CHAPTER XVII.
"And plead in beauty's ear, nor plead in vain." _Pleasures of Hope._
"Thy heart is sad--thy home is far away."--_Ibid._
"Years have flown by," said the Earl, "since I saw this dell. When myfeet last roamed here I was a careless boy, rambling the woods gun inhand, or, with my brothers and sisters around chasing the butterfly overhill and dale. It was with my eldest sister, now in heaven, that I lasttracked the stream; it was with her by my side I last sat on this veryseat. All seems unchanged,--all is as bright and fair as it was thatday, except the two roamers: one is gone, and the spot brings bitter aswell as blissful associations to the other."
"I knew not you ever had another sister," said Ellen; "is it long sinceshe died?"
"More than ten years ago; but still I remember her words as if she hadsaid them yesterday. Oh, what a fine, handsome creature she was! andgood as well as fair; she was older than me by three years. This was herfavourite haunt; it was she who gave it the name of 'Butterfly Dell;'all her thoughts were bright! It was on such another day as this we lastsat together: she was unusually grave that day,--almost melancholy. 'Ihave a strange presentiment, Clarence,' she said, 'that I have not longto live:--you know all De Veres die young. I often think heaven will belike this,--only there the flowers will be brighter, and will not fade;the leaf will not turn sere, and there will be no sorrow, no pain.Clarence, I shall soon be there!' 'Say not so,' I answered, 'you are tooyoung to die yet; stay with us,--do not leave us; why should you thinkyou will die?' 'Clarence, the thought troubles me not; I am happy here,but I shall be still happier there!
"I hear a voice you cannot hear, which says I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see, which beckons me away."
I shall soon be there!'--pointing to the blue sky, 'and roaming infairer scenes than this, with the holy angels for companions. Clarence,you must come there too!' 'Augusta, do not, I entreat you do not; youare made to shine in this world yet,--to be a star of fashion andbeauty,' I exclaimed. 'No, I shall be a star there,--I do not wish toshine here. This world, darling, is fleeting and vain, and its pleasuresunsatisfying. I have learned to love a better world, which is fixed,eternal, unchangeable,--whose pleasures are real and substantial.Clarence, you must be good, and meet me there! There I shall meet littleArthur, and see his pretty face again: and we will watch for you!' Shesaid more, much more than I can remember, and which I wish I thought ofoftener. Oh! Ellen, I seem to hear her yet! When we reached home, asad--sad scene awaited us; my father, the Earl, had been borne homelifeless. Riding across country, and being a bold, fearless equestrian,he had put his horse to a fence too high for it; the animal refused theleap; my father reined it back, and then, riding forward, showed it, byspur and whip, that it must take it. The horse rose, but not highenough,--my father helped it by lifting its head: it was vain!--horseand horseman fell heavily; the horse soon rose,--not so its rider, whostill detained the steed by the bridle, clenched in the hand of thedead. There he was found by Wilton, and borne home by four foresters. Ishall never forget Augusta's grief,--it was long, bitter, unavailing. Mymother was then in England; and I, now an Earl, strove to conceal my ownsorrow, and soothe Augusta's; but she refused to be comforted, and tookto her bed with a fever, brought on by excessive sorrow. Herpresentiment was too sadly true; and within a week she was laid side byside with her father in the old family vault, in the west tower. Sincethen I have grown a man, and mingled in the world; but, if deadened bytime, my sorrow is still quick in my breast, and the dying words of mysister ring distinct and clear in my ears!"
"How sad! No wonder your feelings are melancholy," said Ellen. "But youspoke of another of your family: was Arthur your brother,--and is he,too, dead?"
"He was my brother," said the Earl, "but his fate is wrapt in mystery."
"How I should have liked to have seen Lady Augusta; but do tell me aboutyour brother, I am so interested."
"You may see a feeble attempt to stamp Augusta's beauty when we gohome--her portrait hangs in the hall. Arthur's history is a long and sadone, but I will tell it to you if you are not weary."
"Oh, no, no; I am breathless with interest."
"Arthur, Viscount de Vere, was my eldest brother then," commenced theEarl. "When a child of two, or thereabouts, and just able to walk, hewas taken out a turn one Sunday in the neighbourhood of the Towers byhis nurse, a young girl of twenty. I was then unborn, and Augusta aboutthree years old. When near the bosky dell, at the foot of the park, thegirl left her charge for an instant to speak to a young man, a foresteron my father's estates; after a few minutes she returned and found thechild missing. In great alarm she searched the woods round, and fearingthe little boy had strayed into the dell recalled the young forester,and the two commenced a long but fruitless search. It was not till somehours were consumed in vain attempts to find the young heir, that thegirl and her lover summoned resolution enough to tell the news at theTowers. The poor young woman, in an agony of grief and terror, fell atthe Earl's feet and told him all. My father, in wild grief at the lossof his then only son, and heir to the title, gathered all the servantsand hurried to the spot. They searched every nook, and shouted the lostchild's name--but no answer save the echoes from the wild wood washeard. Throughout the whole night, a night of storm and rain, the searchwas carried on by means of lanterns, and early next day, as a lastresource, bloodhounds were put on the trail; they tracked the lost childto the torrent, but there lost the scent, and it was then concluded thepoor boy had wandered to the water's side, fallen into the stream, thenswollen by autumn rains, and been carried down to the sea. However, hislittle remains were never found, and may lie deep in the lone sea."
"How melancholy! poor boy! and what became of the unhappy young womanwho so neglected her charge?"
"She was examined, and cross-examined, but kept to her story, and theyoung man fully corroborated her statement; they were soon after marriedand went out to America. I must tell you another story connected withthis same torrent, at least unless you are tired."
"Oh no--do go on--I am so fond of family legends, yours seems full ofthem."
"It is indeed; the _weird_ of the Wentworths I will tell you some otherday. Now for this one, more romantic and less melancholy than thelast."
"When my father was a young man of three and twenty, he was one day inAugust strolling with his gun through this wood. When he had surmountedthe ascent, and come out in this dell, a thunderstorm that had longthreatened burst with great fury and violence on his head, and the raindescended in floods. He at once bethought him of this cave, and in farshorter time than we took, Ellen, made across the dell, climbed therocks, and took advantage of its welcome shelter. Seated on the groundwith his gun near him he listened to the grand storm. The vividlightning lit up the cavern every moment, and played around it; thebellowing thunder crashes shook the very ground, echoing from rock tohill; and the rain descended in sheets. For two hours the storm rolledon, and kept him prisoner; at last the peals waxed fainter--thelightnings less bright--and the storm wore gradually away, now and thenonly a faint after-clap grumbled in the distance--the rain still fellheavily, and the torrent came down in high flood, carrying trees androcks with it. The deafening roar of the cascade drowned the distantthunder--the last dying voice of the subsiding storm, the rainlessened--then ceased altogether, and the sun shone out, and stained arainbow on the dark cloud. My father took up his gun, and, advancing tothe mouth of the cave, looked out; what was his surprise to see a younglady, handsomely dressed, but drenched by the rain, vainly attempting tofind a passage across the roaring torrent! At last she stood on one ofthose two rocks which narrow the flood, and for a moment hesitatedwhether to risk the leap or not. 'Lady, try it not,' cried my father;but he spoke too late, she sprung, but miscalculating the breadth, herfoot slipped from the rock she barely reached, and flinging up her arms,uttering at the same time a wild scream, she fell back into the turbidwaters. To leap down from the cave, a
nd plunge in after the sinkingmaiden was a work of an instant; and, fortunate in rescuing her from thewild current, a task which taxed my father's whole strength, he bore thefainting girl, with her fair hair streaming with water, to this cave,where he soon had the joy of seeing her return to consciousness, and hedid not leave his charge till he saw her able to walk home. He found outthat the lady he had saved from a watery grave was Edith Carr, an orphanand only daughter, and heiress to Hugh Carr of Cessford; she was theward of her uncle William, being a minor. Unhappily a deadly feudexisted between the Carrs and De Veres, ever since one of my ancestorscarried off the lady of an old warrior of the Carrs' line, and secretedher in the tower, or Peel of Cessford. Her husband finding her out,brutally murdered his faithless spouse, and was in turn assassinated bymy ancestor. Proceeding as near the mansion as he dared, my father lefthis charge, after having first planned a meeting in this cave. EdithCarr was considered the most beautiful girl in all the south ofScotland; her portrait has feebly caught the light of loveliness; butwhen I tell you that neither of my sisters are said to be able tocompare with her when she was young, you can form some slight idea ofher charms. Often and often did the lovers meet in secret, and at lengthmy father boldly solicited her hand from William, her uncle. He wasrefused with scorn, the old man declaring if he ever showed his faceagain in their halls he should pay forfeit with his life. My father wasnot to be thus baulked; he still kept up correspondence with his flameby means of a servant, who proved a traitor at last. It was mutuallyagreed that the lovers should meet in this dell, horses were to be inwaiting--then they were to ride to the Towers, where a priest was readyto join their hands. They met--they rode to the Towers, and had justentered the hall when William Carr, her uncle, pale with ire, appearedsword in hand, and demanded in a fierce voice his ward's release. TheEarl as fiercely denied his power--the lady averred she was of age thatday, and free to bestow her hand on whom she would, and refused toreturn. The uncle rushed on my father, and laid hold of him. The Earlshook him off--the old man attacked him with his blade, but my fatherseized a weapon from the walls and defended himself manfully. Then adeadly struggle commenced, short but furious. My father was the betterswordsman, and soon ended the conflict by piercing the old man throughthe heart: his life blood still stains the oaken floors. The pale priestthen united the two, and they drove off for the Continent. My father wasacquitted of all blame, and they lived happily together till his death.Thus was the feud ended, and thus the possessions of Cessford added tothe Wentworth patrimony."
"How romantic!" said Ellen; "this burn seems connected in a wonderfulway with your family."
"It is," said the Earl; "and now, Ellen, dearest! can you not guess mymotive in guiding you to this spot--the spot where my father won hislady's hand? I have been happy, Ellen, blessed with title, wealth, andbroad lands, and health and strength to enjoy them; one thing only islacking--one to share my happiness, one to bless my fireside; you,dearest, are the only woman I ever loved. I know you love me--I knowthis is only a form. Ellen, you will be my own Ellen--my dearest wife."
Instead of the ready response the Earl expected he was not a littlesurprised and chagrined by the silence, and agitated expression ofEllen's face.
"Then am I mistaken; you love me not--this is indeed a blow! But itcannot, cannot be so; it is only maiden coyness."
"You say you love me," said Ellen, in a fearful, nervous tone; "think,Lord Wentworth, is there not another to whom you told the same; you sayyou love me _only_, is there not one you loved, may still love?"
"Oh, Ellen, hear me, it is false I vow by----"
"Perjure not yourself, my lord, is there not one--Juana?"
"Heavens! and how came this scandal to your ears? Indeed, indeed I havetransgressed--but I have repented--it was done in an hour ofweakness--it is passed--I have no more to do with her."
"And may I not fear, my lord, you may thus treat me when tired of thecharms you now flatter?"
"You are not surely going to compare a light, passing passion to thefull, deep, pure love with which I adore you! I vow by yonder blue sky,and Him who dwells above it, I will love, cherish, doat on youeternally!"
"Think not, my dear lord, I do not love you as deeply," said Ellen,relentingly; "but when I love I will brook no rival--no idol on theshrine where I lay my affections. He who would gain Ellen Ravensworth'slove must give her his undivided heart--and burn no incense to--norworship--a false god! If you will give me your word you will not speakto Juana again, and vow to love me alone, I will be yours! If I holdonly a second place in your heart--bitter as the pang will be to my ownbosom--I will renounce love, and will not be your wife."
"I will give my word--the inviolate word of a British peer, far moresacred than his oath--that I will never speak to her again on love, norlove another save her to whom I plight my troth now! You will then bemy own--my dearest Ellen."
"I will; but oh! my dear Lord Wentworth, remember your sainted sister'slast words; flee worldly vanities, and live so as to meet again yourdear absent one! I too give you my whole undivided heart--I reserve notone corner--and you shall see how I can love," said Ellen, blushing withjoy; "nothing but death shall part us twain--not even death! When youdie I will die too; I could not breathe without you! One only--He whomade me--shall dispute with you my love!"
"Ellen," said the happy Earl, "you are a dear, good girl! I love you allthe more because you showed me my error. I know I have thought toolittle of Augusta's wish--I know I have let the world take too strong ahold of my heart; but you shall be my good angel--my guide to better,purer springs; you have made me happy here, and you may be theinstrument of making me happy hereafter. But we are overheard!" hecried, hastily rising. Ellen too sprung to her feet. The cause of thissudden interruption to their converse was a dark shadow that glidedacross the sunshine that streamed in at the mouth of the cave. A momentafter a figure appeared--it was the light, youthful form of anItalian-looking boy. When he saw the two lovers he started back, and hisdark countenance crimsoned as he saw his error. Crossing his arms overhis breast, and bending his eye on the ground, he remained mute as astatue.
"Who, and what are you?" said the Earl, in a stern voice, being littlepleased by his inopportune appearance.
"Pardon me, noble Inglese, pardon my intrusion. I did not know any onewas here," replied the Italian, in the soft Ausonian tongue.
"It needs not--you did so unwittingly," said the Earl, in the samelanguage, which he spoke fluently,--and then in English to Ellen, "He isa foreigner, and knows not the meaning if he heard any of ourconversation."
The boy was slight in figure and apparently very youthful; his face wasexceedingly handsome--his hair black and falling over his neck in glossybands--his complexion was olive--his eyes large, full and lustrous withthe Italian fire; but his expression of countenance was poetic, and verymelancholy. His dress argued he had known better days, although thevelvet mantle and cap were worn and faded in appearance; in his hand hecarried a lute.
"And why have you left sunny Italy," asked the Earl, "and come to thecold North?"
"Alas! signore, Italia is now no home to me! My father and mother wereboth cruelly executed, and I driven an outcast from the land of mybirth. Ah! signore, I have known happier times. I am an exile now fromthe land I love, and forced to roam a foreign shore, and gain a pittancefrom my lute. I cannot return to Italia's olive groves--I am very sad."
"Poor boy!--but what brought you hither?" asked the Earl, still speakingin Italian.
"I was travelling to Edinburgh--the sun was hot, and I was weary withwalking; your roads are very hard. I wandered up the cool water's side,and I found this cavern, and thought I would rest a while in the coolgrotto till the evening came. But I intrude, signore; I have disturbedyou, fair lady; I will leave you, and proceed on my pilgrimage."
"Not so," said the Earl, "you can touch the lute deftly. We have apleasure party below--you shall play, and they will dance. I hadforgotten a minstrel--I am glad you found us. Afterwards I will take youto
the Towers, my house; its gates were never shut on outcast yet, norwas the houseless wanderer ever turned from its door. I will see whatcan be done for you, my poor boy; follow us."
"Grazzia tanta, you are too good--I will gladly play. I know severalEnglish airs--but I will not trespass on your generosity, noble signore;let me then journey on."
"We shall arrange all that," said the Earl, helping Ellen down thesteps; "follow us."
The three then crossed the dell, and descended the declivity far quickerthan they climbed it; Ellen and her lover first, and following timidlybehind the young musician, who was ill able to keep pace with Scotchmountaineers in their own rough woods.
The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 1 Page 17