CHAPTER I.
"They had met, and they had parted; Time had closed o'er each again, Leaving lone the weary hearted Mournfully to wear his chain."--MS.
A deliciously cool, still evening, had succeeded the intense heat of aSpanish summer day, throwing rich shadows and rosy gleams on a wild,rude mountain pass in central Spain. Massive crags and gigantic treesseemed to contest dominion over the path, if path it could be called;where the traveller, if he would persist in going onwards, could onlymake his way by sometimes scrambling over rocks, whose close approachfrom opposite sides presented a mere fissure covered with flowers andbrushwood, through which the slimmest figure would fail to penetrate;sometimes wading through rushing and brawling streams, whose rapidcurrents bore many a jagged branch and craggy fragment along withthem; sometimes threading the intricacies of a dense forest,recognizing the huge pine, the sweet acorn oak, the cork tree,interspersed with others of lesser growth, but of equally wildperplexing luxuriance. On either side--at times so close that twocould not walk abreast, at others so divided that forests and streamsintervened--arose mountain walls seeming to reach the very heavens,their base covered with trees and foliage, which gradually thinning,left their dark heads totally barren, coming out in clear reliefagainst the deep blue sky.
That this pass led to any inhabited district was little probable, forit grew wilder and wilder, appearing to lead to the very heart of theSierra Toledo--a huge ridge traversing Spain. By human foot it hadevidently been seldom trod; yet on this particular evening a travellerthere wended his solitary way. His figure was slight to boyishness,but of fair proportion, and of such graceful agility of movement,that the obstacles in his path, which to others of stouter mould andheavier step might have been of serious inconvenience, appeared by himas unnoticed as unfelt. The deep plume of his broad-rimmed hat couldnot conceal the deep blue restless eyes, the delicate complexion, andrich brown clustering hair; the varying expression of features, whichif not regularly handsome, were bright with intelligence andtruth, and betraying like a crystal mirror every impulse of theheart--characteristics both of feature and disposition whollydissimilar to the sons of Spain.
His physiognomy told truth. Arthur Stanley was, as his name implied,an Englishman of noble family; one of the many whom the disastrouswars of the Roses had rendered voluntary exiles. His father and fourbrothers had fallen in battle at Margaret's side. Himself and a twinbrother, when scarcely fifteen, were taken prisoners at Tewkesbury,and for three years left to languish in prison. Wishing to conciliatethe still powerful family of Stanley, Edward offered the youthsliberty and honor if they would swear allegiance to himself. Theyrefused peremptorily; and with a refinement of cruelty more likeRichard of Gloucester than himself, Edward ordered one to the block,the other to perpetual imprisonment. They drew lots, and Edwin Stanleyperished. Arthur, after an interval, succeeded in effecting hisescape, and fled from England, lingered in Provence a few months,and then unable to bear an inactive life, hastened to the Courtof Arragon; to the heir apparent of which, he bore letters ofintroduction, from men of rank and influence, and speedilydistinguished himself in the wars then agitating Spain. The characterof the Spaniards--impenetrable and haughty reserve--occasioned, ingeneral, prejudice and dislike towards all foreigners. But powerfulas was their pride, so was their generosity; and the young and lonelystranger, who had thrown himself so trustingly and frankly on theirfriendship, was universally received with kindness and regard. In menof lower natures, indeed, prejudice still lingered; but this wasof little matter; Arthur speedily took his place among the noblestchivalry of Spain; devoted to the interests of the King of Sicily, butstill glorying in the name and feeling of an Englishman, he resolved,in his young enthusiasm, to make his country honored in himself.
He had been five years in Spain, and was now four and twenty; butfew would have imagined him that age, so frank and free and full ofthoughtless mirth and hasty impulse was his character. These lastfifteen months, however, a shadow seemed to have fallen over him, notdeep enough to create remark, but _felt_ by himself. His feelings,always ardent, had been all excited, and were all concentrated, on asubject so wrapt in mystery, that the wish to solve it engrossed hiswhole being. Except when engaged in the weary stratagem, the rapidmarch, and actual conflict, necessary for Ferdinand's interest, butone thought, composed of many, occupied his mind, and in solitude sodistractingly, that he could never rest; he would traverse the countryfor miles, conscious indeed of what he _sought_, but perfectlyunconscious where he _went_.
It was in one of these moods he had entered the pass we havedescribed, rejoicing in its difficulties, but not thinking where itled, or what place he sought, when a huge crag suddenly rising almostperpendicularly before him, effectually roused him from his trance.Outlet there was none. All around him towered mountains, reachingto the skies. The path was so winding, that, as he looked roundbewildered, he could not even imagine how he came there. To retracehis steps, seemed quite as difficult as to proceed. The sun too haddeclined, or was effectually concealed by the towering rocks, forsudden darkness seemed around him. There was but one way, and Stanleyprepared to scale the precipitous crag before him with more eagernessthan he would a beaten path. He threw off his cloak, folded it inthe smallest possible compass, and secured it like a knapsack to hisshoulders, slung his sword over his neck, and, with a vigorous spring,which conquered several paces of slippery rock at once, commenced theascent. Some brushwood, and one or two stunted trees, gave him nowand then a hold for his hands; and occasional ledges in the rock, aresting for his foot; but still one false step, one failing nerve, andhe must have fallen backwards and been dashed to pieces; but to Arthurthe danger was his safety. Where he was going, indeed he knew not. Hecould see no further than the summit of the crag, which appeared likea line against the sky; but any bewilderment were preferable to thestrange stagnation towards outward objects, which had enwrapped himten minutes before.
Panting, breathless, almost exhausted, he reached the summit, andbefore him yawned a chasm, dark, fathomless, as if nature in some wildconvulsion had rent the rock asunder. The level ground on whichhe stood was barely four feet square; behind him sloped the mostprecipitous side of the crag, devoid of tree or bush, and slipperyfrom the constant moisture that formed a deep black pool at its base.Stanley hazarded but one glance behind, then looked steadily forward,till his eye seemed accustomed to the width of the chasm, which didnot exceed three feet. He fixed his hold firmly on a blasted trunkgrowing within the chasm; It shook--gave way--another moment and hewould have been lost; but in that moment he loosed his hold, claspedboth hands above his head, and successfully made the leap--aware onlyof the immense effort by the exhaustion which followed compelling himto sink down on the grass, deprived even of energy to look around him.
So marvellous was the change of scenery on which his eyes unclosed,that he started to his feet, bewildered. A gradual hill, partlycovered with rich meadow grass, and partly with corn, diversifiedwith foliage, sloped downwards, leading by an easy descent to a smallvalley, where orange and lime trees, the pine and chestnut, palm andcedar, grew in beautiful luxuriance. On the left was a small dwelling,almost hidden in trees. Directly beneath him a natural fountain threwits sparkling showers on beds of sweet-scented and gayly-coloredflowers. The hand of man had very evidently aided nature in formingthe wild yet chaste beauty of the scene; and Arthur bounded down theslope, disturbing a few tame sheep and goats on his way, determined ondiscovering the genius of the place.
No living object was visible, however; and with his usual recklessspirit, he resolved on exploring further, ere he demanded thehospitality of the dwelling. A narrow path led into a thicker wood,and in the very heart of its shade stood a small edifice, the natureof which Arthur vainly endeavored to understand. It was square, andformed of solid blocks of cedar; neither carving nor imagery of anykind adorned it; yet it had evidently been built with skill and care.There was neither tower nor bell, the usual accompaniments of achapel, which Stanley had at firs
t imagined it; and he stood gazingon it more and more bewildered. At that moment, a female voice ofsingular and thrilling beauty sounded from within. It was evidentlya hymn she chanted, for the strain was slow and solemn, but though_words_ were distinctly intelligible, their language was entirelyunknown. The young man listened at first, conscious only of increasingwonderment, which was quickly succeeded by a thrill of hope, sostrange, so engrossing, that he stood, outwardly indeed as if turnedto stone; inwardly, with every pulse so throbbing that to move orspeak was impossible. The voice ceased; and in another minute a door,so skilfully constructed as when closed to be invisible in the solidwall, opened noiselessly; and a female figure stood before him.
The Vale of Cedars; Or, The Martyr Page 2