The Macabre Megapack. Lafcadio HearnЧитать онлайн книгу.
a horseman might be seen at intervals through the foliage.
“He comes!” cried Malvine, turning, with a happy smile, to her father, on whose face was a cheerful expression rarely seen.
The traveller skirted and ascended the hill: the bell at the castle gate sounded, and in a few moments Edgar was folded in the embrace of his noble kinsman.
Less impetuous was the greeting exchanged between the young man and the fair girl, whom he left a child and found now in the bloom of blushing womanhood. The luxuriance of blond hair, that once floated free, was confined by the ribbon worn by Scottish maidens of that day, save one light, neglected ringlet, that fell down her neck almost to the waist; the deep blue eyes that had formerly the wild, unshrinking, though soft boldness of the young fawn, now shot timid glances from their veil of shadowy lashes, or were bent modestly to the ground; the fair cheeks wore an added tint of rose, and the lips a smile that had less of sportiveness, and more of feeling. The charm of gracious youth encircled her as with a sacred spell, forbidding familiar approach.
But as Edgar, with a new-born respect, clasped the hand of his fair cousin, the feeling that sprung to life in his bosom was far warmer than the affection of his boyhood. Admiration—called forth by her surpassing loveliness—was ripening quickly into love.
It was not long ere the secret of his heart was revealed to him; and the rapturous thought came also, that the beautiful girl did not regard him with indifference, and might soon learn to love him. Who else had she, but himself, as companion in her walks, her studies, her gentle tastes? Who else could accompany her as she played the harp, and sang the wild songs of her country? Who else would ride by her side through the forest and bring her flowers, and train her hawks, and read to her tales of ancient lore?
“But whither trends all this?” was the stern question asked by the young man’s conscience. “Shall I lift my eyes to the daughter and sole heir of Davenat? Shall I aspire to her hand?—I, who can cal nothing mine own?—who owe even my sword to her father’s bounty?”
Painfully did the youth brood over these queries; and he answered them as became a man of truth and honor. He resolved to ask permission of his foster-father to go forth again into the world.
This resolution was immediately acted upon. Sir Aubrey listened in surprise to the request, looked earnestly on his young protégé, and asked with mild gravity—what had happened to make him to escape so soon from the house and company of his kinsman.
This inquiry implied a suspicion of ingratitude, or weariness of so lonely a home; and the thought pierced Edgar’s heart. It was better to disclose all his feelings. Better that Sir Aubrey should know and condemn his presumption, than believe him capable of a base forgetfulness of the benefits he had received.
The tale was soon told. The Baron said, at its conclusion—
“Thou know’st, Edgar, I have always loved thee as a son; and were it not that my word is pledged elsewhere, I would myself place my daughter’s hand in thine. Thy lineage is unstained and noble as my own; and thy poverty would not render thee unworthy of Malvine. Thou know’st how long and obstinate has been the feud between our race and the Lords of Marsden, whose domain borders on mine. Lord George—the proudest of all the descendants of that haughty line—sent on his deathbed to entreat my presence. I went—I entered his castle as a foe, deeming that he wished to see me on some matter of business. He offered me his hand and spoke words of reconciliation. He besought me to bestow my daughter on his younger brother, Ruthven, the last representative of the family. Thus the name would be preserved from extinction—for his brother had sworn he would wed no other—and our possessions would be united.
“I had heard naught but good of young Ruthven, who shortly before had set out on his travels. The Marsdens were of a proud, powerful and renowned race. I pledged the hand of Malvine; and from that day she has considered herself the betrothed of the young lord. I learned but the other day from the castellan, that he is expected soon to return home. He will then wed my daughter.”
Edgar looked down for some moments in gloomy silence. At last, with a sudden effort, he said—
“Then I must depart—noble kinsman! Tomorrow—today—”
“Not so!” cried the Baron. “Thy duty, Edgar, is to be a man! Flee not from danger, like a weak, faint-hearted churl! Take the knowledge to thy heart, that she whom thou lovest is happy—her troth being plighted to another; and respect her innocence and truth! She loves thee as a brother: crush down thine ill-fated passion, and be to her a brother, indeed!”
“What do you ask?” faltered Edgar.
“Not more than thou canst accomplish, my true-hearted friend!” answered Sir Aubrey. “Will you deny me this one boon?”
“No!” said the young man; and though the conflict of his soul was evident, so also was the victory he obtained, when, with the dignity of virtuous resolution, he pressed the hand of his benefactor.
After this, Edgar continued to be the joy of the household, though he spent little time alone with Malvine. In the evening circle, he would entertain them with anecdotes of his foreign travel, and the strange countries he had visited. One night, when a storm raved without, and the quiet circle was formed, as usual, in the antique hall, through the crevices of which rushed the wind, flaring the candles, and chilling those who felt it, Malvine observed that Edgar was less cheerful than usual, and that his looks were bent in abstraction upon the ground.
“What aileth my good cousin?” she said, playfully, at length. “You were so merry and full of tales erewhile! Why now are you so grave and silent? ’Tis but ill weather for the season, but there are warm hearts and glowing fires within doors.”
The young man passed his hand across his brow.
“I pray your pardon,” he replied, “that I thus forget myself in gloomy recollections, but the storm conjured up such. It was on such a night, in Italy, that I met with one of those whose like I pray unto Heaven I may never more see!”
“Ha!” exclaimed the Baron, “another adventure! Let us have it, boy! Come, we need some wild tale to enliven this dreary evening!” And Malvine joined her entreaty that he would relate the occurrence.
After a few preliminaries, Edgar proceeded.
“I left Rome when the sickly season was at its height, for an excursion among the mountains of Albania. One day, while riding through a romantic valley, I chanced to overtake a young cavalier whom, at the first glance, I decided to be a countryman of my own.
“I was not mistaken; he was a Scot, of noble birth. We soon became acquainted and as generally happens with those of the same country in a foreign land, warm friends.
“Sir Arthur Dumbrin—that was his name—told me he had lived three years in Italy, and had some weeks before arrived in Rome from Naples. He had lingered there too long; the malaria had planted in his system the seeds of fever, of which he lay for many days ill at Albano. From this illness he had just recovered. This circumstance explained what had at first startled me, producing even a feeling akin to fear—his singular and excessive paleness. His features were fine and well-marked—but his complexion was the hue of death; and there was a look of coldness, or rather of vacancy, in his large black eyes, that sometimes inclined me to believe his mind unsettled by his recent suffering. He invited me to visit him at Albano, where he had just purchased a villa; and called upon me the following day at my lodgings.
“I resided at that time with an elderly woman, of much excellence of character, who had a daughter—Nazarena—of singular loveliness. In the bloom of fifteen, an unspoiled child of nature, the artless innocence that appeared in her face and manners, and in all her actions, was irresistibly engaging. She looked upon all she met as good and true, because she judged others by her own heart, and she thought evil of none. With this cheerful kindliness of disposition, I was surprised to see her shrink back suddenly, with evident and instinctive aversion and terror, when she saw my friend and countryman for the first time. As was natural, I asked the reason of this involuntary repulsion.
“‘His eyes!’