The Huguenot Part 53

"It is Du Bar and the rest," said he, in a low voice, to one of the gentlemen near him. "I have a very great mind to stay here, and try to punish that fellow for his insolence. I could swim that little bit of sea in a moment, and the drawbridge once in our possession, the castle would be ours."

"Count, Count," shouted the officer of the guard from the fortress-side of the drawbridge "for G.o.d's sake make haste and ride back. I hear that governor of ours giving orders for charging the cannon with grape. He will fire upon you as sure as I am alive, for he sent word to the Chevalier d'Evran last night that he would do so."

"I thank you, Sir, for your courtesy," replied the Count calmly.

"Under these circ.u.mstances, my friends, it is better for us to so back."

The other officers put their horses into a quick pace, and they rode on; but they had scarcely gone a hundred yards when the cannon of the castle opened a fire of grape upon them. The shot, however, flew over their heads, as they were too near the walls to be easily hit, except from the drawbridge, where the Count could see preparations being made for following up the same course. At the same moment, however, he pulled up his horse, exclaiming, "Good G.o.d, that is not the Marquis du Bar: it is the Chevalier d'Evran!"

The officers who were with him paused also, and to their surprise, and somewhat to their consternation, perceived that, shut in as they were by the sea on two sides, and by the fortress on another, the only open ground before them was occupied by the Commander-in-chief of the royalist forces, with a numerous staff, and a small escort of cavalry.

"We have nothing for it, my friends," said the Count de Morseiul in a low, calm tone, "but to surrender; it is evident our men have capitulated in the village. Let us ride on and meet them."

Thus saying he spurred on his horse, while the Chevalier d'Evran galloped forward on his side, waving his hat, and shaking his clenched fist towards the people on the walls of the fort. They either did not recognise him, however, or did not choose to obey his commands; and before he and the Count de Morseiul met, a second discharge of grape-shot took place from the cannon of the castle. At the same moment the Count de Morseiul beheld the Chevalier d'Evran suddenly check up his horse, press his hand upon his side, and fall headlong to the ground, while one of the horses of the Count's party was killed upon the spot, and an officer of the Chevalier's staff fell wounded, but rose up again immediately.

The Count galloped eagerly on to the spot where he had seen the Chevalier d'Evran fall, and the memory of long friendship came painfully back upon his heart. Before he had reached the group of soldiers and officers, however, five or six men had raised the unfortunate commander from the ground, and were bearing him rapidly back towards the village. So eagerly were those who remained conversing together, and so fully occupied with their own thoughts, that the Count de Morseiul might, to all appearance, have pa.s.sed by them without opposition or inquiry; but he himself drew in his rein, demanding, "Is he much hurt?"

"Alas! Monsieur de Morseiul," replied the officer, who seemed to be next in command, "he is dead! Killed on the spot by that infernal shot! and a n.o.bler gentleman, or better soldier, never lived. But some of your own people are killed also; are they not?"

"One of the horses only, I believe," replied the Count. "Pray, may I ask how all this has happened?--Poor Louis!"

"Ride on, ride on, Charliot," said the officer, speaking to one of his own men before he answered the Count, "that scoundrel will fire upon us again. Tell him I will hang him over the drawbridge if he fires another shot Monsieur de Morseiul, I will explain all this as we ride back, for you will have but little time to make your arrangements.

Scarcely half an hour ago as Monsieur d'Evran and the rest of us were reconnoitring pretty close to your camp, a party of your men came out and offered to capitulate on certain terms, which the Chevalier instantly agreed to, and they gave us possession of the gate and the corps de garde. Just at that moment, however, came up Monsieur du Bar, who remonstrated somewhat angrily with the Chevalier on signing a capitulation with the men, when he had given the officers a truce of five hours to consider of his terms. He represented that in those five hours all the gentlemen named in the proscribed list might have made their escape. On that the Chevalier replied, that he intended to take no advantage; that the truce should be held to exist notwithstanding the capitulation; and that every gentleman on that list might act exactly as he pleased, without any one trying to impede him. He could not suffer them, of course, to pa.s.s through our camp; but if they could escape by sea they might. He said, however, that he wished to speak with this Le Luc, and that he would take the liberty of riding down through the village. Du Bar then asked if he intended to bid Le Luc fire on the boats or ships. He answered quite the contrary; that his only intention was to supersede him in his command, and put an officer in his place who would keep the truce to the letter. You have, therefore, yet four hours nearly, to do what you will in, Monsieur de Morseiul; for I, of course, taking the Chevalier's command, shall maintain all his arrangements, and act in their full spirit."

The Count had listened sadly and attentively, and when the royalist officer had done speaking, he replied that by his leave he would ride on as fast as possible to the village, and consult with his companions.

"Do so! do so!" answered the other; "and now I think of it, I had better go on to the fort, and put the Chevelier's intentions in execution. For this firing upon you may be considered already a breach of the truce. I shall find you on my return; and at the little auberge you will meet with an English gentleman most anxious to speak with you." Thus saying, he turned again towards the fort, and the Count, with a sad heart, rode back to the village.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE BITTER PARTING.

Just at the entrance of the village, the Count met with his companion Du Bar.

"Have you heard all?" demanded that officer. "What is to be done?"

"Get the boats ready with all speed," replied the Count. "The tide will turn within half an hour, the ships will be able to come farther in. Twenty or thirty persons may get off in the first boats, which must come back again for a second freight. I see clearly, my friend, that there is no intention of dealing harshly with us. All the officers wish us to escape, and there will be no more firing from the castle. I must leave the embarkation, and all that, to you, Du Bar, for I have things to go through that will try my heart to the utmost.

I must have a few minutes to make up my mind to parting with my friends and companions, and all that I love on earth, forever.--Du Bar," he continued, while the other wrung his hand affectionately, "there will be a young lady who will accompany you, and that girl, the daughter of poor Virlay. You have a wife and children yourself, whom you love, I know, fondly and devotedly. They are in safety, you told me, on those opposite sh.o.r.es which I shall never see. But let me beseech you,--by the memory of these dark and terrible days, when the hand that now presses yours is laid in the dust, as I know too well must soon be the case,--let me beseech you, I say, to give every aid and a.s.sistance to those two that I now commit to your charge. Be to the one as a brother, Du Bar, and to the other as a father. I know you to be honest and true as you are brave and wise; and I shall lay my head upon the block with more peace at my heart, if you promise me that which I now ask."

"I do, I do," replied the Marquis, with the tears standing in his eyes. "I do promise you, from my heart, and I would fain persuade you even now to consider----"

But the Count waved his hand and rode on.

There was a considerable crowd round the entrance of the little inn, and he had some difficulty in making his way in. At the door of the room where he had fixed his own quarters, he found two or three of the royalist soldiers; but, pa.s.sing by them, he entered the room, when a sight met his eye which might well chill and wring his heart.

The room was nearly empty, but stretched upon the long table, which occupied the midst, was the fine n.o.ble form of the Chevalier d'Evran, now still in death. Standing near the head of the body, was the old English officer, Sir Thomas Cecil, with an air of deep stern grief upon his fine and striking countenance. His hat was off, showing his white hair, his arms were crossed upon his chest, his head was erect as ever, and nothing like a tear was in his eye: but there was no mistaking the expression of his countenance. It was that of intense sorrow. But on the other side of the table grief was displaying itself in a different manner, and in a different form. For there knelt Clemence de Marly, with her beautiful head bent down over the dead body; her hair, fallen from its bindings, scattered wildly, partly over her own shoulders, partly over the breast of the Chevalier; her left hand clasping that of the dead man, her eyes and face buried on his bosom, while the convulsing sobs that shook her whole frame, told how bitterly she was weeping.

The Count paused with a look of deep sadness: but there was no anger or jealousy in his countenance. The old English officer, however, as soon as he perceived him, hurried forward, and took both his hands, saying, in a low and solemn voice, "You must let her weep, Count, you must let her weep! It is her brother!"

"I have been sure of it for several days," replied the Count. "She told me not, but I knew it from what she did tell me. This day of agony, however, Sir, is not yet over. I must disturb her grief but to waken her to more. You know the short time that is allowed for flight.

You know the fate that would await her here if she were to remain in this country as what is called a relapsed heretic, by the cruel persecutors of this land. Within two hours from this time, my good Sir, she must take her departure for ever. The boats will be ready, and not a moment must be lost; and in those two short hours she must part with one who loves her as well as ever woman yet was loved, with one who truly believes she loves him as well as woman's heart can love--and who shall say where is the boundary of that boundless affection? She must part with him, Sir, for ever, and with her native land."

"This is not her native land," replied the old officer. "The lady Clemence Cecil, Sir, is an English woman. But in one respect you say true. My poor niece must go, for I have experienced in my own person, as you know, now daring is the injustice of arbitrary power in this land, in the prisons of which, I, an English subject, have been detained for more than a year and a half, till our own papistical and despotic King chose to apply to your despot for my liberation, and for the restoration of my brother's children. She must leave this land indeed. But your words imply that you must stay behind. Tell me, tell me, my n.o.ble friend, is this absolutely necessary, in honour and in conscience?"

The Count grasped his hand, and pointed to the dead body. "I promised him," he said, "who lies there, that I would surrender myself to the King's pleasure. I have every reason to believe, that, in consideration of that promise, he dealt as favourably with us as he was permitted; that he even went beyond the strict line of his duty to give us some facilities of escape; and I must hold my promise to the dead as well as if he were here to claim it."

"G.o.d forbid," said Sir Thomas Cecil, "that I should say one word against it, terrible as is your determination--for you must well know the fate that awaits you. It seems to me that there was only that one act wanting, to make you all that our poor Clemence ought to love on earth, at the very moment she is to lose you for ever. See, she is raising her head. Speak to her, my friend, speak to her!"

The Count advanced and threw his arms round her. He knew that the grief which she felt was one that words could do nothing to mitigate, and the only consolation that he offered was thus by pressing her fondly to his heart, as if to express that there was love and tenderness yet left for her on earth. Clemence rose and wiped; way her tears, for she felt he might think that some doubt of his affection mingled with her grief for her brother, if she suffered it to fall into excess.

"Oh, Albert," she said, "this is very terrible. I have but you now----"

A hesitation came over the Count de Morseiul as she spoke those words, gazing tenderly and confidingly upon him: a hesitation, as to whether he should at once tell her his determination, or not let her know that he was about to remain behind, till she was absolutely in the boat destined to bear her away. It was a terrible question that he thus put to his own heart. But he thought it would be cruel not to tell her, however dreadful might be the struggle to witness and to share.

"Alas, Clemence," he replied, "I must soon trust you, for a time at least, to other guidance, to other protection than my own. The boats are preparing to carry off a certain number of our friends to England.

You must go in one of them, Clemence, and that immediately. Your n.o.ble uncle here, for such I understand he is, Sir Thomas Cecil, will protect you I know, and be a father to you. The Marquis du Bar, too, one of the n.o.blest of men, will be to you, as a brother."

Clemence replied not, but gazed with a look of deep, earnest, imploring inquiry in the countenance of her lover, and after a moment he answered that look by adding, "I have given my promise, Clemence, to remain behind!"

"To death, to death!" cried Clemence, casting herself upon his bosom, and weeping bitterly, "you are remaining to die. I know it, I know it, and I will never quit you!"

The Count kissed her tenderly, and pressed her to his heart; but he suffered not his resolution to be shaken. "Listen to me, my Clemence,"

he said. "What may be my fate I know not: but I trust in G.o.d's mercy, and in my own uprightness of intentions. But think, Clemence, only think, dear Clemence, how terrible would be my feelings, how tenfold deep and agonising would be all that I may have to suffer, if I knew that, not only I myself was in danger, but that you also were in still greater peril. If I knew that you were in imprisonment, that the having followed the dictates of your conscience was imputed to you as a crime; that you were to be tormented by the agony of trial, before a tyrannical tribunal, and doomed to torture, to cruel death, or to eternal imprisonment. Conceive, Clemence, conceive how my heart would be wrung under such circ.u.mstances. Conceive how to every pang that I may otherwise suffer would be added the infinite weight of grief, and indignation, and suspense on your account. Conceive all this, and then, oh Clemence, be merciful, be kind, and give me the blessing of seeing you depart in safety, as a consolation and a support under all that I may have myself to suffer."

Clemence wept bitterly upon his bosom, and the Count soothed her by every endearing and tender word. At length, she suddenly raised her head, as if some new idea had struck her, and she exclaimed, "I will go, Albert. I will go upon one condition, without torturing you more by opposition."

"What is that condition, dear Clemence?" demanded the Count, gazing on her face, which was glowing warmly even through her tears. "What is that condition, dearest Clemence?"

Clemence hid her face again upon his breast, and answered, "It is, that I may become your wife before I quit this sh.o.r.e. We have Protestant ministers here; the ceremony can be easily performed. My uncle, I know, will offer no opposition; and I would fain bear the name of one so n.o.ble and so beloved, to another land, and to the grave, which may, perhaps, soon reunite us."

The Count's heart was wrung, but he replied, "Oh, beloved Clemence, why, why propose that which must not--which cannot be; why propose that which, though so tempting to every feeling of my heart, would cover me with well-deserved shame if I yielded to it?--Think, think Clemence, what would deservedly be said of me if I were to consent--if I were to allow you to become my wife; to part with you at the altar, and perhaps by my death as a condemned criminal, to leave you an unprotected widow within a few days."

Clemence clasped her hands, vehemently exclaiming, "So help me Heaven as I would rather be the widow of Albert of Morseiul, than the wife of any other man that ever lived on earth!"

Sir Thomas Cecil, however, interposed. "Clemence," he said, "your lover is right: but he will not use arguments to persuade you that I may use. This is a severe and bitter trial. The Almighty only knows how it will terminate: but, my dear child, remember that this is no ordinary man you love. Let his character be complete to the last! Do not--do not, by any solicitation of your's, Clemence, take the least brightness from his bright example. Let him go on, my child, to do what he believes his duty at all risks, and through all sacrifices.

Let there not be one selfish spot from the beginning to the end for man to point at; and the Almighty will protect and reward him to whom he has given power to act uprightly to the last;--if not in this world, in another he will be blest, Clemence, and to that other we must turn our hopes of happiness, for here it is G.o.d's will that we should have tribulation."

Clemence clasped her hands, and bent down her eyes to the ground. For several minutes she remained as if in deep thought, and then said, in a low but a firmer voice, "Albert, I yield; and knowing from what is in my own heart, how dreadful this moment must be to you, I will not render it more dreadful by asking you any thing more that you must refuse. I will endeavour to be as calm as I can, Albert;--but weep I must. Perhaps," she added, with a faint, faint smile upon her lips, "I might weep less if there were no hope; if it were all despair: but I see a glimmering for exertion on my part, if not exactly for hope; and that exertion may certainly be better made in another land than if I were to remain here:--and now for the pain of departure. That must be undergone, and I am ready to undergo it rather at once than when I have forgotten my faint resolution. Do you go with me?" she continued, turning to her uncle; "if it be needful that you stay, I fear not to go alone."

Sir Thomas Cecil, however, replied that he was ready to accompany her.

Her maid, Maria, was warned to prepare with all speed; and ere a few more sentences were spoken on either part, the Marquis du Bar came to inform the Count, that the boats were afloat, and the vessels standing in, as far as they could into the bay. The Huguenot gentlemen mentioned in the list of proscription were already on the sh.o.r.e, and not a little eager to be in the first boats to put off. The soldiery were drawn up under arms to await the expiration of the truce; and as the Count and Sir Thomas Cecil led down Clemence, weeping bitterly, to the sands, a murmur of sympathy and compa.s.sion ran through the crowd, and through the ranks of the soldiery, and the gentlemen drew back to give her the first place in the boats. Before they reached the edge, however, the Count, whose eye had been raised for a moment to the vessels, pointed towards them with a smile of satisfaction.

"Gentlemen," he said, looking round, "I am happy to see that you will all be able to get off without risk. Do you not perceive they are sending off their boats for you? Clemence," he said, in a lower voice, "will you go at once, or will you wait till the other boats arrive, and all go together?"

"Let me wait--let me wait," said Clemence, in the same low tone.

"Every moment that my hand touches yours is a treasure."