by Walter Scott
CHAPTER III.
There was shaking of hands, and sorrow of heart, For the hour was approaching when merry folks must part; So we call'd for our horses, and ask'd for our way, While the jolly old landlord said, "Nothing's to pay."
_Lilliput, a Poem._
We do not dwell upon the festivities of the day, which had nothing inthem to interest the reader particularly. The table groaned under theusual plenty, which was disposed of by the guests with the usualappetite--the bowl of punch was filled and emptied with the samecelerity as usual--the men quaffed, and the women laughed--Claud Halcrorhymed, punned, and praised John Dryden--the Udaller bumpered and sungchoruses--and the evening concluded, as usual, in the Rigging-loft, asit was Magnus Troil's pleasure to term the dancing apartment.
It was then and there that Cleveland, approaching Magnus, where he satbetwixt his two daughters, intimated his intention of going to Kirkwallin a small brig, which Bryce Snailsfoot, who had disposed of his goodswith unprecedented celerity, had freighted thither, to procure a supply.
Magnus heard the sudden proposal of his guest with surprise, notunmingled with displeasure, and demanded sharply of Cleveland, how longit was since he had learned to prefer Bryce Snailsfoot's company to hisown? Cleveland answered, with his usual bluntness of manner, that timeand tide tarried for no one, and that he had his own particular reasonsfor making his trip to Kirkwall sooner than the Udaller proposed to setsail--that he hoped to meet with him and his daughters at the great fairwhich was now closely approaching, and might perhaps find it possible toreturn to Zetland along with them.
While he spoke this, Brenda kept her eye as much upon her sister as itwas possible to do, without exciting general observation. She remarked,that Minna's pale cheek became yet paler while Cleveland spoke, and thatshe seemed, by compressing her lips, and slightly knitting her brows, tobe in the act of repressing the effects of strong interior emotion. Butshe spoke not; and when Cleveland, having bidden adieu to the Udaller,approached to salute her, as was then the custom, she received hisfarewell without trusting herself to attempt a reply.
Brenda had her own trial approaching; for Mordaunt Mertoun, once so muchloved by her father, was now in the act of making his cold parting fromhim, without receiving a single look of friendly regard. There was,indeed, sarcasm in the tone with which Magnus wished the youth a goodjourney, and recommended to him, if he met a bonny lass by the way, notto dream that she was in love, because she chanced to jest with him.Mertoun coloured at what he felt as an insult, though it was but halfintelligible to him; but he remembered Brenda, and suppressed everyfeeling of resentment. He proceeded to take his leave of the sisters.Minna, whose heart was considerably softened towards him, received hisfarewell with some degree of interest; but Brenda's grief was so visiblein the kindness of her manner, and the moisture which gathered in hereye, that it was noticed even by the Udaller, who exclaimed, halfangrily, "Why, ay, lass, that may be right enough, for he was an oldacquaintance; but mind! I have no will that he remain one."
Mertoun, who was slowly leaving the apartment, half overheard thisdisparaging observation, and half turned round to resent it. But hispurpose failed him when he saw that Brenda had been obliged to haverecourse to her handkerchief to hide her emotion, and the sense that itwas excited by his departure, obliterated every thought of her father'sunkindness. He retired--the other guests followed his example; and manyof them, like Cleveland and himself, took their leave over-night, withthe intention of commencing their homeward journey on the succeedingmorning.
That night, the mutual sorrow of Minna and Brenda, if it could notwholly remove the reserve which had estranged the sisters from eachother, at least melted all its frozen and unkindly symptoms. They weptin each other's arms; and though neither spoke, yet each became dearerto the other; because they felt that the grief which called forth thesedrops, had a source common to them both.
It is probable, that though Brenda's tears were most abundant, the griefof Minna was most deeply seated; for, long after the younger had sobbedherself asleep, like a child, upon her sister's bosom, Minna lay awake,watching the dubious twilight, while tear after tear slowly gathered inher eye, and found a current down her cheek, as soon as it became tooheavy to be supported by her long black silken eyelashes. As she lay,bewildered among the sorrowful thoughts which supplied these tears, shewas surprised to distinguish, beneath the window, the sounds of music.At first she supposed it was some freak of Claud Halcro, whose fantastichumour sometimes indulged itself in such serenades. But it was not the_gue_ of the old minstrel, but the guitar, that she heard; an instrumentwhich none in the island knew how to touch except Cleveland, who hadlearned, in his intercourse with the South-American Spaniards, to playon it with superior execution. Perhaps it was in those climates alsothat he had learned the song, which, though he now sung it under thewindow of a maiden of Thule, had certainly never been composed for thenative of a climate so northerly and so severe, since it spoke ofproductions of the earth and skies which are there unknown.
1.
"Love wakes and weeps While Beauty sleeps: O for Music's softest numbers, To prompt a theme, For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers!
2.
"Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm, Fire-flies on the air are wheeling; While through the gloom Comes soft perfume, The distant beds of flowers revealing.
3.
"O wake and live, No dream can give A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling; No longer sleep, From lattice peep, And list the tale that Love is telling!"
The voice of Cleveland was deep, rich, and manly, and accorded well withthe Spanish air, to which the words, probably a translation from thesame language, had been adapted. His invocation would not probably havebeen fruitless, could Minna have arisen without awaking her sister. Butthat was impossible; for Brenda, who, as we have already mentioned, hadwept bitterly before she had sunk into repose, now lay with her face onher sister's neck, and one arm stretched around her, in the attitude ofa child which has cried itself asleep in the arms of its nurse. It wasimpossible for Minna to extricate herself from her grasp without awakingher; and she could not, therefore, execute her hasty purpose, of donningher gown, and approaching the window to speak with Cleveland, who, shehad no doubt, had resorted to this contrivance to procure an interview.The restraint was sufficiently provoking, for it was more than probablethat her lover came to take his last farewell; but that Brenda, inimicalas she seemed to be of late towards Cleveland, should awake and witnessit, was a thought not to be endured.
There was a short pause, in which Minna endeavoured more than once, withas much gentleness as possible, to unclasp Brenda's arm from her neck;but whenever she attempted it, the slumberer muttered some littlepettish sound, like a child disturbed in its sleep, which sufficientlyshowed that perseverance in the attempt would awaken her fully.
To her great vexation, therefore, Minna was compelled to remain stilland silent; when her lover, as if determined upon gaining her ear bymusic of another strain, sung the following fragment of a sea-ditty:--
"Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear, Has left its last soft tone with you,-- Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew.
"The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck.
"The timid eye I dared not raise,-- The hand that shook when press'd to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase,-- Must bid the deadly cutlass shine.
"To all I love, or hope, or fear,-- Honour, or own, a long adieu! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you!"[12](_c_)
He was again silent; and again she, to whom the serenade was addressed,strove in vain to arise without rousing her sister. It was impossible;and she had nothing before her but the unhappy thoug
ht that Clevelandwas taking leave in his desolation, without a single glance, or a singleword. He, too, whose temper was so fiery, yet who subjected his violentmood with such sedulous attention to her will--could she but have stolena moment to say adieu--to caution him against new quarrels withMertoun--to implore him to detach himself from such comrades as he haddescribed--could she but have done this, who could say what effect suchparting admonitions might have had upon his character--nay, upon thefuture events of his life?
Tantalized by such thoughts, Minna was about to make another anddecisive effort, when she heard voices beneath the window, and thoughtshe could distinguish that they were those of Cleveland and Mertoun,speaking in a sharp tone, which, at the same time, seemed cautiouslysuppressed, as if the speakers feared being overheard. Alarm now mingledwith her former desire to rise from bed, and she accomplished at oncethe purpose which she had so often attempted in vain. Brenda's arm wasunloosed from her sister's neck, without the sleeper receiving morealarm than provoked two or three unintelligible murmurs; while, withequal speed and silence, Minna put on some part of her dress, with theintention to steal to the window. But, ere she could accomplish this,the sound of the voices without was exchanged for that of blows andstruggling, which terminated suddenly by a deep groan.
Terrified at this last signal of mischief, Minna sprung to the window,and endeavoured to open it, for the persons were so close under thewalls of the house that she could not see them, save by putting her headout of the casement. The iron hasp was stiff and rusted, and, asgenerally happens, the haste with which she laboured to undo it onlyrendered the task more difficult. When it was accomplished, and Minnahad eagerly thrust her body half out at the casement, those who hadcreated the sounds which alarmed her were become invisible, exceptingthat she saw a shadow cross the moonlight, the substance of which musthave been in the act of turning a corner, which concealed it from hersight. The shadow moved slowly, and seemed that of a man who supportedanother upon his shoulders; an indication which put the climax toMinna's agony of mind. The window was not above eight feet from theground, and she hesitated not to throw herself from it hastily, and topursue the object which had excited her terror.
But when she came to the corner of the buildings from which the shadowseemed to have been projected, she discovered nothing which could pointout the way that the figure had gone; and, after a moment'sconsideration, became sensible that all attempts at pursuit would bealike wild and fruitless. Besides all the projections and recesses ofthe many-angled mansion, and its numerous offices--besides the variouscellars, store-houses, stables, and so forth, which defied her solitarysearch, there was a range of low rocks, stretching down to the haven,and which were, in fact, a continuation of the ridge which formed itspier. These rocks had many indentures, hollows, and caverns, into anyone of which the figure to which the shadow belonged might have retiredwith his fatal burden; for fatal, she feared, it was most likely toprove.
A moment's reflection, as we have said, convinced Minna of the folly offurther pursuit. Her next thought was to alarm the family; but what talehad she to tell, and of whom was that tale to be told?--On the otherhand, the wounded man--if indeed he were wounded--alas, if indeed hewere not mortally wounded!--might not be past the reach of assistance;and, with this idea, she was about to raise her voice, when she wasinterrupted by that of Claud Halcro, who was returning apparently fromthe haven, and singing, in his manner, a scrap of an old Norse ditty,which might run thus in English:--
"And you shall deal the funeral dole; Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine.
"And you shall deal my horses of pride; Ay, deal them, mother mine; And you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine.
"But deal not vengeance for the deed, And deal not for the crime; The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, And the rest in God's own time."
The singular adaptation of these rhymes to the situation in which shefound herself, seemed to Minna like a warning from Heaven. We arespeaking of a land of omens and superstitions, and perhaps will scarcebe understood by those whose limited imagination cannot conceive howstrongly these operate upon the human mind during a certain progress ofsociety. A line of Virgil, turned up casually, was received in theseventeenth century, and in the court of England,[13] as an intimationof future events; and no wonder that a maiden of the distant and wildisles of Zetland should have considered as an injunction from Heaven,verses which happened to convey a sense analogous to her presentsituation.
"I will be silent," she muttered,--"I will seal my lips--
'The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, And the rest in God's own time.'"
"Who speaks there?" said Claud Halcro, in some alarm; for he had not, inhis travels in foreign parts, been able by any means to rid himself ofhis native superstitions. In the condition to which fear and horror hadreduced her, Minna was at first unable to reply; and Halcro, fixing hiseyes upon the female white figure, which he saw indistinctly, (for shestood in the shadow of the house, and the morning was thick and misty,)began to conjure her in an ancient rhyme which occurred to him as suitedfor the occasion, and which had in its gibberish a wild and unearthlysound, which may be lost in the ensuing translation:--
"Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry! If of good, go hence and hallow thee,-- If of ill, let the earth swallow thee,-- If thou'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee,-- If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee,-- If a Pixie, seek thy ring,-- If a Nixie, seek thy spring;-- If on middle earth thou'st been Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, And dree'd the lot which men call life, Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is scant of thee, The worm, thy playfellow, wails for the want of thee;-- Hence, houseless ghost! let the earth hide thee, Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee!-- Phantom, fly hence! take the Cross for a token, Hence pass till Hallowmass!--my spell is spoken."
"It is I, Halcro," muttered Minna, in a tone so thin and low, that itmight have passed for the faint reply of the conjured phantom.
"You!--you!" said Halcro, his tone of alarm changing to one of extremesurprise; "by this moonlight, which is waning, and so it is!--Who couldhave thought to find you, my most lovely Night, wandering abroad in yourown element!--But you saw them, I reckon, as well as I?--bold enough inyou to follow them, though."
"Saw whom?--follow whom?" said Minna, hoping to gain some information onthe subject of her fears and anxiety.
"The corpse-lights which danced at the haven," replied Halcro; "theybode no good, I promise you--you wot well what the old rhyme says--
'Where corpse-light Dances bright, Be it day or night, Be it by light or dark, There shall corpse lie stiff and stark.'
I went half as far as the haven to look after them, but they hadvanished. I think I saw a boat put off, however,--some one bound for theHaaf, I suppose.--I would we had good news of this fishing--there wasNorna left us in anger,--and then these corpse-lights!--Well, God helpthe while! I am an old man, and can but wish that all were wellover.--But how now, my pretty Minna? tears in your eyes!--And now that Isee you in the fair moonlight, barefooted, too, by Saint Magnus!--Werethere no stockings of Zetland wool soft enough for these pretty feet andankles, that glance so white in the moonbeam?--What, silent!--angry,perhaps," he added, in a more serious tone, "at my nonsense? For shame,silly maiden!--Remember I am old enough to be your father, and havealways loved you as my child."
"I am not angry," said Minna, constraining herself to speak--"but heardyou nothing?--saw you nothing?--They must have passed you."
"They?" said Claud Halcro; "what mean you by they?--is it thecorpse-lights?--No, they did not pass by me, but I think they havepassed by you, and blighted you with their influence, for y
ou are aspale as a spectre.--Come, come, Minna," he added, opening a side-door ofthe dwelling, "these moonlight walks are fitter for old poets than foryoung maidens--And so lightly clad as you are! Maiden, you should takecare how you give yourself to the breezes of a Zetland night, for theybring more sleet than odours upon their wings.--But, maiden, go in; for,as glorious John says--or, as he does not say--for I cannot remember howhis verse chimes--but, as I say myself, in a pretty poem, written whenmy muse was in her teens,--
Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, Till the first beam tinge the skies; Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, Till the sun has kiss'd the rose; Maiden's foot we should not view, Mark'd with tiny print on dew, Till the opening flowerets spread Carpet meet for beauty's tread--
Stay, what comes next?--let me see."
When the spirit of recitation seized on Claud Halcro, he forgot time andplace, and might have kept his companion in the cold air for half anhour, giving poetical reasons why she ought to have been in bed. But sheinterrupted him by the question, earnestly pronounced, yet in a voicewhich was scarcely articulate, holding Halcro, at the same time, with atrembling and convulsive grasp, as if to support herself fromfalling,--"Saw you no one in the boat which put to sea but now?"
"Nonsense," replied Halcro; "how could I see any one, when light anddistance only enabled me to know that it was a boat, and not a grampus?"
"But there must have been some one in the boat?" repeated Minna, scarceconscious of what she said.
"Certainly," answered the poet; "boats seldom work to windward of theirown accord.--But come, this is all folly; and so, as the Queen says, inan old play, which was revived for the stage by rare Will D'Avenant, 'Tobed--to bed--to bed!'"
They separated, and Minna's limbs conveyed her with difficulty, throughseveral devious passages, to her own chamber, where she stretchedherself cautiously beside her still sleeping sister, with a mindharassed with the most agonizing apprehensions. That she had heardCleveland, she was positive--the tenor of the songs left her no doubt onthat subject. If not equally certain that she had heard young Mertoun'svoice in hot quarrel with her lover, the impression to that effect wasstrong on her mind. The groan, with which the struggle seemed toterminate--the fearful indication from which it seemed that theconqueror had borne off the lifeless body of his victim--all tended toprove that some fatal event had concluded the contest. And which of theunhappy men had fallen?--which had met a bloody death?--which hadachieved a fatal and a bloody victory?--These were questions to whichthe still small voice of interior conviction answered, that her loverCleveland, from character, temper, and habits, was most likely to havebeen the survivor of the fray. She received from the reflection aninvoluntary consolation which she almost detested herself for admitting,when she recollected that it was at once darkened with her lover'sguilt, and embittered with the destruction of Brenda's happiness forever.
"Innocent, unhappy sister!" such were her reflections; "thou that artten times better than I, because so unpretending--so unassuming in thineexcellence! How is it possible that I should cease to feel a pang, whichis only transferred from my bosom to thine?"
As these cruel thoughts crossed her mind, she could not refrain fromstraining her sister so close to her bosom, that, after a heavy sigh,Brenda awoke.
"Sister," she said, "is it you?--I dreamed I lay on one of thosemonuments which Claud Halcro described to us, where the effigy of theinhabitant beneath lies carved in stone upon the sepulchre. I dreamedsuch a marble form lay by my side, and that it suddenly acquired enoughof life and animation to fold me to its cold, moist bosom--and it isyours, Minna, that is indeed so chilly.--You are ill, my dearest Minna!for God's sake, let me rise and call Euphane Fea.--What ails you? hasNorna been here again?"
"Call no one hither," said Minna, detaining her; "nothing ails me forwhich any one has a remedy--nothing but apprehensions of evil worse thaneven Norna could prophesy. But God is above all, my dear Brenda; and letus pray to him to turn, as he only can, our evil into good."
They did jointly repeat their usual prayer for strength and protectionfrom on high, and again composed themselves to sleep, suffering no wordsave "God bless you," to pass betwixt them, when their devotions werefinished; thus scrupulously dedicating to Heaven their last wakingwords, if human frailty prevented them from commanding their last wakingthoughts. Brenda slept first, and Minna, strongly resisting the dark andevil presentiments which again began to crowd themselves upon herimagination, was at last so fortunate as to slumber also.
The storm which Halcro had expected began about daybreak,--a squall,heavy with wind and rain, such as is often felt, even during the finestpart of the season, in these latitudes. At the whistle of the wind, andthe clatter of the rain on the shingle-roofing of the fishers' huts,many a poor woman was awakened, and called on her children to hold uptheir little hands, and join in prayer for the safety of the dearhusband and father, who was even then at the mercy of the disturbedelements. Around the house of Burgh-Westra, chimneys howled, and windowsclashed. The props and rafters of the higher parts of the building, mostof them formed out of wreck-wood, groaned and quivered, as fearing to beagain dispersed by the tempest. But the daughters of Magnus Troilcontinued to sleep as softly and as sweetly as if the hand of Chantreyhad formed them out of statuary-marble. The squall had passed away, andthe sunbeams, dispersing the clouds which drifted to leeward, shone fullthrough the lattice, when Minna first started from the profound sleepinto which fatigue and mental exhaustion had lulled her, and, raisingherself on her arm, began to recall events, which, after this intervalof profound repose, seemed almost to resemble the baseless visions ofthe night. She almost doubted if what she recalled of horror, previousto her starting from her bed, was not indeed the fiction of a dream,suggested, perhaps, by some external sounds.
"I will see Claud Halcro instantly," she said; "he may know something ofthese strange noises, as he was stirring at the time."
With that she sprung from bed, but hardly stood upright on the floor,ere her sister exclaimed, "Gracious Heaven! Minna, what ails yourfoot--your ankle?"
She looked down, and saw with surprise, which amounted to agony, thatboth her feet, but particularly one of them, was stained with darkcrimson, resembling the colour of dried blood.
Without attempting to answer Brenda, she rushed to the window, and casta desperate look on the grass beneath, for there she knew she must havecontracted the fatal stain. But the rain, which had fallen there intreble quantity, as well from the heavens, as from the eaves of thehouse, had washed away that guilty witness, if indeed such had everexisted. All was fresh and fair, and the blades of grass, overchargedand bent with rain-drops, glittered like diamonds in the bright morningsun.
While Minna stared upon the spangled verdure, with her full dark eyesfixed and enlarged to circles by the intensity of her terror, Brenda washanging about her, and with many an eager enquiry, pressed to knowwhether or how she had hurt herself?
"A piece of glass cut through my shoe," said Minna, bethinking herselfthat some excuse was necessary to her sister; "I scarce felt it at thetime."
"And yet see how it has bled," said her sister. "Sweet Minna," sheadded, approaching her with a wetted towel, "let me wipe the bloodoff--the hurt may be worse than you think of."
But as she approached, Minna, who saw no other way of preventingdiscovery that the blood with which she was stained had never flowed inher own veins, harshly and hastily repelled the proffered kindness. PoorBrenda, unconscious of any offence which she had given to her sister,drew back two or three paces on finding her service thus unkindlyrefused, and stood gazing at Minna with looks in which there was more ofsurprise and mortified affection than of resentment, but which had yetsomething also of natural displeasure.
"Sister," said she, "I thought we had agreed but last night, that,happen to us what might, we would at least love each other."
"Much may happen betwixt night and morning!" answered Minna, in wordsrather wrenched from her by her situation, than fl
owing forth thevoluntary interpreters of her thoughts.
"Much may indeed have happened in a night so stormy," answered Brenda;"for see where the very wall around Euphane's plant-a-cruive has beenblown down; but neither wind nor rain, nor aught else, can cool ouraffection, Minna."
"But that may chance," replied Minna, "which may convert it into"----
The rest of the sentence she muttered in a tone so indistinct, that itcould not be apprehended; while, at the same time, she washed theblood-stains from her feet and left ankle. Brenda, who still remainedlooking on at some distance, endeavoured in vain to assume some tonewhich might re-establish kindness and confidence betwixt them.
"You were right," she said, "Minna, to suffer no one to help you todress so simple a scratch--standing where I do, it is scarce visible."
"The most cruel wounds," replied Minna, "are those which make no outwardshow--Are you sure you see it at all?"
"O, yes!" replied Brenda, framing her answer as she thought would bestplease her sister; "I see a very slight scratch; nay, now you draw onthe stocking, I can see nothing."
"You do indeed see nothing," answered Minna, somewhat wildly; "but thetime will soon come that all--ay, all--will be seen and known."
So saying, she hastily completed her dress, and led the way tobreakfast, where she assumed her place amongst the guests; but with acountenance so pale and haggard, and manners and speech so altered andso bewildered, that it excited the attention of the whole company, andthe utmost anxiety on the part of her father Magnus Troil. Many andvarious were the conjectures of the guests, concerning a distemperaturewhich seemed rather mental than corporeal. Some hinted that the maidenhad been struck with an evil eye, and something they muttered aboutNorna of the Fitful-head; some talked of the departure of CaptainCleveland, and murmured, "it was a shame for a young lady to take on soafter a landlouper, of whom no one knew any thing;" and thiscontemptuous epithet was in particular bestowed on the Captain byMistress Baby Yellowley, while she was in the act of wrapping round herold skinny neck the very handsome owerlay (as she called it) wherewiththe said Captain had presented her. The old Lady Glowrowrum had a systemof her own, which she hinted to Mistress Yellowley, after thanking Godthat her own connexion with the Burgh-Westra family was by the lass'smother, who was a canny Scotswoman, like herself.
"For, as to these Troils, you see, Dame Yellowley, for as high as theyhold their heads, they say that ken," (winking sagaciously,) "that thereis a bee in their bonnet;--that Norna, as they call her, for it's nother right name neither, is at whiles far beside her right mind,--andthey that ken the cause, say the Fowd was some gate or other linked inwith it, for he will never hear an ill word of her. But I was inScotland then, or I might have kend the real cause, as weel as otherfolk. At ony rate there is a kind of wildness in the blood. Ye ken veryweel daft folk dinna bide to be contradicted; and I'll say that for theFowd--he likes to be contradicted as ill as ony man in Zetland. But itshall never be said that I said ony ill of the house that I am saenearly connected wi'. Only ye will mind, dame, it is through theSinclairs that we are akin, not through the Troils,--and the Sinclairsare kend far and wide for a wise generation, dame.--But I see there isthe stirrup-cup coming round."
"I wonder," said Mistress Baby to her brother, as soon as the LadyGlowrowrum turned from her, "what gars that muckle wife dame, dame,dame, that gate at me? She might ken the blude of the Clinkscales is asgude as ony Glowrowrum's amang them."
The guests, meanwhile, were fast taking their departure, scarcelynoticed by Magnus, who was so much engrossed with Minna's indisposition,that, contrary to his hospitable wont, he suffered them to go awayunsaluted. And thus concluded, amidst anxiety and illness, the festivalof Saint John, as celebrated on that season at the house ofBurgh-Westra; adding another caution to that of the Emperor ofEthiopia,--with how little security man can reckon upon the days whichhe destines to happiness.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] I cannot suppress the pride of saying, that these lines have beenbeautifully set to original music, by Mrs. Arkwright, of Derbyshire.
[13] The celebrated Sortes Virgilianae were resorted to by Charles I. andhis courtiers, as a mode of prying into futurity.