CHAPTER V.
"Oh, do not look so bright and blest, For still there comes a fear, When brow like thine looks happiest That grief is then most near. There lurks a dread in all delight, A shadow near each ray, That warns us then to fear their flight, When most we wish their stay."--_Moore._
We leave the darkened home of the De Veres, and shift the scene to theVilla Reale at Naples, where the Earl and his bride are enjoying thesoft airs of Ausonia,--happy in their own company, and asking for nofriend to intermeddle with their joy. More than a fortnight had passedaway on their journey, which was performed by easy stages; another weekhad flown since their arrival at the villa; still they were ignorant oftheir bereavement. Ellen had penned more than one epistle to her friend,giving a glowing account of their happiness, the pleasures of thejourney, the delightful weather, and the beauty of Naples. Alas! theseletters would never be opened by the hand she loved, nor perused by theeyes she wrote them for!
It was near the close of a glorious day, when the orb of light washalf-sunk in the embrace of the ocean, that the Countess half sat, halfreclined on an ottoman in the balcony of Villa Reale,--breathing thesoft airs of the Mediterranean, and gazing with delight on the lovelyscene. Behind her stood the Earl; but it was not on the scene he gazed,so much as on his partner, in his eyes,--
"The fairest still where all was fair."
He thought he had never seen her look half so beautiful as on thatevening; it was not only the passing loveliness of every feature, northe grace of every movement, but the soul, the burning intellect thatwas shrined on her white, broad brow,--which proved how far she excelledin mind her own beauty, as her beauty excelled many another fair being.The Countess was dressed in a light Indian muslin; over her shoulderswas thrown a black lace scarf, and her luxuriant hair was confined, asusual, in a frail net, which, with its glossy burden, fell half-way downher back. She rested her cheek on her symmetrically-formed hand; on herfingers shone the plain circle of gold, which told her rank as the wifeof him who doated on her, and the ring which she often playfully toldthe Earl she regarded even with more tenderness than her wedding-ring!Her eye was intently fixed on the west,--there her mind seemed to bealso; yet, without being able to explain the paradox, her heart was withhim who stood beside her! The sunset was one which northern climes neverown,--which northern nations may have dreamed of, but have never seen.It beggared the very powers of description! Those whose eyes have beenblessed with such sights must feel how dimly words catch the hues nopainter's pencil can fix on canvas. The last tip of the slowly-sinkingsun seemed to pause for an instant over the waves, as if unwilling toleave his beloved land to darkness; a broad path of glory glitteredalong the dancing wavelets,--like a golden highway from earth to heaven;on either side the waters slept intensely blue, for it was only in therays that the eye could discern any motion in the sea. A felucca craftwas slowly rowed across this blaze of light; its white sails seemed likeebony,--every part was cut out black,--every rope well defined againstthe glowing background. Around and above the setting orb the scene wasstill more wonderful,--not a cloud sullied the serene of heaven, whichyet,
"Of all colours seemed to be Melted to one vast iris of the West."
Each hue was so blended and intermingled from the golden sun--sobright--that the last segment dazzled the eye,--to the dark blue skyabove, and the indigo of the east, where the moon rose round and full,that it was impossible to detect the exact point where the one ended andthe next began, or to conceive how, and where the rosy warmth of sunsetmingled, and melted away into the cold, clear light of the moon. Onestar, first of the daughters of night, shone like a spark of silver inthe crimson depths of air over the west; and if the seaward view wasthus glorious, not less so was the land. Behind rose olive groves, withtheir dark-grey foliage, which surrounded Villa Reale, standing on aslight eminence about midway between Naples and Portici. To the rightslumbered the white palaces of Napoli la Bella, with their greenVenetian blinds, and St. Elmo, rising like the guardian of the fair citybelow. Beyond the northern horn of the Bay of Naples, Ischia's islestood out at sea, bathed in living green light; to the left, behind thevilla, rose Vesuvius, from whose summit wreathed a lazy pillar of smoke,bent landwards by the faint sea breeze. Still further, the southernhorn, with the white houses of Castellamare and Sorrento, like pearlsscattered on green moss; and further still, Capri, surrounded by darkwaters,--a favourite resort in summer for the listless Neapolitans.
On such a scene gazed the Countess; the rosy light of sunset shed asoft, glowing warmth of colour on her fair cheek, which heightened thebeauty of her complexion. The balcony, on which the favoured pairenjoyed this rare evening, was raised some twelve feet above the orangeand lemon groves below; through the trellised-work of the pillars thatsupported its roof, vines were gracefully twined, and hung in easy,inartificial festoons from above; the floor was formed of tesselatedmarble; in the centre was a table of pietra dura, on which were placedfruit--vases of flowers--amphoras containing wines of the country--avolume or two of poetry--the Leghorn straw hat and white feather, whichthe lady of the bower had found too warm, and laid aside.
"Ellen, darling, you look sad,--what melancholy thoughts can an eveninglike this induce?"
"I am not sad, Wentworth; but there is always a sort of 'sweetdejection' in evenings like this; and when I see the sun set I sometimesthink, how different is nature from man! How many days of grief and joyhave gone down that same western bourne! Bright days like this nowdeclining, dark days of storm and tempest; no trace is left there,--itis still as blue--as bright! But how different with man; when his sunsets there is no morrow--when our joys and lights sink, they leave sadshades behind. Evening always reminds me of death, and this makes melook grave, perhaps,--though it is not my own death, but the death ofthose I love that I fear."
The Earl had meantime seated himself by his young wife; taking her freehand, he pressed it fondly to his lips, exclaiming, "Ellen, I never sawyou look so lovely as to-night!"
"And how fleeting are earth's beauties! I might say the same of you,love,--for never did you look fonder, or seem more loveable. But see howfast the glory of that sunset is fading; even while I speak every hueglows ere it dies,--'The last still loveliest, till--'tis gone, and allis grey,'--as the poet says. And so we shall fade, Wentworth. All thelight on the cheek of beauty is as unreal and fleeting; and unless wehave that within us which will burn brighter, like yon evening star,when all earthly delights wax dimmer, what will all avail?"
"You speak like an angel, darling! Ah! look at that star. I love it morethan any other, because I think it now looks on the western isles,--ourhome!"
"Yes, our home,--where all near and dear to us are now;--where Edith is.Oh! sometimes I wish I could follow that setting sun with you, and seetheir dear faces again. I do not know what makes me think so much ofEdith. I sometimes think the spirits of our dearest friends can followus, and it seems as if she was now beside us."
"You superstitious little thing!--don't you know, Nelly, the Scotch say,'It's no canny to talk always of one person,' and, 'that ill comes ofit.'"
"You have expressed exactly my thoughts; I wish I could think less ofher, not that I would wish to love her less, or could do so; but whenmemory obtrudes her at all seasons, I seem to have a strangepresentiment all is not well. Have you never observed, before we loseany of our friends, we seem to have a peculiar tenderness for them? Itwas so before George died,--on the very day I thought so much of him! Iwish I could banish the thought, but I cannot. Dear Edith! howaffectionately she bade me farewell! I see her yet on the doorstep,straining her eyes as if to take her last look! Oh, Wentworth, I have adreadful misgiving! God grant it may be false!"
"Well, Nelly, I never thought you were so superstitious. To-night Iexpect the mails, and we shall hear, I am sure, that Edith is as well asyou."
At this moment an Italian servant entered, and apologising for hisintrusion, said there was an Inglese who wished
to see my lord.
"An Englishman! who on earth can it be?" said the Earl starting up; "tento one it is Frank on his way to Corfu. Stay here, darling, and I willbe back in a minute."
The Earl hastened down stairs, expecting to see his brother; he wassomewhat surprised to see young Wilton instead; there was something,too, in his look which did not altogether satisfy him.
"Wilton! why, what on earth has brought you here? Nothing wrong I hope?"
Without replying the young man handed a letter with a deep black borderand black seal to the Earl.
"Now God help me, nothing bad I trust!" he exclaimed, but his looksbelied his words, and his hand so shook he could hardly open the letter.When at last he broke the seal and read the fatal announcement he almostfell, but staggering backwards he seated himself on a chair, and pressedhis hands to his brow. "Oh my God!" he cried, "this will kill Ellen! OhEdith--poor Edith, and you are gone, and by such a death! Oh Edith! ButI must bear up, I must break this as I best can to Ellen." Calling allhis resolution to restrain his feelings, he said to Wilton, "Order atravelling carriage as quickly as possible, and tell Pierre to be packedin a couple of hours; I start to-night for England. Ah Wilton! you arebearer of sad tidings."
"I am indeed, my Lord, and grieved am I to my heart that it fell to meto carry them!"
"I believe you, my trusty servant; but you are fatigued and hungrydoubtless, get something to eat. Shall you be able to start again in twohours?"
"Ay, my Lord, night and day to serve you."
The Earl then slowly resought his wife; he was many minutes ascendingthe few steps that led to the balcony, turning over in his mind how heshould break the news. But bad news cannot be broken, the instant here-appeared Ellen saw something was wrong. "Oh Wentworth, what is it?something has happened I am sure!" she exclaimed as she rushed to meethim.
"Edith has been ill, is not expect----"
"Tell me the worst, hide not anything from me--is she gone?"
"She is!"
"I knew it,--I knew it. Oh Edith my sister! and did you die, and Iwasn't there to take a last embrace? Oh Edith!" and she sank on herlord's breast, and wept bitterly.
In two hours the Earl and Countess started for England; after the firstburst of grief, Ellen had become wonderfully resigned, and resolved tobear up for her husband's sake. She was dreadfully shocked when sheheard the full particulars of her cruel fate, but she sorrowed notwithout hope, believing Edith rested on the Rock of Ages. Her last walkwith her had fully shown her high principles, and perhaps it was herseeming preparedness that first gave rise to the presentiment too sadlyrealized. After a long and tedious journey they at length reached theTowers, now saddened by associations of the past. Every walk, everyroom, every tree, seemed fraught with memories of the lost one, andEllen found by sad experience there is no rank too high for pain,suffering, and death. How different was their setting out and theircoming back! But they were united for weal and woe, for sickness and forhealth, and if sorrow had followed soon on joy--it was sent as areminder that here they had no abiding city, and to wean them from thefleeting pleasures of earth to the fixed eternal joys above.
Before closing this chapter we must glance on the parting scene of onewho has played a conspicuous part in this story. In a largewell-furnished chamber of a house near the sea at Hamburgh, JuanaFerraras, or Antonia Stacy as we first knew her, lay on her death bed.The shades of evening were falling, the close of a cold frosty day, thefog lay thick on the waters, and the room was fast darkening like herwho lay dying within it. Near her bed sat old Stacy; he was sobered andsilenced by the approach of death to one, who if he loved mortal being,was object of that love. Rough as his features were, they lookedsoftened that night; hard as his heart was, it seemed flesh again thatnight! A rustle was heard in the bed, he looked to see if his patientwanted anything. The dying girl sat up, death had nigh done its work,her face was haggard, pale, and wan; her eyes alone survived the wreckof loveliness, and seemed brighter and more gloriously dark than ever.
"Bring me my child, let me look my last on that pledge of lost love."
Old Bill slided away up the stairs, or as he called them the companionladder, and hailed a German girl, who soon appeared with an infant childperhaps two months old; she was a fine, bright little girl, with eyeslike her mother's, whilst her other features bore some resemblance tothose of the De Veres. She presented a strange contrast to her dyingparent, as she stretched forth her little arms to her mother. A sadsmile lit for a moment Juana's face as she received her in her arms, andpressed her to her bosom--"Farewell, my baby, who will take care of theewhen thy mother is laid low? Will thy father ever see his child?farewell, my babe, thou wilt never know a mother's care! She will soonbe gone--her last thought was of him who gave thee thy existence! I amsinking--take her away, Stacy; be kind to my child for my sake."
"Cuss me if I won't, Tony. Never mind, old girl, you have had a shortand rough cruise, you are nigh port now."
"I would I were near that haven of rest--may the blessed Virgin keep mysoul--oh! my child, my child, it is hard to leave it. If you ever see mylord give him my child--tell him I died blessing him!"
"Why shiver my timbers, Tony, if my glimmers haint sprung a leak," saidthe old man, brushing away his tears with his rough pilot jacket sleeve;"I calculated I had done with tears, but the tanks ain't pumped dryyet."
"I am dying,--I feel the tooth of death at my heart. Oh! SantissimaMaria! this pain--it tortures me, it gnaws my very vitals. Oh! that Icould die."
"Cheer up, old gal, many a bark's ridden through a worser storm; ye'llcome it yet may be."
"No, no--the room grows dark--oh, it is come at last, God bless mychild--and Wentworth. God bless * *," with these words she sank back andexpired.
"I'm blessed if she haint--ay, ay, she's gone sure enough now--weighedanchor and cleared off, and left old Bill alone. Split my wig if Ib'aint sorry--she did peach once--but never heed, she loved him morethan he deserved! She is gone now, rest her soul, and her faults. Gad,if old Don Ramond seed her now--it were hard lines for her. I guess shemout have sailed over broad lands t'other side o' the Atlantic, heir tomany a league, but all's up now. Consarn me if I don't care for your bitchild,--God rest you, Tony, you are in port now."
With these words the old smuggler and pirate walked off to see about herinterment. "It is strange," he said to himself, "ever since she seed theCaptain she has drooped; she was a fine creature, I'm blessed if shewarn't! If I thought--but no, bad as he is he couldn't hardly! If he hadthough, he'd better see hisself well away--he'd better give a wide berthto old Bill Stacy--the world warn't sea room enough, but I'd overhaulthe devil, wi' his black heart."
The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 2 Page 5