Hildebrand; or, The Days of Queen Elizabeth, An Historic Romance, Vol. 3 of 3

by Anonymous

  CHAPTER XIII.

  The discovery that the reputed Don Rafaele, whom he hadsupposed to be a gay young bachelor, was no other than hiswhilome mistress, Donna Inez, struck Hildebrand Clifford withconsternation. For a moment, indeed, he was perfectly paralysed,and lost all power of motion. His whole soul and faculties werebowed before the devoted passion for him which the discoveryrevealed. His every spring of thought, as if turned for one onlyaim, started under the shock, and, as they thrilled through hisbosom, overwhelmed him with the terrors of remorse.

  But though he had been weak enough to err, though the passingconsequence of his error pressed severely on his mind, he wasof that temperament which, however trying the occasion, willrebound from a shock, and suffer no visitation to shackle itspromptitude. His energies were depressed, but they were notcrushed; and, after the first blow had passed, they revived, andimpelled him to make the only reparation for his trespass, by hispresent proceedings, that circumstances allowed of.

  “And is it thou, indeed, my sweet lady?” he said, in a thickvoice. “Oh! I have wronged thee most cruelly!”

  “Not a whit! not a whit!” faltered Inez. “’Tis rather I that havewronged thee.”

  “Would to God it had been so!” exclaimed Hildebrand. “But let usnot forget thy wound! How fares it with thee?”

  While Donna Inez, in a low voice, was giving him a reply,the silent pantler entered, with a bason of warm water, anda napkin. Hildebrand then raised her a little; and, keepinghis back to the pantler, succeeded, after some difficulty, inrelieving her of her jacket, and baring her wound to view. Heturned paler as he beheld it:

  “Bring hither the water,” he cried to the pantler, “and hold itup to the berth. Now for thy sponge.”

  The pantler, without making any oral answer, presented him withthe sponge, and held the bason of water in the manner directed.Thus assisted, Hildebrand proceeded, with a tender hand, to wipeaway the blood from the Donna’s wound, and cleanse it thoroughly.Having effected that object, he drew some lint and salve, suchas was then greatly in use, from the locker below, and therewithsupplied it with a soothing dressing. Over this, to keep off anyirritation, he laid a piece of dry lint, and bound all up with abandage.

  “Now, will I not let thee speak more till to-morrow,” he said,when he had thus attended her. “But our good pantler, whom thoumayst trust in all things, will watch thee through the night, andget thee whatsoever thou listest. For me, I must hie to the deck.”

  Inez was about to reply, but Hildebrand, putting on a seriouslook, raised his finger to his lips, and she forbore. Leaving thepantler to watch her, Hildebrand turned on one side, and caughtup some dry clothes, which, during his absence from the ship, thecareful pantler had laid out against his return. As he had beenexposed to the storm without a cloak, he was wet to the skin;and even the strong excitement he had been labouring under, andthe robustness and vigour of his frame, though equal to a tryingordeal, did not render him insensible to the chilling influenceof his saturated garments. The greater need of Inez attended to,he proceeded to throw them off, and to don those which, he nowdiscovered, had been set out for his use by the pantler.

  He turned away when he had thus changed his attire, and, with aquick step, passed to the contiguous hatchway, and ascended tothe deck.

  The storm had subsided, and the excessive darkness, which hadbeen its leading and most terrible feature, had materiallydiminished. The gale, it is true, continued high, but, as itswept away the exhausted thunder-clouds, this served rather toclear the atmosphere, than otherwise. One could now distinguishthe outlines of the shore, and, here and there, the broken sky,with the clouds flying over it like wind. The water, too, thoughnot a whit calmer, could be viewed to a greater distance, andlooked a degree less boisterous under the increased light.

  While Hildebrand noted these particulars, his eye, in lookingdown the river, was attracted to two distinct flashes of light,which were quickly followed by the report of cannon. Turning toinquire what this could mean, his glance fell on Master Halyard.

  “Save thee, Halyard!” he said. “Didst note yonder signals?”

  “Ay, Sir!” answered Halyard. “Two of the enemy, who broke fromtheir moorings a while ago, have run ashore, and are firing gunsof distress.”

  The firing was here repeated.

  “It may be our lot soon,” rejoined Hildebrand; “for we must notbe found here at daylight. Think’st thou we can reach the bay?”

  “The wind is right aft,” returned Halyard; “and we may,peradventure, ride down safely. One thing is certain--that wecannot hold our ground; for our cable, though no chamber-cord, isdragging apace, and will speedily snap.”

  “Slip it, then!” said Hildebrand. “Have up all the hands, and dothou look out for’ard thyself. I will take the helm.”

  “Ay, ay, Sir!” replied Halyard.

  And so promptly did he bestir himself, that, in less than tenminutes afterwards, Hildebrand’s injunctions were carried intoeffect; Hildebrand had posted himself at the helm; and the shipwas riding down the river, as near the centre as he could keepher, under bare poles.

  It was a fearful position, but, as the river gradually widened,the danger decreased every moment. The scene, however, wasstill terrific, and sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. Thegloomy light, the black shore, the two stranded ships, whichthe eye could now plainly distinguish, and the boom of the gunsof distress, with the furious bellowing of the wind, and theraging waves, made one feel like a mite in the creation, andperfectly at the mercy of the elements. Moreover, the windbeing right aft, and the waves, though not high, running inwhat would technically be called a cross-sea, caused the shipto pitch so violently, that the crew, notwithstanding they wereinured to such situations, could hardly maintain their places onthe deck, and were obliged to hold on for support to contiguousbelaying-pins, and well-secured halyards.

  Still the indomitable captain, with one foot planted firmlyagainst a prostrate grating, which was pushed up to the ship’sbulwark, maintained his place at the helm. It required his utmostvigour to make the helm obey him, but so iron-bound was hisframe, and so unbending his promptitude, that, with the help ofthe wind, he mastered all opposition, and kept the ship in themid-channel.

  The gallant bark flew along like an arrow. She soon passed thetwo wrecks, and, after an interval of about two hours, came insight of the fortress, described in a former chapter, whichguards the river’s mouth. The crew hardly ventured to breathe asshe arrived abreast of the all-commanding castle. But, to theirgreat relief, she encountered no molestation, but shot over thebar unscathed.

  The inspirited mariners burst into a hearty hurrah at this happydeliverance; and Master Halyard, relieved from his look-out,hastened to join Hildebrand, and congratulate him on their almostmiraculous escape.

  To a landsman, by whom their position could not be understood,there would have seemed but small ground for congratulation.They were in the Bay of Biscay, and the wind, now unbroken byany heights, which had bordered either side of the river, blewa perfect gale. The ship, though running under bare poles, wasup in the air on one side, and almost touched the water on theother; and the sea rose up beyond like a great wall. High as itwas reared, one could hear it curling at the top, with a long,shrill roar; and what withheld it from at once dashing on theship, and overwhelming it in destruction, appeared to be asingular and unfathomable mystery.

  But, to the eyes of the mariners, these particulars, in reality,presented little danger. They had a good ship, a fair offing,and plenty of room; and though, of course, brighter weatherwould have been more welcome, their present situation was not soperilous, and gave them little serious concern.

  Hildebrand resigned the helm to his mate, Tom Tarpaulin, asHalyard came up. He received that person cordially, but, after afew words’ greeting, tarried only to enjoin him to set a carefulwatch, and then retired to his cabin.

  Worn out as he was, and with every fibre aching with fatigue,the first thought that assailed him, on fairly entering
thecabin, was solicitude for Inez. Moved by this feeling, he pushedpast the pantler, who sat watching on the locker, and, with astealthy step, approached the fair sufferer’s resting-place.

  She was awake, and her eyes, looking up at his approach, met his.He saw, at a glance, that she was burning with fever.

  She did not offer to speak, and, after one hasty glance at herface, Hildebrand turned away, and stepped back to the pantler.

  “Be vigilant!” he said to that person. “She will want a drinkanon, and thou must give her something cool. I must to bed, orsink.”

  With these words, he turned to the adjacent berth; and withouttaking off his clothes, which were perfectly dry and warm, threwhimself on the bed. Thus bestowed, he tried to meditate, andto call up to his eye, in melancholy array, the several causesfor sorrow and dejection which his situation embraced. But,however earnestly he sought to arouse himself, his energieswere so utterly prostrated, and his frame so wearied, that hisendeavours at meditation were unsuccessful, and he had hardlylaid fairly down, when he was overtaken by sleep.

  It was daylight before he awoke. Springing to the floor, he foundthat, after having been awake the whole night, Inez had at lastfallen into a slumber.

  As he proceeded to achieve his toilet, he called to mind, with athrill of remorse, all that Inez had disclosed to him, and howfar he was responsible for the wretchedness of her position. Whata bitter retribution had one slight deviation from rectitudebrought upon him! After his escapes in the field, his dangers onthe seas, and his extraordinary vicissitudes as an adventurer,his life was to be crossed by an error, just as it was openingon a land of promise. Nor was it solely on this personal groundthat he looked on that error with remorse. His heart, though ithad committed a momentary excess, was stored with manly andnoble feelings, and, while it reproached him for his own conduct,inspired him with the liveliest commiseration for Inez. Hethought of her beauty, her innocence, and her lofty spirit; butabove all, as referring more nearly to himself, he thought of thedeep and devoted love, which she had so unequivocally manifestedfor him.

  The heart, in matters concerning the affections, but especiallyin a matter of love, is a dangerous thing to trifle with,and should always be sounded with the nicest care. When oursympathies are astir, we are liable to contract impressions,under a sort of surprise, that will deceive our own selves, and,though they are only superficial influences, sway us with theforce of passions. If we searched our hearts deeply, we wouldfind, on a closer view, that those impressions are not createdso much by external agents, as by innate feelings; and, further,that we understand their nature very imperfectly, and entirelymistake their tendency. What we conceive, for instance, to belove, may really be no more than an elevated sympathy, though ourinclination to mistake it may give it the colouring and force oflove, and the strength of passion. If, in the outset, indeed, weapply to it the tests which love should sustain--if we propose toit the sacrifices that love would offer, or the mortificationsthat love would brave--the delusion will vanish; but, in theecstacy of the moment, this course rarely occurs to us, and wecling to the delusion till it appears real, and renders us asgiddy as absolute intoxication.

  Hildebrand was a man of arms; but his heart, as has been said,was full of strong feelings, and lofty affections. He was noweakling, who would allow those affections and feelings to behis master; but, at the same time, he allowed them their due andlegitimate influence. He thought of Inez, and, while he did thinkof her, the deep and ardent sympathies of his nature, whichshe had never touched before, insensibly associated with histhoughts, and made the thread that ran through them assume theappearance of love.

  What a miserable infatuation! When he first discovered that heloved Evaline, did the obstacles to a successful issue, thoughtheir name was Legion, give his heart the slightest concern?Was it not light, and springing, and buoyant as morning? Andnow, without giving a thought to Evaline, he found that he lovedanother; and his heart was heavy as death.

  No! it was not love! It was pity, sympathy, and an utterabandonment of his own self. It was the remorse of a noblespirit, which prostrated itself, and all that it valued in theworld, at the feet of one whom it felt that it had wronged.

  Nearly an hour elapsed before Inez awoke. Then, looking up, hereyes met those of Hildebrand, who was watching over her.

  “How farest thou, sweet lady?” Hildebrand asked, in a tremuloustone.

  “I’faith, marvellous thirsty,” answered Inez.

  Hildebrand presented her with a draught, which, according to hisdirections, the silent pantler, who had now retired to rest, hadlaid ready on the table.

  “I burn still,” pursued Inez, “and my wound is like fire.”

  “We must look to it,” said Hildebrand.

  He went in quest of some warm water, and shortly returned,bearing a bason and napkin. Thus provided, he proceeded torelieve her arm of the exhausted dressing, and bare its wound tothe view.

  The wound was, as he had feared, greatly inflamed, and lookedangry in the extreme. He thought to subdue the inflammation, insome measure, if not materially, by fomenting it with warm water;but, whether because the ball was still lodged in her arm, andirritated the wound, or that, owing to the high fever she wasin, the emollient was too gentle, his efforts with this view werewithout effect. He was obliged, therefore, to content himselfwith applying another soothing dressing, and recommending her tokeep perfectly still and quiet.

  The weather had greatly moderated, and, therefore, he was able,without neglecting his professional duties, to hold himselfcontinually at her call. For four or five days he hardly quittedher side. His fine, animated features became pale with watching;and the look of health and buoyancy, arising from a well-orderedlife, and a guarded temper, which had once illuminated hischeeks, quite disappeared.

  Meantime, the ship, favoured by the wind, made good progress, andfinally arrived in the English Channel. On the eighth morningafter her departure from Lisbon she reached the Downs. Skirtingthat roadstead, she steered round the Foreland, and madestraight for the Thames.

  It was just as they passed the Downs, about nine o’clock in themorning, that Hildebrand made his customary inspection of thewound of Donna Inez. It was fearfully inflamed; and on the vergeof the wound, contrasting strongly with its angry centre, therewas a small white speck; it was the seal of death!

  The eyes of the young mariner filled with tears as he beheldthis trace of mortification. He tried to speak; but the words,overwhelmed by his feelings, stuck in his throat, and hisvolition and self-command were completely lost.

  His emotion, though more inward than external, was not unobservedby Inez.

  “What aileth thee?” she said, tenderly. “Mournest thou for me?”

  “I must not delude thee, sweet Inez,” answered Hildebrand, with aconvulsive effort. “Thou canst not live long.”

  “That know I well,” replied Inez. “Yet weep not! Give me thy handawhile!”

  Hildebrand, stepping a pace nearer the berth, put forth his hand,and placed it in hers. As he did so, she raised it to her parchedlips.

  “I have loved thee dearly,” she said.

  Hildebrand made no answer; but the tears, which had alreadymounted to his eyes, poured down his cheeks, and gave her aresponse from his heart.

  “And, look you!” she continued: “’tis more joy to me to die thus,with thy love, than ’t were to have lived to fourscore, and nothave known thee.”

  “Would thou couldst live to be mine!” exclaimed Hildebrand--and,at the moment, he spoke from his heart.

  “I know thee well!” resumed Inez. “Thy nature is wondrouspitiful, and full of gentleness; and when I am agone, thou wiltaccuse thyself, mayhap, that I died through thee.”

  “’Twill be my one thought,” cried Hildebrand; “but to show how Irepent me, I will be true to thy memory, and hold myself singletill death.”

  “An’ thou wouldst have me die happy, say not that, sweetHildebrand!” returned Inez. “Nay, promise me, on thine honour,that thou wi
lt wed--and no other than Evaline!”

  Something whispered Hildebrand, that, even if he could overcomehis own scruples to such a course, a marriage with Evaline wasnow out of the question. But, as this occurred to him, hiseyes happened to meet those of Inez, and they looked on him soimploringly, and with such deep and pathetic solicitude, thathe resolved not to disturb her last moments by any selfishapprehension, but to resign himself wholly to her wishes.

  “I will be ordered by thy will,” he said.

  “’Tis well, and I love thee the more for ’t,” pursued Inez--“yetnot more, for that were not possible.”

  “No, i’faith,” said Hildebrand. “How else couldst thou relinquishthy country, and the comforts of thy heritage, for a poorstranger?”

  “I did it not unknowingly,” answered Inez. “One Felix di Corva,who had known thee in England, told me thou wast a cavalier offortune, and, further, that thou wast betrothed to a lady ofEngland. Methought, I would follow thee; and if his advertisementproved false (which I believed it would), discover myself tothee, and give thee my hand.”

  “Would it had so turned out!” exclaimed Hildebrand.

  “On our route to England,” continued Inez, “thou didst pledge meto thy mistress’s health; and, in thy description of her, didstlaud her in such sort as, in my vain conceit, I fancied appliedto me. Hereupon, my love was more hopeful, and I looked for abetter issue.”

  “I remember the time well,” observed Hildebrand.

  “I held my hope good,” resumed Inez, “till I saw the fairEvaline, and even then gave it not up directly. Yet thou maystremember, on consideration, that, one fair afternoon, I came onyou by surprise, and beheld what convinced me that thou lovedsther.”

  “Then knew I not how I was loved by thee,” said Hildebrand.

  “’T is true,” said Inez; “and think not I blamed thee, but, in myutter despair, I blamed and hated her. That night, I sought totake her life.”

  Hildebrand started.

  “But better thoughts withheld me,” resumed Inez, “and, fromholding her in hate, I began to regard her in a more friendlysort. Methought, if I could but bring myself before thee, in myown proper person, my charms were as goodly as hers, and mightwin thee to me again. One day, thou wast abroad till afternightfall. I had followed thee in the morning, and, unobservedby thee, noted the route thou hadst taken. It led me to achurchyard, and there, to my singular admiration, I found thyname inscribed on a grave-post.”

  “’Twas the grave of my father,” said Hildebrand.

  “So I divined,” continued Inez. “At night, as thou hadst notreturned, methought I would go forth to meet thee, in my ownproper attire. Thou wilt remember, thou didst see me that night,at thy father’s grave.”

  “I took thee for a spirit,” said Hildebrand; “and, onafter-thought, considered thee a mere imagination.”

  “I saw that that was thy thought,” pursued Inez, “and, in thedarkness, availed myself thereof, before thou couldst recover,to get clear away. I reached my chamber unperceived; but, atthy father’s grave, other fancies had come upon me, and I choserather to dwell on them, than to go straight into thy presence.Those fancies led me, on closer reflection, to make peace withmine own bosom, and so be at peace with God.”

  She had all along spoken with difficulty, and in a low tone; buther last words, which had conveyed to her lover such a gratifyingintimation, seemed to have expended her last effort, and shenow sank panting on her pillow. She lay thus for some time; butgradually, though by very slow degrees, she became less ruffled,and respired freely. But she continued perfectly still; and,whether because she was uncollected, or had nothing further tosay, made no attempt to speak again.

  Hildebrand, no way impatient, remained standing by her side,gazing anxiously in her face. Hour by hour did he thus watch her,with his heart, and soul, and all his hopes of fruition, nowdevoted entirely to her, locked and centred in his gaze.

  It was the afternoon, and the sun, arrayed in the pride and gloryof summer, poured a stream of rays through the skylight, righton to the sufferer’s face. Thinking that the light might annoyher, Hildebrand was about to draw the curtain over the berth; butbefore he could accomplish his purpose, she caught at his hand,and clasped it in hers.

  Her hand, which was so white and lovely to the eye, was cold asice, and felt like the touch of death. Hildebrand was unmanned.

  “My love! my Hildebrand, prithee do not weep!” said Inez, infaltering accents, and fixing her lustrous eyes on his. “I wouldbid thee farewell!”

  Hildebrand, with a bursting heart, leaned over her pillow, andpressed his lips to hers.

  “May God have mercy upon us!” he cried, with great devoutness,“and, for his sweet Son’s sake, take thee to his everlasting joy!”

  As he spoke, Inez, by a great effort, raised her hand, and heldup before her an ebony crucifix. Seeing that she could not holdit herself, Hildebrand flew to her succour; and, clasping herround the wrist, just below the crucifix, kept it up before her.Her eyes grew less lustrous as it was thus fixed in their view.

  “I am the Resurrection and the Life!” she murmured, in brokenwords: “whosoever believeth on Me”--

  She was yet speaking, when, all at once, her lips broke into abright smile, and Hildebrand felt her arm dropping down. Seeingthat she was nigh her last breath, he stooped to kiss her: _shewas dead!_