to a certain political cause which he had strongly at heart."
"I understand you," said I, "the Chevalier's?"
"Exactly. 'This sponge,' said Montreuil, I remember
the very phrase, ā 'this sponge will be well filled, and I am
handling it softly now in order to squeeze its juices hereafter
according to the uses of the party we have so strongly at
heart. ' "
" It was not a metaphor very flattering to my understand-
ing," said I.
" True, Sir. Well, as soon as my mistress learned this she
remembered that your father, the Marshal, had been one of
her i^lus chers amis; in a word, if scandal says true, he had
been the cher ami. However, she was instantly resolved to
open your eyes, and rviin the maudlt Jesuite : she enclosed
the letter in an envelope and sent me to England with it. I
came, I gave it you, and I discovered, in that moment, Avhen
the Abbe entered, that this Julian Montreuil was an old ac-
quaintance of my own, ā was one of the two young men who
I told you were such deuced clever fellows. Like many other
adventurers, he had changed his name on entering the world
and I had never till now suspected that Julian Montreuil
was Bertrand Collinot. Well, when I saw what I had done,
I was exceedingly sorry, for I had liked my companion well
enough not to wish to hurt him; besides, I was a little afraid
of him. I took horse, and went about some other business I
had to execute, nor did I visit that part of the country again,
till a week ago (now I come to the other business), when I
was summoned to the death-bed of my half-brother the attor-
ney, peace be with him ! He suffered much from hypoeliou-
dria in his dying moments, ā I believe it is the way with
people of his profession, ā and he gave me a sealed packet,
with a last injunction to place it in your hands and your
hands only. Scarce was he dead ā (do not think I am unfeel-
DEVEREUX. 227
ing, Sir, I had seen very little of him, and he was only my
half-brother, my father having married, for a second wife, a
foreign lady who kept an inn, by whom he was blessed with
myself) ā scarce, I say, was he dead when I hurried up to
town. Providence threw you in my way, and you shall have
the document upon two conditions."
" Which are, first to reward you ; secondly, to ā "
"To promise you will not open the packet for seven days."
"The devil! and why?"
" I will tell you candidly : one of the papers in the packet
I believe to be my brother's written confession, ā nay, I know
it is, ā and it will criminate one I have a love for, and who,
I am resolved, shall have a chance of escape."
"Who is that one? Montreuil?"
"No: I do not refer to him; but I cannot tell you more. I
require the promise. Count: it is indispensable. If you
don't give it me, ixirhleit, you shall not have the packet."
There was something so cool, so confident, and so impudent
about this man, that I did not well know whether to give way
to laughter or to indignation. Neither, however, would have
been politic in my situation; and, as I said before, the estates
of Devereux were not to be risked for a trifle.
"Pray," said I, however, with a shrewdness which I think
did me credit, ā "pray, Mr. Marie Oswald, do you expect the
reward before the packet is opened? "
" By no means, " answered the gentleman who in his own
opinion was nothing particular; "by no means; nor until you
and your lawyers are satisfied that the papers enclosed in the
packet are sufficient fully to restore you to the Jieritage of
Devereux Court and its demesnes."
There was something fair in this ; and as the only penalty
to me incurred by the stipulated condition seemed to be the
granting escape to the criminals, I did not think it incumbent
upon me to lose my cause from the desire of a prosecution.
Besides, at that time, I felt too happy to be revengeful ; and
so, after a moment's consideration, I conceded to the proposal,
and gave my honour as a gentleman ā IMr. Oswald obligingly
dispensed with an oath ā that I would not open the packet
228 DEVEREUX.
till the end of the seventh day. Mr. OsTvald then drew forth
a piece of paper, on which sundry characters were inscribed,
the purport of which was that, if, through the papers given
me by Marie Oswald, my lawyers were convinced that I could
become master of my uncle's property, now enjoyed by Ger-
ald Devereux, I should bestow on the said Marie 5000/. : half
on obtaining this legal opinion, half on obtaining possession
of the property. I could not resist a smile M-hen I observed
that the word of a gentleman was enough surety for the
safety of the man he had a love for, but that Mr. Oswald re-
quired a written bond for the safety of his reward. One is
ready enough to trust one's friends to the conscience of an-
other, but as long as a law can be had instead, one is rarely
so credulous in respect to one's money.
"The reward shall be doubled if I succeed," said I, signing
the paper; and Oswald then produced a packet, on which was
writ, in a trembling hand, ā "For Count Morton Devereux,
ā private, ā and with haste." As soon as he had given me
this precious charge, and reminded me again of mj promise,
Oswald withdrew. I placed the packet in my bosom, and
returned to my guests.
Never had my spirit been so light as it was that evening.
Indeed the good people I had assembled thought matrimony
never made a man so little serious before. They did not how-
ever stay long, and the moment they were gone I hastened to
my own sleeping apartment to secure the treasure I had ac-
quired. A small escritoire stood in this room, and in it I was
accustomed to keep whatever I considered most precious.
With many a wistful look and murmur at my promise, I con-
signed the packet to one of the drawers of this escritoire. As I
was locking the drawer, the sweet voice of Desmarais accosted
me. Would Monsieur, he asked, suffer him to visit a friend
that evening, in order to celebrate so joyful an event in Mon-
sieur's destiny? It was not often that he was addicted to
vulgar merriment, but on such an occasion he owned that he
was tempted to transgress his customary habits, and he felt
that Monsieur, with his usual good taste, would feel offended
if his servant, within Monsieur's own house, suffered joy to
DEVEREUX. 229
pass the limits of discretion, and enter the confines of noise
and inebriety, especially as Monsieur had so positively inter-
dicted all outward sign of extra hilarity. He implored mille
pardons for the presumption of his request.
"It is made with your usual discretion; there are five
guineas for you : go and get drunk with your friend, and be
merry instead of wise. But, tell me, is it not beneath a phi-
losopher to be moved by anything, especially anything that
occurs to another, ā much less to get drunk upon it?"
"Pardon me, Monsieur," answered Desmarais, bowing to
the ground : " one ought to get drunk sometimes, because the
next morning one is sure to be thoughtful; and, moreover,
the practical philosopher ought to indulge every emotion, in
order to judge how that emotion would affect another; at
least, this is my opinion."
"Well, go."
"My most grateful thanks be with Monsieur; Monsieur's
nightly toilet is entirely prepared."
And away went Desmarais, with the light, yet slow, step
with which he was accustomed to combine elegance with
dignity.
I now passed into the room I had prepared for Isora's
boudoir. I found her leaning by the window, and I perceived
that she had been in tears. As I paused to contemplate her
figure so touchingly, yet so unconsciously mournful in its
beautiful and still posture, a more joyous sensation than was
wont to mingle with my tenderness for her swelled at my
heart. "Yes," thought I, "you are no longer the solitary
exile, or the persecuted daughter of a noble but ruined race ;
you are not even the bride of a man who must seek in foreign
climes, through danger and through hardship, to repair a
broken fortune and establish an adventurer's name! At last
the clouds have rolled from the bright star of your fate:
wealth, and pomp, and all that awaits the haughtiest of Eng-
land's matrons shall be yours." And at these thoughts For-
tune seemed to me a gift a thousand times more precious than
ā much as my luxuries prized it ā it had ever seemed to me
before.
230 DEVEEEUX.
I drew near and laid my hand upon Isora's shoulder, and
kissed her cheek. She did not turn round, but strove, by
bending over my hand and pressing it to her lips, to conceal
that she had been Aveeping. I thought it kinder to favour
the artifice than to complain of it. I remained silent for
some moments, and I then gave vent to the sanguine expecta-
tions for the future which my new treasure entitled me to
form. I had already narrated to her the adventure of the
day before : I now repeated the purport of my last interview
with Oswald; and, growing more and more elated as I pro-
ceeded, I dwelt at last upon the description of my inheri-
tance, as glowingly as if I had already recovered it. I
painted to her imagination its rich woods and its glassy lake,
and the fitful and wandering brook that, through brake and
shade, went bounding on its wild Avay; I told her of my early
roamings, and dilated with a boy's rapture upon my favourite
haunts. I brought visibly before her glistening and eager
eyes the thick copse where hour after hour, in vague verses
and still vaguer dreams, I had so often whiled away the day ;
the old tree which I had climbed to watch the birds in their
glad mirth, or to listen unseen to the melancholy sound of the
forest deer; the antique gallery and the vast hall which, by
the dim twilights, I had paced with a religious awe, and
looked upon the pictured forms of my bold fathers, and mused
high and ardently upon my destiny to be ; the old gray tower
which I had consecrated to myself, and the unwitnessed path
which led to the yellow beach, and the wide gladness of the
solitary sea; the little arbour which my earliest ambition had
reared, that looked out upon the joyous floAvers and the merry
fountain, and, through the ivy and the jessamine, wooed the
voice of the bird, and the murmur of the summer bee ; and,
when I had exhausted my description, I turned to Isora, and
said in a lower tone, "And I shall visit these once more, and
with you ! "
Isora sighed faintly, and it was not till I had pressed her
to speak that she said : ā
"I wish I could deceive myself, Morton, but I cannot ā
I cannot root from my heart an impression that I shall never
DEVEREUX. 231
again quit this dull city with its gloomy walls and its heavy
air. A voice within me seems to say, 'Behold from this very
window the boundaries of your living wanderings ! ' "
Isora's words froze all my previous exaltation. *' It is in
vain," said I, after chiding her for her despondency, "it is in
vain to tell me that you have for this gloomy notion no other
reason than that of a vague presentiment. It is time now
that I should press you to a greater confidence upon all points
consistent with your oath to our mutual enemy than you have
hitherto given me. Speak, dearest, have you not some yet
unrevealed causes for alarm?"
It was but for a moment that Isora hesitated before she an-
swered with that quick tone which indicates that we force
words against the will.
" Yes, Morton, I will tell you now, though I would not be-
fore the event of this day. On the last day that I saw that
fearful man, he said, 'I warn you, Isora d' Alvarez, that my
love is far fiercer than hatred; I warn you that your bridals
with Morton Devereux shall be stained with blood. Become
his wife, and you perish! Yea, though I suffer hell's tortures
forever and forever from that hour, my own hand shall
strike you to the heart! ' Morton, these words have thrilled
through me again and again, as if again they were breathed in
my very ear ; and I have often started at night and thought
the very knife glittered at my breast. So long as our wedding
was concealed, and concealed so closely, I was enabled to
quiet my fears till they scarcely seemed to exist. But when
our nuptials were to be made public, when I knew that they
were to reach the ears of that fierce and unaccountable being,
I thought I heard my doom pronounced. This, mine own
love, must excuse your Isora, if she seemed ungrateful for
your generous eagerness to announce our union. And per-
haps she would not have acceded to it so easily as she has
done were it not that, in the first place, she felt it was be-
neath your wife to suffer any terror so purely selfish to make
her shrink from the proud happiness of being yours in the
light of day; and if she had not felt [here Isora hid her
blushing face in my bosom] that she was fated to give birth
232 DEVEREUX.
to another, and that the announcement of our wedded love
had become necessary to your honour as to mine ! "
Though I was in reality awed even to terror by learning
from Isora's lip so just a cause for her forebodings, ā though
I shuddered with a horror surpassing even my wrath, when I
heard a threat so breathing of deadly and determined pas-
sions, ā yet I concealed my emotions, and only thought of
cheering and comforting Isora. I represented to her how
guarded and vigilant should ever henceforth be the protection
of her husband ; that nothing should again separate him from
her side; that the extreme malice and fierce persecution of
this man were sufficient even to absolve her conscience from
the oath of concealment she had taken; that I would procure
from the sacred head of our Church her own absolution from
that vow; that the moment concealment was over, I could
take steps to prevent the execution of my rival's threats;
that, however near to me he might be in blood, no conse-
quences arising from a dispute between us could be so dread-
ful as the least evil to Isora; and moreover, to appease her
fears, that I would solemnly promise he should never sustain
personal assault or harm from my hand; in short, I said all
that my anxiety could dictate, and at last I succeeded in quiet-
ing her fears, and she smiled as brightly as the first time I
had seen her in the little cottage of her father. She seemed,
however, averse to an absolution from her oath, for she was
especially scrupulous as to the sanctity of those religious ob-
ligations; but I secretly resolved that her safety absolutely
required it, and that at all events I would procure absolution
from my own promise to her.
At last Isora, turning from that topic, so darkly interest-
ing, pointed to the heavens, which, with their thousand eyes
of light, looked down upon us. "Tell me, love," said she,
playfully, as her arm embraced me yet more closely, "if,
among yonder stars we could choose a home, which should we
select? "
I pointed to one which lay to the left of the moon, and
which, though not larger, seemed to burn with an iutenser
lustre than the rest. Since that night it has ever been to me
DEVEREUX. 233
a fountain of deep and passionate thought, a well wherein
fears and hopes are buried, a mirror in which, in stormy
times, I have fancied to read my destiny, and to find some
mysterious omen of my intended deeds, a haven which I be-
lieve others have reached before me, and a home immortal and
unchanging, where, when my wearied and fettered soul is
escaped, as a bird, it shall flee away, and have its rest at
last.
"What think you of my choice?" said I. Isora looked up-
ward, but did not answer; and as I gazed upon her (while
the pale light of heaven streamed quietly upon her face) with
her dark eyes, where the tear yet lingered, though rather to
soften than to dim; with her noble, yet tender features, over
which hung a melancholy calm ; with her lips apart, and her
rich locks wreathing over her marble brow, and contrasted by
a single white rose (that rose I have now ā I would not lose
one withered leaf of it for a kingdom!), ā her beauty never
seemed to me of so rare an order, nor did my soul ever yearn
towards her with so deep a love.
It was past midnight. All was hushed in our bridal cham-
ber. The single lamp, which hung above, burned still and
clear; and through the half-closed curtains of the window, the
moonlight looked in upon our couch, quiet and pure and holy,
as if it were charged with blessings.
" Hush ! " said Isora, gently ; " do you not hear a noise
below? "
"Not a breath," said I; "I hear not a breath, save yours."
"It was my fancy, then!" said Isora, "and it has ceased
now ; " and she clung closer to my breast and fell asleep. I
looked on her peaceful and childish countenance, with that
concentrated and full delight with which we clasp all that
the universe holds dear to us, and feel as if the universe held
nought beside, ā and thus sleep also crept upon me.
I awoke suddenly; I felt Isora trembling palpably by my
side. Before I could speak to her, I saw standing at a little
distance from the bed, a man wrapped in a long dark cloak
and masked; but his eyes shone through the mask, and they
glared full upon me. He stood with his arms folded, and
234 DEVEREUX.
perfectly motionless ; but at tiie other end of the room, before
the escritoire in which I had locked the important packet,
stood another man, also masked, and wrapped in a disguising
cloak of similar hue and fashion. This man, as if alarmed,
turned suddenly, and I perceived then that the escritoire was
already opened, and that the packet was in his hand, I tore
myself from Isora's clasp ā I stretched my hand to the table
by my bedside, upon which I had left my sword, ā it was
gone! Ko matter! I was young, strong, fierce, and the
stake at hazard was great. I sprang from the bed, I precip-
itated mj'self upon the man who held the packet. With one
hand I grasped at the important document, with the other I
strove to tear the mask from the robber's face. He endeav-
oured rather to shake me off than to attack me ; and it was not
till I had nearly succeeded in unmasking him that he drew
forth a short poniard, and stabbed me in the side. The blow,
which seemed purposely aimed to save a mortal part, stag-
gered me, but only for an instant. I renewed my grij) at the
packet ā I tore it from the robber's hand, and collecting my
strength, now fast ebbing away, for one effort, I bore my
assailant to the ground, and fell struggling with him.
But my blood flowed fast from my wound, and my antag-
onist, if less sinewy than myself, had greatly the advantage
in weight and size. Now for one moment I was uppermost,
but in the next his knee was upon my chest, and his blade
gleamed on high in the pale light of the lamp and moon. I
thought I beheld my death : would to God that I had ! With
a piercing cry, Isora sprang from the bed, flung herself before
the lifted blade of the robber, and arrested his arm. This
man had, in the whole contest, acted with a singular forbear-
ance, he did so now: he paused for a moment and dropped
his hand. Plitherto the other man had not stirred from his
mute position; he now moved one step towards us, brandish-
ing a poniard like his comrade's. Isora raised her hand sup-
plicatingly towards him, and cried out, "Spare him, spare
him! Oh, mercy, mercy!" With one stride the murderer
was by my side; he muttered some words which passion
seemed to render inarticulate; and, half pushing aside his
DEVEREUX. 235
comrade, his raised weapon flashed before my eyes, now dim
and reeling. I made a vain effort to rise: the blade de-
scended; Isora, unable to arrest it, threw herself before it;
her blood, her heart's blood gushed over me ; I saw and felt
no more.
"When I recovered my senses, my servants were round me ;
a deep red, wet stain upon the sofa on which I was laid
brought the whole scene I had Avitnessed again before me ā
terrible and distinct. I sprang to my feet and asked for
Isora ; a low murmur caught my ear : I turned and beheld a
dark form stretched on the bed, and surrounded, like myself,
by gazers and menials; I tottered towards that bed, ā my
bridal bed, ā with a fierce gesture motioned the crowd away;
I heard my name breathed audibly ; the next moment I was
by Isora's side. All pain, all weakness, all consciousness of
my wound, of my very self, were gone : life seemed curdled
into a single agonizing and fearful thought. I fixed my eyes
upon hers; and though tliere the film was gathering dark
and rapidly, I saw, yet visible and unconquered, the deep love
of that faithful and warm heart which had lavished its life
for mine.
I threw my arms around her; I pressed my lips wildly to
hers. "Speak ā speak!" I cried, and my blood gushed over
her with the effort ; " in mercy speak ! "
Even in death and agony, the gentle being who had been as
wax unto my lightest wish struggled to obey me. " Do not
grieve for me, " she said, in a tremulous and broken voice :
" it is dearer to die for you than to live ! "
Those were her last words. I felt her breath abruptly
cease. The heart, pressed to mine, was still! I started up
in dismay ; the light shone full upon her face. God ! that
I should live to write that Isora was ā no more !
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
A RE-ENTRANCE INTO LIFE THROUGH THE EBON GATE,
AFFLICTION.
Months passed away before my senses returned to me. I
rose from the bed of suffering and of madness calm, collected,
immovable, ā altered, but tranquil. All the vigilance of jus-
tice had been employed to discover the murderers, but in
vain. The packet was gone ; and directly I, who alone was
able to do so, recovered enough to state the loss of that docu-
ment, suspicion naturally rested on Gerald, as on one whom
that loss essentially benefited. He came publicly forward to
anticipate inquiry. He proved that he had not stirred from
home during the whole week in which the event had occurred.
That seemed likely enough to others; it is the tools that
work, not the instigator, ā the bravo, not the employer; but
I, who saw in him not only the robber, but that fearful rival
who had long threatened Isora that my bridals should be
stained with blood, was somewhat staggered by the undenia-
ble proofs of his absence from the scene of that night; and I
was still more bewildered in conjecture by remembering that,
so far as their disguises and my own hurried and confused
observation could allow me to judge, the person of neither
villain, still less that of Isora's murderer, corresponded with
the proportions and height of Gerald. Still, however, whether
mediately or immediately ā whether as the executor or the
designer ā not a doubt remained on my mind that against his
head was justice due. I directed inquiry towards Montreuil :
DEVEREUX. 237
he was abroad at the time of my recovery; but, immediately
on his return, he came forward bohlly and at once to meet
and even to court the inquiry I had instituted ; he did more,
ā he demanded on what ground, besides my own word, it
rested that this packet had ever been in my possession; and,
to my surprise and perplexity, it was utterly impossible to
produce the smallest trace of Mr. Marie Oswald. His half-
brother, the attorney, had died, it is true, just before the
event of that night; and it was also true that he had seen
Marie on his death-bed; but no other corroboration of my
story could be substantiated, and no other information of the
man obtained ; and the partisans of Gerald were not slow in
hinting at the great interest I had in forging a tale respecting
a will, about the authenticity of which I was at law.
The robbers had entered the house by a back-door, which
was found open. No one had perceived their entrance or
exit, except Desmarais, who stated that he heard a cry; that
he, having spent the greater part of the night abroad, had not
been in bed above an hour before he heard it; that he rose
and hurried towards my room, whence the cry came ; that he .
met two men masked on the stairs ; that he seized one, who
struck him in the breast with a poniard, dashed him to the
ground, and escaped; that he then immediately alarmed the
house, and, the servants accompanying him, he proceeded,
despite his wound, to my apartment, where he found Isora
and myself bleeding and lifeless, with the escritoire broken
open.
The only contradiction to this tale was, that the officers of
justice found the escritoire not broken open, but unlocked;
and yet the key which belonged to it was found in a pocket-
book in my clothes, where Desmarais said, rightly, I always
kept it. How, then, had the escritoire been unlocked? it
was supposed by the master-keys peculiar to experienced