The Weird Of The Wentworths Volume Ii Part 23

"Old man, were I capable of breaking my word, I were capable of breaking my oath too!"

"It matters not; you cannot leave without swearing."

"Listen; a peer of England, even in Court, swears only by his honour.

You little know the worth of a peer's word; his pledged, inviolate word is the most solemn promise he can give. I give that, and my oath were not a surer pledge."

"I believe you. You may then go. Good night, my Lord. You will never again see me; but be sure of this, it was only the hospitality, the goodness, and generosity of your character saved you too from falling a victim to my snares. I can see and approve the better, whilst I follow the worse. I have not forgot that in my school-training. Farewell!"

"Farewell," said the Earl, as the old man disappeared behind the black curtain once more, "and I shall not offend you by wishing you may turn to some better occupation."

When Bill had disappeared, the Earl sat down, and, bending his eyes on the ground, he began to recapitulate in his mind the extraordinary events and the _eclairciss.e.m.e.nt_ he had heard that evening, whilst he waited for his guide. His thoughts also reverted to the Countess as he looked at his watch, and found it was not very far from nine o'clock, and he began to think she would indeed have cause for anxiety. From his reverie he was awoke by a soft foot approaching, and, looking up, he saw Leonora close beside him. She seemed to read in his face he knew the secret, and as he exclaimed, "Leonora, my child," threw herself into her father's arms.

"And you know now who I am, and why I loved you so well, and are come to take me from this dreadful place?"

"Alas! my child, I do know who you are; I do know you are my daughter, child of one who was worthy better things than my false love, and believe me, I shall ever dearly regard you as such. But I cannot, much as I wish it, take you from this bad place; I have given my word I will not by any means entice you to leave with me."

"And why did you give your promise?"

"Without it I should not be able to leave this cave; it was extorted from me, Leonora; but as I have given my word I cannot, under any pretext, break it, and did I do so, I believe in this lawless country it would be of little avail. But at least, Leonora, you know you have one who loves you dearly, and if ever you are without a friend, you have a friend and a father in me."

A shadow of deep disappointment pa.s.sed over Leonora's brow.

"It is too bad!" she cried, striking her hands together with Italian gesture. "What power has that cruel, bad, relentless man over me? Dark and cruel as my uncle there was" (pointing to the coffin), "he was not so dreadful as the old man; but I will run away! I will throw myself on the King's protection and yours! I will--"

"Hush, Leonora, for heaven's sake! you will be overheard. At least so far I will stoutly defend you as a suppliant; but to-night it must not be; for, dear as you are,--dearly as I should love to see you ever beside me, and thus in a way pay back the debt of grat.i.tude the Countess and I owe to your mother,--I must not do more than follow you home to-night; but shall, you may be sure, try all expedients on your behalf that do not in any way compromise my honor given."

"I am sure you will, my father," said Leonora, pressing his hand to her lips. "I do so long to see my sister, that I feel quite sad at the delay; and I so long to show how I will love you, and the Countess, and Lady Augusta, that to be obliged to stay here among murderers and wicked men is very sad."

"It is indeed, my child; but we will pray that G.o.d will overrule it to your advantage. And now I must ask you to hasten my departure, or else my wife and your sister will grow quite alarmed: we have a long way to travel, and shall have plenty of time to speak by the way."

"You must then be blindfolded again--you will not fear your guide's faith now?" said the young girl, as she drew the scarf across her arm and folded it, with a sad smile.

"I shall not, indeed; but first I must take a parting glance at my poor misguided brother. Ah, Leonora! you cannot think what different feelings arise in my mind as I look on that cold form. As each of my race fall away in their prime, a link is broken--a blank, nothing can fill, made; and it seems like a warning voice to me that my turn must soon come!--that I should be preparing for my last change. I hope I am prepared, Leonora: and how I hope we shall all be brought to the narrow pleasant paths of righteousness! To-day I have lost and found a brother; and it makes my heart bleed to think what and who he is. But I forgot--you know nothing of these things: how much I seem to have before me!"

Intently, for some time after he had ceased speaking, did the Earl gaze on the face that was dead. His thoughts are unutterable--not to be written: that they were intense and burning his face showed; the expression sometimes approached to that of torture,--as if he was forced to credit what he least wished to believe.

He laid his hand on the marble brow of his brother; its coldness shot a thrill through his frame; and then he turned away as though utterly cast down, and sickened in heart and soul, and with a choking voice bade Leonora bind the scarf across his eyes, glad to have the sight veiled from his view. As he stooped to allow the maiden to do so, she heard him sigh deeply; and, as she bound the Indian fabric across his eyes, she saw more than one heavy tear glide down his cheek, and drop on the folds of her scarf. She felt an answering weakness within herself, and the tears flowed faster down her cheek, as she took her parent's hand and led him on silently.

CHAPTER XIX.

"Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal availed on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh; Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word--farewell!--farewell!"--_Byron._

Not a word was spoken either by the Earl or Leonora during their pa.s.sage through the same long caves by which they had entered. The heart of each was too full for speech. Poor Leonora's dreams of liberation from a life she abhorred were for the present gone. It was, perhaps, the worst and darkest hour her young life had yet met. The shadow of the first cloud seems dreariest, as it sweeps over the sun-lit meadows; the darkness of the first sorrow is deepest, as it spreads a shadow over youth's sunny brow. By-and-by the eye gets accustomed to the frequent clouds; and in later years the stream of sorrows, often pa.s.sing over the heart, leaves such a stony track behind, the quickness of its sensitiveness is destroyed, calloused, deadened; and what would once have crushed, scarce draws forth a pa.s.sing sigh.

Whatever were Leonora's feelings, they were then fresh, poignant, and her woe seemed almost heavier than she could bear. Still she had a consolation;--she had hope! Hope that better, brighter days were in store; hope that rose buoyant over the waves of sorrow: and she was in this the happiest of the twain!

Lord Wentworth's thoughts were darker. It was but an hour or two since he had tracked the path he now trode: but in that hour what a ma.s.s of strange adventure and harsh truth had been compressed! That s.p.a.ce of time had been the most remarkable era in his life; that hour or two had not only enlightened him on the past in a way he could not have dreamed of, but, as it were, undone all his life. He left that cave a different man; all his ideas--all his thoughts--had undergone a change. As the earthquake in a few dread moments overturns the labours of centuries, so had the tale he had listened to overthrown the structure of his mental economy. Not only had a system of intrigue been divulged, but he had been shown how, unwittingly, he had sailed all his life under false colours. The real Earl of Wentworth he was no longer; it had been no fault of his, but he felt he was not any more the man he had been, and he felt displeased that he had so long usurped a false character.

Then he had been made the residuary of a secret in such a questionable way he scarce knew what to think. He had only to destroy those fatal papers, forge an excuse for his absence, live as he had lived, and no being would ever be the wiser;--or, if the treason did come out, it would be impossible to furnish proofs. The Earl banished such thoughts almost as soon as created in his mind, as unworthy of him. Come what might, he would ever be the true man!--he could not endure the thought of bearing a false reputation, or depriving another of his rights.

He would do nothing rashly: calm consideration, quiet, and time, were indispensable; and the matter _should_ have his calm thoughts,--his time,--his whole mental powers. Beyond this, the case would be one which involved much more in a legal point of view; for, although it might be possible to prove that Edward L'Estrange was Viscount de Vere, and in his own right Earl of Wentworth, by his career he had forfeited all t.i.tle to such honours.

He was a felon by the laws of his country,--a man outlawed, and lying under the ban of G.o.d and his fellow-creatures. The point at issue was this: had his marriage been a legal one?--had he any family? For incontestably, could this be proved, then the Earl was no longer so; but the son or daughter of this marriage would succeed to the t.i.tle, and himself drop into Mr. de Vere.

Lord Wentworth was a man, and felt keenly the degradation of such an issue--it was gall and wormwood to him. Though by blood L'Estrange was his brother, had he in any way merited his love? Had he not been his rival--his bitter enemy through life? And this rival--this enemy--was able to deprive him of his name, his wealth, his future peace!--and all depended on these records he held in his hand. No wonder, as he pa.s.sed across the thin bridge on his way out, and heard the thundering torrent foaming and swirling beneath, he felt tempted to drop the fatal budget into the wild waters, and trust the secret to the keeping of the waves.

We are glad to say his better feelings overcame the trial, and he bore up under a temptation, it is not too much to say, half the world would have succ.u.mbed to.

"No," he thought, "I will let law take its course, it were mean not to hear both sides."

The two pa.s.sed the bridge, and soon afterwards arrived at the spot where they had left their horses, when Leonora unbound her father's eyes. The face of Nature had changed since he was there bound two hours ago; the moon had reached her zenith, a few only of the brighter stars shone out, the air had gradually cooled till it was beyond freshness, and the Earl wrapt his cloak tighter round him.

Leonora blew her whistle--it was instantly answered,--a bandit broke through the woods leading two horses: they were not the same, but equally well bred, and richly caparisoned.

After a.s.sisting Leonora to mount, the Earl was soon firmly seated in his own saddle, and, giving a douceur to the man, followed Leonora slowly up the steep acclivity till they regained the road, and the scene of the morning's a.s.sault. He was surprised to find all the bodies had disappeared; the two poles were there--their burdens gone! the marks of the fray were still visible, the bodies of the disputants gone.

"What have they done with them?" he asked Leonora, pointing to the spot.

"They have taken them to the cave," answered the girl, "where they will be buried; it is not usually done--but there is fear of discovery now--so they have obliterated all marks."

"Leonora," said the Earl; "I can now talk freely with you. Do you know Naples? do you ever go there? I have my reasons for asking."

"I know Napoli well," replied Leonora, "and I believe our band, at least part of it, is going to travel thither shortly. I can go with them, they will not suspect; but why do you ask me?"

"Because," said he, "though I promised not to beguile you away--yet if you hate your present style of life, and fly to my villa at Naples--the Villa Reale--I see not how I shall compromise myself by offering you a safe asylum there, or taking you to England. However, I must have time to think it over, and I will try the power of gold on the old man."

"Alas! he cares little for money."

"Perhaps so, yet some of his band may not care so little: my first step towards your liberation must be getting a communication with you; I can always be found out, you cannot; so by your coming to me only we can fix a line of connecting link between us."

"I see," said Leonora; "but we should press on; it grows late, and your friends will get alarmed."

"True, my child, let us hurry forward."

With the words he spurred his horse into breathless speed, and side by side the two fleet animals spurned the light sand, and after a long ride reached the myrtle grove from whence they had started. The two dismounted, and then came the farewell; it may seem to some such a farewell would not be difficult, for, whatever the relationship between the two might be, they had in the course of their life been but slightly thrown together: it was not the case; each dreaded the moment, each tried to defer it, but come it must at last; and perhaps the quicker such separations are got over the better for those most concerned in them! It was no common separation--no ordinary farewell: they parted as father and child may for India, knowing they may never see each other again, for Leonora had told the Earl she was never more to meet him as the flower girl of his morning excursions, and she knew not whether she should ever be permitted to see him more; from all they knew of Bill Stacy this was extremely likely, and added much to the bitterness of parting. They never did gaze again on each other's eyes--it was the last parting here below.

"You are not going again to the Val," he said, still lingering; "could you not stay to-night with us?"

"No, it is impossible; there are those near who would prevent any such move! I am a slave yet; but I do not go back; we have many lurking places nearer you than you would believe."

"And I am to see you no more, my poor child,--you are never more to greet me with flowers, and brighter smiles, in the Val?"

"No more; indeed it will be long ere bright smiles lighten my face; but though you do not see me, you will know I love you, and if I live, I live to think of you, and all who are dear to you and me, and when I die, my last thought will be you!"