermon, and if he will make an attempt to preach it also, I will con­descend to nod some Sunday afternoon in an op­posite pew, for the sake of a moralizing dream."

Lord Carlton, disgusted with her insolent re­tort, walked away, and took his seat by Lady A­dela, and Miss Villars finding herself abandoned by the beaus, soon after entered the pavilion, with her boot in one hand and her hat in the other, and without regarding the presence of any one, ran [Page 130] up to the glass to admire her blowzy appearance▪ while the officious Colonel, a petite maitre, fol­lowed close behind. "Your charming tresses sont derange, ma deesse," cried he.

"Well then, plat them up again," replied she, "I believe I shall be cropped for Newmarket, it will be so convenient to hunt too with Lord Edwin. Ah! a-propos, when does he return?

"Very shortly," answered Lady Adela, "but he means to sell his fine hunter, for the last chace was so infringed on by the farmers, whom Edwin did not like to reprove, that it rendered it disa­greeable, and as he is not very partial to that cruel diversion, he was easily prevailed on to give it up.

A second glance at the mirror discovered a fault in the adjustment of her neck-cloth and off it came, folded in an enormous stuffing and two ex­tra handkerchiefs. Thus far undressed, it was necessary to enquire if the lady wished to make any other alteration, while the charming sisters, reddened with confusion, begged she would retire to their dressing room, where Agnes should attend her; but, lost to every impulse of delicacy, and a perfect adept of assurance, she undauntedly re­plied, "she should soon finish." Her dress be­ing soon after adjusted, Lady Louisa proposed a [Page 131] walk, and parasoles being provided, and support­ed by the gentleman, Lady Louisa took the arm of Sir Henry, while Rosalie, disgusted and terri­fied, shrunk back to the side of Lord Carlton, who passing his arm through hers on one side, and Lady Adela's on the other, strolled to a dif­ferent part, and left Miss Villars leaning on the shoulder of Colonel Ardvine.

They soon after adjourned to the stable to give their opinion of a fine horse late­ly purchased, in whose commendation Miss Vil­lars was very eloquent, to the no small amuse­ment of the grooms, to whom she made several observations: They then returned to the house to take chocolate, and departed, earnestly entreat­ing the ladies to favour her with their company at the villa, but cautiously avoided inviting Ro­salie, whom she treated with the very essence of hauteur, and making her only a slight inclination of her head en-passant, mounted her horse and let off in full trot for a wager with the Colonel.

Many and various were the opinions concern­ing Miss Villars:—To the men she was a gene­ral object of derision—to the women a disgusting Amazonian: Yet, even while they viewed her conduct, carried to a pitch of absurdity, their le­nient bosoms could not help pitying her errors. Levity in the extreme, tempered by a degree of im­petuosity [Page 132] and ill-nature, was her perfect character. yet though her behaviour warranted every free­dom, her virtue caught the most transient alarm.

Possessed of a fine fortune and the only daugh­ter of a noble family, every one bowed to the dic­tates of Georgina, and thus trained up in the practice of self-will, could it be wondered she now reigned the haughty tyrant of uncontrouled power.

The fair sisters beheld her with disgust; she was by no means a pleasing associate, whose aspir­ing virtues could direct or emulate their own, yet as Mr. Villars, her father, was a man of general ac­quaintance and respectability, and frequently vi­sited at the castle from business or pleasure, it was necessary to be distantly polite to his daughter, who occasionally intruded, but seldom had her vi­sits returned; yet to the ladies she always behav­ed as polite and friendly as her irritable temper would permit.

CHAP. XV.

A FEW days elapsed when a letter from Lord Edwin announced his intended arrival at the castle in three or four days. The Marquis instantly planned a scheme of sending Rosalie to the abbey▪ where the Dowager lady Mentoria had retired about three weeks since; he wished not to send his daughters, as Edwin might probably be incli­ned to pay them a visit, yet to suffer her to travel sixty miles alone would be improper, and as it was not in her power to accompany her without a de­gree of suspicion arising, he determined Montague should convey her: and lest his daughters should embarrass him by enquiring the reason of her hasty departure, he resolved to give them a slight intimation of his suspicions, by telling them, he begged they would never encourage Edwin in any such ideas of Rosalie, on pain of his eternal displeasure: this they faithfully promised, and hastened to the chamber of Rosalie, informing her [Page 134] some friends were expected at the Castle in a day or two, for whose accommodation her apartment would be wanted, and it was the Marquis's wish she should go on a visit to the Abbey during their stay, for some private reasons they could not assign.

"When our visitors are gone" said Lady Ade­la, "we will come and partake your society at Thornley, where our good aunt will make you an excellent companion, her spacious library will serve to amuse you. and your lute will sound sweetly, and delight Lady Mentoria in her se­questered shades, while, various other amusements will charm the fleeting hours and not leave you a languid moment."

Rosalie bowed obedience with a heart far more inclined to undertake her journey than they sus­pected, and in the evening stepping into the Mar­quis's post chariot and four, she set off blithe and happy, waving her hand in respectful adieus as the carriage drove down the avenue, and the Mar­quis felt a degree of pleasure tempered by the hope of security, as he watched the carriage out of sight.

The evening of the second day shewed her the turrets of the Abbey peeping through the ivy that encircled their basis, and the thick and gloomy-shading plantations that embosomed the gothic [Page 135] pile: the lambent fires of day darted a burnished gleam on the high arched windows, and eve's last rosy tints were just expiring, while ruby shadows in fantastic forms played in the empurpled west, and the wild poet of the glade joined her soft dul­cet note to animate the passing woodman's rural song, who, homeward trudging to his little cottage in the neighbouring hamlet, displaced the com­fortable pipe to chaunt his rustic ballad, and mo­ved his tattered hat in token of civility to the lovely stranger.

The element was serenely beautiful, innumera­ble fleecy clouds, tinged with soft golden fluid, in fantastic forms floated on the azured canopy, and in the wide expanse of aether the moon's transparent silver-seeming mask peeped forth its mystic and refulgent form.

At length the chaise stopped at the antique porch; pondrous arches supported the massy fa­bric, and from the ivy-twined pillars deep se­creted the little chearful robin peeped his head and hailed the stranger with a welcome song. The massy hinges hospitably opened, and received the timid guest.

Montague conducted her through a spacious hall of black marble, while on the ancient carved pan­nels innumerable warlike trophies were suspended, [Page 136] the memorials of at least two centuries; the so­lemn gloom and the sound of her own feet echoing up the great stair-case made her shudder, and she closely followed Montague, not daring to turn her head, passing through a long range of gallery, and peeping into several large apartments, Mon­tague opened an enormous door and Rosalie start­ed.

On a high chair of crimson velvet, curiously cut, sat Lady Mentoria; a diminutive figure about seventy-six: habited in a rich brown tabby sacque and treble ruffles with a short black lace apron and hood▪ she arose and politely saluted her fair guest, who presented a letter from the Marquis, which the Dowager read with attention, often glancing a look at Rosalie, who was survey­ing with astonishment the pondrous window frames and dark wainscot, against whose chequered pan­nel several family portraits in lumbering frames started their gruff countenances, and chilled her beating heart.

"Mercy on me," thought she, "I wish I was in my native cottage, or safe out of this place, I have often heard of haunted castles and towers, and this gloomy Abbey brings it strongly to my remembrance."

"Lady Mentoria finished the letter and enter­ring into the most pleasing and interesting con­versation, [Page 137] totally dissipated every dislike from the bosom of her fair visitor; in short it was hard to say which was most pleased with their companion, for Lady Mentoria subjoined the most amiable, dis­position to the many virtues she possessed, and never forgot the sunshine of eighteen could cheer the chill winter of seventy, tampered with the ge­nial contrast of acquiescent politeness and good nature retaliated from youth to age, tenderly be­loved by all who knew her, and respected by every class of society, she had bent the youthful minds of her neices to the perfect model of her own estima­ble character.

The hour of retiring drew nigh, and Lady Mentoria, with the alacrity of youths tripped along the gallery, and led Rosalie to her apart­ment, where wishing her refreshing slumbers she withdrew.

Rosalie left alone began to examine every part of her spacious chamber; the ceiling was vaulted, and grotesque characters represented on its damp-discoloured surface exhibited the most hideous and non-descript creatures: The windows were ex­tremely high and arched in the old-fashioned ca­thedral stile, darkened at top with several pains of stained glass, one only opened low enough to obtain a view of the garden; she drew up the dark green damask curtain that shaded it, and [Page 138] threw up the sash to take a survey of what the trembling moonlight's palid beam would permit her to discover through the thick branches of sha­ding trees, that appeared to bound a portion of park, or lawn; all was silent but the hoarse voice of a Newfoundland dog, from the porter's lodge, that growled occasionally; she now drew down the heavy frame and began to undress.

On the opposite side of the room stood a high an­tique bed, whose fringed canopy suspended from the ceiling by tarnish brackets; the hangings of the room were faded tapestry, representing the famous siege of Troy, but as Rosalie was totally unacquainted with the heathen mythology, she was ignorant of what it was.

Her wax taper now burnt dim and increased the gloom, her heart beat quick and irregular, and she would have given the world for a compa­nion: Something at that moment tapped at the window, and the terrified Rosalie remained im­moveable, with her eyes earnestly fixed on the cur­tain, to observe its movement, but all being still she mustered resolution to approach it, and lifting the candle as high as she could raise it at arms length, the sudden light disturbed the intruder in the form of a large bat, which fluttered down, on the floor: This was some relief to her terror, [Page 139] and she compassionately gave him his liberty, and once more composed herself and undressed; but, alas! crossing the room to extinguish the candle something twitched the top of her hand, and with an involuntary shriek, she fell on the ground, and the wax taper being in her hand was smothered and left her in total darkness.

Her shriek soon echoed to Lady Mentoria's chamber, and the Dowager not being at yet in bed, though she had dismissed her attendant, slipped on a long robe de chambre and hastened to inquire the cause, and opening the door, all in white, with a small lamp in her hand, her grotesque head dress, had probably increased the terror of Rosa­lie, had she not fallen on her face with both hands over her eyes, 'till the voice of Lady Mentoria roused her stupor, to whom she related her fright, begging a thousand pardons for the trouble she had occasioned. Lady Mentoria smiling, tender­ly soothed her agitation, "Make yourself happy, little timorous girl," said she, "Hervey shall sleep with you; however let me convince you the imaginary spectre that touched you was no other than the bell-tassel, which depends from the centre of the ceiling, and which you probably did not observe or suppose yourself within its reach, therefore rest assured there are no ghosts haunt this Abbey that have not four legs at least, and should they molest you, your good sense and innocence will [Page 140] protect you 'till we can trace the tremendous in­truders."

Poor Rosalie, abashed and angry at her weak­ness and exposition, entreated Lady Mentoria to retire, saying she was perfectly convinced of her folly, and would not trouble Mrs. Hervey to change her bed.

With this perfect assurance of courage the old Lady retired, and Rosalie jumped into bed to re­flect on her ridiculous timidity, which she deter­mined to conquer, and committing herself to the protection of the guardian angels, who hover around the pillow of innocence, she reclined in the sweetest slumber, 'till a robin, perched on a branch that shaded her window, waked her with his Morning orison.

CHAP. XVI.

ROSALIE obeyed the summon of her plumaged monitor, and descended to the parlour just in time to see Montague set off home. For two hours she amused herself in the grounds, and strolling to the end of a high terrace that bounded the Ab­bey, she ascended a flight of steps that led to part of a rugged cliff, from whence on the pebbly shore she could discover the hovels of several fish­ermen, and their ruddy children dancing and a­musing themselves on the sands, while their chear­ful voices chatting and laughing broke upon the silent breeze and wasted every syllable to her ear.

A beautiful serene ocean was bounded by a fer­tilized country on one side, and a noble shore guarded by impending cliffs on the other. Here she amused herself half an hour and then return­ed [Page 142] resolving to spend every leisure hour in this romantic and beautiful spot, as a favourite re­treat from the glooms of the Abbey, when Lady Mentoria would indulge her with a stroll.

On entering the parlour Mrs. Hervey made her appearance, begging to know if she chose to breakfast, as her Lady always took her cho­colate in her own room, which she never quit­ted 'till twelve, therefore desired her young vi­sitor would amuse herself as she pleased.

Rosalie no sooner finished her dejune but she went to the library, where she entertained her­self for near three hours, 'till Lady Mentoria came in search of her.

"How is my sweet young friend? asked she, peeping in with her parasole and cloak, "Will she take a walk?

"Gladly, Madam," answered Rosalie, I shall be happy to accompany you."

"I am going," returned the Dowager [...]o vi­sit my pensioners; I have three po [...] honest fishers, whose families I support, and by employ­ing them in procuring fish for my family, and others in the vicinity, I amuse and keep them from the lethargy of indolence, and never ad­mitting [Page 143] a superiority of preference, if one more envious quarrels with the other, I rectify their mistakes, and my decision is their law: Thus I preserve perfect tranquility, and I never see a cloud of sorrow or discontent shade their brows; ever blithe and industrious, they may truly be stiled happy cottagers—But you shall judge.

Proceeding to the cliff where Rosalie had taken her morning seat, she discovered a winding path, guarded by small green rails, which Lady Men­toria [...]d ordered to be cut through the cliff, in easy descent, expressly for the facility of her vi­sits, to save at least two miles going round▪ a bench at the bottom rested her again to respira­tion, and Rosalie carried a basket of currants for the children.

"It will please the little creatures," said La­dy Mentoria, "and it will be a wholesome treat for them; These my dear young friend, are the attentions I wish you to fulfil, when indisposition o [...] engagement prevents my attendance."

"A pleasing employment, my dear Madam, I shall willingly perform to the best of my abili­ties," replied Rosalie.

[Page 144]Three neat looking women and seven chubby children now welcomed their noble benefactress: One produced her spinning, another her knitting, and the third constantly made and repaired the fishing nets; while their husbands at various hours when they were on shore, were each fur­nished with a loom, and wovē dowlass for their own wear, and the neighbouring villagers, to whom her Ladyship permitted them to sell any requisite quantity, by way of perquisite and en­couragement of their industry.

The boat soon after arrived, and the fishers leaping on shore presented some beautiful prawns which were received with a benignant smile of sa­tisfaction, and after making a few inquiries, and distributing the fruit among the children, (whose sparkling eyes beamed expectation on the basket's store) enjoined them to be good and dutiful, and slipping a shilling into each of their hands, told them it was the gift of the young lady they saw with her, to whom they must be respectfully obe­dient as to herself.

Slowly they re-ascended the cliff, often pausing to enjoy the healthy breezes of the ocean, and contemplate the restless wave dashing its starry foam along the pebbly shore, while at a distance the inflated white sails of a passing vessel burnish­ed by the meridian sun, glided on the bosom of [Page 145] the parted wave, and dazzled with its brightness the attentive eye that watched its lessening sight —Rosalie was charmed.

"As you love to contemplate the beauties of nature and innocence," said Lady Mentoria, "I shall now lead you to an inland scene; I have se­ven cottages in the village which contain inhabi­tants of every description, among them are the youthful and the aged: in one dwells a young in­dustrious couple just married, in a second an aged pair, in a third a desolated elderly widow, who instructs and protects two little orphans, in a fourth a couple in the autumn of life, surround­ed by four charming children, whose notability furnishes and assists their tender parents; in the fifth lives a venerable old warrior, and two sons, sprightly, clever lads, now his only glory, though the field of honour has invested him with many badges of valour, and though deprived of one leg, his crutches are in his opinion trophies he has never regretted to exchange; my sixth cot­tage contains a poor blind man and one daughter, innocent, mild, and beautiful as the morn, the most dutiful affectionate girl the fondest parent could delight in; while in my seventh and last rural habitation lives a distressed curate, with a la [...] wife and three children; to him I have al­lotted the constant and regular observance of morning and evening prayers, in every family, [Page 146] and to instruct them in reading and writing, of which he is capable, though the hand of oppression and misfortune has formerly crushed the talents that it suffered to expand, had reverted honour to himself, and manifested improvement in others; thus his time is pretty well employed, and there is not a child in the village who does not delight to receive the mild and pleasing instructions of Evelyn."

Passing through a romantic picturesque lane, the rural irregular village presented itself—Eve­lyn, whose cottage was first, sat reading at his door, and closed his book to welcome the visitors; Catharine Evelyn was preparing the dinner; a fine baby lay in the cradle, rocked by a little girl about five years of age, while a healthy boy about two years older was shelling some beans.

"Patty's sampler is almost finished, my Lady," said the good Catherine, leaving the kneading of her dumplins, and presenting a small piece of can­vass very prettily marked.

"Industrious little maid," said her Ladyship, giving the rosy Patty six-pence, which was con­signed to the security of her mother's screw-box, and the visitors unwilling to protract the dinner, took their leave.

[Page 147]The widow next presented her little charges, whom she was teaching to knit, and after com­mending and rewarding their industry, they pass­ed on to a third.

"This is Philip Stanley's cottage," said Lady Mentoria, "and the faithful Ellen, his new­made bride I see is busy at work, let us step in."

Ellen rose with a basket of stockings she was repairing, and Lady Mentoria complimenting her jocularly on her improving looks, enquired for Philip, who was gone to cut turf and faggots, proceeded to the next, where they found Lennox, the old warrior, mending one of his crutches, and whistling, "God save the King.'

"Here is a news paper for you," said Lady Mentoria, "which I know is a great treat to you, but do not suffer the feelings of sensibility to agitate you too far, remember you have been poorly, yet I don't forbid you to drop a tear of humanity for the woes of a fellow soldier, as you read the sad devastating fate of war.

Lennox bowed and consigned it to his pocket, while his eloquent eye and shaking head seemed to say he could enlarge on that subject if permitted.

[Page 148]"Keep it to yourself," said her Ladyship, "and when you have perused it give it to Eve­lyn."

The neighbouring cottage sheltered an aged pair, the poor old man crept feebly out to the door, with his spectacles in one hand, and a let­ter in the other: "Your Ladyship will excuse the derangement of our cottage," said he, wiping a tear on his sleeve, "for we have just received a letter from our dear boy Ben, who has been eight years in the East Indies, come next Christ­mas, and the good fellow sends us the joyful news, he shall be down here in less than a fortnight, and has brought home something to make our lives comfortable out of his earnings: Powers of mercy, we have been out of our wits with joy these three hours, and not a jot of work done for thinking on it, for we thought he might be dead, and never had a notion of seeing him in this world again."

"Well, said Lady Mentoria, "don't flurry yourself, I will provide a bed for him in your back room, let me know when he comes, send him to the Abbey, his dutiful attention pleases me."

The old man bowed, and Lady Mentoria con­tinued her walk.

[Page 149]At the door of another habitation sat two fine young girls spinning, while a youth was busily employed in pruning some plants in a little gar­den he had cultivated and brought to tolerable perfection; and a younger one was conning his lesson for the next day. Lady Mentoria inquired a few particulars and passed on to the next.

"You must know," said she, "this cot con­tains my favourite pensioner, 'tis poor blind Or­ford, and the sweet Maria his only child, we shall find them busy, no doubt."

Rosalie tapped at the door, which was opened by the charming cottager, with her knitting and book in her hand; on one side a small table sat the venerable Orford, who hearing the voice of La­dy Mentoria laid down his work, and bowed his head.

"Always full of employment!" said her La­dyship, taking up some platted straw his ingenui­ty had wove together, and formed into small mats and baskets.

"'Tis merely amusement," said Orford, "but last night I finished a large basket as a present for your Ladyship, 'twill hold grapes or peaches, if you will honour me by accepting it from a poor blind man; Maria arranged the coloured straw, [Page 150] and she tells me I have not made one mistake; and our neighbours say 'tis very pretty."

Maria instantly brought it, and Rosalie and Lady Mentoria wiped a tear as they admired and inspected it.

"Make me two or three more, Orford, and I will give you half a crown a piece for your trou­ble."

"Oh! heavens bless my good lady, the honour of making them will be quite sufficient, do I not constantly live on your bounty, and while I enjoy that blessing God forbid I should be covetous; permit me then to make them only as a small but grateful return for the abundant favours you have heaped on me, and my heart in consequence will feel lighter, by the idea of retaliating in some trifling measure, the gratitude I owe you."

"Excellent man!" said Lady Mentoria, "please yourself, and finish them at your leisure: Maria's jacket wears fast, and I mean to give her a new one."

A flush of joy passed Maria's cheek, and she poured her thanks. Lady Mentoria soon after returned through the village with every one's blessing wasted around her.

[Page 151]"What heartfelt satisfaction do these visits af­ford me," said she, "and my attention is dou­bly repaid by the gratitude and honour of my pensioners; these my dear girl, are the real and only useful plans of relief to the indigent, it in­stitutes decorum, creates the emulation of virtue, and minutely distinguishes the weed from the flow­er, for rear it even in the most prolific soil 'twill never lose its baneful quantities, and however its external appearance may deceive, the lurking poi­son will still contaminate it; but here, thank heaven, every blossom puts forth its leaf in friend­ly promise, and every transplanted branch flou­rishes fair and satisfactorily:—There is an exqui­site pleasure, my charming friend, in contempla­ting such improving and improvable scenes, which few, (I am sorry to say) whom ability en­ables, have either the courage or inclination to view in its proper light; pity the frailties of the debased part of mankind should deter the gene­rous and humane from instituting a little select circle of the deserving, under the patronage of good advice and virtuous example."

"Exalted woman," thought Rosalie, "may the blessing of approving providence crown thee with her choicest gifts, for who so deserving?"

Delighting in visiting these virtuous pension­ers; she often strolled thither, to pass an hour in [Page 152] the cottage of Evelyn, whose excellent plan of imparting education among his little flock gave her the highest opinion of his principles, for be­nign diffidence and virtuous example formed the constant method of his encouraging and progres­sive system for inculcating religion and morality in their most pleasing emulative forms, and ever prone to admire merit, and reward its progress, she con­secrated the following lines to his character, and and laid them one morning on Lady Mentoria's breakfast table, as the produce of an hour's re­flection when seated on her favourite cliff.

CHAP. XVII.

THREE days had elapsed, and Rosalie and Lady Mentoria were just partaking a fine pine af­ter dinner, when the door opened, and Lord Ed­win limping in, shook hands with his aunt, and bowed gracefully to Rosalie.

"My dear Edwin," cried the astonished and confounded Lady Mentoria, "what can possibly have brought you to the Abbey, is any accident the occasion of this unexpected visit?"

"A flight one," answered he. "My horse being restive, brushed too close by the wheel of a waggon, and has bruised my leg, the pain of which encreasing, I thought it most prudent [Page 155] to make the best of my way to Thornley, and not endanger it by proceeding to the castle; but had I known you was engaged with company, I should not have intruded."

"Oh, that young lady is only my companion, the ward of your father, an amiable orphan, Ed­win, who has been bred in an obscure part of Switzerland, Chamouny, I believe 'tis called: our dispositions seem exactly to suit, and I trust we shall enjoy many happy years at the Abbey, oc­casionally visiting my nieces at the Castle."

Luckily for Rosalie, Lady Mentoria had been too much engaged and flurried by the entrance of her nephew, to observe the emotion that agitated the bosom of her fair companion. Delighted to see him—fearful of discovery—doubtful if he had really experienced the accident he complained of, and unconscious how to gain a moment's in­formation—a thousand perplexities banished and recalled the rose on her cheek, but very fortunate­ly to relieve her suspense Lady Mentoria begged he would make use of some embrocation, which she retired to fetch from her private laboratory, and the intermediate moment of her absence fur­nished Rosalie with a full explanation of the art­ful stratagem he had used to prevent suspicion, by assuring her that he was perfectly free from acci­dent, and had flown on the wings of love to en­joy her smiles.

[Page 156]Lady Mentoria just then entering with her em­brocation, ended the momentary conversation, and thankfully taking the bottle, he retired to bathe the imaginary contusion, and soon after return­ed.

"'Tis strange, said he as he entered, my boot should have given me so much pain, and yet not the least sign of external injury is perceivable." This he thought a sufficient excuse, should his aunt, as the famous village doctress, insist upon examin­ing it and preferring her judgment and skill, so limping as naturally as possible, the Dowager's credulity was easily imposed on.

In the course of the evening Lord Edwin dis­tantly polite and sedate, introduced the topic of Italian. "You are, no doubt, a proficient Ma­ [...]amselle," said he, addressing Rosalie by the most tender epithet in that language, which being en­tirely unknown to the venerable companion, fur­nished them the best contrivance possible, "Will you," continued he, "do me the favour to cor­rect any imperfections in that elegant language; conversing with a native I shall doubtless much im­prove the little I at present know."

"Nay," replied her Ladyship, "you are reck­oned to speak it very fluent, why then talk of im­provement [Page 157] and correction of error; but don't you mean to write to your father?"

"Certainly not, why should I alarm him," answered he, "you know his timidity would cre­ate a hundred ensuing evils, a day or two will e­nable me to proceed, and he will easily make an ex­cuse for my detainment on the road, as travellers are never certain where curiosity is the deity they seek, and restriction does not clip the wings of time in her pursuance."

Every point of apparent propriety being thus settled, Edwin remained three days at the Abbey, and was then unable to plead longer excuse, while Lady Mentoria, who watched with the most rigid circumspection the conduct of his Lordship, was perfectly satisfied he entertained no other sensati­on for her fair charge than what his natural polit­ness and affability inspired, and therefore ordering her low cabriolet, took her seat by the side of Ro­salie, and accompanied him part of the way for an airing.

Time had hobbled lamely with the Marquis, but when the long expected moment arrived, and Lord Edwin mentioned his delay at the Abbey, the Mar­quis's blood changed told; but recovering himself he enquired how his sister was.

[Page 158]"Perfectly well, and happy in the society of her fair charge."

"And what do you think of her? asked the Marquis, fixing his eyes intently on his son's.

"I think her a pleasing and interesting compa­nion," replied Lord Edwin, assumming all possible sang froid, "a brilliant, the shades of obscurity has not deprived of its lustre, and I don't doubt a little emulative polish will soon render it a most perfect and admirable acquisition to the envied pos­sessor: She is a pleasant Swiss girl, charmingly liv­ly, yet modest and politely diffident, by what lit­tle I observed, and I really think she will be a ve­ry delightful companion for my aunt, if the gloomy Abbey does not instil too much of the pensorose, for 'tis a wretched dull place and would soon give me the horrors."

"My aunt tells me she is the daughter of some humble friend of yours, on whose decease you was appointed guardian: Fortunate orphan! to have the protection of so benevolent a man: Excuse me, Sir, nor think me guilty of adulation, you have ever evinced yourself the best of fathers, and my heart would be ungrateful not to acknowledge your worth."

[Page 159]"She is, alas! the child of misfortune in every sense," answered the Marquis, secretly rejoicing to have extracted the sentiments of his son, "but I shall take care of her with the anxious solicitude of a parent, 'till I can marry her to some worthy and amiable man deserving her affection, and [...]u [...]d­ed by her inclination▪ But don't you think her pretty?" added he, darting a [...]trating look, if possible to confuse him.

"Humph, yes," answered the cautions Edwin, "tolerable; what can you expect in fact from a complexion exposed to the beams of the meridian, or the keen blasts of the mountainous climate, un­guarded by the shades of art or fashion, to repel those extremes so pernicious to a delicate skin; all the beauty Rosalie can boast is the glow of health, that she eminently possesses, and nature has cer­tainly traced her pencil in the purest bloom to ani­mate her cheek, like the wild rose exposed to each inclement ray, still boasting loveliness and purity, while the rude wind that whistles round its head bends with severity its feeble stem, but cannot di­vest it of its charms: Yet I do not wish to call her handsome, her amiability of disposition will suffici­ently endear her to those whose generous and seel­ing hearts participate her fate."

The Marquis now left him with a mind relieved from suspicion, and festivity presided the evening [Page 160] circle, 'till Lord Edwin ordering Carlos to unpack his portmanteau, delivered his father a letter from his friend at Paris, informing him his son could not sail for India with Lord Edwin, as proposed, from some particular occurrence, and therefore totally declined the voyage. This was a second annihilation to the Marquis's projects, and sullen and dejected he retired to rest.

CHAP. XVIII.

THE morning brought a number of friends to the Castle, to congratulate Lord Edwin's return, and inquire how soon he intended to sail on his In­dian expedition, amongst them was the Duchess of Albermarle, and her daughter Lady Cecilia Bou­verie, to whom the Marquis's partiality of genea­logy hoped to command the affection of Lord Ed­win, as his future bride.

She was too tall to be elegant, her countenance pallid and uninteresting, her disposition haughty, [Page 161] and her partiality to the follies of dress extrava­gantly outre: yet to these imperfections was the Marquis totally blind; to unite the blazoned es­cutcheon was his sole wish, and, alas! the finer feelings of sensibility were eclipsed by the dazzling allurement of grandeur, even founded on the basis of total disregard; he thought the sacrifice of hap­piness amply substituted by the idolatry such splen­dour would revert on his family from the antici­pated alliance; love had lost its potent charm in his bosom, the flame was extinct that once blazed, with the spirit of congeniality, and now the cor­roding worm of insatiate ambition supplied its place. Fatal tyrant! whose uncontrolled power sways every precept; love shrinks from thy bane­ful influence, pity disolves in tears at thy predomi­nance, while friendship half withdraws the extend­ed hand of unity, and suspects a lurking thorn concealed beneath the blooming yet fallacious rose of happiness; and every virtue is imprisoned by this despot, in its deep recess: But for thy influ­ence the venerable Tankerville was the tenderest parent, the most faithful friend, and generous be­nefactor. His pillow was this night strewn with the sharp thorns of suspicion and vexation, which every reminiscentia served but to augment, and his sleepless eyes were languid and heavy when he des­scended to breakfast.

[Page 162]After the repast was ended Lord Edwin was summoned to the library, and the Marquis deve­loped the burthensome secret that rankled in his bosom, by declaring his sentiments in favour of Lady Cecilia, and earnestly recommending such consideration to his son.

Lord Edwin, unwilling to believe at first, ral­lied the subject, [...] silenced by a stern look from the Marquis.

"Ah! my dear Sir," said he, respectfully ta­king his hand, "Edwin avows his real sentiments when he declares, Lady Cecilia boasts no charms to captivate his affection, love alone must bind the fetter that retains his heart; yet, rest assu­red, prudence, honour, and virtue shall unite the rosy links of his bondage, when inclination solicits the sacrifice at the shrine of fidelity, and parental affection smiles an approving consent; yet, I beseech you never ask me to bestow that heart on Lady Cecilia, while its inmost feelings reject with painful anxiety its inability to retali­ate a mutual impression."

"You are resolved then never to comply," said the irritated Marquis.

"Never while my soul revolts could I be the impious wretch to violate the sacred oath record­ed [Page 163] on the page of futurity, under the specious sanction of pretended love, while duplicity alone veiled my disgust."

"Enough, enough," answered the enraged pa­rent, "seal your lips on the subject, nor dare in­vade my ear with your high-flown phrases more; yet remember, the hour you disobey my wish, by uniting yourself without my approbation, shall disinherit you from every possible source of for­tune I can curtail: Retire and reflect on the ob­stinacy of your refusal, and when reason cools your heated imagination you may probably relent, and study my happiness as well as your own in­terest."

Lord Edwin conscious of the stability of senti­ment he had just professed, bowed and withdrew.

The Duchess and Lady Cecilia were unfortu­nately invited to dinner, which was no small em­barrassment to Lord Edwin after the subject just discussed; the ceremony of dinner being ended without any particular occurrence, the Marquis proposed an evening ride, and as [...] Duchess's landau had brought her to the Castle, it was pro­posed to accommodate the Marquis, Lady Adela, and herself, white Lady Louisa mounted Sir Hen­ry's phaeton, and the Marquis ordered his son's curricle to convey him and Cecilia purposely [Page 164] through mortification: Lord Carlton and the ho­nourable Frederic Waldegrave mounted their horses; Sir Henry was to lead the way, the cur­ricle followed, and the Landau and horsemen brought up the rear.

Lord Carlton's horse had not proceeded above two miles when taking fright at a water-mill it conquered the skill of the rider and threw him. Lady Adela, who saw the inevitable danger, shrieked and fainted on the Duchess's shoulder, and the whole cavalcade instantly stopped; the Duchess's salts were successfully applied, and La­dy Adela revived amidst the confusion of catch­ing the furious animal, who was now too mettle­some to mount, and at the earnest desire of the Duchess and lady Adela he agreed to take his seat in the landau, though much wishing to continue his equestrian exercise, but to calm the terror of the ladies who so earnestly entreated his forbear­ance, his polite condescension obediently adopted their plan, and the vicious steed was to be led by the servants.

Lady Cecilia, whose companion had probably not entertained her on the most pleasing or inter­esting subject, tired with his non-chalance, de­termined to mortify herself no longer, but put her resolution of quitting her seat in practice, and thereby convince herself of the reality or fal­lacy [Page 165] of her suggestion, not doubting from his cool insipid behaviour her company was totally, indifferent to him, and begged to exchange her seat with Lord Carlton, as one of the curricle horses had become very mettlesome since the ra­pid flight of the other, and declared her agita­tion would not permit her to go any farther.

Lord Edwin secretly rejoicing at her riddance, instantly offered his hand to alight, assuring her, he was apprehensive of the animal's becoming ra­ther unruly. Lady Cecilia suffered him to lead her to the carriage, into which she hastily jumped, and took her seat by the Marquis's side, who much chagrined, told her, he wished she had kept her station, as she would have had a finer view of the prospect he wished to shew her.

"Oh dear," replied she, "I have seen none yet worthy of admiration, and Lord Edwin complains of the head-ach, which, of course, rendered our gossip very insipid; I detest to hear of ennui, much more endure it, it vapours me to death in five minutes, therefore I thought it best not to increase it by my chat, so we have not uttered more than [...]mony syllable each this half hour; I through compassion to his brain, and he through inability of subject or inclination, and I never admire statuary you know," adding a sarcastic laugh.

[Page 166]"If these horses should grow unruly," said Lady Adela, raising herself to watch their pran­cing, "poor Lord Carlton may experience a se­cond fall, and as I have no fears on the subject, I can go with my brother and accommodate him with my seat."

Not for the world," replied the voice of Lord Carlton at the carriage wheel, while Lady Adela glowed like crimson.

"Surely," returned the Marquis, "the men are most proper objects to encounter difficulties, and if any should arise Providence by your pray­ers will preserve them no doubt."

The strong emphasis laid on your prayers, ut­tered ironically, silenced the deeply interested Adela; and Lady Louisa and Sir Henry were in fact the only real enjoyers of this intended plea­sure. Lady Cecilia found no beauties to com­mend in the view she had been brought to ob­serve; dissatisfied and peevish every object in­creased her disgust, and lolling on the Marquis's arm with vacant stare, she just deigned to ac­knowledge a beautiful natural cascade that heigh­tened the charms of a picturesque view, was "Pretty enough."

[Page 167]"Insensate!" thought Lord Edwin, as he handed her to the carriage, "How would Ro­salie's eye have wandered o'er this charming spot, and discovered a thousand beauties my per­spicuity had never remarked, while this insipid mortal finds no perfection from the circle of her toilet, nor acknowledges a beauty she does not conceive centred in her own imaginary ele­gance."

Carlton sat lolling home in the curricle, musing on the energy of Lady Adela's solicitation, to brave the apparent danger, and resign her safer seat to him.

"Moralizing Mentor!" said Lord Edwin.

"Yes," answered he, "on human virtues in their most captivating form."

"And I on human frailties in their most for­midable and disgusting view; thus we differ: I wonder which reflection will turn to most ad­vantage."

"That we must profit by on mature investi­gation," replied Lord Carlton, "every vice has its moral, from which we may improve as pru­dence and inclination shall direct, did we always associate with the amiable part of mankind we [Page 168] should be at a loss to preserve ourselves from the snares and corruption of the evil disposed, and fall a prey to their ingenuous duplicity, under the specious sanction of candour and virtue; morality is the most interesting, yet least observed study of nature, and thus it is we entail calamity by the im­positions daily practised on credulity; but what shall we say of the man whose view of vice is shaded only by a veil, whose texture is thinner than the finest gauze, if he obstinately fears 'tis too much trouble to examine the picture, by rais­ing the film that obscures it, and therefore trusts to the judgment and honour of some by-stander to explain its properties, as best suits his own digest­ed plan: Such a character is surely as pitiable as it appears contemptible, and dear bought experience too soon convinces him he has become the dupe of artifice when too late to retract."

"Bravo," exclaimed Lord Edwin, "I shall record these sentiments with a golden pen, on the tablet of friendship, thou excellent Monitor."

Various subjects ensued, till they reached the Castle, and Lord Edwin, though very polite, could not obtain one smile from Lady Cecilia, he was not the man of gallantry to her taste, and she therefore hastened the Duchess's departure, as early as possible.

[Page 169]Lady Adela had one morning retired alone to the pavilion, and Lord Carlton accidentally soon after bent his steps to the same spot, but finding the door fastened, he ventured to tap, and Lady Adela imagining it one of the servants, laid down her crayon and turned the key, when opening the door Lord Carlton appeared on the steps, and she started with surprise.

"I hope I do not disturb you," said he.

"No," replied Lady Adela, much flurried, and cautiously drawing a paper over a slight sketch she had just made, placed it in the draw­er, but unfortunately the lock would not turn, and Lord Carlton offered his assistance.

"Something prevents it shutting," said he, and pulling it open, the paper slipped from the draw­er and discovered his own picture; but with the greatest presence of mind he avoided disclosing his surprise, and shutting the drawer turned and presented the key to Lady Adela, who, unconscious he had seen it was perfectly collected: Not so the bosom of Lord Carlton, who had not wanted this proof to confirm his suspicions and utmost wish, and he now determined to gain the advice of Lord Edwin, and solicit him to reveal his de­sign to the Marquis; 'twas now the fortunate moment of explanation, and he determined to [Page 170] improve it, as Lady Adela had so charmingly re­vealed her own secret when least intended.

CHAP. XIX.

ROSALIE in the mean time was become the Angelic Divinity of the Abbey, beloved by La­dy Mentoria with the affection of a parent, and adored by every soul who knew her: once she had created an alarm amongst the peasants on the shore, by strolling one evening to the cliff with her late, whose soft and dulcet note just reached their ear in faintest sound, and brought them from their suppers to listen; she was seated on the cliff, and being dressed in white the reflecti­on of the moon on her countenance gave her a palid appearance, and justified the express idea of an apparition: The alarm soon spread, unknown and unheard by Rosalie, who deeply occupied in [Page 171] musing on a very different subject, suddenly rose and turned away, while the cottagers variously gave their opinions on the wonderful appear­ance, while timidity instilled innumerable con­jectures as the elevation of the cliff prevented dis­tinct observation, and before they had time to discover what it could be, the figure vanished.

Lady Mentoria was writing in her study when Rosalie returned, and not wishing to disturb her, she thought the moonlight so inviting that she bent her steps to a large balcony, on the flat part of the Abbey roof, between the battlement; it was formerly erected to command the prospect, but had been seldom visited for many years past; the door that led to it at the end of the gallery having been accidently discovered by Rosalie, she had chosen this opportunity of exploring the boundary, and therefore strolled out to gratify her curiosity.

Here she amused herself half an hour, and then descended to the parlour, where Lady Mentoria willing to amuse her, rung the bell, and ordered her attendant to fetch down a port-folio of maps, and an old terrestrial globe from a lumber-room in the East wing of the Abbey.

Martha took the keys but turned pale as death. "Thomas, or Austin, can help me to bring it [Page 172] down, my lady, I suppose?" asked she, while the keys jingled from the tremulous motion of her hand.

"And why not go alone?" said her Ladyship, "you know the room."

"Yes, my Lady, but then I must pass the door that leads to the balcony."

"Well, what of that?" replied Lady Men­toria.

"Oh, the ghost!—Indeed, indeed, Madam, Austin and I was walking in the court yard this very evening, and we saw, by the light of the moon something as white as snow whisking be­tween the battlements, without a head; I am sure I was not deceived, for though our folks have often said that wing of the Abbey was haunt­ed, I never believed such nonsense 'till now my eyes have convinced me; and Austin watched it, and put on his spectacles; but he could not make it out."

"My good Martha," said Rosalie, laughing heartily at her description, "Do not alarm yourself, for I was the formidable ghost, with­out a head, upon my honour▪ but I am sorry my innocent walk should have created such unne­cessary te [...]ors."

[Page 173]Martha grew instantly composed. "To be sure, Madam, I was scared out of my wits, for I had not been in our hall talking above five mi­nutes, before in comes William, who had been round to the cottages on the shore to order some fish, so says he, this is a long-legged ghost, it has made good haste, for our fishers saw it a-top of the cliff, not an hour ago▪ 'tis a merry one too, for they said they heard music in the air at the same time, and all the women and children scam­pered into the cottages frightened to death.

"Ah!" said Rosalie, "I wandered there too, and thus the mystery is unfolded, therefore assure yourself you may safely venture up stairs for you will see no more ghosts there this evening, and do me the favour to remove the prepossessed ideas of your associates, by revealing the truth."

Martha now quite [...]fied, tripped up stairs with a light heart, dou [...]y invested with courage, and Lady Mentoria enjoyed the jest at her expence.

Rosalie, to oblige her friends at the castle, pen­ned the following stanzas during her seclusion at the Abbey, in her lonely morning and evening strolls; 'twas a charming romantic spot, but her fancy now depicted its desolated decay at a future period of a half century's ravage on its Gothic [Page 174] pile; and Lady Mentoria much pleased with the production of her youthful poetess, treasured the manuscript in her cabinet.

A few days after a severe touch of the gout at­tacked the venerable Dowager, who constantly at those periods repaired to the Castle, for the particular attendance of a favourite physician, in consequence of which they immediately sat out, travelling by short stages 'till they reached the Castle on the third evening.

Miss Villars was that day or a visit to the la­dies, when the invalid arrived▪ and Lord Edwin flying to the carriage, assisted the Dowager to alight, while his countenance could scarce assume the semblance of sorrow due to the sufferings of his aunt, as Rosalie followed Lady Mentoria into the parlour, supported between her nephew and Montague. Lord Edwin chair stood vacant by the side of Miss Villars, but was instantly remo­ved to the opposite one between the Dowager and Rosalie.

Miss Viliars's eyes were fixed on the transient exchange, while Rosalie had as intently observed the situation of the vacated chair. "Upon my word you are an excellent nurse, and indeed shine [Page 179] superior in that character to any other," said the imperious Amazon.

"I always was," replied Lord Edwin, "Lady Mentoria will vouch for me, I have frequently devoted my evenings to backgammon, for her amusement, while my sisters have joined some ju­venile party in the neighbourhood."

"A fine compliment to the belles and beaus," rejoined Miss Villars.

"A proof at least of [...]he young man's humani­ty and condescension to an old woman, neglected by the youthful part of her own sex, afflicted with an infirmity heaven may in time retaliate on them."

"I hope I shall never have the gout," answer­ed the haughty fair, "or at least if I have, I hope my ill temper will never add to the trouble I shall then be to every body."

"It must undergo a thorough and speedy re­form," replied the offended invalid, "for the impetuosity of youth will never be softened by the infirmities of age; it will tr [...]bly augment peevishness, not diminish it, depend upon it, young lady."

[Page 180]Rosalie, hung tenderly over her chair, endea­voured by a thousand little stratagems to allevi­ate the pain, and divert her attention, while Miss Villars turning on her heel with half a smile, asked Lord Edwin if he was too much occupied to take a stroll for the benefit of the air.

"Ah, do," cried Lady Mentoria, "and take Rosalie with you, it will revive her after the confinement of a close carriage." Lady Adela joined the request, and Lord Edwin escorted them.

Lady Mentoria now asked the Marquis if he had any objection to Rosalie's remaining at the Castle, or if he chose she should return.

"No," replied he, "let her stay, I think I have probed the heart of Edwin, and found no wound to penetrate, I am therefore easy on that subject."

The evening passed merrily away, and Rosalie retired to a new apartment facing the portico of oranges, the evening was fair and clear, myriads of diamonds studded the azured veil of night, and fragrant odours embalmed the breeze, when some­thing lightly tapping at her window called her attention, and she opened the sash, when a small note, fastened to a string, was thrown up and [Page 181] reached her hand; it was Lord Edwin, whose billet earnestly entreated she would allow him half an hour's chat in the pavilion, by seven o'clock.

Rosalie nodded assent, but spoke not, shocked at his temerity, as Lady Mentoria's chamber join­ed her's, and he might have been discovered, she therefore closed the blind and prudently with­drew.

CHAP. XX.

THE Dowager recovered from her slight at­tack, and was persuaded to pass a month at the Castle, during which time Rosalie improved ra­pidly in her drawing and music, and her soft me­lodious voice was to give its first specimen of de­light at a private concert, performed at the Cas­tle; numerous friends and neighbours were invi­ted, and among the rest the Honourable Frederic Waldegrave paid his first visit since Rosalie's ar­rival: [Page 182] Struck with the charms of her person, he lost his usual sprightliness in the pleasing contem­plation, and was her constant shadow the whole evening, while Lord Edwin, who silently observ­ed his motions, was deeply concerned and much agitated.

Lady Louisa presided at the grand piano forte, Lady Adela exquisitely touched her harp, Lord Carlton performed on the violoncello, and Lord Edwin took his animating mellifluous flute, while Sir Henry flourished the sprightly horn, and two strangers subjoined their enlivening violins, Ro­salie chose the fantastic tamborine, and two songs, with an inimitable charming composition, adapt­ed for her favourite lute, constituted her share of the performance; she was purposely habited in the Savoyard stile, and captivated every beholder; her beautiful solo on the lute received unbounded applause, and when she dropped it negligently by her side, Waldegrave instantly caught and appli­ed it to his lip.

"Do you play, sir?" said the sweet girl.

"No," replied he, "I am only endeavoring, like the bee, to extract the honey from the little c [...]lls, because those charming lips have pressed th [...]."

[Page 183]Rosalie unused to adulation, felt herself at a loss to give a proper reply, and Lord Edwin coming towards them at the instant, happily relieved her embarrassment.

"Rosalie," said he, lay by your magic lute, your next enchantment will be a song."

"What is it?" asked Waldegrave, touching the leaves of a rose placed on her bosom, "The Mansion of Peace?"

"No," answered Lord Edwin, perfectly un­derstanding the question, "that privilege is re­served for a chosen few; the song she favours us with is to aid the inspiration of Adela's harp, and will convince you 'tis not ill adapted to the soul of the enchantress."

He then led her to the orchestra, and whis­pered her to beware of Waldegrave's freedom, which he did no [...] at present dare resent. The assembly observed a profound silence, and the beautiful Rosalie and elegant Adela drew for­ward and began Mrs. Crouch's favorite song in the Heiress; 'tis true, the warbler had often practised it, but to night she excelled every for­mer attempt: The benignity of her countenance, and the forcible expression laid on every line, captivated each attentive auditor, and a general [Page 184] whisper of praise buzzed in every part of the room.

Waldegrave roused from his enchanting re­verie with a profound sigh, and again repeated his encomiums; the Marquis passing at the mo­ment pressed her hand, "you are a good girl, and have pleased every body."

"She has enchanted them!" replied Walde­grave, "every body as if inspired by magic, repeats but the name of this bewitching syren."

The Marquis astonished at this rhapsody, led him away, and the evening passed cheerfully on, but the succeding day brought Waldegrave to the Castle, on some frivolous pretence, while Lord Edwin was airing, and Rosalie was unfor­tunately alone in the pavilion, finishing a small drawing, while the ladies had retired to dress. Waldegrave delighted beyond expectation, seiz­ed the happy moment to explain his raptures, offered her his hand and fortune, and assured her of his unalterable attachment.

"Silence, Mr. Waldegrave," said she, with­drawing her half-devoured hand, "you honour me too far, reflect for a moment to whom you are imparting your sentiments, bordering surely on unguarded extravagance, I must not, dare [Page 185] not, believe them the deliberate effusions of sin­cerity, surely they must be the uncontrouled sug­gestion of the moment, mere inspirations of gal­lantry, yet however devoid of propriety, are, I trust, founded on the basis of honour."

"Perfectly so, charming Rosalie, nor time nor absence shall erase the faithful fond impression, tell me then lovely angel, if Waldegrave's hopes may live in thy bewitching smile; or doomed to meet thy frown, must he resign that treasured heart to some more happy rival?"

"Alas!" said Rosalie, "I boast no heart to give, 'twas lost in the peaceful vale of Chamouny, 'ere I knew these plains."

Waldegrave turned pale, his lips trembled, his hand grew cold as he grasped hers:—"Ah! tell me then," said he, "whose bosom guards the inestimable treasure, and I will fly to hear the tale, where if I find him, as perhaps I may, un­burthened with the gifts of fortune, my ample purse shall well supply the same deficiency, 'till it has rendered his more humble roof completely worthy of so fair an inmate; then may I live to hear my Rosalie is blest, and Waldegrave, wretch­ed Waldegrave, asks no farther recompense."

He now turned from her to hide the manly tear that flowed in spite of every effort to retain [Page 186] it; and Rosalie, stung to the soul, remained a perfect statue of astonishment."

"Permit me to retire," said she, in a low and tremulous voice, "unable from the overflow of gratitude to thank you as I ought, and incapable of expressing what my lips would fain utter; yet, may every blessing, every tranquil joy surround you, and may the heart your fondest love shall chuse, return with equal rapture and sincerity thy matchless generosity and affection, while the poor humble Rosalie shall waft her purest prayer to heaven for your felicity—wretched boon I grant, but 'tis the sacred incense of a heart that would give more if love and honour did not hold it cap­tive."

"Generous girl!" answered the still more en­raptured Waldegrave, "And must I resign thee? Oh! cruel fate: Yet tell me, I beseech you, the name of my rival, and I will cherish the envied robber with the affection of a brother, while he returns the fond caresses of my Rosalie, but if a shade of slight, however transient, cross the sun­shine of thy happiness, then Waldegrave's arm shall plunge a dagger in the monster's heart, and free the angelic sufferer from his frown."

Rosalie shuddered with horror, for his counte­nance during this energetic speech had assumed every fury of real sensation. "We must meet [Page 187] no more then," said she, "you grow furious, ask no further questions, I beseech you, but leave me to my fate."

"Never, 'till you tell my rival's name and residence, that I may accomplish my promise," rejoined Waldegrave.

"That I cannot reveal at present, I have co­gent reasons, but when time shall develope my fate, the heart that claims the humble Rosalie's, shall generously own, and strive to imitate the ex­cellent virtues and gratitude of a Waldegrave; Adieu then, I must fly to my chamber, or my length of absence will create suspicion."

"Adieu too lovely Rosalie, a few days will convey me to the asylum of a faithful friend, whose tender admonition will console my wound­ed peace." Once more he kissed her hand, and darting through the shrubbery with the air of a maniac, mounted his horse, which he had fasten­ed to a tree at the entrance of the park, and re­tired unseen by any soul.

Rosalie was transfixed to the gate over which she had leaned, her eyes filled with tears, her hands clasped and raised to heaven in silent ejacu­lation, when the sound of Sir Henry Lansdowne's phaeton roused her lethargic stupor, and turning [Page 188] quickly back into the house she entered her own apartment, where the most painful reflections agi­tated her palpitating heart. "I must assume du­plicity at the expence of discretion," sighed she, "for should the tale ever be revealed, what mi­sery might it not entail on such a dreadful disco­very to Lord Edwin! O, heaven avert it; al­ready he observes the partial praises of Walde­grave with the keen eye of suspicion, and strictly repels them: Fatal secret! repose then in my bo­som, where I will cautiously guard thee, and all will yet be well."—

"All did I say? Alas! no—poor Waldegrave, where wilt thou find the balm to heal a wounded heart? Not on the frozen mountain—not on the burning sands of India—nor in the fostering clime of peaceful happy England; for, Oh! no balsam can extract the venom, bloom in what soil it may!"

Her eyes had lost their usual lustre, when she descended to dinner, and Lord Edwin observed it, but Rosalie assuring him he was mistaken, and assuming a gaiety of heart foreign to her feelings, it all passed off.

CHAP. XXI.

A FORTNIGHT elapsed and Waldegrave had never appeared at the Castle, when a morn­ing visit from Miss Villars, the Chronicle of the vicinity, proclaimed his departure.

"So Waldegrave has left his mansion sudden­ly, on a trip to his friend Ellers, at Lime Park, and the beautiful eminence that overlooks Rose Vale is put in immediate design, several work­men are employed, and as I passed, seeing them very busy, I asked for what the structure was in­tended. 'Why 'tis for a hermitage, Ma'am,' says a grey-headed shrivelled old man, 'his Ho­nour intends it to be very curious and complete, he has given us orders to proceed in the outer work, and then he will lay out his plan as his fancy strikes him."

[Page 190]"Why this is quite a new whim," said I.

"O dear yes, my Lady," continued he, "and it will be a vast solontory place; I told his honour the birds would make pretty free, for there's a power of all sorts thereabouts; O, says he, ne­ver trouble yourself about them, their company will amuse me, and their song will amply repay their intrusion."

"Why yes," says I, "your honour was al­ways good natured to every body, but you will have a few songs from the rooks as well as the larks, and that mighty dismal."

"That too I shall equally enjoy," replied he, "so don't disturb them if they hover about."

"It is a mighty odd notion we think, but to be sure we have only to obey orders."

"Thus ended the elegant harangue, and I rode off; don't you think it a fine romantic scheme; what a blooming hermit he will be, Lord Edwin, suppose we make a formal visit."

"Never disturb the reveries of solitude," an­swered Lord Edwin, "fan the flame of his inspi­ration, by all means, twill turn to good effect no [Page 191] doubt, when so young a man gratifies the bent of such recluse inclinations."

Rosalie, who had listened to every syllable ut­tered by Miss Villars's shrivelled old man, as she maliciously stiled him, was at no loss to compre­hend the mysterious enigma, "He is then in reality," thought she, "and the fatal impression is to be nursed in the shades of solitude, where it will never be erased."

Lord Edwin surmised some secret scheme actua­ted Waldegrave's design: Naturally of a careless lively disposition, could youth like his assume the careful brow, and woo the shades of seclusion, in­venting every pensoroso embellishment to com­plete the solitary structure: What turn the fer­vent page of enthusiastic reflection by the pale gleamings of a melancholy lamp, when revelling and mirth had ever led him captive in her jocund train, amid the alluring charms of love and beau­ty; Immured within this lonesome cell, he must then pour the votive prayer to some peculiar dei­ty however he would keep his sentiments private, and watch the event, as some slight suspicion from his conduct to Rosalie had awakened a dormant spark of mistrust, yet to doubt the purity of her heart on the subject was an idea consigned to per­petual oblivion, for he conceived the chain of ho­nour [Page 192] and affection too firmly bound for the utmost strength and ingenuity to loose.

Rosalie had written an affectionate letter some time since to Madelon, and this day received an answer from her favourite friend, fraught with the faithful and kind remembrance of every cot­tager in the vale, and Lindor had inclosed a rus­tic sonnet, of his own composition, on the depar­ture of Rosalie; the verse was simple yet interest­ing to her heart, 'twas a memorial of gratitude where least expected, and it expressed the genuine dictates of an honest worthy bosom, that had ever evinced a similarity of sentiment undisguised by duplicity; it was the first specimen of Lindor's poetical talents, and where an error required re­gulation, the effusion of sincerity it meant to ex­press perfectly compensated; for untutored in the school of criticism, Lindor presented it in its humble and native guise, relying on the lenity of the goddess, to whom his rustic muse had made her first; oblation.

[Page 194]There was a certain pathos in these simple lines very pleasing to Rosalie, and she read them with the greatest emotion of delight: the letter also ex­prest the earnest solicitation of Josephine in case her friend should ever marry, that she might come over to England and be her attendant: Madelon's tender tears had blotted many expressive sentences, dictated by her greatful heart; and the prayers of Reuben and Giraldine for her health and hap­piness concluded this valued epistle."

Rosalie gave the letter and sonnet into the hand of Lady Adela, and Lord Edwin, as he perused them, smiled with tearful eyes at this proof of affection, while he traced in imagination every anxious eye peeping into the contents, willing to add a thousand tender expressions had the paper been capable of containing them.

"Gratitude always affects my eyes, said Lord Edwin, giving the sonnet and letter into the Mar­quis's hand, who had minutely watched his son's countenance during the perusal, "I wish your heart too was as susceptible of obedience," repli­ed the Marquis, hinting at his son's refusal of Lady Cecilia, for alas! the thorn of disappointment had secretly rankled in his heart ever since, but the extreme cautions behaviour of Edwin and Ro­salie eluded every suspicion; Lord Edwin, who [Page 195] did not wish Rosalie to understand the meaning of the address, bowed and left the room.

Lady Mentoria was to remain at the Castle for the ensuing winter, and Lord Edwin had taken a trip to London for a fortnight with Sir Henry Lans­downe; the rich autumn was declining, the air grew sharp and frosty, but Rosalie never failed her constant ramble before breakfast, to supply the expected meal of five robins, who pecked the crumbs from her hand, and whom she always stiled her plumaged pensioners, employed in this delightful occupation of benevolent humanity, they soon grew tame, and would often perch on the nearest shrub, and repay her attention with a grateful song.

Having one day missed a favourite from the circle, and strolling in search of him to his well-known recess, in an adjoining thicket she found the little hapless songster frozen by the inclemency of a severe frosty night, apparently dropped from a favourite thorn, and stretched on a mass of snow, from whose frozen surface it was impossible to extricate its feeble wings: Compassion gave a trickling tear to the sufferer's fate, and Rosalie, in memory of him, dedicated an elegy as she sat pensively musing o'er his stiffened plumes and de­ploring his loss.

From this charming amusement she had one morning just entered the house, when Andrew met her in the hall. "A poor traveller is with­out, resting himself," said he "he seems weak and feeble, so I asked him into the housekeeper's-room, but he refuses, and is sitting near the great gate; he seems more unhappy than hungry, I think, for I offered him some victuals, but he shook his head and said he was only tired: He asked if the family were up, and I said no, only Miss Rosalie."

"Poor fellow!" said the sympathizing girl, "I will go and see if I can relieve him.'

In a few moments they reached the bench on which sat a person wrapped in an old surtout and [Page 198] and a flapped hat, an oak stick rested his hands, on which leaned his head in the attitude of profound reverie, 'till the airy footstep of Rosalie gently pattering on the gravel roused him, and he raised his head, but spoke not, for Andrew was close be­hind gazing stedfastly on him.

"Can I relieve you, friend?" cried the soft voice of Rosalie.

The traveller bowed, placed his hand on his bosom, and presented a small piece of paper, when Rosalie unfolding it read the following words.

"Pardon and commiserate the victim of despair, and allow five minutes conversation at the end of the south terrace to the wretched Waldegrave; govern your surprise, impart a plausible relief, and follow the wanderer."

Twice did she read it to recover her agitation, when taking out her purse to aid the dissimulation, she gave him a crown which he thankfully receiv­ed, and rising took his immediate departure.

"Poor creature," said Andrew as he fastened the gate after him, "he was very modest, for he did not ask me to carry in that there petition for charity, so if you had not been up, Madam, he would have gone away almost as poor as he came, [Page 199] for I had but a few halfpence in my pocket, and that would not have made him much richer, God knows."

"It would not Indeed," said Rosalie, "for he seemed no common beggar, only a child of mise­ry, Andrew: but as I could not relieve his sor­rows more fully I did not wish to hear his mourn­ful tale."

"God give you his blessing, for you are all charity and goodness, sweet angel lady," muttered An­drew, as she tripped away to the terrace, where the disguised mendicant raising his hat, discovered the well known features of Waldegrave.

"Whence this cruel unguarded surprise, Mr. Waldegrave?" asked the fair trembler, leaning over the parapet while he seized her hand: "Beware," continued she, "the temerity of this [...]ntrusion, and be also expeditious in what you have to disclose, that you may depart undiscovered before the family rise."

"I returned last night," said he, to my deso­late mansion, where I inspected my hermitage, but found it, like every thing else, devoid of the charms my fancy depicted: I shall now leave it in the course of a week, and bend my steps to Lon­don, where I have procured an India equipment, [Page 200] a few short weeks will conduct me to my solitary ca­bin, where, to the mercy of the winds and waves commit this miserable form; the burning-plains of India will be less scorching than my heated brain, and each will consu [...]e the other with greater preci­pitation: Will Rosalie, then, deign to breathe a prayer, amid the fury of impending storms that dash his hapless bark, or will she give one sigh to pity, as the trembling moon beams through her window, and recalls to mind the wretched Walde­grave watching the same pale luminary's midnight lamp, reclining o'er the lonely deck's vacated platform, while the rough mid-watch mariner, whose eye is alone unsealed aboard the vessel, whistles in plaintive strain the weary hour away, yet leaves despair and horror chained to me, whose pillow planted with remorseless thorns, the points of which are oft' bedewed with poignant tears, no longer rests his languid head, or soothes him to repose. Adieu, angelic purity, to-mor­row brings me to the Castle to take my formal leave—Ah! here could I linger all the live-long day, and sleep beneath the covert of these elm [...], until Aurora lifts the torch of day, and with her rosy fingers opes the gates of morn, to cast a long­ing look of expectation, and behold thy lovely form, enchanting as the roseate hour, steal to this lonely spot, and give one smile, one glance of pity to the woes of Waldegrave."

[Page 201]Rosalie's tears had steeped her hankerchief in briny essence. To-morrow then," said she, I shall see you again, Mr. Waldegrave, yet, believe me, if opportunity does not furnish me with the means of bidding you adieu as my gratitude would wish, I shall ever entertain the highest sense of the obli­gation your sentiments have avowed for me, yet, miserable must I ever be when I reflect on the cause that drove you from your happy mansion, the blest abode of tranquility 'ere my unhappy fate guided me to this spot to tear that blessing from your bosom; yet, Oh! forgive the wretched girl, and strive to conquer an ill-fated love, which, circumstanced as I am, would surely be pro­fane to hear: Be firm, be resolute, and submit to the decrees of fortune, suffer your wonted peace and happiness to return, and preserve your inesti­mable good spirits for the benefit of all those most nearly concerned in your welfare."

The distant appearance of Le Brun obliged him to sigh, adieu, and disappear, as fast as possible, while Rosalie returned to the breakfast table, ill-disposed to swallow a morsel.

CHAP. XXII.

LORD EDWIN and Sir Henry being in Lon­don, Rosalie was pensive, a thousand painful ideas engrossed her mind. Lady Louisa, in consequence of her swain's absence, became dull, and her charm­ing sister could only alleviate their ennui, by chatting and rambling with Lord Carlton, the only remaining beau, whose engaging sensibility had so far gained the Marquis's favour, that he had rea­dily, acceded to his wish, by permitting the in­creasing passion to cement between him and Lady Adela, and the next spring was to confirm the happy union, as also the nuptials of Sir Henry and Lady Louisa, an event anticipated by the Mar­quis with the greatest delight, and his felicity had attained its summit, if Edwin too had accepted the hand of Lady Cecelia, but that was not to be, and a very different circumstance was reserved to prove the affection of the Marquis.

[Page 203]Several little parties had been formed to inte­rest and amuse the lingering hours, when Frederic Waldegrave arrived at the Castle, and invited the family to partake of a farewell dinner at the Manor, which was readily accepted by the Marquis, who earnestly enquired his motives for leaving England.

"I wish," said he, "Edwin would accompany you, but he is so bigotted to his Parisian friend, that because he declines going this year, no per­suasion can induce him to make the trip."

"And probably I shall not stay long in the West," replied Waldegrave, "therefore I should only lead him astray, for I shall be a wanderer at large, where fancy or inclination directs."

Such a negligent reply silenced the Marquis's inquiry, and Thursday was the appointed day for the visit to the Manor, Rosalie dressed herself as plain as possible, though she was convinced Miss Villars and every belle in the vicinity would en­deavour to out-rival each other.

At four the company assembled, and were enter­tained with an elegant dinner, festivity and hilar­ity prevailed without alloy, and the evening being very inviting, the Marquis proposed sailing on a fine canal, that ran through the extensive plea­sure grounds; the sailing-boat was ordered out, and the party took their seats.

[Page 204]After an hour spent in the most agreeable man­ner, a threatening cloud presaged a violent storm, which soon veiled the atmosphere. Rosalie terri­fied, sunk on the shoulder of Waldegrave, and the company landed as fast as possible, and made the best of their way to the house, but as Walde­grave supported the trembling Rosalie, a vivid flash crossed the path, and again she sunk on his arm: Each gentleman fully employed with their respective charges, hastened on, all equally fright­ened, and saw not the relapse of Rosalie, who hap­pened to bring up the rear, and Waldegrave, re­collecting the hermitage to be but a few paces dis­tant, bore her thither, and as it was probable the storm would encrease, had endeavoured to prevail on the rest to take shelter in its recess—but in vain, as they thought best to retreat before the shower fell to prevent their flight, as they were at least a quarter of a mile distant from the house.

Waldegrave now carried his lovely burthen to the solitary structure, so lately completed, laid her on a couch, and flew to get some water, when sup­porting her head to raise it on his arm, a small pearl cross, confined by a ribbon, discovered itself on her bosom; instantly Waldegrave slipped the string, and, purloining the treasure, secreted it in his own bosom, as the only memorial of her he should be able to obtain, instinctively he pressed [Page 205] it to his lips, and then consigned it to its future repository.

Scarce had he recovered the agitation of his se­cretion when Rosalie opened her eyes, and wildly enquiring where she was, expressed the greatest terror at her situation.—The hermitage grew dark, the storm increased, and Waldegrave sooth­ed her fears by every tender assiduity; But equally alarmed at being alone, and subject to his ad­dresses, she earnestly entreated to brave the storm and venture on.

"Impossible!" cried he, it pours in torrents, patience, lovely Rosalie, you are perfectly safe; we shall soon be missed, and the servants will be sent to accommodate you with shelter of some kind, I cannot leave you alone or I would fly thither; be composed, I think I see somebody coming through the vista, but the flashes are so vivid I cannot discern who it is."

A few moments brought Thomas and Gregory, With the family sedan, and a coat and umbrella for their master; for the company terrified at their absence, were fearful some accident had happened, and the fury of the tempest prevented any but the servants from coming to their assistance.

Waldegrave instantly placed her in the chair, and walked slowly by her side to pacify her fears; at [Page 206] length they reached the house, and entered the drawing-room, where the party were assembled; every one but Miss Villars expressed their concern at Rosalie's indisposition.

"Was not the hermitage a mighty snug re­treat," cried she, "I wonder Miss Rosalie should faint there; methinks in the protecting arms of Mr. Waldergrave there was little occasion to af­fect terror, for my part I began to think you both inclined to pass the night there, 'twas devilish un­lucky Gregory should think of the old mouldy sedan, to interrupt so charming a tete-a-tete,

"I conceive it a very lucky thought of Grego­ry," answered Rosalie, and feel myself much in­debted to his civility and good nature."

"Had he been as maliciously disposed as the en­vious part of mankind," replied the Marquis, (leering at Miss Villars,) "he would not so readi­ly have invented a burthen for his own shoul­ders; but I am sorry to see malice so expert in sharping her arrows on a female lip, yet, I trust, the feathers they are fledged with are so light and frivolous, that though a breath sends forth a vol­l [...]y in every direction, they seldom wound; for, depend on it, the shield of innocence repels the misapplied dart, and the disappointed archer feels the point retaliated with the venom of vexation to her own mischievous bosom."

[Page 207]Waldegrave's eyes thanked the Marquis most eloquently, while Miss Villars, smiling derision, yet completely and justly ridiculed, replied, he was an excellent monitor, but would probably meet with very few scholars from the severity of his precepts.

"And yet, I dare avow," rejoined the Mar­quis, "I shall very seldom have occasion to use my correction a second time if my pupils are as susceptible of the sting as I wish them to be, though I shall never inflict it improperly or un­deserved."

Some of the ladies whispered, and some of the bea [...]s smiled, for the subject had been most com­pletely handled at the sole expence of Miss Villars, who, unable longer to support his severity, in­stantly took her leave, mortified to the soul, and determined never to pass another moment in his presence.

The storm now abated, and the carriages drew up to convey the company home, when Rosalie fastening her cloak, missed her pearl cross, the gift of Lady Adela: confused and vexed, an im­mediate search succeeded, but in vain, and Wal­degrave assuring her every part of the grounds should be searched where it was probable she could [Page 208] have dropped it, handed her into the carriage, and took a final leave.

On the second day he departed for London, where he met Lord Edwin, and Sir Henry, from whom he received every friendly wish of a pros­perous voyage, and a few letters of recommenda­tion to some friends of Sir Henry, in the West-India settlements, and early in the following week they acompanied him on board, while Lord Edwin, as he quitted the ship's side, (from whose gallery Waldegrave waved his hat) found his heart relieved of a heavy suspicion that had long rankled there, grounded on the dread of rival­ship.

CHAP. XXIII.

ROSALIE unsuspicious of the innocent rob­bery committed by the hapless wanderer, often regretted her loss, although the generous Lady Adela had supplied its place, with an elegant fan­cy [Page 209] medallion; little did she think that cross was daily bedewed with the tears of faithful love; little did she know how oft' it pressed the feverish lip of hopeless passion, as it rested on the panting agitated bosom of despair.

Lord Edwin and his companion returned on the appointed day to the Castle, his countenance was cheerful as the finest summer' morn, his soul se­rene and happy as its softest balmy breeze. Ro­salie was delighted at his return, yet a soft sigh sometimes heaved to the sorrows of Waldegrave.

The winter wore away its languid hours in the pleasure of agreeable society, sometimes shared at the Castle, or passed at the Abbey, and when the joyous spring peeped forth and smiled, Lady Men­toria conducted her young companion again to the Castle, for the summer recess. In its beauti­ful blossomed groves Rosalie and Lord Edwin of­ten strolled in pleasing converse of an evening, when the fragrance of the blossom embalmed the breeze, and Philomel, wild poet of the glade, thrilled her soft cadence half concealed, amid the mazes of her foliaged nest, while the majestic crescent encircled by her floating silver fluid, mantled the vagrant rill, and tinged the drooping elegance of numerous willows, sheltering the rose­fringed banks, and reflecting its sylvan beam on [Page 210] the enraptured countenance of Lord Edwin, as he gazed, the lustre of Rosalie's bewitching eyes vy­ing their contrast with its feebler ray.

"My Lord, the Marquis approaches," whis­pered Montague, from a thicket of Seringos one evening, "turn through the shrubbery while I detain him." Instantly they followed the admo­nition of their kind protector, and escaped sepa­rately to the house.

The summer now drew on her rosy veil and shaded the retiring spring, who left her blos­soms to the fostering hand of her maturer care, and Rosalie, Lady Adela, and Lady Mentoria had just returned from a visit at the Abbey, and all the little circle were again cheerful and hap­py; the caution of Lord Edwin, had eradicated every suspicion from the bosom of the Marquis, who, although not perfectly reconciled to his re­jection of Lady Cecilia, loved his son too well to render him miserable by enforcing his commands, when a circumstance destined to unveil the long-secreted mystery, presented itself when least sur­mised.

The sultry sun of July had emitted an almost in­supportable heat through the day, and with the shades of evening followed a succession of black clouds, impregnated with bituminous matter, deep [Page 211] streaks of red fringed their lowering inflamed edges, and foretold an approaching tempest.

The ladies alarmed at the excessive loud peals of thunder that soon followed, and the vivid flashes of blue lightning, had retired to the inner apartment, less exposed to its direction, when a loud ringing at the lodge gate demanded attend­ance, and Montague announced the servant of a stranger earnestly soliciting assistance for his mas­ter, whose horse taking fright at the lightning, had thrown him with the greatest violence against a projecting rugged branch of an ancient oak that overhung the park railing, where he had been obliged to leave him in search of assistance, as he was unable to proceed; and to add to his misfor­tune, the horse had fled, but seeing a light in the lodge it encouraged him to hope for some re­lief.

This sudden alarm created the compassion of the whole family, and three of the servants were instantly dispatched with orders to bring the stran­ger to the Castle, and when their voi [...]es in the hall announced their return, the parlour was instinc­tively vacated, and the whole family assembled.

The unfortunate man was of very genteel ap­pearance, about forty years of age, totally inani­mate, and half covered with blood, from a contu­ [...]o [...] [Page 212] in the side of the head. Lady Mentoria drew near to offer her advice and inspect the wound, while the three beautiful girls, like benignant an­gels, stood weeping o'er the hapless sufferer, with upraised hands and countenances expressive of the deepest horror.

A surgeon was immediately fetched, though at the distance of five miles, and at Lady Mentoria's request the stranger was laid under the rich canopy of crimson velvet, in the state bed-chamber, where life again revived with languid pulsation, but not the faculty of reason; that alas! seemed chained by heavy stupor, and he remained many hours in a state of torpid insensibility.

On the surgeon's arrival he pronounced the contusion dangerous, but not so near the brain as was apprehended, nor could he ascertain the con­sequences which might ensure however, he hoped the best, ordered him to be kept in a state of per­fect tranquillity, but declared that removing him would be of dangerous tendency. Mrs. Gertrude was deputed to sit by him, while his servant un­packed his portmanteau, and the Marquis could gain a little information of the rank and charac­ter of his invalid, but of this the domestic de­clared himself ignorant, he only knew his mas­ter's name was Spencer, and that he was just re­turned from the West-Indies, had hired him about [Page 213] three weeks since in London, during which time he had resided at an hotel, but was now on their tour to N—, at the house of some very inti­mate friend of his master, from whence they were going to some part of Italy and France.

This account, though plausible, was by no means satisfactory, and as the servant proceeded to unpack, the delicacy and fineness of the linen, marked with the initials of E. W. created a sus­picion of fallacy in the Marquis's breast, which he carefully concealed, and Gertrude resigned her situation to his own servant, and one of the Mar­quis's for the night, which was passed in tolerably tranquil slumber.

The Marquis, a [...]us to inquire the state of his guest, stole softly to his chamber in the morn­ing, where, finding the door open, he ventured gently in, when he heard the voice of the stran­ger earnestly repeating the following soliloquy, and rested on tip-toe that he might not surprise or interrupt him: the voice sighed and thus pro­ceeded.

"Sure 'tis illusion, or my eyes beheld the fair resemblance of my faithless love:—Angelic form! sweet placid innocence, if such thou wert, cast one soft smile of pity on the wretched Walsing­ham!—Adored Lavinia! Hapless victim of se­duction, [Page 214] Ethelbert loved thee with unfeigned sin­cerity; Though thou wast base, perfidious, and contaminated by the breath of vile iniquity: Cru­el accursed Morency! Impetuous injured Wal­singham!"

The Marquis shuddered with horror, the name of Ethelbert Walsingham had been engraven on his heart, with a pencil of Adamant, dipped in poison. He advanced one step and peeping through an aperture in the curtain, beheld the feeble in­valid raised from pillow, his hands clasped in the attitude of imploring pardon, and his eyes fixed on a half-length portrait of Lady Lavinia, which hanging immediately opposite the foot of the bed, convinced him of the re­ality of his suggestion, and, overpowered with confusion, surprise, and distress, the Marquis sunk on a chair, and, drawing aside the curtain, fixed his eager eyes on the stranger, whom he was unable to address at the moment.

"To whom Sir," asked the feeble man, "am I indebted for the compassion and indulgence I have apparently received, tho' alas! the suspension of recollection deprives me of the idea of what fa­vor my hapless state has experienced; I have do­zed the night away, and just rousing from an ir­ritated unconnected dream, I recall my scattered senses, and find myself alone in the mansion of a [Page 215] stranger, whose benevolent humanity seems to have furnished me with every comfort in a style of ele­gance I am by no means entitled to, and the in­formation of knowing to whom I owe such obli­gation will still add one more to the number."

"You are now in the Castle of the Marquis of Sevigne," replied the agitated Marquis."

"Sevigne!" reiterated the breathless stranger, "And that portrait Lady Lavinia his sister? Gra­cious heaven! do I in you behold the noble owner of this Castle too?"

The Marquis bowed assent, and the stranger continued:

"Alas! then let this devoted head sink in eter­nal slumber on your soothing pillow: fly me, for I have been a murderer, but, culprit as I seem, I yet shall sue your mercy. I could unfold a tale that would harrow up your soul, if you will grant me but an hour's explanation, then wouldst thou spurn me like a miscreant from thy roof, I will not call thee harsh, I will not murmur."

A convulsive motion prevented his articulation, as he violently grasped the hand of the Marquis, but recovering he begged the door might be fas­tened [Page 216] to prevent interruption, and then pro­ceeded.

"First draw the curtain," said he, "and veil that angelic face, my brain is frantic, and every sense disordered while I gaze on it."

The Marquis, softened by his agony obeyed, and begged him to proceed with composure.

CHAP. XXIV.

"I WILL endeavour to disclose the most mi­nute circumstances; the painful task will cost me many a pang, but ah! gracious heaven, how many has it created you? Forgive thou peaceful soul, and seal my pardon with one word of com­fort."

A tear crossed the Marquis's cheek, and the stranger proceeded.

[Page 217]"'Tis now near nineteen years e'er I first visit­ed the family of M. Tourville at Paris, where the accomplished and beautiful Lady Lavinia captiva­ted my heart. A native of England, but bred from my infancy on the confines of India, of no­ble parentage and good fortune, I had left my pa­rental home to visit the shore of England, from thence I bent my hapless course, alas! to France, recommended by an intimate friend to the notice of M. Tourville, I became almost an inmate of his hospitable mansion: Need I tell you, it was impossible to behold this angelic woman without eternally wearing her chains—to me they were rosy fetters, and while she smiled upon my hopes, life could not boast a higher blessing; my fond heart doated to distraction, and I had the unde­scribable satisfaction of finding my affection re­turned with the most ardent sincerity, which was crowned by the nuptial benediction four months after my arrival, but as my birth and fortune were not equal to hers, the secret was reposed in the bosom of a sacred few, but carefully guarded from M. Tourville."

"Alas! at his house now visited the graceful and alluring Chevalier De Morency, whose par­tial glances, and to me insolent assiduities never passed unnoticed: My angelic Lavinia firmly re­pelled the repeated insolences of this troublesome [Page 218] intruder, and had not the most obvious reasons prevented my disclosing my sentiments, and assert­ing the rights of my protection, a few days had probably happily ended the business; in vain did Lavinia conjure me not to be uneasy, adding, a few short weeks would convey us to India, should Lady Mentoria, her aunt, and the Marquis, her father, withdraw, as she much feared, their coun­tenance from her, in consequence of not having aggrandized, or united herself to some family equally illustrious with her own: For her sake then I remained silent, and her smile calmed all my fears and lulled suspicion to oblivion."

"A few days after, having occasion to go to Versailles, I left my beauteous bride, proposing to return on the third evening, and after receiv­ing and imparting the most tender and faithful adieus, I set off, but scarce had reached my desti­nation when a billet was delivered me, the bear­er of which departed from the hotel an hour pre­vious to my arrival, and was a total stranger. The hand was unknown and I hastily tore it open▪ when the following lines, now recorded on my heart presented themselves."

"Fail not to return to Paris to-morrow evening, at the hour of nine, conceal yourself in the shrub­bery near the temple, and witness the virtuous designation of the Chevalier Morency, and the art­ful [Page 219] abandoned Lavinia:—Victim of duplicity, 'tis thine to punish."

"My blood froze with horror, my brain was on fire—could it be possible?—Ah! no, Yet love, honour, justice demanded me to attend the sum­mons, and I obeyed, previously concealing a poig­nard to avenge my unmerited injury, should I dis­cover the cruel fact."

"Punctual at the moment I arrived, disguised and concealed, I awaited the dreaded appearance, when through the branches of the trees I soon dis­covered the white robe of Lavinia, advancing by her side in all the rhapsody of love, walked the the specious villain, one of whose arms encircled her waist, while the other grasped her hand to his lips: Lavinia 'tis true, repelled the freedom, but as they passed I distinctly heard her utter these words. "Leave me, Chevalier, 'tis imprudent we should longer absent ourselves from the com­pany, fly me, I conjure you, e'er your presence is too fatal to us both; should Walsingham return and find you here, what misery might we not be involved in; you know my resolution, which neither time nor circumstance shall make me break, and as you value the peace of Lavinia be discreet.

"But to-morrow," cried he, "will you suffer me to enjoy half an hour's chat in the morning?"

[Page 220]"Yes," answered she, "if you will swear never to betray your extravagant affection before Wal­singham, nor give him the least cause for sus­picion; away, then, my horse is waiting, and I must return."

"Morency again pressed her to his bosom, and retired, while she strolled back heaving the deep­est sighs, alas! too surely for Morency, for to a mind inflamed as mine, every spark brightened to a blaze, and had I not heard sufficient to warrant my suspicion, and convince me of her baseness?"

"Instantly I darted from my concealment, and hurrying to my horse rode on full speed to the confines of a thicket I knew he must pass, and as he entered alone, I seized his bridle, discovered myself, and demanded restitution for my wrongs, but the sneering villain mocking my agony, asked me for whom Lavinia's heart most glowed with love? For whom she shed the pensive tear, or heaved that parting sigh, but for himself?"

"If 'twere indeed for thee, villain!" answered I, "thou never more shall boast; this to thy heart, an injured husband plunges but one poig­nard, while in his breast thou hast implanted thou­sands never to be extracted."

The fatal steel pierced his heart, and he fell life­less at my feet, while furious as the agitated ma­niac, [Page 221] I mounted and gallopped off, law [...] t [...]e bo­dy exactly where it fell, to the sate [...] might a­wait its discovery. Reflection, alas! soon con­vinced me I was a murderer, and the pang [...] of conscience were too acute to be borne."

"Imagining the alarm such a circumstance would occasion, I made the best of my way to Ca­lais, and that evening sailed in the packet for En­gland, where I no sooner arrived than [...] wrote Lavinia, reproaching her with perfidy, and con­fessing myself the executioner of Morency, and bid her an eternal adieu: Cruelly as she had treated me, my heart still relented so far as to in­stigate an idea of future provision for her, in case our union should be productive of a helpless and innocent victim, I therefore enclosed different sums to the amount of one thousand pounds, but what I suffered on the occasion is much easier felt than described, and I embarked for India in the course of a fortnight, but had no sooner reached my father's house than I was informed he had paid the debt of nature six weeks since, and he being a widower, of course his estates of every description fell to my possession; settling his affairs as expe­ditiously as possible, I was persuaded by an inti­mate friend and school-fellow to settle near him in the West-Indies, an offer I thankfully accepted, and he purchased in the most advatageous man­ner extensive plantations, and a proper number [Page 222] of slaves for me, and under his direction and ad­vice every thing was conducted with the utmost regularity."

"I had now no method of enquiring the state of af­fairs in England for two years, when this estima­ble friend let off on a trip for this hospitable shore, to his bosom I had confided my secret, and from his pen I received the following informa­tion. That M. Tourville had communicated the story to you, who had searched every part of En­gland to discover my retreat; that Lavinia had given birth to a daughter, and had ended her days in penitence and sorrow soon after at Montpelier. The child [...] he added, was at nurse somewhere in Switzerland, under the ca [...]e of M. Tourville, and I conceived I had fulfilled my duty in the provision I had advanced for its maintenance."

"Yet the spark of parental affection was kind­led in my bosom, and urged by the impulse of na­ture, I determined repeatedly to come over to En­gland, when by the intelligence of persons prede­termined to subve [...] my intentions, I lear [...], my infant had followed its mother to the bourn of tranquillity."

My plantations were fruitful, my slaves dili­gent, yet the thorn of sorrow and remorse, was not eradicated by the balm of prosperity, when a second voyage of my friends, near fifteen years [Page 223] after, again revived my hopes, and e're the stern win­ter of life deprived me of my wonted ability to sustain the voyage, and reconnoitre every circumstantial event, I resolved to hazard the attempt of visiting Switzerland, and protecting my child, as indubi­table authority from the pen of my friend assured me I was still a father, and my blooming offspring, who was the express image of her mother, was an humble resident in the cottage of Reuben Demou­line, in the Vale of Chamouny. Bent on this project I was directing my course to the seat of my friend at N—, who would have accompanied me on my tour, when this dreadful accident befel me and left me a [...] almost lifeless being at your hospi­table gates."

"Is it then the punishment I merit thus to be thrown on the mercy of an offended relative; or is it ordained by Providence I should be ren­dered the instrument of ecclaircissement. Patient and attentively have you listened to my fate with­out the interruption of a single reproach; from Lavinia I had formerly heard of your residence, but believe me, as I passed the road I little intend­ed to have intruded, or discovered myself, unper­mitted by your kindness; as the victim of fate I implore your pity; the rashness of uncontrouled jealousy, the impetuosity of slighted love, once the most pure and fervent, led me, alas! to the pina­cle of desperation, for by heaven, an angel had not [Page 224] convinced me the detested information was a truth, if oral and occular demonstration had not too sadly revealed the cruel fact.

Here Walsingham burst into tears, and sunk on the pillow, while the Marquis giving him a glass of water, again took his seat.

"You have, 'tis true," said he, "endeavoured to clear your mysterious conduct▪ and had but Lavinia lived she would have exculpated her in­nocence, and you might have yet been happy, but your rash cruelty inflicted too deep a wound to find a cure: alas! she pined in secret, and M. Tourville, to conceal it from the world, removed her to the cottage of his tenant Reuben, where she was delivered of a daughter, whom Giraldine nursed, but her health daily declining, she was re­moved to Montpellier, where the faded lily drooped and died."

"To have brought home the little Rosalie would have exposed my sister's injuries, blazoned her misfortunes, and excited the calumny of every malicious tongue; and as I had faithfully promis­ed her never to reveal the secret to my own family 'till time should elucidate your conduct. I sim­ply told my aunt Lavinia had died of a consump­tion at Montpellier, nor does she at this moment know Rosalie is my niece; for seventeen years [Page 225] M. Tourville visited his little charge, and Mon­tague, as my substitute, paid his annual visit, with the pension allotted her for her board, but on the decease of M. Tourville, eighteen months since, I conceived it my duty to fetch her from this soli­tary recess, and confess myself her guardian."

"My indefatigable search of you, proving fruitless, I determined leaving it to the sole di­rection of Providence: I have sacred papers by me to convince you of her injured innocence, for by Heaven, she was purity itself: excuse the emo­tions of my heart, sacred to the memory and vir­tues of an adored sister, while for the sake of her lovely child now under my roof, I will strive to conquer my enmity to her fatally-misguided fa­ther; yet remember, your parental affection alone can induce me to cherish the man whom honour should teach me to abhor; and may heaven in mercy pardon your errors, aad reclaim your vir­tues, as you expect countenance from me. To-morrow, if the surgeon permits, you shall see your child, in the mean time I must develope the story to Lady Mentoria, as too sudden a surprise might endanger her health."

CHAP. XXV.

THE Marquis now left him and returned to the parlour, where h [...] [...]ated as briefly as possi­ble the whole occurrence. Lord Edwin was all agitation: Rosalie, dissolved in tears, and would have flown to her parent's apartment while the lovely sisters sweetly soothed her woe, and breathed the sigh of pity to the sad, sad tale.

Lady Mentoria, who doated on her unhappy niece, felt the unexpected stroke of misery most poig­nant: "Lovely sufferer," exclaimed she, as she perused the explanatory letters of Lavinia, which the Marquis had consigned to her care, previous to delivering them to Walsingham, and though she possessed the firmest principle of humanity and commiseration for the distressed, a harsh invective at first escaped her lip, as she condemned the fero­city of Walsingham.

On the following morning Rosalie followed the Marquis to the chamber of the invalid, whose [Page 227] impatience would not be pacified from embracing his child [...] although the surgeon pronounced any irritation would encrease his fever, and protract the effect his aid tended to produce.

He was just risen when the lovely girl, scarce able to conceal her joy, entered his chamber, and flying to embrace him, sunk on her knees; a copi­ous torrent of tears luckily relieved the full bo­some of Walsingham, as he tenderly raised and em­braced her.

"Alas!" said he, "is it thus I fold to my heart the angelic image of a dearer self? Here let me trace the blushing beauties of my sweet Lavinia, thou sole blest gift of Heaven:—Oh! her expres­sive eye still beams in thine, her dimpled smile yet lingers on thy rosy cheek, and thy soft dulcet voice recals her animating tone. Distraction fires my brain—come to my arms, my dearest Ro­salie, and let a father's penitential tear fall on thy bosom and erase the sad impression his impe­tuous crime has deeply written there; forgive my love, and deign to bless a miserable misguided father."

Rosalie clasped his hand, in silent agony, and pressed it to her bosom, "I will be all obedience, all affection, dearest Sir," said she, "and may you long live to trace in me the virtues of my ho­noured [Page 228] mother," pointing to the portrait, from which the distressed Walsingham hid his eyes.

"Talk not of injured innocence," cried he "for, alas! that conviction would unman a stoic, much more a wretch like me."

The scene grew too affecting, and the Marquis begging Rosalie to retire, soon after left him.

Three days elapsed, during which time Walsing­ham was confined to his bed, in consequence of his irritation of mind having heightened the fever, and Rosalie attended him with the most af­fectionate care: he had also solicited the letters the Marquis had promised him, the effect of which so agitated him, he was obliged frequently to lay them aside, at the request of the tender Rosalie▪ whose tears flowed with equal poignancy as his own, and almost overpowered her drooping spirits:

One page in particular, read by Rosalie, whose voice could scarce articulate, almost drove him frantic; 'twas a full confession from Lady La­vinia, recounting the reason of her meeting the Chevalier that fatal evening which terminated his existence and her happiness.

Morency it seems, had used every seductive and adulative argument to induce her to elope, suppo­sing [Page 229] her [...]art then entirely at her own disposal, and vowing vengeance on Walsingham for his re­peated and impertinent intrusions, little suspecting the privilege he was entitled to usurp. Lavinia, terrified for the safety of her husband, conjured him to banish the idea of revenge, and on pain of her eternal displeasure ever to reveal, or cause Walsingham to suspect his partiality, thinking▪ by this means to avoid the dreaded encounter of an innocent, yet offended husband, and a furious and resolute lover, whom in reality her soul abhorred; but her placid amiable disposition, ever void of offence, strove if possible by gentle entreaty to prevail on Morency, while her terror depicting every calamity from so fatal a determination, had, in order to conceal it under the solemn threat she had made, met him on the terrace that evening, to extort the performance of his promise, and by that means insure the safety of her ever valued love, and what diabolical fiend could have disco­vered the assignation, known only to themselves, was a mystery her utmost vigilance could never develope.

This proof of affection stung Walsingham to the soul. "Is this the dreadful truth?" cried he, "Fatal victim of credulity: Alas: how the fren­zy of jealousy veiled my senses: Yes, I heard her repeat every syllable this letter avows, but deaf to reason or a moment's reflection, I con­strued [Page 230] every sentence in the most different light, and can only recompense her wrongs by promot­ing the happiness of my child, which shall be the study of my existence."

Rosalie now laid aside the papers, and Walsing­ham giving her the key of his portmanteau, beg­ged her to take out his pocket book for something he wished to find, and turning over several letters a small piece of paper fell to the ground, which Rosalie picking up presented to her father. "I do not recollect what it can be," said he, "open it, my love▪" Rosalie obeyed, but it instantly fell from her hand and she turned pale. "Oh, 'tis the pearl cross," said Walsingham, "the ami­able Waldegrave's legacy: But observing the agi­tation of his child, (who stood almost petrified, ga­zing alternately on him and then on the bauble) he caught her hand, and inquired the cause of her astonishment. "Only do me the favour, dear Sir, to inform me how you came in possession of this trinket, and I will then answer any question you please to ask."

"I received it" said he, "from the hands of a Mr. Waldegrave, a handsome comely youth who was unfortunately shipwrecked, but saved by the timely assistance of our boat, he had floated four hours when he hailed our vessel, and we happily preserved him, but a sever ensuing in consequence, [Page 231] a few days terminated his existence: I must own I was particularly struck with his figure and affa­ble deportment, and never left his bed 'till he ex­pired; a few minutes before which he took from his bosom this cross, pressed it to his lip, and beg­ed me ever to keep it as the sacred relic of a faith­ful but unhappy lover.

"My story," said he, "like myself, will be consigned to oblivion, nor shall I reveal the name of the angel from whose bosom I purloined this treasure, as it is very improbable you should ever behold her, yet should chance so ordain it, she will instantly recognise it when you repeat the hapless possessor of it was Frederic Waldegrave."

Rosalie burst into tears. "Alas! cried she, "'tis mine: And didst thou, hapless Waldegrave, treasure to the last moment of thy existence, this humble memorial of poor Rosalie?"

Walsingham soothed her, "More mysteries then have I elucidated," said he, "but tell me, my lovely girl, the whole affair, in which your heart, alas! seems deeply interested."

Rosalie obeyed, and repeated every minute cir­cumstance, much to the satisfaction of Walsing­ham, who was delighted with her prudence, while sweetly blushing, she faintly acknowledged the prevalent partiality of Lord Edwin.

[Page 232]"A secreted passion was the source of your misfortunes," said the sweet girl, "and heaven avert it should be mine; in your bosom I repose my confidence, and earnestly solicit you will ever keep this little legacy in your own possession, as I must never wear it more; its history would create alarm in the bosom of Lord Edwin, and might throw a shade across my future happiness, al­though I solemnly avow I never entertained a thought injurious to the love of Lord Edwin, yet my bosom, ever alive to the sensations of friend­ship and compassion, instigated me to retaliate le­nient politeness and gratitude, where prudence forbid a greater sacrifice; and sure the heart must be invulnerable to pity that did not feel a pang for the sufferings of meritorious virtue, and con­secrate one tear to the hapless remembrance."

Walsingham then consigned it to his pocket book, embraced his child, and promised inviolable secrecy of his treasured memorial.

CHAP. XXVI.

ON the day following he was permitted by his surgeon to leave his room, and take his seat at the family table, where the glances of melancholy of­ten obtruded for it had occasioned great inquiry and surprise amongst the household, although the affair had been smothered as much as possible, yet as Rosalie had ever been declared an orphan, it was necessary to report the decease of her father had been a fabrication, and he was now restored by an unforeseen event, when in pursuit of his family and friends: Such was the prevalent story, and curiosity was tolerably suppressed.

The Marquis now began to perceive with re­gret, the partiality of his son, and taking him one day into his study, reprimanded his terror, on Rosalie's being stung by a hornet, as it plainly dis­covered an unusual degree of alarm and attention in the agitation of his anxious countenance, when Lord Edwin, unable to conceal his sentiments, confessed his interviews at Chamouny, and solici­ted, [Page 234] with the unfeigned tear of earnest love, his blessing and consent to an union of heart and sentiment Heaven only could dissolve.

"Is it thus, Edwin, your duplicity has exult­ed?" asked the Marquis sternly, glancing a look of ferocity on his son; "And has the fallacious snake I fostered in my bosom thus planned its grateful retaliation, by leaving its sting in the recess that protected it? Ah! Edwin, I much fear the whole blame of this unfortunate attach­ment rests with you, for sure the heart of Rosalie is too pure, too tender, to harbour a thought in­jurious to my peace; speak then, confess yourself culpable, if you have led the little stray lamb from its native vale, over each tempting flow'ry path, will you abandon it on a thorny precipice, from whose impending cliff it must perish in the gaping abyss, or gradually linger, like the stricken deer, forlorn and desolate, still bounding from steep, to steep in search of comfort and protection, yet still augmenting but its misery: Part of the tale is now explored that long concealed her fate, but the clue is still tangled, and requires to be unra­velled, and 'till elucidation explores every parti­cle of disguise, Edwin shall never be united to Rosalie, for though I revere her virtues, and love her with the affection of a parent, no stigma shall rest on the offspring of Tankerville, no calum­niate lip shall repeat corruptive censure, I there­fore [Page 235] rely on your discretion, 'till a farther expla­nation, and confess your temerity astonishes me; your indulging a passion for an object totally un­known, and so humbly bred, must, if you had re­flected a moment, have convinced you of the im­propriety of your conduct: Supposing Rosalie had been the cottager in reality she was represented, would your unbounded passion have gratified itself by subjoining the distaff with the crested helmet of your illustrious ancestry?"

Lord Edwin paused, fearful of irritating the Marquis, who seemed to be impatiently waiting his reply, and therefore summoning courage, and couching his sentiments in the most submissive form, he thus replied.

"If you require me to express the real effusions of the sincerity I feel," answered he, "the virtu­ous soul, graceful amiability, and unfeigned gra­titude, I discovered in the lovely girl, had surely made me forget the properties of nobility, and in her cottage the splendour of high life had, in comparison, excited my pity and disgust, for I could there trace such interesting scenes of nature in her boundless luxuriance, as would have ex­panded your heart with every sublime inspiration it did mine. Chamouny was then to me a Para­dise, and Rosalie the benignant angel to guide and explain the mysterious powers of creation, that [Page 236] raised my adorative ejaculation to the bountiful divinity, whose prolific hand had thus raised the wonderful and admirative beauties of this Elysian vale."

"You are mighty romantic," said the Marquis, "moralize no more, let prudence seal your lip, you know my sentiments; for though Rosalie is a woman I think perfectly formed to create hap­piness, yet, remember, consanguinity is my aver­sion; however, I neither give nor extort a promise, for your happiness is too nearly allied to my heart to wish ever to subvert it, retire then, and leave me to my reflection, for my heart is at present too full to converse any more on this subject."

Edwin bowed and was opening the door, as Ro­salie gently tapped, unknowing the Marquis was in conversation, much less conceiving she was the subject of the tete-a-tete.

"I hope I don't intrude," said the lovely girl, the express picture of beautiful innocence, with a small basket of roses, "Permit me to request your acceptance of this charming rose, for I know it is your favourite flower as well as mine: I have just gathered a few, and am come to place it in your bosom as soon as I have divested it of its thorns," and seating herself on a dutchess by the side o [...] of the Marquis, took out her scissars to clip them off.

[Page 237]The Marquis turned his eyes on Lord Edwin, who stood rapturously gazing on her in the atti­tude of admiration, with the door half closed, who catching his father's glance, silently pointed to Rosalie, pressed his hand to his heart, and sighed as he reluctantly drew the envious blank between them.

Rosalie's hat shading her eyes as she was busily employed, had concealed the reciprocal glance that had been exchanged, and she wondered at the Marquis's unusually-cool reception. "Why so silent, dear Sir?" asked she, modestly placing the rose in his bosom, and making a smiling courtsey.

May you, Rosalie, be ever as careful of plant­ing a thorn in my bosom as you have been to guard me from the wound of these; but retire, my love, I am engaged with my writing, and can­not be interrupted; take charge of your present again, and preserve it till we meet at dinner, when I shall be more at leisure to admire it, and thank the attentive donor.

Rosalie sealed the pardon of her intrusion by kissing his hand, and wishing him good morning, left him to his private meditations.

"What could the Marquis mean," thought she, as she stopped to admire the geraniums in the gal­lery [Page 238] windows, "by bidding me be careful of im­planting a thorn! Yet, he did not angrily re­prove me, and I am sure I am not conscious of de­serving his censure."

Such were her reflections, when her father pass­ing through the anti-chamber, disturbed her.

"Rosalie," said he, "I have just received let­ters from London, in answer to those I wrote three days since, and am sorry to say, I have very unpleasing accounts of a considerable debt, by the failure of a capital merchant, and must in consequence set off to-morrow for the Metropolis, if the Marquis is in his study I must speak with him, as the merchant is a friend of his, and he in consequence, can advise me what measure is most expedient to adopt."

Rosalie expressed her concern, and Walsing­ham passed on to the study, where delivering the letter he almost petrified the Marquis, who after deliberating in the most judicious manner, deter­mined to accompany him, and render every possi­ble service to both parties; his chaise and four was ordered by seven the next morning, in which the travellers taking their seats drove off.

CHAP. XXVII.

LORD EDWIN had now opportunity to dis­close his father's conversation to Rosalie, and each secretly rejoiced at the favourable aspect of their future hopes.

The Castle vacated by its senior inmates, the juve­nility of the remaining group formed numerous sprightly amusements, unbiassed by the contradic­tion of Lady Mentoria, who, although too far ad­vanced in years to join the festive dance, still loved to preside and enjoy the delight they partook.

When the travellers arrived at the Hotel they retired to rest, and the next morning pro­ceeded to the house of Mr. Stanley, where the dreadful complication of his affairs baffled all hopes of compositive adjustment, and at the suit of a merciless peremptory creditor, he was seized, sent to a spunging-house and all bail refused; thither they immediately repaired, and found the forlorn object a prey to misery, severe reflection's accute pang, and the victim of extortion.

[Page 240]The Marquis making himself known, offered bail, and a person was dispatched with a note to the creditor begging the favour of half an hour's conversation.

During the interval of his absence a hackney coach drew up to the door, and a number of voci­ferous tongues in the passage roused the Marquis's attention, and he opened the door where he disco­vered several men inhumanly dragging a gen­teel-looking female, who was struggling to draw the hood of her cloak over a face that bore the vestiges of sorrow and oppression.

"Why, you need not be so fearful of shewing your face," cried one of the savages," "'twill be pretty well known in a few days at the prison, where it is my thoughts you'll be glad to make your market of it for a meal's meat, or egad you'll soon be starved."

"Never insult distress," said the Marquis, re­moving his huge paw from her delicate arm. "Suffer me," continued he, "addressing the head officer, to enquire the fate of this poor helpless creature."

"Why she is placed here for half a year's lodg­ing, at the suit of her landlord, answered he, and it seems no one can give bail for her, but its no wonder, this is always the fruit of wicked deeds."

[Page 241]"Morality from a person of your descripti­on," rejoined the Marquis, "ill suits, and I shall only form my opinion from the circumstan­ces I collect from her, whatever inference you may have drawn from them I am inclined to be lenient, would you were also; however, let the coach wait half an hour, during which time I will be answerable your prisoner does not es­cape dishonourably."

The officer bowed and conducted the female to a private apartment, the Marquis and Walsing­ham followed, and the door was closed, when the female not wishing longer to conceal her face, threw back her cloak, and to the fancy of Walsingham discovered a set of features not to­tally unknown, though much impaired by dis­tress, nor could he at the moment recollect where they were once so familiar to him."

"If an account of my unfortunate life can claim any pretension to your savour, gentlemen," said she, "I shall conceive it an obligation which I owe to your humane interference: Scarce need I say, I am enlisted on the page of destructive error, as a wretched victim of shame and sorrow; I have seen thirty-six years, half of which, alas! could not on retrospection af­ford one instance of prudence, virtue, o [...] ho­nour: Deprived of my parents very early in [Page 242] life, I was left to the care of a morose old Guardian, from whose severe restriction I elop­ed with a young officer at the age of eighteen, and from that hour I date the commencement of my sorrows."

"Abandoned by my friends and relatives I had no remaining source of protection, and be­trayed and involed in ruin, necessity compelled me to pursue a course of life I once should have shuddered at. Innumerable have been my trans­gressions, and once the impetuosity of real and fervent love instigated a crime founded on jealou­sy, no penitence of mine can ever reclaim: Alas! had Walsingham loved like me, the wretched Caroline had never practised the cruel scheme that eternally has banished his peace."

Here a flood of tears prevented h [...]r recital, while the Marquis and Walsingham were r [...] ­vited to their chairs with astonishment.

"Answer wretched woman," said the latter, "if to the name of Caroline you subjoin the title of Bertie?"

"I surely do," answered she▪

"Oh God! reiterated W [...]ngham, the mea­sure of my woes are then complete, can you no [...] [Page 243] [...]n recollection trace on these sun-enbrowned feature [...] the resemblance of Walsingham?"

Miss Be [...]tie earnestly gazed on him uttered a shriek, and fain [...]ed [...] the distracted inquiring Walsingham speedily revived her, while the agi­tated Marquis awaiting the dreaded discovery, involuntarily drew his chair farther, with a look of relentless abhorrence, on the torture of suspicion, and for a moment compassion vaca­ted the rec [...]ss of his bosom, while relieved by the friendly effussion of composing tears, Miss Bertie thus continued.

"Heavens! am I again doomed to behold [...]he victim of my [...]uplicity? Yet, e'er I am con­ducted to my penitential cell, suffer me to re­peat the cruelties I have inflicted, and the inno­cence I have injured: Cha [...], you well knew, first threw me in your company at the Opera, and under your friendly patronage I subsisted in elegance and happiness, for my heart at that time, though void of every impr [...]ssion which tended to virtue, still f [...]t the most [...]rdent and sincere love for you, but in three months you honourably quitted me, and left England, on a sudden expedition with a friend. Six months af­ter consigned me a new companion, and with him I took a trip to Paris, where I soon beheld the beautiful and justly adored Lady Lavinia; same [Page 244] soon spread the report of your mutual attach­ment, and fixed with the frenzy of jealousy, (whose spark was again soon sanned to a flame) I determined to plan a scheme of engaging the cele­brated Chevalier Morency to pass a few hours with me in the absence of my enamorato, when I left no stratagem untried to spur his vindictive spirit, persuade him Lavinia secretly adored him, though her prudery avoided an explicit confession, and urged him, by every possible fallacy, to elope with her, and having learnt from the domestics you was setting out for Versailles, I intimated an idea of his supplying your situation, and beg­ging half an hour's chat with Lady Lavinia on the te [...]race, where should she repulse his addres­ses, a chaise and four was the next evening to carry her artfully away▪ thus should I have thrown myself in your way, kindly consoled your loss, and hoped once more to gain the treasured heart I so sincerely adored, for the vil­lainly of Morency, and apparent compliance of Lavinia, would, I trusted, have totally eradica­ted every impression her attractive charms had made, and Caroline Bertie have once more been blessed with the affectionate attention and provi­sion of the fascinating Walsingham."

"The fatal billet of assignation I dispatched by a stranger, dressing myself in man's apparel, previous to delivering it, to elude all possible dis­covery; [Page 245] the effects it produced are alas! but too well known, and I learnt▪ too late! I had injured the faithful wife, and not the mistress, as I then conceived her to be. Alas! the merited vengeance of offended heaven has poured its de­voted wrath on this guilty head ever since: For three months ago I accepted the support of a ve­ry genteel, sensible, and as I thought, honourable man, but, to my sorrow, the saro-bank soon di­vested him of his ample property▪ and one unlucky night the faithless dice immerged him in the [...]or­tex of destruction, to the amount of 3,000l. and unable to discharge the debt of honour, he pri­vately and precipitately left London, and has never been heard of since, which information I received two days after by my landlord, who de­manded immediate payment of me, for lodging, and several debts contracted in different places. This was a severe and unexpected st [...] in the midst of apparent affluence, I had but five gui­neas by me, and that, alas! was but a fortnight's pay."

"Instantly I dispatched several notes to va­rious people in high life, who had formerly fa­voured me with their company, but like a real o [...]ld of misery, I found no friendly hand to re­lieve an imploring wanderer: [...]ne wa [...] absent on his travels, and his return uncertain▪ a se­cond on important business at the House of Com­mons; [Page 246] a third engaged with his own affairs, and did not wish to add to the perplexities he was al­ready immersed in; a fourth was deaf to the tale of sorrow, whose self-gratification had lost the pleasure of enjoyment; and a fifth replied, his memory did not furnish him with the recollection of the unfortunate supplicant. Many more proofs of disappointment could I enumerate, the ultimate of which was the seizure of my apparel, rapaciously torn from me; and an immediate con­veyance to this school of iniquity and extortion, and here too I have parted with every superflu­ous covering to obtain the course and scanty meal that supported my wretched existence, and I have no comfort left but the hope of a speedy end to my woes, in the gloomy cell of a cheer­less prison."

"Adieu then, Mr. Walsingham, best, yet most injured of men, 'tis impossible I can ever compen­sate the bitter pangs I have cost you, I shall now fly to the arms of despair, a prey to the endless remorse of an evil conscience! Can heaven in­flict a severer punishment? Oh! no. Yet, I shall feel one faint sensation of consolation, by having acknowledged my perfidy and removed the weight of my crime from the bosom of some innocent suspected."

[Page 247]She then rose to depart, but the Marquis de­tained her by inquiring the amount of her debts in general, to which she replied, "fifty gui­neas."

The Marquis then drawing a bank note from his pocket-book to that amount, presented it to her." As the child of woe," said he, "I bestow my charity, but as the murderess of life, peace, and happiness, I view you with an eye of abhor­rence; an injured brother cannot pardon a wretch like thee, but trusts he possesses the re­quisite mercy of a Christian, by snatching you from that infamous mansion of diabolical vice and destruction, whether those harpies were dragging you, and if your contrition is real, and you would swear to lead a life of penitence, I will provide for you in some solitary recess where your errors may be buried in oblivion."

Miss Bertie overpowered by such unmerited generosity, fell at his feet, and bathing them with her tears, promised the strictest obedience to his commands. "I have," said she, " one friend still left, who resides in South Carolina, to her I will immediately write, and if her friendship still glows, and she will give me her protection, I will, with your permission, undertake the voyage, there my character will be free from cen­sure, and, I trust, by leaving the scene of my ini­quity, [Page 248] I shall also leave my vices, and flying thus determined from the lures of temptation, regain once more the path of virtue, and procure by my suitable ability some domesticated and genteel department in the circle of some family, through the recommendation of my friend, where I may at least become an industrious and useful member of society, for though I must ever remain a fal­len star, the effulgence of others may reflect, from their unsullied ray, a feeble lustre on my fainter gleam."

"Alas! the flowers of fancy, to my intoxicat­ed sense, exhaled more fragrant perfume in the delusive paths of dissipation, than in the tranquil shades of virtue and wisdom, where a straggling thorn though inflicting but a trivial wound, dis­gusted, and determined me to turn to path [...] more seducing, and apparently devoid of those injuri­ous briars, where I too eagerly pursued the ma­gic winding, nor paused to reflect on the length of my ramble, 'till I found myself in an inextri­cable labyrinth, surrounded by pernicious weeds exhaling poison and infecting the very touch: I now shrunk with dismay, and vainly endeavour­ed to retrace my wandering steps, but the intri­cacy subverted my design, no friendly clue was left to guide the wanderer back, and lost to eve­ry hope of deliverance, my only remaining con­solation was to join the deluded group who soon [Page 249] surrounded me, and by their persuasive fallacy and advice I soon conquered my aversion to this destructive path, and dared to smile like them, defiance at morality,"

The Marquis, though repugnant to her cha­racter, listened with a degree of satisfaction to her self-crimination: "I shall remain a week longer in town," said he, "therefore provide yourself a decent habitation 'till your friend's letter ar­rives, enclose it under cover to me, and I shall then judge what prospect of success you have in view, when, if your friend is willing to receive you, I will empower my steward to conduct you safe on board the first vessel that sails, and all the recompense I ask is to receive an annual letter, informing me you merit my commiseration, by strictly adhering to your solemn promise, of re­forming your late dreadful conduct." He then added a present of five guineas, and promised to furnish her equipment of necessaries during her voyage.

"Walsingham's purse can never be authorised to relieve you," continued the Marquis, "and mine only must be considered as bestowing its mite on a stranger; for alas! though your crime be imprinted on the new fallen snow, and dissolv­ed by the first beam of compassion, should me­mory [Page 250] too busily renew the tale to the attentive ear of justice, I fear the chill of horror soon would freeze the mass 'ere half dissolved, and the congesting traces re-appear; fly then, ill-fared female, lose not a moment to redeem the virtues dread experience has taught you so earnestly to preserve."

Miss Bertie now paid her grateful acknow­ledgements to the Marquis, but did not dare meet the eyes of Walsingham; her release was imme­diately procured, and she drove off in the coach to an obscure street in search of an abode during her stay, promising to inform the Marquis of her situation, and every minute particular he had enjoined her to observe.

By this time the servant returned with the ir­ritated creditor, who after repeating many in­vectives, accepted the bail, and the unhappy Stanley was released, and restored to his dejected family, 'till his affairs could be arranged, which detained the Marquis and Walsingham several days, during which time, Miss Bertie begged▪ the honour of a call at her humble habitation, where they found her industriously employed in an am­ple supply of needle-work, and situated in a neat and respectable family, yet Walsingham never saw her without the most painful emotion.

[Page 251]"You have performed the duties of a Christi­an," would he often say to the Marquis, "but alas! my heart rebels too strongly at present to [...]hate good for such unmerited evil, nor [...] urge one excuse in her behalf, while my uncon­querable aversion is continually reminding me of her cruel duplicity: and I often wonder, noble friend, at the benign compassion you have shewn my errors also, which, thank heaven, are in some measure palliated by the discovery we have lately made, and I trust you do not conceive me the cul­pable wretch you was once taught to believe me."

CHAP. XXVIII.

ON the following evening they returned to the castle, where Miss Bertie's relation was ex­plained, pitied and condemned.

Mr. Walsingham now began to think of revi­siting India, disposing of his plantations, and re­turning to England, to spend the remainder of his days in happiness and tranquillity in the en­joyment [Page 252] of his friends, and the affluence of his ample possessions.

The dormant spark of Lord Edwin's passion for the beauteous Rosalie now revived, and, half timid, half resolved, he took the first opportu­nity of soliciting Walsingham's consent to his intended union, and begged him to urge his influ­ence with the Marquis.

Walsingham listened with delight, 'twas his heart's most earnest wish, and would crown the summit of his future felicity, provided his no­ble friend assented: He then accompanied Lord Edwin to the Marquis's chamber, and by the persuasive eloquence of love, friendship, and ho­nour, the Marquis banished his objections, since the elucidation of the mystery, which would have been its total prevention, and through the inter­cession of his family bestowed his blessing and consent.

"Would she were not so near allied," did he often say, "but as the singer of impropriety can­not sully the lustre of this brilliant, it may as well grace my Edwin's coronet as beam its envi­ [...]ble refulgence on a less worthy possessor; in her I consign a treasure to your protection, and [...]nd be it your care to preserve and improve its [...]nestimable value."

[Page 253]Lady Mentoria expressed a fervent wish that the nuptials of her nieces might be celebrated at the Castle, on the same day with Lord Edwin and Rosalie, as it was her desire to attend the bridal trio to the alter, previous to Mr. Walsingham re-visiting India, as fate might create a thousand intervening preventions e'er he again reached the shores of England; and the Marquis ever ready to please and oblige his venerable aunt, agreed to her proposal, and every preparation was immediately ordered for the splendid cele­bration.

The environs of the Castle rung with the joy­ful news, while the brains of half the vicinity was turned with wonder and delight, and Lady Mentoria, as directress, inspected every decora­tion and arrangement on the occasion, Lord and Lady Lansdowne arrived three days previ­ous to the celebration, and the count and coun­tess of Valletort, relatives of Lord Carlton, ac­companied by the Ladies Julia and Clara Fitz­roy, sisters to the countess, who were deputed bride-maids to the Ladies Adela and Louisa, while Lady Selina Courtney officiated in the same character for Rosalie, and was acknowledg­ed the most graceful and elegant figure of the festive group.

[Page 254]Innumerable were the boxes of paraphernalia ar­riving at the Castle daily, for the decoration of the bridal train, while the gentlemen amused them­selves in commenting on the current report of Miss Villars's elopement to Scotland, with the little fribble Col. Ardvine, whose profligacy and gaming it was surmised would soon reduce him to the lowest ebb of misery and destruction, as his no­torious character was too well known, and circu­lated with additional aggravated vices amongst every class of public libertinism.

Alas! deluded and incorrigible Georgina, what desperate trials await thy boasted stoicism; may'st thou be enabled to support them with a suitable degree of firmness, nor the pointed finger of scorn thou hast levelled at others retaliate its dire direc­tion towards thee, may thy example preserve others from the same obstinate course, and thy misfor­tunes be softened by the lenient hand of mercy. Such was the effusion of compassion from the fair inmates of the Castle, whose bosoms deplored the errors and misfortunes of the misguided Georgina.

Every domestic was risen on the nuptial morn by five o'clock: Le Brun was flying with his usu­al agility up four stairs on a stretch with the Mar­quis's cut-velvet suit, while Carlos was display­ing to Agness Lord Edwin's diamond buckles, and Gertrude inquiring if she could offer her assistance amongst the ladies, as Andrew was viewing his [Page 255] new suit, and delighting himself with the thoughts of the ingenious disposal he meant to make of some choice exotis and roses, by the secret permission of Lady Mentoria.

"I know who'll look handsomest," said he, as Wilson passed through the gallery with Lady Louisa's robe.

"Why, my Lady to be sure," answered the pert attendant, perfectly understanding his par­tial idea, and slamming the door, hurried away.

By eleven the elegant group had assembled in the drawing-room, the blushing brides wore each a dress exactly similar, a plain muslin robe loosely fastened over white sarsenet, and long veils negli­gently thrown over their beautiful ringlets, un­sullied by powder, quite in morning dishabille by the Marquis's desire, who arranged the procession to the chapel in the following order: Lord Edwin and Rosalie led the way, Lord Carlton and Lady Adela followed, and Sir Henry and Lady Louisa preced­ed the three bride-maids, and their respective beaus, while the Marquis and Lady Mentoria, with the Count and Countess brought up the rear, and the attendants closed the procession: The avenues of the park were lined with villagers, and the cha­pel doors were thrown open to admit a view of the ceremony; on the altar was spread a cover­ing of white sattin, edged with silver fringe, while [Page 256] three chalices of gold contained the most beauti­ful exotics, and from the centre one blazed aro­matic incense, and a wreath and branches of roses intermixed with myrtle, richly waved in impend­ing festoons round the table, and formed a most beautiful appearance, while it delighted the spec­tator, for Andrew alone had invented and arrang­ed the charming decoration, to please and surprise the party; three stools, covered with the same fringed sattin supported the adorative knee of each blooming bride; and returning to the Castle, Andrew had again evinced his ingenuity by strew­ing the avenue with blossoms.

This mark of attention pleased the Marquis, "Thou shalt not go unrewarded, Andrew," said he, as the grateful old man gently wiped a tear of heart-felt satisfaction on his clea [...] spotted silk handkerchief, drawn from its long-hoarded re­cess on the present joyful occasion.

The brides soon after retired to dress for din­ner. Rosalie's robe was of white crape, spangled with silver, and the train looped with pearls, and encircled by wreaths of yellow roses crossing the petticoat, fastened by silver cordage and tassels of bullion. Lady Adela's dress differed only in the flowers; wreaths of convolvulus festooned her pet­ticoat, and a drapery sash of violet sattin crossed the train, depending from the shoulder and fast­ened in negligent elegance on the left side: While [Page 257] Lady Louisa's fancy selected the pomegranate blos­som to adorn an exact similiar robe, and turbans of the same texture, with elegant plumes of ostrich and paradise feathers, ornamented and constituted their head dresses.

Lady Mentoria, before the charming brides left their dressing-room exhibited her generosity, by presenting a case of jewels, from which she dis­tributed elegant memorials of her affection; to Lady Adela she assigned a superb diamond crescent for her turban; to Lady Louisa a diamond plume; and to her charming Rosalie a brilliant bandeau of exquisite beauty for her hair, while the genero­sity of her father had also exemplified itself in the choice of an elegant pair of ear-rings and necklace, of beautiful pearls, with an enamelled watch set with the same, and Lord Edwin fastened his own incomparable miniature, set with brilliants, round the bosom of his lovely bride, when she descend­ed in full blaze of beauty to the drawing-room.

The bridegrooms were elegantly dressed in em­broidered suits, but Lord Edwin's expressive and charming countenance added to his graceful form, rendered him the most captivating object of admi­ration, nor had honest Andrew erroneously ad­judged the prize of beauty to Rosalie, who, in­deed, far eclipsed the rival sisters, and was un­commonly [Page 258] cheerful and enchanting the whole day, which has passed in the highest festivity, and a sumptuous entertainment given to a [...]erous and brilliant company, nor were the villagers exempt from sharing the general bounty, as an ample and excellent dinner was provided them on the back lawn.

Lady Mentoria's pensioners too, though sixty miles distant, had not been forgotten, and the same festivity reigned in their tranquil village on the occasion, while their evening concluded with dan­cing, bonfires, and a rustic epithalamium, com­posed by Evelyn, and chanted by every villager, while those who could not sing, readily and ear­nestly repeated it.

A private ball in the evening at the Castle which broke up at twelve, compleated the entertain­ment, when the Count and Countess of Valletort, with Lord and Lady Carlton, and the Ladies Fitz­roy, retired to Carlton Villa, about five miles dis­tant: Sir Henry and Lady Lansdowne to their seat also in the same vicinity, accompanied by two of Sir Henry's intimate friends: and Lord Edwin and Lady St. Laurens, with their elegant bride-maid, Lady Selina Courtney, remained at the Castle where they continued about three weeks, when they set off for their town residence in Grosvenor-square, and the delighted parent undertook his voyage to India about a month afterwards.

[Page 259]Miss Bertie fulfilled her promise of enclosing her friend's letter to the Marquis the moment it arrived, and Monta [...]ne in return was dispatched to London, with ora [...]s to [...]upply her equipment, and see her safe on board, [...] [...]e Captain's protection, and the Marquis found [...] heart re­vive with an unusual glow of satisfaction, as Montague related was last view of her, waving her handkerchief from the vessel, and repeating a thousand grateful blessings and prayers for the peace and happiness of the Marquis.

"You have surely, my Lord," added Monta­gue, "saved the poor drooping creature from the brink of destruction."

"Thy beneficent heart at least is willing to hope so," replied the Marquis, "What good may re­sult from my plan heaven knows, but I trust I have removed her from iniquity, and prevented her ever doing more mischief in England, how­ever her propensities may be renewed in a foreign clime."

Lord and Lady St. Lauren's copying each other's virtues were the complete patterns of connubial love, respected and revered by every class of so­ciety.

An uninterrupted bliss gilded the passing day: when a letter from the faithful Madelon tended [Page 260] to prove the spark of grateful affection had not been extinguished on the altar of munificence, and that memory would still proportion the reward of merit: The letter was, as usual, fraught with every sentiment of affection and respect, and communicated the news of Madelon and Lindor's intended nuptials in a few weeks, from the time it left Chamouny; it also expressed Giraldine grew infirm, and Reuben was subject to a fixed rheumatic, so that Josephine now despaired of ever visiting England, as attendant to her valu­ed friend, for the marriage of Madelon would to­tally confine her as nurse and manager of the cot­tage and it would remain for her alone to smooth the pillow of infirmity, and support the crutch of decr [...]pitude. Lindor too subjoined respectful re­membrance, and hinted his approaching happi­ness.

Lady St. Laurens read the letter with delight, and instantly penned one in return, expressing her pleasure at the news of Madelon's happiness, and desiring her to fix on the most pleasant and com­modious vacant cottage, which she requested might be furnished with every requisite conveni­ence, to defray which expence she inclosed a bank note, and a handsome present for Josephine, whom she enjoined to be virtuous and dutiful, and added, she should ever consider Reuben and Giral­dine her pensioners, for whose support she should faithfully transmit twenty pounds per annum, as [Page 261] a memorial of gratitude for past kindness to herself and Lord Edwin.

The delight this letter gave the faithful cottag­ers is better selt than described, and the Vale of Chamouny rung with the echoed praises of Lady St. Lauren's generosity.

Carlos earnestly soliciting Marcella might pre­serve a station in the family, received Lord Ed­win's consent to send for her, and thus render every party with whom he was formerly interest­ed, if possible, as happy as himself, and as he had witnessed the virtuous affection of Marcella, he did not hesitate to comply with Carlos's request.

Mr. Walsingham, after a prosperous and plea­sant voyage, settled his affairs, and returning to England, presented his beloved daughter with a considerable fortune, and became alternately an inmate of the Castle and Grosvenor-Square, where he would often remark, with adoration to the Su­preme Being, that the sunshine of happiness gild­ed the close of life's evening, though the tempest of misfortune had obscured the brightest tints of morning, that promised so fair and unclouded a day; and he trusted the winter of life would be cherished by the consolatory hope of an eternal spring, visiting his mouldering urn, and renovat­ing those blossoms of virtue in their glorious transplantation, that too warm a sun had withered [Page 262] in their former bloom, and left them drooping and forlorn to the direction of the impetuous tem­pest, whose ruder blast had torn and devastated every trembling leaf.

Murmur not, thou victim of misfortune, for the hand that levels the shaft of poignant agony can administer the antidotal balm, to extract the venom, as his benignant mercy shall direct, and inculcate, by indubitable proofs, that the mortal, h [...]e, severely afflicted, should never distrust Providence.