Hildebrand; or, The Days of Queen Elizabeth, An Historic Romance, Vol. 3 of 3 Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  Providence always watches over its votaries. Asleep or awake,the heart that strives against evil, whether in its own erringnature, or the world around, may lean safely on its presence,and depend on its protection. And, if we view the matter truly,we shall find, on reflection, that we all continually reclineon this influence, even when we seem to act under our ownprompture. Pause on the unfathomable mystery of our nature! Themuscular frame, glowing with health--the wonderful mechanism ofthe senses--the sight, that reflects on the hidden fabric of themind, which knows not its own seat, the form and pressure ofoutward images--the hearing, that conveys to the same untraceablecentre the slightest sound--the memory, that records and recallsthe past--the active, profound, and undying thought--all maybe paralysed in a moment. At what time, then, and in whatenterprise, can we rely confidently on our own resources? Ifnever, we are as secure from harm in our sleep, when its approachcannot be seen, as in the wariest period of healthful action.

  Don Rafaele, as we have seen, had found Evaline asleep, and,with a trembling but seemingly resolute hand, had raised hisdagger against her life. But though asleep, Evaline was moresecure under the shadow of that Power to which she had commendedherself, on retiring to rest, than if she had been able to seehis design, and to wrest the dagger from his hand.

  And could Don Rafaele strike her? Oh, no! However headlong mightbe the passion that boiled in his heart, it could not hurry him,at this last pass, over the bound between his thought and theact. It had carried him to the verge of crime; but there, on thevery point of its consummation, the tenderness of his nature cameto the rescue, and he drew back appalled.

  Withdrawing his dagger, he reeled to the door, and passed on tothe outer landing. As he gained that place, a faintness came overhim; and he was obliged, when he had acquired a firm footing, tocome to a pause, and lean back against the wall for support. Butthe weakness was only momentary, though it evidently required aneffort--and one of no common or limited vigour--to overcome it.On recovering himself, he caught up the light, which, previous toentering the chamber, he had left on the landing, and darted upthe stairs to his own dormitory.

  The powerful excitement under which he had been labouring, andwhich had nigh hurried him into such monstrous guilt, seemedrather to abate when he arrived in his chamber; but the abatementarose more from physical exhaustion, than moral alleviation. Hispassion, however, though not a whit less bitter, was not quiteso overpowering. After a little time, indeed, it appeared to besomewhat subdued; and, as reason regained its empire, he burstinto tears.

  He wept long and bitterly; but though his tears, in the end, madehis head ache again, they materially relieved his overchargedheart, and did more to assuage his passion than his most soothingreflections. But whatever might be its nature, that passion wastoo deeply rooted, and, withal, too intimately associated withhis heart’s most cherished aspirations, to be quite overcome;and, though it breathed a less fervid and desperate spirit, itwas still resistless, and occasionally shot promptures throughhis ardent nerves that made him shudder.

  Daylight found him still sitting by his toilet-table, broodingover his fortunes. He never thought of seeking repose; he wasmore wakeful, more animated, more truly and vitally active,except in the single respect of bodily motion, than he had everbeen before.

  As he observed the morning to grow later, he suddenly resolved todescend to the family sitting-room. Accordingly, he started up,and, turning round to the table, first despatched his ablutions,and achieved a brief toilet. He then turned slowly from thechamber, and descended to the lower floor.

  On his arrival at the family sitting-room, the first object thatmet his view, on pushing open the door, was Evaline. She hadclearly heard his step; and whether she had recognised it as his,or supposed it to be that of Hildebrand, a flush of pleasurehad mounted to her face, and her eyes glistened with eagerness.But her agitation became less buoyant when her eye encounteredhis. Perhaps, she remembered, with the native delicacy of hercharacter, that he had seen her accept the love and first caressof Hildebrand, or she might be moved by his wan and afflictiveaspect; but, whatever might be the cause, her beaming cheekswere suffused with a deep blush, and the soft swell of her bosomincreased to a heave. Don Rafaele, on first discerning her, wasnot unmoved himself. He even started as he entered the chamber;but when, on a second glance, he perceived the agitation ofEvaline, he seemed to recover himself, and passed in with a firmstep.

  Evaline rose as he approached, and, though still deeply moved,extended him her hand.

  “I need not to ask of thy health, Senhor,” she said; “for I see,by thy sad and heavy aspect, ’t is no way mended.”

  “But slightly,” replied Don Rafaele, taking her hand, andattempting to smile. “Yet it was not me, I am right sure, thatthou wast looking for but now.”

  Evaline blushed even deeper than before.

  “In sooth, now, ’t was not,” pursued Don Rafaele. “And whereforeshould it be, when, if I be not deluded, thou art so bound to_him_?”

  “I looked not for Captain Clifford just now,” faltered Evaline.“He hath gone into the park for a while.”

  “Thou lovest him well!” returned Don Rafaele. “Yet hadst thouseen him, as I have, in the heat of action, daring peril,displaying his prowess, and overcoming his foes, thou wouldstlove him even yet more.”

  “Oh, no! I could not love him more!” cried Evaline, withoverpowering eagerness.

  Don Rafaele made no reply for a moment.

  “I have heard of maids,” he then said, “whose love did soentirely sway them, that it hath led them into adventuressurpassing belief. So exceeding hath been their devotion, that Ihave oft doubted, on pondering thereon, if it were indeed love,and thought it might be madness.”

  While he thus spoke, his tone grew so sad and mournful, as if insympathy for the infatuated beings he referred to, that Evalinewas moved to the soul.

  “These maids loved indeed,” she said, with a deep sigh.

  “Some of them followed their lovers unknown,” pursued DonRafaele; “and, for their sakes, did bear with great troubles,with fatigues, watchings, dangers, and divers singular hardships.An’ it be true that I have heard, there are no such maids now.”

  Evaline sighed.

  “But, to speak simple sooth, methinks I heard but fables,”continued Don Rafaele; “and such maids have never been.”

  “Oh, say not that, Senhor!” answered Evaline, earnestly. “Beassured, though these maids certainly sustained marvelloustrials, the love of woman, which urged them thereto, was wellable to bear them up, and requite them for their misadventures.”

  “To give up country, kindred, and fortune,” said Don Rafaele;“and, in strange lands, encounter notable perils:--i’faith, ’tisexceeding singular! Couldst thou do as much for _him_?”

  Evaline made no reply.

  “Thou couldst! thou couldst!” resumed Don Rafaele. “’Tis visibleon thy face! But, an’ I be not misled, I hear his step coming;and I will leave you alone.”

  “Nay, stay! stay, I beseech thee!” said Evaline, blushing, and,at the same time, laying her hand gently on his arm.

  Don Rafaele acquiesced, and, with a half-suppressed sigh, turnedto a contiguous chair, and sat down. The step which he had heardapproaching was really Hildebrand’s; and that cavalier, thoughhe had paused at the chamber-door, made his appearance the nextmoment, and entered the chamber.

  His first greeting was addressed to Evaline; but when that wasdespatched, he saluted Don Rafaele also, and inquired anxiouslyafter his health. Though the young Spaniard, in his reply,assured him that he ailed nothing, his looks lent no confirmationto his words, and Hildebrand could not but regard him with theliveliest solicitude. Before he could give expression to hisconcern, however, they were joined by Sir Edgar; and, after a fewwords more, the whole party sat down to breakfast.

  Their meal was still in progress, when Adam Green, who waswaiting in attendance without, entered the chamber with a letter,which he forthwith de
livered to Hildebrand.

  “A serving-man brought it hither, Sir,” he said, “and is nowwaiting below.”

  “Prithee, bid him tarry a while,” answered Hildebrand, acceptingthe letter.

  A glance at the superscription, which was written in a bold andlegible hand, informed him that it was from Sir Walter Raleigh;and, impatient to know its purport, Hildebrand begged leave ofhis friends, and tore it open. It ran thus:--

  “To my right trusty and singular good friend, Hildebrand Clifford, Esquire, at the house of my worshipful friend and neighbour, Sir Edgar de Neville, Knt., Lantwell, Devon, these:--

  “Worthy Master Clifford.--Thou art hereby required, in the face of love, and the fickle dame, Fortune, of whom thou art so excellently favoured, to come hither to me with all despatch, and take to thine old courses at sea. And herein thou wilt bear the commission of our most gracious and dread sovereign, the high and mighty princess, Elizabeth, by whom I have it in command, on mine allegiance, to call thee hither straightway.

  “I prithee commend me to fair Mistress de Neville, to my worshipful friend Sir Edgar, and, with no less heartiness, to the fair youth, Don Rafaele, whom it doth grievously afflict me to pronounce a Spaniard.

  “By the hand of my groom, Robert Wilmay, who hath it in charge to ride posthaste.

  “Given under my hand and seal, at my lodging of Durham House, in the Strand, this 16th day of February, in the year of our Lord God 1588. “WALTER RALEIGH.”

  Hildebrand smiled, though seemingly not with hilarity, as heceased reading the letter, and appeared to deliberate a momenthow he should disclose its contents to his friends. A briefconsideration served to resolve him, and, when his resolutionwas once fixed, he entered on the delicate task without furtherdelay.

  Both Sir Edgar and Evaline, having fully reckoned on his companyfor the remainder of the month, received his communication withgreat disappointment; and, though it was not remarked by any eyebut his, Evaline’s distress was particularly deep. Don Rafaelealone seemed to hear of their departure with pleasure, though hetoo, out of courtesy to their host, disguised his real feelings,and affected to look forward to it with regret.

  Hildebrand’s concern in the matter arose chiefly from anapprehension that, besides injuring his connexion with Evaline,his early departure would prevent his communicating with BernardGray. He was resolved, however, though he did not expect that hewould succeed, to make another attempt to seek out and conferwith that person, and, if he could find him, even inform himof his engagement with Evaline. But, before he could carry hispurpose into effect, it was necessary that he should first replyto the letter of Sir Walter. With the view of despatching this atonce, he shortly desired leave of his friends; and retired to thelibrary, on the floor above where they were sitting, to set itin progress. He had already determined to depart on the morrow;and therefore, on proceeding to give Sir Walter a reply, he hadno question for consideration, but merely to state his purpose.In a short space, he accomplished that object; and, having foldedand addressed his letter, hastened to give it to Sir Walter’smessenger. That person, in spite of the urgent entreaties of AdamGreen, who had exhausted all his rhetoric in imploring him todismount and refresh himself, had remained mounted at the door,and was ready to set out on the instant. Accordingly, directlyHildebrand appeared, he took charge of the letter, and posted off.

  Hildebrand watched him till he had gone out of sight, when, witha quick step, he turned abruptly round, and passed towards thewalk that led to the Lantwell foot-path. Maintaining his quickpace, he soon reached that locality, and thence directed hissteps to the lodging of Bernard Gray.

  The distance was considerable, but, urged by impatience, he neverslackened his pace; and, in about half an hour, the “Angel”alehouse, at which his journey was to end, rose to the view. Aslight knock on the door brought out the proprietress, and, tohis great satisfaction, he learned from that individual thatBernard was at home.

  Without further ado, he passed to Bernard’s chamber. As he openedthe chamber-door, Bernard, who was sitting within, caught aglimpse of his figure, and sprang to meet him with unaffectedeagerness.

  “I was meditating how I should seek thee,” he said, after theirfirst greetings had been despatched. “I have that to say willmake thee glad.”

  “They be famous good tidings, then, Bernard,” answeredHildebrand. “But before thou discoverest them, I must tell theewherefore I kept not my promise with thee, in the matter wedebated at our last meeting; and, therewithal, thank thee for thykindness to Mistress de Neville, whom I so commended to thy goodfavour.”

  “Spare the thanks, and deliver the matter,” returned Bernard.

  “Were it but to have bid thee farewell, then, I would have seenthee before I departed,” replied Hildebrand; “but the truth is, Iwas kidnapped again.”

  “Ah?” cried Bernard. “But I interrupt thee.”

  “After I had left thee in the park,” pursued Hildebrand,“somewhat held me abroad a space longer, and ’twas dark ere Itook me homewards. While I walked carelessly on, some one in myrear, who had been dogging me unseen, struck me a blow with abludgeon, and I fell stunned to the earth.”

  “’Twas Shedlock!” cried Bernard, starting up.

  “Not himself, but two sturdy ruffians, whom he had hired,” saidHildebrand, in continuation. “They had bound me when I regainedmy senses; and were, I found, carrying me off. On clearing thepark, they made for the highway; and there, after a little time,they came to an old farm-waggon; and in this they incontinentlybestowed me. One of them, who seemed the bolder of the two,posted himself by me as a watch; and the other mounted the shaft,and straight drove off.”

  “Whither drove he?” inquired Bernard.

  “We kept on all night,” answered Hildebrand; “and, while it wasyet dark in the morning, we came to Topsham. They drove direct tothe gaol; and, on their instigation, the keeper thereof took mein charge. But I lay not long in a dungeon. After two or threedays, my right worthy friend and patron, Sir Walter Raleigh, ofwhom I have heretofore rendered thee fair mention, came to takeme for a runaway from his plantation, and straight set me free.”

  “This Shedlock is a foul villain,” said Bernard; “yet the Lord isa jealous God, and thou must not avenge.”

  “I am right glad thou think’st so,” returned Hildebrand.

  “Wilt thou forgive him, then?” cried Bernard. “Nay, more! An’ Igive thee that will insure thee thy name, and restore thy sweetmother’s honour, wilt thou suffer him, during the brief while hehas to live, to continue the holder of thy heritage, and thou beonly his heir?”

  Hildebrand bit his lips, and was silent.

  “Thou hesitatest!” observed Bernard. “Oh, how holy are the waysof the Lord, who is able, of his own heavenly will, to make theheart know its malice, and sweeten its thoughts with charity!Blessed be the Lord, who hath had mercy on his servant!”

  As he thus spoke, the eyes of the penitent, no longer gleamingwith enthusiasm, brimmed with tears, and turned gratefullytowards heaven. Hildebrand was moved.

  “I consent, good Bernard,” he said, “and will even try to forgivehim. But how will my acquiescence herein prevail in the matter ofmy succession?”

  “I will tell thee,” answered Bernard.

  And, without further preface, he proceeded, in a low but distincttone, to inform him of his recent interview with Dame Shedlock,and of all the particulars which the dame had then disclosedto him. Although, as his narrative progressed, Hildebrand wasfrequently visibly affected by his words, he interposed noremark, but heard him to an end without interruption. When he hadbrought his communication to a close, however, he broke into apassionate exclamation.

  “I’faith, I owe thee a deep debt of thanks, good Bernard,” headded, “and not in this matter only, but in respect to thyservice to Mistress de Neville. From all I have heard, I knowit was thee, more than my right worthy friend Sir Walter, thatfinally set Sir Edgar at libe
rty. Prithee, how didst thou compassit?”

  “I had done some service to my Lord Treasurer,” replied Bernard,“and I revealed to him the whole business. He threatened me atfirst; but for my service sake, and because he had hushed allinquiry, he let me go free.”

  “Yet is he esteemed marvellous strict in matters of law,”observed Hildebrand.

  “And so is he,” answered Bernard. “When he had extended mepardon, I told him the sad outlines of thy history; and, Ipromise thee, he straight set the _Concealers_, who have beenvery active of late, to inquire into Shedlock’s title to CliffordPlace.”

  “How accountedst thou to him for Shedlock’s possession?” inquiredHildebrand.

  “With the true narration!” answered Bernard. “I told him that,in the days of Popish Mary, Shedlock was thy father’s steward;and that thy father and his house were of the church of God. Thenset I forth how Shedlock, like a second Judas, joined himselfwith the persecutors; how he bargained with them for thy father’slife; and how his treachery was requited with thy father’s land.Further, I discovered to him, what he knew already, how our sweetsovereign’s revival of the faith had made Shedlock repent, andturned him into a Puritan.”

  “Oh, Bernard, how can I ever requite thee?” cried Hildebrand,seizing his hand, and grasping it earnestly. “Should we get theland, ’twill be my first joy to see thee lord of it; and mychildren, an’ I ever have any, shall hold thee as their father.”

  “Wilt thou wed, then?” inquired Bernard, at the same timelooking steadfastly in his face.

  “I fear to tell thee,” answered Hildebrand.

  “No, no!” cried Bernard, shaking his head mournfully, “I willavenge no more! The Lord hath visited his servant; and my heart,which used to burn so, as if the memories of martyrdoms werethemselves fires, hath won the refreshing savour of peace. Thoushalt have her!”

  “Who?” cried Hildebrand. “Evaline de Neville?”

  “Even so,” answered Bernard.

  Hildebrand was silent for a brief space. His joy arrested hisspeech; for in Bernard’s assent to his marriage with Evaline, heconceived that the greatest obstacle to their union, even at anearly period, was now removed. Yet, at that very moment, eventswere in progress, in the hidden course of Providence, which wereto render all his hopes a perfect mockery.

  When he was sufficiently composed to speak, he failed not toreveal to Bernard, without disguise or reservation, all that waspassing in his heart. Bernard entered into his every sympathy;and thus, though they were only speculating on the future, thetime passed in the liveliest intercourse, till Hildebrand rose todepart.

  So much time had been occupied in replying to Sir WalterRaleigh’s letter, and walking to Lantwell, that it was past noonwhen he had arrived at Bernard’s lodging, and, the season beingwinter, it was now quite dark. He still hoped, however, to arriveat the Grange while the night was early; and having taken leaveof Bernard, he set out with more than his average speed, and benthis steps straight homewards.

  Though he had just heard so much to exhilarate him, he was not,on the whole, free from melancholy. As he began to calculatewith more confidence on ultimately winning Evaline, histhoughts would, in spite of himself, turn to other images,and involuntarily remind him of Donna Inez. Had he nothing toreproach himself with in his acquaintance with that lady? Onputting the question to his conscience, he sought, though almostwithout his own perception, to evade it, and to laugh at thecompunctious qualms which it excited. What cavalier of the agewould treat such a gallantry seriously but himself? Regarded inits very worst light, it was no more than a momentary peccadillo;and Inez, no doubt, had by this time quite forgotten it herself,and him also.

  Such was the conclusion he came to as he stepped hastily intoLantwell churchyard. The night was yet early; but all around, asfar as the ear could reach, was still as death, and, though itwas cold, the frosty air scarcely stirred. The moon, which wasin its first quarter, and had been up for some time, was behinda cloud at the moment, but the darkness was not dense; and, ashe passed along, he could plainly distinguish the white tops ofthe several grave-posts, scattered here and there over the area.A few rapid strides brought him abreast of the church vestry, infront of which, in the angle between it and the transept, was thegrave of his parents. Full of filial feelings, he was about toturn a glance on that quarter, when a low, broken sound, like ahalf-suppressed sob, broke on his ear. The sound came from hisparental grave, and, though not without some trepidation, hehastily turned his eyes thitherwards.

  The figure of a female was standing by the grave-post, with herback towards him, arrayed in deep black. As Hildebrand observedit, a feeling of awe, which the superstitions prevalent amongmariners were well calculated to induce, rose in his bosom; andsomething whispered him, in a tone that thrilled through hissoul, that the figure was the spirit of his mother.

  Would his mother appear to him in enmity? Would she who hadgiven him birth--who, during her life, had nursed and cherishedand sustained him, and who could no longer be influenced by anyearthly passion, burst the iron laws of nature to injure heronly son? Surely, not! Yet his heart, which had been unmoved bythe roar of hostile cannon, and had braved death in a hundreddreadful shapes, ran cold with horror; his hair rose on end; andhis lips quivered so excessively that he could hardly bring themto pronounce, in an intelligible and distinct tone, that terribleand resistless name, which both the quick and the dead must obey.

  A cold perspiration broke through his skin, as he observed thathis exclamation, though indistinctly uttered, had been heard bythe mysterious figure, and caused her to turn round. At the samemoment, the moon, bursting from the cloud which had obscured it,poured forth its full light, and disclosed to him, in the paleface of the woman, not the scarcely-remembered features of hismother--but those of Donna Inez!

  A dimness came over his eyes at this discovery; and the chillof horror that crted over his brain, like a rush of cold blood,fairly made him reel. But, by a desperate effort, he got themastery of his weakness; and his eyes, again effective, turned onthe grave once more. The figure had disappeared!

  Was it an illusion? Had he, for all the testimony of his senses,been the sport of a mere imagination, and really seen nothing?With a beating heart, he turned his head hastily on either side,and glanced over his shoulders. No! The phantom--if such itwere--had disappeared, and there was no trace of it to be seen.

  A load was raised from his heart as he acquired this assurance.Nevertheless, it was with a heaving bosom, and an unsteady andhasty step, far different from his usual bearing, that he setforward, and once more bent his way homeward.

  He paused when he had passed out of the churchyard, and, withunabated awe, again turned a glance around. Nothing but the whitegrave-posts was visible; and he resumed his progress.

  A flood of bitterness opened on his heart as he pursued hisway. He felt that, though it had appeared so substantiallyand distinctly to his eye, what he had seen was no more thanimaginary; and was the natural effect of that previous meditationon Inez, which, notwithstanding that he could have no expectationof ever seeing her again, he had been so simple as to indulgein. He felt angry with himself, too, that he should allow soslight a matter to root itself in his memory--that his feelingsshould be so childishly tender, and his conscience so egregiouslyscrupulous, in the full vigour and thoughtless era of youth, asto make him writhe under the remembrance of a brief gallantry.Inez, no doubt, had by this time forgotten it herself. To dwellseriously on what he fancied he had seen would be absurd; andwould, if it should ever be known, expose him to the constantridicule and contempt of all his acquaintance.

  And did these conclusions really compose him? Was he, in hisheart, satisfied with the crafty and specious sophistry in whichhe had taken refuge? Oh, no! He roused himself into a temporarystubbornness of spirit; he lashed himself into a constrainedlevity; but every now and then, when his self-upbraidings seemedto be sinking into silence, the sting of conscience still pusheditself in, and made his heart start again.

>   But, for all this, when he arrived at the Grange, his excitementhad driven from his aspect all trace of melancholy, and, far fromlooking depressed, he appeared to be in good spirits. Evalineand Sir Edgar received him joyfully. Don Rafaele, who woulddoubtless have viewed his return with equal pleasure, was notin the sitting-room when he entered, and nearly an hour elapsedbefore he did make his appearance. Then, however, though helooked somewhat flurried, he seemed to be in good spirits, andjoined in the pending conversation with unwonted promptitude.

  But though that conversation was animated, and never onceflagged, it was easy, on observing them closely, to see thattwo, at least, of the party were far from being at their ease.Though they affected to be the gayest of the gay, both Evalineand Hildebrand, in reality, were stirred more by excitement, thana healthy animation; and, in their eager participation of thepassing discourse, they were not seeking to amuse others, butto run away from themselves. Neither Sir Edgar nor Don Rafaele,however, as far as could be seen, noticed their uneasiness; andthe evening passed off tranquilly.

  The next morning found them all early at the breakfast-table.The horses, which were to convey Hildebrand and Don Rafaele toLondon, with a hired groom, whom Hildebrand had brought with him,were ready at the hall-door; and it remained only to despatchbreakfast, and to part.

  They ate their meal almost in silence. Even Don Rafaele, asthe moment of departure drew nigh, quite lost his flow ofspirits, and looked sad and dejected. Sir Edgar said hardly aword; and Evaline, who had passed the night in mourning, and inapprehending all manner of unhappiness, was almost heart-broken.

  The moment of departure arrived, at last. Don Rafaele, with amournful brow, shook hands with Sir Edgar and Evaline, and turnedto the door. Hildebrand could linger no longer; and accordingly,with a forced smile, he caught up Sir Edgar’s hand, and badehim farewell. The smile was still on his lips when he turned toEvaline. She, too, was smiling, though her eyes were filled withtears.

  “God ever have thee in ward!” said Hildebrand, in a low voice, atthe same time gently pressing her small hand.

  Dropping her hand, he turned to the door, and passed into thepassage beyond. Sir Edgar, determined to see the last of him,sprang after him, and followed him to the hall.

  Evaline was alone. Her tears, which she had restrained hitherto,but which had already mounted to her eyes, would be checked nolonger, and, as her father left her to herself, they burst forthin a torrent.

  Her heart’s hope was gone; and it was as if her heart itself,by which she lived and moved, had also gone. She felt all thatanguish which, in the overflow of an ardent temperament, hasbeen so pathetically described by Bishop Heber:--

  “How bitter, bitter is the smart Of them that bid ’farewell!’”

  Nevertheless, as she heard Sir Edgar returning, she endeavoured,and not in vain, to assume an appearance of composure. But thoughshe was able to conceal her emotion, she was still, in her heart,far from being composed. Sir Edgar, on his entry, even noticedthat she was greatly dejected, but he had no suspicion that hergrief was so rooted; but rather thought, from the character ofhis own feelings, that it was but the temporary depression whichthe parting from an esteemed friend would naturally occasion, andwhich a few short hours would wear away.

  But time only served to confirm the sadness of Evaline. Heraccustomed fortitude, which had borne her up under visitationsmore trying, failed her now, and left her to struggle with herthoughts unaided. It might be the effect of a restless night, orit might be solely the impression of her parting from Hildebrand,but, whencesoever it arose, a thrilling but undefined fear, likea presentiment of some coming ill, had fixed and rooted itself inher mind. As the night drew on, she became even more depressed;and Sir Edgar, who had latterly regarded her more closely,began to view her melancholy with seriousness. Before he couldtake any measures to soothe her, however, a hasty step without,approaching the door, induced him to pause. The next moment, thedoor opened, and both he and Evaline started up in surprise. Theperson who entered was Don Felix di Corva.