The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

by Robert Reed

  While the brother and sister were still hesitating in what manner

  they could best attempt to bring their mother over to their party,

  she, suspecting our meetings, taxed her children with them; taxed

  her fair daughter with deceit, and an unbecoming attachment for

  one whose only merit was being the son of the profligate favourite

  of her imprudent father; and who was doubtless as worthless as he

  from whom he boasted his descent. The eyes of Idris flashed at this

  accusation; she replied, “I do not deny that I love Verney; prove to

  me that he is worthless; and I will never see him more .”

  “Dear Madam,” said Adrian, “let me entreat you to see him, to

  cultivate his friendship . You will wonder then, as I do, at the extent

  of his accomplishments, and the brilliancy of his talents .” (Pardon

  me, gentle reader, this is not futile vanity;—not futile, since to know

  that Adrian felt thus, brings joy even now to my lone heart) .

  “Mad and foolish boy!” exclaimed the angry lady, “you have

  chosen with dreams and theories to overthrow my schemes for your

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  own aggrandizement; but you shall not do the same by those I have

  formed for your sister . I but too well understand the fascination you

  both labour under; since I had the same struggle with your father,

  to make him cast off the parent of this youth, who hid his evil pro-

  pensities with the smoothness and subtlety of a viper . In those days

  how often did I hear of his attractions, his wide spread conquests,

  his wit, his refined manners. It is well when flies only are caught

  by such spiders’ webs; but is it for the high-born and powerful to

  bow their necks to the flimsy yoke of these unmeaning pretensions?

  Were your sister indeed the insignificant person she deserves to be,

  I would willingly leave her to the fate, the wretched fate, of the wife

  of a man, whose very person, resembling as it does his wretched

  father, ought to remind you of the folly and vice it typifies—but re-

  member, Lady Idris, it is not alone the once royal blood of England

  that colours your veins, you are a Princess of Austria, and every

  life-drop is akin to emperors and kings. Are you then a fit mate for

  an uneducated shepherd-boy, whose only inheritance is his father’s

  tarnished name?”

  “I can make but one defence,” replied Idris, “the same offered

  by my brother; see Lionel, converse with my shepherd-boy”—-The

  Countess interrupted her indignantly—“Yours!”—she cried: and

  then, smoothing her impassioned features to a disdainful smile, she

  continued—“We will talk of this another time . All I now ask, all

  your mother, Idris, requests is, that you will not see this upstart dur-

  ing the interval of one month .”

  “I dare not comply,” said Idris, “it would pain him too much . I

  have no right to play with his feelings, to accept his proffered love,

  and then sting him with neglect .”

  “This is going too far,” her mother answered, with quivering lips,

  and eyes again instinct by anger .

  “Nay, Madam,” said Adrian, “unless my sister consent never to

  see him again, it is surely an useless torment to separate them for a

  month .”

  “Certainly,” replied the ex-queen, with bitter scorn, “his love,

  and her love, and both their childish flutterings, are to be put in fit

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  comparison with my years of hope and anxiety, with the duties of

  the offspring of kings, with the high and dignified conduct which

  one of her descent ought to pursue . But it is unworthy of me to argue

  and complain . Perhaps you will have the goodness to promise me

  not to marry during that interval?”

  This was asked only half ironically; and Idris wondered why her

  mother should extort from her a solemn vow not to do, what she had

  never dreamed of doing—but the promise was required and given .

  All went on cheerfully now; we met as usual, and talked without

  dread of our future plans . The Countess was so gentle, and even

  beyond her wont, amiable with her children, that they began to en-

  tertain hopes of her ultimate consent . She was too unlike them, too

  utterly alien to their tastes, for them to find delight in her society, or

  in the prospect of its continuance, but it gave them pleasure to see

  her conciliating and kind . Once even, Adrian ventured to propose

  her receiving me . She refused with a smile, reminding him that for

  the present his sister had promised to be patient .

  One day, after the lapse of nearly a month, Adrian received a let-

  ter from a friend in London, requesting his immediate presence for

  the furtherance of some important object . Guileless himself, Adrian

  feared no deceit . I rode with him as far as Staines: he was in high

  spirits; and, since I could not see Idris during his absence, he prom-

  ised a speedy return . His gaiety, which was extreme, had the strange

  effect of awakening in me contrary feelings; a presentiment of evil

  hung over me; I loitered on my return; I counted the hours that must

  elapse before I saw Idris again . Wherefore should this be? What

  evil might not happen in the mean time? Might not her mother take

  advantage of Adrian’s absence to urge her beyond her sufferance,

  perhaps to entrap her? I resolved, let what would befall, to see and

  converse with her the following day . This determination soothed me .

  Tomorrow, loveliest and best, hope and joy of my life, tomorrow I

  will see thee—Fool, to dream of a moment’s delay!

  I went to rest . At past midnight I was awaked by a violent knock-

  ing . It was now deep winter; it had snowed, and was still snowing;

  the wind whistled in the leafless trees, despoiling them of the white

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  flakes as they fell; its drear moaning, and the continued knocking,

  mingled wildly with my dreams— at length I was wide awake; hast-

  ily dressing myself, I hurried to discover the cause of this distur-

  bance, and to open my door to the unexpected visitor . Pale as the

  snow that showered about her, with clasped hands, Idris stood before

  me . “Save me!” she exclaimed, and would have sunk to the ground

  had I not supported her . In a moment however she revived, and,

  with energy, almost with violence, entreated me to saddle horses,

  to take her away, away to London—to her brother—at least to save

  her . I had no horses—she wrung her hands . “What can I do?” she

  cried, “I am lost—we are both for ever lost! But come—come with

  me, Lionel; here I must not stay,—we can get a chaise at the nearest

  post-house; yet perhaps we have time! come, O come with me to

  save and protect me!”

  When I heard her piteous demands, while with disordered dress,

  dishevelled hair, and aghast looks, she wrung her hands—the idea

  shot across me is she also mad?—“Sweet one,” and I folded her to

  my heart, “better repose than wander further;—rest—my beloved, I

  will make a fire—you are chill.”

  “Rest!” s
he cried, “repose! you rave, Lionel! If you delay we are

  lost; come, I pray you, unless you would cast me off for ever .”

  That Idris, the princely born, nursling of wealth and luxury,

  should have come through the tempestuous winter-night from her

  regal abode, and standing at my lowly door, conjure me to fly with

  her through darkness and storm—was surely a dream—again her

  plaintive tones, the sight of her loveliness assured me that it was

  no vision . Looking timidly around, as if she feared to be overheard,

  she whispered: “I have discovered—tomorrow —that is, today—al-

  ready the tomorrow is come—before dawn, foreigners, Austrians,

  my mother’s hirelings, are to carry me off to Germany, to prison, to

  marriage—to anything, except you and my brother —take me away,

  or soon they will be here!”

  I was frightened by her vehemence, and imagined some mistake

  in her incoherent tale; but I no longer hesitated to obey her . She

  had come by herself from the Castle, three long miles, at midnight,

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  through the heavy snow; we must reach Englefield Green, a mile

  and a half further, before we could obtain a chaise . She told me, that

  she had kept up her strength and courage till her arrival at my cot-

  tage, and then both failed . Now she could hardly walk . Supporting

  her as I did, still she lagged: and at the distance of half a mile, after

  many stoppages, shivering fits, and half faintings, she slipt from my

  supporting arm on the snow, and with a torrent of tears averred that

  she must be taken, for that she could not proceed . I lifted her up in

  my arms; her light form rested on my breast .—I felt no burthen,

  except the internal one of contrary and contending emotions . Brim-

  ming delight now invested me . Again her chill limbs touched me

  as a torpedo; and I shuddered in sympathy with her pain and fright .

  Her head lay on my shoulder, her breath waved my hair, her heart

  beat near mine, transport made me tremble, blinded me, annihilated

  me—till a suppressed groan, bursting from her lips, the chattering

  of her teeth, which she strove vainly to subdue, and all the signs of

  suffering she evinced, recalled me to the necessity of speed and suc-

  cour. At last I said to her, “There is Englefield Green; there the inn.

  But, if you are seen thus strangely circumstanced, dear Idris, even

  now your enemies may learn your flight too soon: were it not better

  that I hired the chaise alone? I will put you in safety meanwhile, and

  return to you immediately .”

  She answered that I was right, and might do with her as I pleased .

  I observed the door of a small out-house a-jar . I pushed it open; and,

  with some hay strewed about, I formed a couch for her, placing her

  exhausted frame on it, and covering her with my cloak . I feared

  to leave her, she looked so wan and faint—but in a moment she

  re-acquired animation, and, with that, fear; and again she implored

  me not to delay . To call up the people of the inn, and obtain a con-

  veyance and horses, even though I harnessed them myself, was the

  work of many minutes; minutes, each freighted with the weight of

  ages . I caused the chaise to advance a little, waited till the people of

  the inn had retired, and then made the post-boy draw up the carriage

  to the spot where Idris, impatient, and now somewhat recovered,

  stood waiting for me . I lifted her into the chaise; I assured her that

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  with our four horses we should arrive in London before five o’clock,

  the hour when she would be sought and missed . I besought her to

  calm herself; a kindly shower of tears relieved her, and by degrees

  she related her tale of fear and peril .

  That same night after Adrian’s departure, her mother had warmly

  expostulated with her on the subject of her attachment to me . Ev-

  ery motive, every threat, every angry taunt was urged in vain . She

  seemed to consider that through me she had lost Raymond; I was

  the evil influence of her life; I was even accused of encreasing and

  confirming the mad and base apostacy of Adrian from all views of

  advancement and grandeur; and now this miserable mountaineer

  was to steal her daughter . Never, Idris related, did the angry lady

  deign to recur to gentleness and persuasion; if she had, the task of

  resistance would have been exquisitely painful . As it was, the sweet

  girl’s generous nature was roused to defend, and ally herself with,

  my despised cause . Her mother ended with a look of contempt and

  covert triumph, which for a moment awakened the suspicions of

  Idris . When they parted for the night, the Countess said, “Tomorrow

  I trust your tone will be changed: be composed; I have agitated you;

  go to rest; and I will send you a medicine I always take when unduly

  restless—it will give you a quiet night .”

  By the time that she had with uneasy thoughts laid her fair cheek

  upon her pillow, her mother’s servant brought a draught; a suspicion

  again crossed her at this novel proceeding, sufficiently alarming to

  determine her not to take the potion; but dislike of contention, and

  a wish to discover whether there was any just foundation for her

  conjectures, made her, she said, almost instinctively, and in con-

  tradiction to her usual frankness, pretend to swallow the medicine .

  Then, agitated as she had been by her mother’s violence, and now

  by unaccustomed fears, she lay unable to sleep, starting at every

  sound . Soon her door opened softly, and on her springing up, she

  heard a whisper, “Not asleep yet,” and the door again closed . With a

  beating heart she expected another visit, and when after an interval

  her chamber was again invaded, having first assured herself that the

  intruders were her mother and an attendant, she composed herself to

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  feigned sleep . A step approached her bed, she dared not move, she

  strove to calm her palpitations, which became more violent, when

  she heard her mother say mutteringly, “Pretty simpleton, little do

  you think that your game is already at an end for ever .”

  For a moment the poor girl fancied that her mother believed that

  she had drank poison: she was on the point of springing up; when

  the Countess, already at a distance from the bed, spoke in a low

  voice to her companion, and again Idris listened: “Hasten,” said

  she, “there is no time to lose— it is long past eleven; they will be

  here at five; take merely the clothes necessary for her journey, and

  her jewel-casket .” The servant obeyed; few words were spoken on

  either side; but those were caught at with avidity by the intended

  victim . She heard the name of her own maid mentioned;—“No, no,”

  replied her mother, “she does not go with us; Lady Idris must forget

  England, and all belonging to it .” And again she heard, “She will

  not wake till late tomorrow, and we shall then be at sea .”——“All is

  ready,” at length the woman announced . The Countess again came

  to her daughter’s
bedside: “In Austria at least,” she said, “you will

  obey . In Austria, where obedience can be enforced, and no choice

  left but between an honourable prison and a fitting marriage.”

  Both then withdrew; though, as she went, the Countess said,

  “Softly; all sleep; though all have not been prepared for sleep, like

  her . I would not have any one suspect, or she might be roused to

  resistance, and perhaps escape . Come with me to my room; we will

  remain there till the hour agreed upon .” They went . Idris, panic-

  struck, but animated and strengthened even by her excessive fear,

  dressed herself hurriedly, and going down a flight of back-stairs,

  avoiding the vicinity of her mother’s apartment, she contrived to

  escape from the castle by a low window, and came through snow,

  wind, and obscurity to my cottage; nor lost her courage, until she

  arrived, and, depositing her fate in my hands, gave herself up to the

  desperation and weariness that overwhelmed her .

  I comforted her as well as I might . Joy and exultation, were

  mine, to possess, and to save her . Yet not to excite fresh agitation

  in her, “per non turbar quel bel viso sereno,” I curbed my delight .

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  I strove to quiet the eager dancing of my heart; I turned from her

  my eyes, beaming with too much tenderness, and proudly, to dark

  night, and the inclement atmosphere, murmured the expressions of

  my transport . We reached London, methought, all too soon; and yet

  I could not regret our speedy arrival, when I witnessed the extasy

  with which my beloved girl found herself in her brother’s arms, safe

  from every evil, under his unblamed protection .

  Adrian wrote a brief note to his mother, informing her that Id-

  ris was under his care and guardianship . Several days elapsed, and

  at last an answer came, dated from Cologne . “It was useless,” the

  haughty and disappointed lady wrote, “for the Earl of Windsor and

  his sister to address again the injured parent, whose only expecta-

  tion of tranquillity must be derived from oblivion of their existence .

  Her desires had been blasted, her schemes overthrown . She did not

  complain; in her brother’s court she would find, not compensation

  for their disobedience (filial unkindness admitted of none), but such

  a state of things and mode of life, as might best reconcile her to her