The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 2
Page 19
CHAPTER XIX.
"Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh; Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word--farewell!--farewell!"--_Byron._
Not a word was spoken either by the Earl or Leonora during their passagethrough the same long caves by which they had entered. The heart of eachwas too full for speech. Poor Leonora's dreams of liberation from a lifeshe abhorred were for the present gone. It was, perhaps, the worst anddarkest hour her young life had yet met. The shadow of the first cloudseems dreariest, as it sweeps over the sun-lit meadows; the darkness ofthe first sorrow is deepest, as it spreads a shadow over youth's sunnybrow. By-and-by the eye gets accustomed to the frequent clouds; and inlater years the stream of sorrows, often passing over the heart, leavessuch a stony track behind, the quickness of its sensitiveness isdestroyed, calloused, deadened; and what would once have crushed, scarcedraws forth a passing sigh.
Whatever were Leonora's feelings, they were then fresh, poignant, andher woe seemed almost heavier than she could bear. Still she had aconsolation;--she had hope! Hope that better, brighter days were instore; hope that rose buoyant over the waves of sorrow: and she was inthis the happiest of the twain!
Lord Wentworth's thoughts were darker. It was but an hour or two sincehe had tracked the path he now trode: but in that hour what a mass ofstrange adventure and harsh truth had been compressed! That space oftime had been the most remarkable era in his life; that hour or two hadnot only enlightened him on the past in a way he could not have dreamedof, but, as it were, undone all his life. He left that cave a differentman; all his ideas--all his thoughts--had undergone a change. As theearthquake in a few dread moments overturns the labours of centuries, sohad the tale he had listened to overthrown the structure of his mentaleconomy. Not only had a system of intrigue been divulged, but he hadbeen shown how, unwittingly, he had sailed all his life under falsecolours. The real Earl of Wentworth he was no longer; it had been nofault of his, but he felt he was not any more the man he had been, andhe felt displeased that he had so long usurped a false character.
Then he had been made the residuary of a secret in such a questionableway he scarce knew what to think. He had only to destroy those fatalpapers, forge an excuse for his absence, live as he had lived, and nobeing would ever be the wiser;--or, if the treason did come out, itwould be impossible to furnish proofs. The Earl banished such thoughtsalmost as soon as created in his mind, as unworthy of him. Come whatmight, he would ever be the true man!--he could not endure the thoughtof bearing a false reputation, or depriving another of his rights.
He would do nothing rashly: calm consideration, quiet, and time, wereindispensable; and the matter _should_ have his calm thoughts,--histime,--his whole mental powers. Beyond this, the case would be one whichinvolved much more in a legal point of view; for, although it might bepossible to prove that Edward L'Estrange was Viscount de Vere, and inhis own right Earl of Wentworth, by his career he had forfeited alltitle to such honours.
He was a felon by the laws of his country,--a man outlawed, and lyingunder the ban of God and his fellow-creatures. The point at issue wasthis: had his marriage been a legal one?--had he any family? Forincontestably, could this be proved, then the Earl was no longer so; butthe son or daughter of this marriage would succeed to the title, andhimself drop into Mr. de Vere.
Lord Wentworth was a man, and felt keenly the degradation of such anissue--it was gall and wormwood to him. Though by blood L'Estrange washis brother, had he in any way merited his love? Had he not been hisrival--his bitter enemy through life? And this rival--this enemy--wasable to deprive him of his name, his wealth, his future peace!--and alldepended on these records he held in his hand. No wonder, as he passedacross the thin bridge on his way out, and heard the thundering torrentfoaming and swirling beneath, he felt tempted to drop the fatal budgetinto the wild waters, and trust the secret to the keeping of the waves.We are glad to say his better feelings overcame the trial, and he boreup under a temptation, it is not too much to say, half the world wouldhave succumbed to.
"No," he thought, "I will let law take its course, it were mean not tohear both sides."
The two passed the bridge, and soon afterwards arrived at the spot wherethey had left their horses, when Leonora unbound her father's eyes. Theface of Nature had changed since he was there bound two hours ago; themoon had reached her zenith, a few only of the brighter stars shone out,the air had gradually cooled till it was beyond freshness, and the Earlwrapt his cloak tighter round him.
Leonora blew her whistle--it was instantly answered,--a bandit brokethrough the woods leading two horses: they were not the same, butequally well bred, and richly caparisoned.
After assisting Leonora to mount, the Earl was soon firmly seated in hisown saddle, and, giving a douceur to the man, followed Leonora slowly upthe steep acclivity till they regained the road, and the scene of themorning's assault. He was surprised to find all the bodies haddisappeared; the two poles were there--their burdens gone! the marks ofthe fray were still visible, the bodies of the disputants gone.
"What have they done with them?" he asked Leonora, pointing to the spot.
"They have taken them to the cave," answered the girl, "where they willbe buried; it is not usually done--but there is fear of discoverynow--so they have obliterated all marks."
"Leonora," said the Earl; "I can now talk freely with you. Do you knowNaples? do you ever go there? I have my reasons for asking."
"I know Napoli well," replied Leonora, "and I believe our band, at leastpart of it, is going to travel thither shortly. I can go with them, theywill not suspect; but why do you ask me?"
"Because," said he, "though I promised not to beguile you away--yet ifyou hate your present style of life, and fly to my villa at Naples--theVilla Reale--I see not how I shall compromise myself by offering you asafe asylum there, or taking you to England. However, I must have timeto think it over, and I will try the power of gold on the old man."
"Alas! he cares little for money."
"Perhaps so, yet some of his band may not care so little: my first steptowards your liberation must be getting a communication with you; I canalways be found out, you cannot; so by your coming to me only we can fixa line of connecting link between us."
"I see," said Leonora; "but we should press on; it grows late, and yourfriends will get alarmed."
"True, my child, let us hurry forward."
With the words he spurred his horse into breathless speed, and side byside the two fleet animals spurned the light sand, and after a long ridereached the myrtle grove from whence they had started. The twodismounted, and then came the farewell; it may seem to some such afarewell would not be difficult, for, whatever the relationship betweenthe two might be, they had in the course of their life been but slightlythrown together: it was not the case; each dreaded the moment, eachtried to defer it, but come it must at last; and perhaps the quickersuch separations are got over the better for those most concerned inthem! It was no common separation--no ordinary farewell: they parted asfather and child may for India, knowing they may never see each otheragain, for Leonora had told the Earl she was never more to meet him asthe flower girl of his morning excursions, and she knew not whether sheshould ever be permitted to see him more; from all they knew of BillStacy this was extremely likely, and added much to the bitterness ofparting. They never did gaze again on each other's eyes--it was the lastparting here below.
"You are not going again to the Val," he said, still lingering; "couldyou not stay to-night with us?"
"No, it is impossible; there are those near who would prevent any suchmove! I am a slave yet; but I do not go back; we have many lurkingplaces nearer you than you would believe."
"And I am to see you no more, my poor child,--you are never more togreet me with flowers, and brighter smiles, in the Val
?"
"No more; indeed it will be long ere bright smiles lighten my face; butthough you do not see me, you will know I love you, and if I live, Ilive to think of you, and all who are dear to you and me, and when Idie, my last thought will be you!"
"And so will I think of you, Leonora! often and often when----but hark!what was that?"
"The signal, I must away. _Addio!_ my dear father."
"Stay one moment, see," said the Earl, drawing forth a ring which heplaced on her finger; "if ever you want any favour show that ring to me,or if I am gone, to any of my family, and it will secure it for you, ifit is in their power to give it!"
"_Grazzia, grazzia tanta!_" said Leonora; "and here is what will protectyou and yours from every bandit in Italy; show this, and you are safe."At the same time she gave him the small paper with the hieroglyphicmarks that excited the Marquis' surprise some chapters back.
"Farewell then, Leonora! you will always know where to find me, and keepthe ring for my sake."
Pressing his lips to her cheek, he commended her to God's keeping andblessing, whilst she returned the kiss with Italian warmth, but herheart was too full to speak. Then breaking away she fled from him, andwas soon lost in the myrtle thicket, leaving the Earl in mute wonder andgrief.
In a few moments Lord Wentworth was able to collect his thoughts; hebegan to think it was high time to hurry home, and give an account ofhimself. The grove was not far from the villa, and with hasty steps heapproached his dwelling, not without those feelings all must know when,bearers of strange tidings, they draw near to relate them tounsuspecting friends.
As he approached he was somewhat surprised to see so many lights about,and still more at the groups of wondering, whispering servants in thehall, the door of which was wide open.
"God be thanked, my Lord; you are here at last!"
"Here, why, what--what on earth is all this--what is the matter?"
"My lady is very ill," replied one.
"Ah, my lady is dying," said another.
"Ill--dying--Oh! it will drive me mad! here, out of the way--make waythere. Oh, Ellen--my wife--my wife! I am coming!"
With such disjointed words did the Earl hurry to his partner's side,where, as our readers will remember, he had the joy of seeing hercomparatively well again, and asleep; and, after having enlightened theMarquis on the main topics of the extraordinary affair, he retired torest, first depositing the papers on which so much hung in his bureau,in the study where we first saw him writing. Following the Earl'sexample we shall also claim a short repose before again proceeding withthe story, and thus close another chapter.