The Mysterious Wanderer Volume Ii Part 3

"In Monsieur de Colline's subsequent interview with Francoise, she avowed her marriage; but he either did not--or would not believe her. He caused her to be confined, and fearing, if she persisted in her declaration of marriage, he could not force her to take the veil; he not only informed her, her lover was dead, but, to further his purpose, that her infant likewise expired soon after its birth. By him it was indeed doomed to expiate, by its death, the supposed fault of its wretched mother: but Providence preserved it for a better fate.

"Francoise, however--her heart nearly broken by the double loss of her husband and child--gladly availed herself of the fate designed her, to escape the reproaches of her father, and the taunts of her sisters, and threw herself into the convent of St. Ursule; where she took the veil at the very time her husband, recovered of his wound, was searching the country to discover her: but Monsieur de Colline had taken his measures too effectually; and at last, supposing her dead, he returned to England. At the old man's death, however, the letters the unhappy Henry had addressed to Francoise, and to him, were discovered by his Confessor; as likewise the Monk who had married them; and as her husband was then living, a dispensation was obtained, and sister Francoise, freed from her vows, returned with my father to England."

"Your father! O G.o.d, my brother!" exclaimed Louise, clasping her hands.

"Tell me, I entreat you, if Francoise de Colline was really my mother!"

Sir Henry appeared confused--distressed: but at last said--"Seek not, my dear girl, the knowledge which cannot add to your happiness, but would plunge me still deeper in the gulf of misery. Your mother lives: and you shall one day know her. The time, alas! will too soon arrive, when every midnight deed must be brought to light: but, till then--let not the hand of Louise level an unnecessary shaft at my bosom!"

Louise could urge no farther; her anxiety to be satisfied on this subject, yielded to the visible concern and agitation her question had occasioned Sir Henry. She sighed, and a pause ensued, from which they were relieved by the Captain requesting her to proceed in her narrative.

"Little more pa.s.sed," continued Louise, "between sister Brigide and Marie, than what I have related. The latter mentioned the miniature found with me, as a proof that must instantly confirm the truth of Brigide's allegation; but Brigide ridiculed the idea. She had seen the miniature, she said, it was not of Francoise: but Monsieur de Colline and his daughter were both too cunning, she added, to leave any proof with me, which must discover them; the miniature was a trinket, by which if ever they chose to reclaim me, they could; but a ring or a seal would have answered the purpose equally the same.--They were here interrupted by the arrival of another nun, with whom they proceeded to the refectory; whilst I, freed from the danger of detection, hastened to the cell of sister Francoise, and, throwing myself into her arms, exclaimed--'I am--I am your child; oh, do not attempt to deceive me, but say that you are indeed my mother!'

"Sister Francoise was at first alarmed at the wildness of my address, but, on my relating the discoveries of the morning, her agitation far exceeded my own.--'No--no, Louise,' she sighed, 'you are not my child: would to heaven that you were: but I am indeed widowed--and childless!'

"She wrung her hands, and, bursting into tears, sunk on her humble couch. I mingled my tears with hers; I strove to soothe her; yet still urged my claim to maternal acknowledgment. She referred me to the miniature:--'The resemblance you bear to it, Louise,' she said, 'must convince you it was done for a parent; but no likeness can be traced in it to me. Cease then to wring my soul by forcing to remembrance, scenes long since pa.s.sed. I love you, Louise; but utterly disclaim all kindred with your blood. Be satisfied then with my affection, nor ever again renew this subject to me or any one!'

"Thus prohibited, I forbore to speak, but sighed in secret over the mystery of my birth; my mind by degrees lost its serenity, and I was apprehended to be in a decline; when the Marchioness de Valois came to the Convent. The friendship of her lovely daughters had before introduced me to her notice; she regarded me with an eye of pity, and proposed my going with her to Montpellier. The worthy St. Claire readily consented; and taking an affectionate leave of her and sister Francoise, for the first time in my life, I re-pa.s.sed the gates of the Convent.

"What were my sentiments of the various objects I beheld, I shall leave to your own conceptions; all indeed was wonder, joy, and amazement! The amiable Marchioness, pleased with my inquiries and remarks, pointed out and explained whatever she thought worthy my notice or regard. She did more: she traced the grief which oppressed me to its source, and wiped the tear of dejection from my cheek. She taught me to look forward with hope, and to rely with confidence on the wisdom of Providence, which, in its own time, would develope the mystery that distressed me. The friendship of this amiable woman, the paternal behaviour of the Marquis, who joined us at Montpellier, and the amus.e.m.e.nts of that celebrated place, to me so novel, soon restored my wonted cheerfulness and health; and, after an absence of three months, I returned to the Convent; where the increased infirmities of mother St. Claire, and a fever with which sister Francoise was seized, called forth all my tenderness and attention.

"They were repaid by the restoration of this mother of my affection, and the mild serenity of the venerable Abbess; who, unalarmed, awaited the hour of dissolution, with a smile of confidence and peace, that antic.i.p.ated the reward of a life pa.s.sed in piety and benevolence. Her fondness for me appeared daily to increase; but, to my great surprise and satisfaction, she no longer urged my taking the vows, or even expressed a wish for my engaging in a monastic life.

"Thus pa.s.sed a twelvemonth, happy as those I had formerly known; when the Marchioness again came to the Convent, to take Victoire and Julie finally from under the care of St. Claire.

"It was then that she declared her intentions in my favour; to which St.

Claire added--'For this reason, my child, I have long ceased importuning you to enter on your probation. You dislike the life of a nun, and, how much soever I wish for your society, I prefer your happiness and real advantage to my own gratification. Here you would be secure from the storms and cares of life; but, from what I have learned respecting sister Brigide, who will undoubtedly be my successor, you could hope for nothing more, save the peace arising from internal religion; and even that, the mother of a sisterhood has it in her power to disturb, though not to destroy. With me, you might experience the happiness a life of religion is calculated to afford; but see, my child,' and she turned a gla.s.s whose last sands were running out, 'my hour is nearly expired! To the Marchioness then I resign you.--Let the religion, the precepts I have inculcated, the example I have given you, prove the guides of your conduct.--Transfer the obedience you have shown me, to her; and may every happiness attend you!'

"Tears of affection and grat.i.tude were my only answer; I could not speak, but, sinking at her feet, hid my face on her knees; the world I had sighed for, faded on my imagination before this instance of her love; and the thoughts of leaving her far outweighed the life of liberty she had awarded me.

"Orders, however, were given for my departure; nor did St. Claire provide for me as the orphan of her charity, but as the child of her tenderest regard. To the former marks of her munificence, she added many valuable presents. 'They will remind you of my lessons, Louise,' she said, 'even in the a.s.semblies of the gay. I shall feel the loss of your attentions, but sister Francoise will supply your place; and remember, my child, whilst I have life, you shall be welcomed here with open arms!'

"All was soon prepared, and receiving her final blessing, with that of sister Francoise, I followed the Marchioness to her carriage.

"We proceeded to Paris, where a continued round of amus.e.m.e.nts for some time banished reflection, and the remembrance of the worthy St. Claire.

Pleasure, however, at length lost its attractions, and only in the friendship of the Marchioness, and a few select families, I found that real satisfaction I had in vain expected in the more brilliant, but dissipated circles of the fashionable world.

"Twelve months had elapsed, since I quitted the Convent; I had repeatedly written to St. Claire and sister Francoise, but never received an answer: and as we were then going to the Marquis's country seat, the Marchioness consented that I should cross the country to Rennes. It was late in the evening when I arrived at the Convent; painfully antic.i.p.ating the intelligence of St. Claire's death: there, instead of the benevolent mild old sister Marthe, who first succoured my helpless infancy, a lay sister I had never seen, attended the summons to the gate, and demanded my business?

"'Is mother St. Claire still living?' I tremulously asked.

"'She has been dead eleven months,' replied the portress; 'and mother St. Brigide is now the head of this Convent. If you wish to speak with her, send in your name and business, and I will endeavour to gain you admittance.'

"'Oh no,' I exclaimed--'not with her: but tell sister Francoise, her child--her Louise, wishes to see her.'

"'Louise--sister Francoise!' she repeated with a frown. 'There is no such sister within these walls.'

"'O G.o.d!' I cried. 'Is she too dead?'

"'I have positive orders,' said the portress, 'not to answer any questions, or take in any message from you.'--She closed the grate: and Jacques hearing what pa.s.sed, of his own accord drove to an hotel, where I pa.s.sed the night in mournful reflections, and the next day, with an oppressed heart, rejoined the Marchioness at Rohan.

"No occurrence happened from that time, till nearly a twelvemonth after, when the Count de Dreux declared himself my admirer. He was nearly fifty--vain, self-sufficient, and affected; but likewise rich; and, for the last consideration, the Marquis advised my encouragement of his addresses: to the Marchioness, however, I avowed my real sentiments respecting him; and she gave him a gentle, but positive refusal. At the same time she undeceived him respecting my birth, by which he had supposed me nearly related to her; and that consideration, I believe, reconciled him to her rejection; but though he ceased to regard me as longer worthy his honourable addresses, he still pursued me, as an object of desire.

"At that time the Marquis was unexpectedly appointed Governor of Pondicherry; for which place he was ordered immediately to depart.

"The Marchioness accompanied him to L'Orient, whither I should likewise have attended her with Victoire and Julie, but indisposition obliged me to remain at the Chateau. The opportunity was too favourable to the projects of the Count, to be neglected; he wrote me a pa.s.sionate letter, with a brilliant offer of settlements, jewels, &c.: of which I did not deign to take the least notice. My silence produced a second, on the supposition that he had not been sufficiently liberal: and he sent a carte blanche. To evince my contempt, I tore the letters, and returned them in a cover; and, as I was surrounded by faithful servants, and two days elapsed without hearing of him, I apprehended no farther molestation or danger.

"On the morning of the third, however, a courier, covered with dust, and apparently fatigued, arrived at the Chateau. He came, he said, from L'Orient, where the Marchioness, who had been overturned in her carriage, was in the most imminent danger. He brought a letter, as he pretended, from her femme-de-chambre, which repeated the information, and begged my immediate presence, as Victoire and Julie were in the greatest affliction.

"Alarmed at this account of my beloved benefactress, I gave orders for a chaise to be instantly prepared; and, without an idea occurring that the tale might be fict.i.tious, a.s.sisted my maid to pack up a change of apparel. The chaise was soon ready, and I set out for L'Orient, attended by Janette, the false courier, and two old servants, who, on hearing the accident which had happened, entreated they might accompany me. We proceeded with great expedition, and were within a few miles of L'Orient, when, on pa.s.sing a thicket, two men on horseback suddenly approached; one stopped the horses, whilst the other, presenting a pistol to Jacques, threatened to shoot him if he offered to proceed. The faithful Gregoire, perceiving the situation of his fellow-servant, would have advanced to his a.s.sistance, but was withheld by the pretended messenger; who seized him by the collar, and a scuffle immediately ensued. A carriage then approached, from which the Count himself alighted; and, opening the door of my chaise, he attempted to force me out. Vain would have been my resistance, had not a sailor, attracted I believe by my screams, darted from the thicket, and with a bludgeon struck the Count to the ground.

"What directly followed, I cannot say, as I fainted; but, as Janette afterwards informed me, the men who first stopped us, seeing their master fall, sprung to defend him, and old Jacques finding himself at liberty, without regarding the sailor who had so gallantly come to our a.s.sistance, or Gregoire, drove off with the utmost velocity.--When I recovered, we were far from the scene of contention; and as Jacques, equally alarmed as myself, still urged the speed of his horses, we soon arrived at L'Orient.

"I found my beloved benefactress well, but dejected from the departure of the Marquis, who had sailed the day before. On relating my tale, she expressed her satisfaction at my escape from the Count; and, convinced the greatest care was necessary to guard me from his machinations, determined in future not to trust me from her own immediate protection.

"Soon after this, Gregoire arrived, and informed us that the men who first stopped us, prepared to pursue me; but were remanded by the valet, on the supposition that the Count was dead.--After some time, however, he showed signs of returning life and sense, and whilst they were replacing him in his carriage, to re-convey him to a seat he possessed near the spot, (whither he had proposed to carry me), the sailor, who had at first been secured, made his escape again into the thicket. As for Gregoire, he was no longer regarded either in a hostile or amicable manner, and accordingly remounted his horse, and followed us to L'Orient.

"The next day we returned to the Chateau, at which place the Marchioness proposed remaining, till the vessel preparing to take the family, should be ready to sail. A month of tranquillity ensued, when we were surprised by a visit from the Count. The obstacles he had met with, it appeared, so far from abating, had added to his desire of obtaining me; but, convinced of the impracticability of either seducing, or forcing me from the protection of the Marchioness, and being, he said, unable to exist without me, he again demanded my hand in marriage. The Marchioness would have urged my accedence to an establishment so brilliant; but, on declaring my utter dislike to him, she yielded, and again gave him a positive refusal.

"The Count, mortified and enraged at my repeated rejections, vowed never to quit the pursuit, till he had, either by honourable or other means, subdued my obduracy. Secure, however, in the friendship of the Marchioness, I equally disregarded his entreaties and threats; and the vessel appointed for us, being fully prepared, and the fleet ready to sail, we bade adieu to France; and I was thus happily freed from the importunities of a troublesome lover."

"Thanks, my dear Louise," said Harland, "for your interesting tale; which, though unmarked with any extraordinary occurrences, proves you to have been truly the child of Providence."

"The child of Providence indeed," repeated Sir Henry, "nor can I sufficiently admire the wisdom of that Power, who directs the most trivial of our actions. Little did I think, when I hastened to your rescue, it was to that of the sister, of whom I was then in search. Your fainting, and the confusion arising from the unlucky blow I gave the Count, prevented me from observing you; and on that n.o.bleman's partial recovery, I was glad to elude the vigilance of his servants, and seek the shelter the luxurious foliage of the thicket afforded."

"And was it you, my brother," said Louise, in a voice of grateful mildness, "who then preserved me from the Count? But what accident conducted you to so solitary a spot? and why in a garb so unsuitable to your station and character?"

"Mrs. Harland has antic.i.p.ated the question, I was in part going to ask Sir Henry," said the Captain; "and as you have raised my curiosity, if you will acquaint us with the particulars of your peregrination in France, which you mentioned when at St. Helena, it will add to the pleasure I have received in hearing the relation of your sister?"

Sir Henry readily complied--"although I have little to recite," he said, "except an action I must ever remember with regret, as a weakness for which one so long inured to sorrow as myself, can offer no excuse."

CHAPTER IV.

"When at St. Helena, I believe I informed you I went from Cardigan to Havre-de-Grace, as a common sailor; I there determined to seek a sister, endeared to me by misfortune as well as the ties of blood; and accordingly directed my steps to Rennes; my whole wealth consisting in the clothes I wore, which were those I obtained by exchange from a lad near Harwich, and the wages arising from my voyage. This little stock, however, was insufficient to bear my expenses, and the last day I travelled without money or food; but hope impelled me forward, and on my arrival at Rennes, I inquired my way to the Convent of St. Ursule. My appearance there was too mean to gain me access to the Abbess, or even procure me a civil answer to the question I asked, whether Louise were living, and residing in the Convent? The portress disclaimed all knowledge of the circ.u.mstance--or the child I alluded to, and finally closed the grate to my face.

"Thus repulsed, I slowly turned from the gate, and directed my steps to an humble _auberge_, where I threw myself on a bench in the yard, in a state of mind painfully depressed. The hope I had indulged to a most sanguine degree of finding Louise, and being acknowledged by her as a brother, and which had cheered me on my journey, and soothed me in my moments of sadness, was thus completely destroyed; nor had I then the least clue to guide me to her.

"Was my sister dead? I asked myself--or had I been deceived?

"The question led to events long since past; busy memory, in vivid colours, brought to view each circ.u.mstance which had progressively involved me in a state of wretchedness, and made me feel with maddening exaggeration a fate I thought unmerited. I was indeed driven by a power I could not oppose, from kindred, friends, and fortune--a wanderer on a foreign sh.o.r.e, without even the means of procuring a single meal to satisfy the wants of nature.--The only prospect before me, was beggary!

"The idea was too much--my pa.s.sions, long restrained, with a violence not to be controlled, o'erburst the bounds of reason; franticly I called for death; cursed the hour that gave me to the arms of my parents; and bade the earth open and bury me for ever in her bosom!

"What inconsistencies I was guilty of, I cannot say; I was unconscious of observation--of all around me!--and such ascendancy did my madness at last attain, that I thought I heard the voice of my father in the breeze, chiding me for living in a world, where I had lost every prospect of happiness.

"The conceit led to self-destruction; and suicide instantly presented itself to my fevered imagination, as affording the oblivion I coveted.