PART III.

FROM this temporary death I was at laſt recalled by a ſound that made me wiſh it had been indeed eternal; the voice, the tremendous voice of Williams. Of what horrors was my ſoul inſtantly ſuſceptible! What dreadful images ſwam before thoſe eyes I hardly durſt open! Fearfully at length I caſt them around—I ſaw I had been conveyed into the great room of our Receſs; ſacred once to piety and inno⯑cence, but now, alas! the ſhelter of ra⯑pine, perhaps murder. A number of ill-looking [2] ruffians ſtood ready to fulfil the worſt commands of their ferocious confe⯑derate, who with malignant joy contem⯑plated two hopeleſs victims unpitying heaven ſeemed to have delivered entirely to his vengeance. I gave myſelf up for loſt—myſelf—I alike gave up Lord Lei⯑ceſter; who thus diſarmed and ſurrounded, collected his ſoul in ſilence, and reſumed the majeſtic air which once could awe even this villain to ſubordination. I every where perceived a variety of inſtruments, nameleſs to me, which I conſidered as the means of torture and of death; and only ſupplicated the Almighty to ſpare us the firſt, ſince to avoid the latter I ſuppoſed a fruitleſs prayer.

You ſee at laſt, cried the exulting vil⯑lain, fortune's wheel has made its circle, and my turn is come, Lord Leiceſter.— How could you hope to conquer a man whoſe all was courage? Neither Sir Fran⯑cis, nor Elizabeth herſelf, could long con⯑fine him who dares precipitate himſelf into the ocean in ſearch of freedom; not, [3] added he in an ironical tone, that I ſhall fail to requite my obligation.

Lord Leiceſter replied but with a look; a look ſo ſuperior, contemptuous, and collected, that it wrought the rage of Wil⯑liams to a ſtill higher pitch; who turned towards me, malignity burning in every ſcar of his horrid face, "you are welcome home, fair lady, continued he, though your viſit is an unexpected favor, without the idle train too which once attended this idle favorite. You ſee we have made a little free with your hallowed manſion, but the ſaints take all in good part. Do you not enquire after your foſter-father? he would tell us no tales, nor will he ever now tell you one." Oh, Anthony, I ſhud⯑dered for thee, thou venerable, murdered friend, in ſilence! "Monſter, burſt ſorth Lord Leiceſter, haſt thou with unexam⯑pled cruelty butchered an Anchorite?" "I always work ſafely, returned he; you have only ſaved me the trouble, for never would I have reſted 'till by ſome artifice I had drawn you once more hither, and [4] God, you ſee, moſt graciouſly has ſent you."

Blaſpheme not thy Maker, oh cruel wretch, ſighed I in a tremulous accent; juſt, though ſevere, are all his ordina⯑tions; and lo, with ſad ſubmiſſion I take the death appointed me even from thy hands.

No, cried he, though you are not the haughty beauty I adored, yet, as the wife of that imperious lord, you become but a more perfect means of exquiſite revenge.

The nature of that revenge blazed in his eyes—my heart turned to marble within me. I raiſed my eyes towards hea⯑ven in ſpeechleſs agony, and rivetting them on Lord Leiceſter, found life recede too faſt for my ear to diſtinguiſh one word of that bitter indignation which the voice it loved ſo loudly uttered.

I almoſt doubted whether my ſenſes were indeed returned when I found myſelf in⯑volved in impenetrable darkneſs. The piercing ſigh of ſome one near me was the only ſound that broke the ſtillneſs of the night. "If, cried I in a feeble tone, that [5] is the voice to which my heart was born to vibrate, oh tell me, beloved Leiceſter, whether the ſcene which yet ſwims before my ſight was real or a viſion?" "Gra⯑cious heaven! returned he in a voice yet more piercing, you breathe again, my ſoul's beſt treaſure! the long, long faint⯑ing cauſed by the threats of that execrable monſter, gave me hopes you had finally eſcaped a fate too horrid for reflection. Oh dire extreme of deſpair and miſery when I am condemned to wiſh you dead! and yet what elſe can deliver you?—yet think not, Matilda, I fear to follow;—ah no! the beſt blood burning in this boſom ſhould joyfully embalm you; but the thoughts of all which may precede that moment, almoſt urges me to daſh my diſtracted brain againſt the ſtones on which I lie, and ſhorten my own ſuffer⯑ings, ſince hopeleſs of averting yours." "Call up your fortitude, your reaſon, your religion, returned I in a firmer voice, (an emotion which united all thoſe ſenti⯑ments diffuſing itſelf through my frame) dare I accuſe the Almighty of injuſtice? [6] Will he, who firſt gave my helpleſs inno⯑cence a hallowed ſhelter within theſe walls, ordain they ſhould prove its tomb? the ſhades of thoſe who reared me will ſurely riſe in its defence." "Alas, my love, ſighed he in a deſpairing voice, theſe vi⯑ſionary hopes may ſoothe the mind 'till that ſad moment nothing can avert—have you forgot that even in happier times you hoped nothing from the villain? and is this an hour to expect a change? Re⯑venge and poverty have ſeared his ſoul to all humanity. How, how could it ever eſcape my memory, that he was acquainted with the ſecret of the Receſs? how, un⯑der ſuch uncertainty, durſt I ever venture within it? but ſhort-ſighted man, ſolely employed in weaving ſnares for others, too late finds his own feet entangled, and falls an eaſy prey to the ignoble. Not ſatisfied with heading this ſet of coiners, for ſuch their apparatus proved them, his daring diſpoſition breaks forth in acts of plunder and barbarity, and even at this moment he is ſeeking new victims, though poſſeſſing, unſought, thoſe he would out of [7] the whole world have choſen." "Shall we complain Heaven has quite abandoned us, reſumed I, when it has given us but one moment to ourſelves? Oh, Leiceſ⯑ter! you have hitherto found me a tender, anxious, fearful woman; but alas, I knew not till now the powers of my own ſoul— Abhorrent of ſhame and diſhonour, it tempts me to the moſt deſperate deeds; if your's is indeed congenial, it ſurely un⯑derſtands me; aſſume a Roman courage, and ſave thy wife, thy ſpotleſs wife, from horrible pollution." "So much I ago⯑nize at the idea, cried Lord Leiceſter, that were theſe hands free, perhaps—" "and mine too, added I, feeble as they are, alike are bound; yet ſurely deſpair will give me ſtrength to looſe them." The violent efforts I made at laſt broke the ſlight thong they thought more than ſufficient to confine one in my feeble ſtate, and encouraged by my ſucceſs, I ſought Lord Leiceſter. At the moment I re⯑ſtored his liberty, I half revived, while the ſole uſe the tender Leiceſter could make of his arms, was to preſs me a [8] thouſand times to his ſwelled heart, which almoſt burſt with ſobbing. I ſtruggled againſt all the ſad tenderneſs which throb⯑bed at mine. "Oh, think no more of love, cried I with increaſing heroiſm, it has given place to death—to worſe than death—rather imagine you hear this dun⯑geon once more open,"—"But can I lift that hand, which pledged it ſelf for thy protection, againſt thy life, thy pre⯑cious life? groaned he—can I deface that angel form, which ſtill illumes my ſoul through all theſe complicated horrors? And oh, our dear unborn! for whom we gladly ſuffered, can I, can I, deſtroy it?" "Think, think my Life, returned I, we have perhaps this only moment—had theſe wretches left any means of death in my own hands, do you imagine I would ſupplicate it from yours? Strangle me now, while darkneſs favours. Your wife demands of you this final proof of love and courage; her's will at leaſt vie with it; no groan, no ſtruggle, ſhall iſſue from a heart which then will return innocent to that duſt from which it ſprung, devoted [9] alone to the adored huſband with whoſe image it is doubly inhabited." "Oh, matchleſs, matchleſs woman! cried my Lord, flooding my cheek with tears of generous anguiſh; never, never, can it be; my ſinews relax to childhood; your unhoped-for fortitude totally ſubdues mine, and melts my ſoul to woman's weakneſs.—Oh! thou who gaveſt me this angel, canſt thou have abandoned her to brutality, and me to diſtraction!"

A peal of thunder, which ſhook the ruins to their foundation, ſeemed to re⯑prove his boldneſs. The livid lightning pervaded our dungeon through many a time-worn aperture. During every tre⯑mendous illumination I gazed awe-ſtruck on the pallid face of my Love; till ſuddenly glancing around, I gave a cry which ſtartled even myſelf—glowing, gaſping, tranſported, yet ſtill unable to ſpeak, I ſunk before my Lord, and claſping both his hands, alternately preſt them, to my heart, and lifted them, with mine, to⯑wards Heaven. "What means my be⯑loved? exclaimed he, in almoſt equal [10] ſurpriſe and agitation, has pitying provi⯑dence deprived her of her ſenſes?" "Ah no, it is God himſelf who has illumined them, faltered I at laſt; what dungeon has man yet diſcovered the Almighty cannot; you have, perhaps, forgot my love, that you have often heard of one communica⯑tion from the Receſs to the Abbey: cloſed up on the death of Mrs. Marlow, it was never opened after, nor was it known to that horrible villain; this diſmal den con⯑tains it, and we tread on the only ſpot in the creation which could ſhelter us from thoſe ruffians. In the corner on the right hand, covered with lumber, placed long ſince on purpoſe, you will find a trap door; if you have ſtrength to raiſe it, ſtrong faſtenings will ſecure it on the other ſide, at leaſt till we reach the Abbey. Oh thou, added I, devoutly raiſing my eyes, who alone couldſt preſerve us, con⯑tinue thoſe flaſhes, more welcome than ever yet the ſun was."

Indelibly impreſſed with the preſent danger, it was not till we had deſcended into the vaults, and faſtened that bleſſed [11] door between ourſelves and the banditti, that either recollected what we might ap⯑prehend at the Abbey. Aſſured none but an opulent owner could reſide in a ſeat ſo ſplendid, we vainly racked imagination to diſcover its preſent poſſeſſor; yet per⯑ſuaded even our worſt enemies would reſ⯑cue us with pleaſure from a peril ſo near⯑ly connected with themſelves, we were obliged to defy every other. The houſe⯑keeper's room, into which the paſſage led, was empty, yet ſcattered furniture, &c. indicated inhabitants, I hailed, with true devotion, that power who gave me once more to ſee the ſoft luſtre of the moon, which on the ſubſiding of the ſtorm dif⯑fuſed ſerenity. Retaining in his hand the bar (which had been one faſtening of the Abbey entrance) as the only weapon in his power, Lord Leiceſter followed my trembling ſteps; they turned intuitively to the apartment of Mrs. Marlow; ah that there I could have found her! I pauſed at the door of the anti-chamber, my heart ſickened with deſpondency; knowing there was an immediate neceſſity [12] for rouſing and arming the whole family, yet convinced we muſt at firſt alarm them as preternatural beings, and afterwards, with the conviction our eſcape introduced a danger to themſelves, while ignorant whom we were going to appear before, well might the firmeſt heart tremble. Engroſſed by theſe various and affecting ideas, I hardly heard a ſound, which made Lord Leiceſter ſtart forward with an eagerneſs, that might eaſily have deprived me of the little ſtrength Heaven had left me. The anti-chamber into which I im⯑mediately followed him was dark, but in the room beyond I perceived a lights, and heard the voice of a woman apparently ſupplicating. Scarcely had I diſtinguiſh⯑ed in that of the man who anſwered her, the dreaded Williams, ere I ſaw Lord Leiceſter ſtart forward, levelling the bar with ſo deſperate a boldneſs, that the fall of the villain aſcertained our ſafety. Inſtant⯑ly ſnatching a knife from the wretch's hand, he pointed it at his boſom, but perceived a perforation in the brain, which made his puniſhment terrible, as his guilt [13] and his death immediate. "Execrable monſter, cried my Lord, dropping the knife, by unlooked-for means Heaven at laſt has finiſhed thee."—"Gracious God, cried the lady, do I hear the voice of Lord Leiceſter!"—Amazed at this diſcovery, and the preceding event, hardly could my trembling limbs convey me into the chamber. "Approach, my dear Ma⯑tilda, cried my Lord, never more ſhall this wretch appal thee. Eternal juſtice is ſatisfied with one blow, nor need I turn aſſaſſin even to him. Happy at the ſame moment in ſaving this lady, endeavour to intereſt her for thoſe misfortunes in which ſhe already ſeems interwoven."—"Can Lord Leiceſter have any misfor⯑tune in which I am not interwoven? cried the lady; to have received my life from his hands alone could reconcile me to it." Had I not known the ſpeaker by her voice to be the fair Roſe Cecil, ſuch language muſt have aſcertained it; yet to find our⯑ſelves under the roof of our moſt mortal enemy, was a cruel ſtroke. "Is it poſſible we ſhould be in the houſe of Lord Bur⯑leigh, [14] cried Lord Leiceſter, diſdainfully?" She, ſighing, replied, "he fortunately is abſent, nor can you ever be unſafe in any houſe where I am miſtreſs." "You know not to whom you ſpeak, cried I, in turn; alas, Miſs Cecil, do you ſtill remember the friendſhip you have ſo often profeſſed for the unfortunate Matilda? Ever has ſee lamented the ſad neceſſity of veiling her fate from a heart ſo noble; accept then, at this unexpected moment, that confidence I always longed to place in you, and tell me whether you ſtill can reſolve to love her who was the wife of Lord Leiceſter, long ere ſhe ſaw you? her, who at this moment, renders him a fugitive in his own country." Her diſ⯑treſsful eyes wandered from him to me for ſome moments in ſilence, then taking a hand of each, ſhe firſt kiſſed, and after⯑wards uniting them, ſaid with, a Spartan firmneſs, "my friend!" but turning in⯑ſtantly from him to hide her glowing cheeks and impaſſioned tears in my boſom, ſobbed out, "my deliverer!" Her beauty (which was rendered more obvious by her diſorder⯑ed [15] appearance, the ruffian having compelled her to riſe and half dreſs herſelf) her in⯑nocence and her generoſity appeared at laſt a little to affect Lord Leiceſter, who had hitherto ſhewn her an indifference al⯑moſt amounting to diſguſt. "It remains with you, Madam, returned he in a ſofter voice, now to become mine. Miſs Cecil no longer ſees the worſhipped favourite of an imperious Queen. United alike by choice and law to the dear companion of my dangers, a chain of occurrences re⯑duces us to eſcape by unknown means from England; and with the utmoſt diſ⯑patch. Nevertheleſs, thoſe even Eliza⯑beth's rage might have ſpared, were only an hour ago devoted by that lifeleſs vil⯑lain. Eſcaped this moment almoſt from a den of ſlaughter, hardly can we tell whether the banditti, of whom this was the ringleader, are not now ſurrounding us. Summon all your courage and your domeſticks, and while providing for your own ſafety, I need not ſolicit you to re⯑member ours." "When I forget it, may I be condemned to ſee you periſh!" cried [16] ſhe. Then turning to me, with that in⯑nocent candor which eminently diſtin⯑guiſhed her, ſought a pardon in my eyes. Collecting all her thoughts, ſhe continued, in a few moments—"Aſtoniſhed as I muſt be, both at your circumſtances and your viſit, my noble friends, curioſity yields to friendship. With the morning I expect my father, nor is there any ſafety for you but immediate flight: neverthe⯑leſs, this danger with which you ſay we are environed muſt be the firſt conſidera⯑tion." I then explained to her the ſecret of the Receſs; the direful miſtake which had thrown us into the power of its pre⯑ſent diabolical tenants, and the deſpera⯑tion which the diſcovery of our eſcape, and the means by which it was effected muſt inevitably cauſe: except indeed the loſs of Williams ſhould abate their fero⯑city. While I talked, I frequently per⯑ceived her mind wandered on another ſubject: She ſurveyed the diſguiſed per⯑ſons, and pale faces of both my Lord and me, a thouſand times over; by fits ſhe ſhook with horror at the ſtory I was re⯑lating, [17] and by ſtarts ſhe forgot I had been ſpeaking, and obliged me to go back in my tale. Employed chiefly in concerting the means of ſecuring our ſafety, her own ſeemed hardly a conſider⯑ation. Such is the nature of love in the mind of a virtuous woman. "I ſee, ſaid ſhe, (when I had finiſhed) the neceſſity for ſome body's appearing, to account to my ſervants for the diſcovery of the vil⯑lains. I ſee too, that Lord Leiceſter can⯑not be the perſon, for who can fail to know him?" The inference thus tenderly conveyed was obvious; one muſt be ſeen, but I could not reſolve to be that one without a diſmay which ſurpaſſed com⯑plaint. "Yes, my dear Matilda, added ſhe, we muſt part with him for a little time; but you will rejoin him for life. By the ordination of providence, as I could almoſt ſuppoſe, the ſon of my nurſe is now in the houſe, a young man over whom that circumſtance gives me a powerful influence; againſt the choice of his friends he embraced a ſea-faring life, till he ac⯑quired enough money to purchaſe a ſmall [18] veſſel, with which he trades between the coaſt of Devonſhire and that of France; but diſguſted at the profeſſion he choſe, it was only yeſterday he arrived here to ſolicit my intereſt with my father to pro⯑mote him in a civil line. Say, not then Heaven frowns on your flight, ſince it plainly points cut a ſecure mode of eſcape. I cannot but diſcern every avenue to Hol⯑land muſt be effectually cloſed, but who could think of tracing you to the diſtant and obſcure coaſt of Devonſhire? It is true the journey is long, but to compen⯑ſate for that, you muſt recollect it is ſafe. The travels of Arthur have been confined to the road by which he conducts you, and his connections are doubtleſs among people who will furniſh you with every common comfort, without having curioſity, or un⯑derſtanding, to penetrate through the myſ⯑tery of your rank. I ſee too what your ex⯑preſſive eyes, my dear Matilda, would point out—the impoſſibility of long concealing the ſhare I have had in your fate, ſince how elſe can your miraculous appearance here, or the terrible death of my mid⯑night [19] viſitor be accounted for? but I what of that? ſhe generouſly added, after a moment's pauſe, much ought to be ven⯑tured when our all is at ſtake." "I have expected every moment, ſaid my Lord, ſome dreadful interruption from the reſt of theſe wretches." "No, returned Miſs Cecil, I have every reaſon to imagine he was alone in this enterprize; when firſt, by his entrance, I ſtarted from the ſlum⯑ber into which I was falling, I began col⯑lecting my purſe, and every ornament near me: he rejected them all, and com⯑pelling me to riſe, commanded me with terrible imprecations to conduct him to the private cabinet, where my father con⯑cealed his ſtate papers: hoping, doubt⯑leſs, by poſſeſſing them to obtain many ſe⯑crets, which might enſure his own pardon, for that muſt have been his ultimate object. I knew too well the character of my fa⯑ther, not to debate whether I ſhould not rather give up my life than a truſt ſo pre⯑cious, when the terrible intervention of Lord Leiceſter releaſed me from the con⯑flict. Yet I agree with you, a moment [20] ought not to be loſt; and firſt let me lock up the room which contains ſo ſhocking a teſtimony, that more than one man has intruded there at midnight." Conſcious of her own merit, ſhe encountered even the eye of Lord Leiceſter without tre⯑mor, who could not but admire in her at that moment all the magnanimity and foreſight which ennobles man, with every ſofter grace which half deifies woman. For my own part I claſped her to my bo⯑ſom, declaring I could never love her more than I did long ere this proof of her merit." "This is the only topic danger⯑ous to either, returned ſhe, a tear beati⯑fying her ſmile, we will all love one ano⯑ther as well as we can. But now, my Lord, attend to the next ſtep, if you dare rely on my direction; we will conduct you to the door leading to the garden; make your way over the wall on the ſide fartheſt from the wood; a mile beyond there is a bridge; wait near it in ſilence; Arthur ſhall firſt hide a horſe for you, and then ſet out on another, to convey this lady, as if to her home, in ſome ad⯑jacent [21] village; the confuſion attending the diſcovery of the vaulted paſſage will render the family, moſt probably, inatten⯑tive to her preſence or departure, and ere they can be enough at leiſure to diſcover Williams, or form any dangerous conjec⯑ture, you will both be, I hope, beyond the reach of diſcovery or purſuit. But oh, my Lord! if you would have either of the trembling wretches now before you ſurvive this night of horrors, uſe the ſtricteſt caution in ſeeking your appointed ſhelter, nor leave it till you hear the voice of Matilda.

Lord Leiceſter promiſed; and conduct⯑ing him ſoftly through the houſe, we reached the door leading to the garden. All the horrors of the paſt were ſhort of what I felt at that moment. After the dangers I had ſhared and eſcaped with my Lord, to ſee him depart was to quit my guardian angel, or to deprive him of his: yet convinced Miſs Cecil was actu⯑ated by the ſame fearful affection, I yield⯑ed myſelf up to the deſperate emergency and acquieſced. The cloſing of the door [22] after him ſevered the hearts of both; it was then only we knew the ſupport we had derived from his preſence; wan, ſpeech⯑leſs, helpleſs, we durſt: hardly turn our eyes on any object, but each other, nor utter a ſigh but it ſwelled into a groan; and the ghaſtly body of Williams ſeemed for ever to impede out footſteps, floating the path with blood. Miſs Cecil took the only poſſible method to divert our terrors, and ſoon rouſing a few terrified domeſticks, commanded them to ſummon all the fa⯑mily: a command which needed no repeti⯑tion. A few minutes gathered together eigh⯑teen or twenty men, ſufficiently armed to ſecure us from any perſonal danger. I con⯑ducted the whole aſtoniſhed body to the private door, through which I had en⯑tered; I deſcribed the place to which it led, and, touching ſlightly on my own danger and eſcape, recommended to them that profound ſilence the villains had preſerved towards us with ſuch fatal ſuc⯑ceſs. During this time, Miſs Cecil ſe⯑lected the man ſhe mentioned to us, and retiring into the next room, gave him [23] her orders unobſerved; ſo entirely did both my appearance and ſtrange ſtory en⯑groſs the attention of every individual belonging to the family. Miſs Cecil re⯑joining us, ordered them to divide, and while half remained to guard the houſe, the reſt ſhould deſcend, and paſſing into the dungeon from whence I came, wait the return of the banditti, and ſeize them one by one as they entered. This con⯑cluſion of the adventure greatly damped the ardour of the group, but aſhamed to recede from a place, through which I had apparently eſcaped alone, they departed in ſo numerous a body as might almoſt fill the den in which I was lately encloſed, the few who remained hovering near the entrance, ſolely intent on the event of the enterprize. Arthur, in the interim, having the full command of the ſtables, made ready two horſes in the manner al⯑ready mentioned, and Miſs Cecil, with her uſual foreſight, overwhelmed me with refreſhments, which a little invigorated my exhauſted frame: nor did ſhe forget to provide Arthur with ſuch as might re⯑cruit [24] my Lord; ſelecting from her ward⯑robe, linen, and every neceſſary the time and occaſion admitted. Impatiently I expected the ſummons to depart, which was preceded by a meſſage from the Re⯑ceſs, that all was hitherto entirely ſilent, and the door faſtened as when we left it, a circumſtance which appalled my inmoſt ſoul, as it ſeemed to leave us ſtill in the reach of the mercileſs banditti. With mingled tears of grief and hope, I em⯑braced that generous friend I never more might ſee, and quitting the once hoſpi⯑table manſion, which ſeemed of all the univerſe the only home my heart acknow⯑ledged, I ſeated myſelf behind a guide, whoſe ſun-burnt features ſoftened into a compaſſion, few indeed could at that mo⯑ment have denied me. The moon ſhone forth with reſplendent luſtre, and our road being in a contrary direction to that which before enſnared us, I recommended my⯑ſelf to Heaven, and anxiouſly expected the meeting with my Lord. We had not proceeded far when that dear protector (who had in fearful affection for me de⯑fied [25] his own danger, and returned, almoſt to the Abbey) ſtarted from under a clump of trees, and with a voice that diſſipated terror, welcomed my return to freedom, and ſprung upon the horſe our guide be⯑fore led for him. Such is the effect of an evil eſcaped, that I almoſt forgot my exceſſive fatigue, and could have fancied myſelf ſafe.

Recent circumſtances at firſt occupied my thoughts, and during the intervals of ſilence, the addition of a ſtranger muſt naturally impoſe, my imagination once more returned to the dungeon: it pictured the fear and horror the wretches them⯑ſelves muſt in turn feel, when unknown hands condemned them to a fate like that they had allotted to us. Again I wandered to the Court; I ſeemed to ſee Elizabeth burning with emboſomed rage, while the helpleſs noble Ellinor became as its imme⯑diate, its only object. I greatly relied on the watchful friendſhip of all the Sydneys, but hardly could I hope even they could reſcue her from the Queen. I knew the letter Lord Leiceſter had ordered to be [26] delivered to Elizabeth two hours after our departure, with the confirmation that muſt give it, would infallibly, explain to her the ſecret of our marriage; which of itſelf confuted the tale he had advanced concerning our birth: nor could I doubt but every artifice would be practiſed to unfold the whole myſtery; and, alas! un⯑generous minds too often faſten on the victim cruel fortune puts moſt into their power.

Yet in the haſte and confuſion attend⯑ing our flight, we had, found it impoſſible to unite my ſiſter in it: neither at that unhappy juncture could ſhe be found, and all the care we could ſhew for her ſafety was to recommend her in the moſt ſtrenuous manner to thoſe few friends we expected the diſcovery would leave us. While Ellinor had the reſolution to re⯑tain her own ſecret, we knew the power of the Queen could not reach her, and the ſtrength and foreſight ſhe had at many times ſhewn, perſuaded me ſhe was equal even to this hardeſt of trials. Yet could I think of the inſolent interrogatories, and [27] contumely ſhe muſt inevitably encounter, without a bleeding heart? to be the gaze of every eye—the object of every tongue—oh greatly did ſhe need the conſciouſ⯑neſs of innocence, the pride of royalty, to ſuſtain her!

It had ever been our plan, if fortunate enough to eſcape ſafely into France, to remain ſtill in diſguiſe 'till couriers from England could convince us how far the plot of Babington, and particularly Lord Leiceſter's knowledge of it, had tranſ⯑pired. If it appeared his ſhare in that ſcheme was undiſcovered, my Lord might with ſafety avow himſelf; as marrying privately was a crime only in the eye of Elizabeth. And knowing too well her favourites ought ever to conſider their in⯑fluence as precarious, Lord Leiceſter had ſcattered large ſums in the hands of dif⯑ferent merchants in various kingdoms, as a reſource, he now found his only one: nor was it inſufficient. If, on the con⯑trary, we learnt Elizabeth had dived into that dangerous myſtery he was cenſurable only for concealing; by the charge of trea⯑ſon, [28] ſhe could perhaps affect his ſafety in France, nay almoſt in Europe, and to preſerve his life ſome diſguiſe muſt ſtill be maintained while her's laſted.

Though ſeparated in infancy from every one allied to me, nothing could ever de⯑tach my heart from family claims; not daring to look towards my mother, I had always paſſionately deſired to ſee the ſole ſurviving ſiſter of my father, Margaret Lady Mortimer. Educated with the late Queen in the Catholick perſuaſion, ſhe had married a general, and with him held many diſtinguiſhed places under Phi⯑lip and Mary. The revolution both in politicks and religion cauſed by the ac⯑ceſſion of Elizabeth, was fatal alike to her honors and her pleaſures. General Lord Mortimer followed the widowed King to Spain, and raiſed on his favor a fortune that gave him power to fix his own fate, when death ſuddenly decided it. His relict re⯑tired to Rouen in Normandy, where his ſiſter was then Abbeſs, leaving her younger ſon in the ſervice of Philip, and her elder in the army of Francis IId. Naturally of an [29] active temper, ſhe could not reſolve to give up the world, though attached to it only by diſguſts, and laviſhed a large por⯑tion of the immenſe fortune her mother and huſband had united to bequeath her, in cheriſhing every exiled enemy of Eli⯑zabeth. Elated with the vain hope of one day ſeeing her ill-fated brother throned in conjunction with the Queen of Scots, ſhe entered into all his meaſures while that union was in agitation; and emerging once more from her convent, journeyed to Rome, where ſhe ſpared neither pains nor money to win friends who might authorize and ratify it. She was among the few who knew the marriage ſecretly took place; ſhe even knew it was likely to pro⯑duce heirs of royalty and misfortune; when the diſcovery, trial, and execution, of the Duke of Norfolk, entirely cruſhed her laſt fond project. From that moment ſhe had remained uninformed of the ſe⯑cret ſoul of Mary, and the fate of her un happy offspring. The avowed diſguſt ſhe had ſhewn towards Elizabeth, made it dangerous for her to return to her own [30] country, and hardly in it could ſhe have arrived at ſuch important intelligence, when once the clue was loſt. Aſpiring, rich, and reſtleſs, ſhe ſtill affected to ap⯑pear the patroneſs of all oppreſſed Eng⯑liſhmen; and if I found it prudent to avow myſelf, I might ſafely rely on a welcome from her who would find with joy every hope ſo long extinct renovated in me. Our preſent journey conducted us to a coaſt almoſt oppoſite to that of Normandy. I fancied a pleaſure in having it in my power to claim her cares in the approach⯑ing melancholy criſis, and was not with⯑out hopes Lord Leiceſter might ſafely ap⯑pear in his own perſon, when once my ſiſter had eſcaped to rejoin us.

Theſe various reflections fully occupied my mind 'till the dawn of day, when our guide aſſured us we might ſafely, reſt in the hamlet to which we were near. Con⯑vinced by Miſs Cecil's confidence in him he might, fully be truſted, I entered with weary limbs a cottage from whence its la⯑borious inhabitants were juſt iſſuing to work. They uſed their utmoſt diligence [31] to procure us a homely meal, and we re⯑tired almoſt ſtupified with intenſe fatigue to a bed which had only cleanlineſs to re⯑commend it. Here both ſunk into a re⯑poſe ſo profound, that the day was cloſing when we aroſe. Our watchful guide aſ⯑ſured us we muſt haſten over the dinner which long had waited for us, as we had many miles to journey ere we could find a ſafe reſting place. Earneſtly did I wiſh to remain with our preſent hoſts 'till the next morning, but ſubmitting to neceſſity, re⯑mounted in ſilence. Arthur well juſtified the confidence of his Lady, having ſe⯑lected horſes that never flagged through the whole journey, and always guarding againſt diſcovery by conducting us thro' roads very little frequented; among which he found hamlets whoſe inhabitants were gratified in merely ſeeing him, and who only attended to his companions in the hope of obliging him. I was aſtoniſhed at obſerving how little curioſity we ex⯑cited, forgetful that the mind is worn down with the body, and that a common laborer rarely conſiders any thing beyond [32] thoſe common comforts inceſſant induſtry alone can procure him.

Inſenſible to the beauties of the country through which we paſſed, I was for ever employed in looking for the ſea, and when at laſt I diſcovered it, ſtrove to extend my ſight beyond, and dwell on that ſhore where I alone could think Lord Leiceſter ſafe. The nearer we drew towards the coaſt, the ſtronger my fears became. It was inhabited chiefly by men hard by na⯑ture, and deſperate by profeſſion; ac⯑cuſtomed to murder as well as plunder thoſe wrecked on the ſhore, they ſternly examined and defied every paſſenger. I could hardly perſuade myſelf ſome of theſe were not ſtragglers from the banditti of Williams, and bleſſed heaven as tho' all peril had been paſt, when we arrived at the homely dwelling of Arthur. [...] ſtood on a lonely part of the ſhore, where lofty cliffs ſhooting far into the ſea, gave ſafety in the little bay to a few fiſhing-boats and ſmall veſſels. Ah, how do our awakened paſſions entirely curb every prejudice! Of late thoſe livid lightnings, [33] at which my nature ever before ſhrunk, appeared but the quivering lamp of love. Now I ſaw and heard undaunted the en⯑circling ſea (once the happy boundary of human purſuits) whoſe reſtleſs waves roar a proud defiance to all who dare approach it; and my ſole fear ſprung from learning that the wind was entirely contrary, and the watery chaſm yet impaſſable.

Too late we lamented departing unat⯑tended. Unable in this ſequeſtered ſpot to diſcover any part of what had paſſed in the Court ſince our flight, and unwil⯑ling to truſt, as well as unable to ſpare our guide, or his friends to make an en⯑quiry at the next town, two moſt tedious days elapſed in melancholy and conjecture. Arthur, not being able to go out in his own veſſel, without ſuſpicions and exa⯑minations we durſt not encounter, hired a large fiſhing ſmack, in which he ſtored the few neceſſaries our limited ſituation allowed us to provide, and I watched without ceaſing the playing of its ſtreamers. On the evening of the third day, I perceived them ſud⯑denly [34] point towards France: reſt having recruited my ſtrength and ſpirits, I ſtart⯑ed up in a tranſport of joy. The few ma⯑riners being gathered at laſt together, I ſtept with a lightened heart into a miſer⯑able boat, which bore us ſwiftly towards that deſtined to convey us over, when two ſtrangers riding full ſpeed to the ſhore, called to us to put back with the moſt frantick eagerneſs. I took the alarm, and offered the mariners imagi⯑nary worlds to row on, when Arthur in⯑ſiſting he knew the voice, and diſregard⯑ing all I could urge, turned the boat. I threw my arms round my Lord, as though my heart would have opened to hide him; and regardleſs of his remon⯑ſtrances, that we could be in no danger from only two people, however hoſtile their intention, my ſenſes died away. Recover⯑ing at laſt, I found myſelf in the cabin of the veſſel, reclining on the boſom of Lord Leiceſter, while a youth who knelt at my feet, preſt my hands alternately to his lips—"Look up, my beloved, cried my Lord, and ſee whom fortune has unit⯑ed [35] in our exile." "Ah, rather do not look up, lovely Matilda, cried Miſs Cecil (for it was that ſweet girl indeed in the habit of a boy) till you have conſidered what reception you ought to give the ſelfiſh friend who has dared interweave her ſate with yours. Yet hear, before you judge me, added ſhe, riſing with a mild majeſ⯑ty, which gave unſpeakable graces to the bluſhes that every moment viſited and re⯑tired from her cheeks. I am going to lay my whole heart before you both. It is in vain to attempt veiling a weakneſs from Lord Leiceſter, ſo many circumſtances have concurred to betray; it remains with me then to ennoble it. The diſcovery of your marriage, my amiable friends, quenched the laſt feeble hope which lin⯑gered in my heart. Convinced my par⯑tiality could never become his happineſs, I inſtantly reſolved it ſhould become his pride. Self-love expired before the ele⯑vated idea. Ah, what but this could have enabled me to lead him into the gar⯑den at midnight, and take a look I then thought a laſt one, without dropping a [36] ſingle tear? I ſaw in a moment all the merit, the charms of her character whom he had choſen. Should I hate her then for being all I would have endeavoured to be? for accepting that diſtinction (which not depending on youth, beauty, merit, or fortune) is the deareſt bounty of in⯑dulgent Heaven? Ah, no, my heart was juſter, and welcomed her as one born to divide it with Lord Leiceſter. Solely in⯑tent on the proſperous flight of both, I almoſt forgot the ſervants planted in the Receſs, and all the monſters that infeſted it. I fancied to myſelf thoſe hours, when all your dangers paſt, you would ſome⯑times think of her who could only think of you. I heard both ſigh, and wiſhing but to be enough remembered to ſoften without wounding either heart, I ſighed myſelf; and ſtarted from theſe pleaſant reveries at the voice of our Steward, who ruſhing abruptly into the room, diſmayed my every ſenſe with his recital. "Re⯑joice, Madam, rejoice, cried the man with honeſt zeal, and think this ſtranger born for your ſervice. Never can we [37] enough adore the aſtoniſhing interpoſition of Heaven! It is not long ſince when tired with watching in the dungeon, a variety of voices ſtruck our ears, which ſoon approaching us, every man ſum⯑moned all his courage; ſhortly the door was unbolted, and a ruffian darted in, whoſe daring look was changed to an icy paleneſs (which lights from behind re⯑flected) when he found each arm ſeized by one of our people, while a third held a piſtol to his head. Uttering a faint imprecation, he alarmed the reſt, and both ſides immediately fired. We then puſhed forward, without any regard for thoſe who fell; and purſuing the reſt through the various avenues of the den, ſecured them all, as we have reaſon to imagine, aſtoniſhment half depriving them of the power of reſiſtance. In the largeſt apartment of this ſtrange place, we found (gueſs, Madam, how we were amazed) our Lord, with an unknown lady, and three of our fellow ſervants, who were newly brought in by the ruffians, and bound; nor do I doubt but a dreadful death was [38] deſigned them, but for this wonderful event." Alienated as my affections muſt long have been from my father, continu⯑ed Miſs Cecil, turning the diſcourſe to herſelf, I could not hear of ſo wonderful an eſcape, without feeling the moſt lively ſatisfaction. It was damped, however, by recollecting the body of Williams. I ſaw too plainly, I muſt now account for it to one inveſted with authority to en⯑quire, and reſolution to convict me. Loſt in a variety of plans, my father had been ſome minutes in the houſe, ere I ſtirred from my own anti-chamber, where the approach of Lord Burleigh entirely con⯑fined me. Faint and ſilent I aroſe, and bending before him, wept forth my duty and my joy. "I know all you would ſay my child, cried he eagerly, and how this horrible place was diſcovered; but where is Lord Leiceſter and his Lady?" Struck dumb with a queſtion, as clear and deci⯑ſive as if he had been a ſharer in the tran⯑ſactions of the night, my eyes were fixed upon him in terror and ſtupefaction; when my brother, impatient to diſcover [39] both, made his way at once into my chamber: whither the loud exclamation he gave collected all preſent, nor could my father reſiſt haſtening, as faſt as his infirmities permitted; hoping, as I had rea⯑ſon to imagine, he there ſhould find that enemy, who more engroſſed his thoughts than the preſervation of his own life, or mine. How were all amazed when the lifeleſs villain Williams, alone appeared? Some examined his pockets, while others ſearched the chamber. My father ſpoke not for ſome time, when fixing an eye on me falſhood never durſt encounter, he pointed ironically to the body:" You killed him, doubtleſs, ſaid he, and re⯑lapſed again into his meditation. After a time, ſome faint remembrance glanced acroſs his mind. He drew near, and ex⯑amining the dead man's features, ſeemed to recollect, and in recollecting to dread him; for at once he ſhrunk into himſelf, and repeated in a low voice, "that vil⯑lain!" Not having, however, any clue to his thoughts, though he had to mine, there reſted my idea of the matter. I [40] collected all my courage, and framing the moſt plauſible tale the preſent ſitua⯑tion allowed, reſolved to abide by it what⯑ever the event. My father likewiſe ſet⯑tled his plan of proceeding, and far from regulating the ſervants, whoſe every mo⯑tion fear made wild and eccentric, turned his attention ſolely on me. Riſing at laſt with a ſtern air, "Roſe, ſaid he, follow me." I had of late been but too much accuſ⯑tomed to that harſh voice, and obeyed in ſilence. Seating himſelf in an adjacent apartment, he demanded an exact recital of all the horrors of the night. I com⯑menced with the being rouſed by Wil⯑liams. I related his deſign, and the threats which almoſt brought my life to the point of a moment, when ſubſtituting Arthur for Lord Leiceſter, I affirmed it was his providential arrival, guided by an un⯑known lady, and the deſperate courage ſupplied by the emergency, which reſ⯑cued me from the knife of that inveterate villain. He interrupted me, eagerly en⯑quiring for the lady. On, my aſſuring him ſhe was gone,—"think well, cried [41] he, in a terrible voice, think well, raſh, romantic girl, ere you venture again to anſwer me. I know the cauſe of Leiceſ⯑ter's flight, I know too its companion; I know that he eſcaped a few hours be⯑fore from the dungeon in which I was found; I know, if ſo, who muſt be his confederate. Stain to the name of Cecil, degenerate wretch, not content with the blind credulity of youth, to emboſom, reſcue, and abet a traitor, wilt thou con⯑ceal his wife? Tremble at the vengeance of thy ſovereign—tremble alike at that of thy father." Convinced (by whatever wonderful means he was ſo fully inform⯑ed) that I could not hope to delude him, I ſtarted up, my complexion changing every moment. I indeed find myſelf, my Lord, cried I, unequal to a falſhood, but you will find me equal to the moſt deſ⯑perate truth. It was Lord Leiceſter, I own, whom Heaven itſelf brought to my relief, and ſhall I deliver him up to death who ſaved me from it? Oh never, never! Sheltered in a ſpot leſs liable to ſuſpicion than that from which they lately eſcaped, [42] he with his choſen happy bride can ſafely wait till the violence of the Queen gives place to juſtice. Tortures ſhould wring no more from me, and whatever my fate, it will always admit of one ſweet conſo⯑lation, in the remembrance that Heaven allowed me to recompence a benefit at the moment of receiving it. Why ſhould I repeat, ſighed our fair narrator, all the rage, tears, and altercation, that for a few days made life a torment to me? Totally confined to my apartment, and treated like a criminal, it was even hinted my conti⯑nued obſtinacy would provoke my father into making that horrible den, the Re⯑ceſs, my priſon. In one inſtance alone was I fortunate: my myſterious ſpeech impreſſed on my father's mind an opini⯑on, he had previouſly adopted, that Lord Leiceſter, with his Lady, muſt be ſecret⯑ed in or near Kenilworth Caſtle, whither his moſt truſted ſpies immediately reſort⯑ed, and amuſed him with various ſuppo⯑ſitions diſpatched daily from thence. Oppreſſed with unkindneſs and ſeverity, often did my weak, my wavering heart [43] prompt me to follow, and if poſſible overtake you; but the inſtant recollecti⯑on of the obvious track ſuch a raſh flight muſt open to your inveterate purſuers, always ſubdued ſo unjuſtifiable a wiſh. My father at once changed his meaſures, and releaſing, carried me with him to every ſuſpected place in the neighbour⯑hood; hoping from the alteration of my features he ſhould diſcover that which contained Lord Leiceſter. By a fatality which completed my misfortunes, in one of theſe tours we encountered Irton, that lover who coſt me both the Queen's and my father's favour; encouraged by Lord Burleigh, once more he returned with us. Incapable of love, but infatuated with politicks, his ardent deſire of holding a rank in his favorite line through my means revived. Regardleſs of my tears, coldneſs, and diſdain, he had always looked up to my father as the decider of his fate, and ſtill continued to do ſo. I had the miſery of learning a bargain was made, of which I muſt be the uncon⯑ſenting pledge, and that almoſt immedi⯑ately. [44] I knew my father's inexorable nature; I knew likewiſe that of Irton; and had reaſon to dread the next fit of rage might conſign me to legal infamy, unleſs by a deſperation on my own part, I prevented this on theirs. Wonder not that at laſt I yielded to think of a meaſure ſo long combated. I ſelected a ſervant in whom I had a confidence, who procured me this diſguiſe, and offered to protect me. I bleſt that faith I could never hope ſuffi⯑ciently to reward; and winged alike with hope and fear, purſued your route with indefatigable diligence; leaving a letter which ſpoke of London as my aſylum."

To this generous recital, my Lord, and ſelf, replied with reiterated aſſurances of friendſhip and protection, as well as the higheſt encomiums on her courage and conduct. Shortly after my Lord quitted the cabin. "You who have long been the confidante, the ſole confidante of my weakneſs, reſumed Miſs Cecil in a tender tone, while her doubtful eye ſeemed to ſearch my very ſoul, will be leſs ſurprized at its effect than its confeſſion. Yet even [45] that, ſtrange as it may ſeem, ſprung from prudence. I had well conſidered, my dear Matilda, every part of my paſt and future conduct. I too plainly felt, while I imagined my Lord a ſtranger to the impulſes of my heart, it might ſtill adhere to him with a dangerous ten⯑derneſs. By the, boldneſs of this ſtep I have made him a judge over me, and ſhall act with the ſevereſt prudence. I know your generous diſpoſition, ſeeing only the better part of mine, might have induced you ſtill to wiſh me near you;— how could I reſiſt ſo ſweet an invitation? Ah, only by ſilencing the moſt deciſive pleader! Lord Leiceſter can now never urge me on the dangerous ſubject. In whatever place you fix your reſidence, I will retire to a neighbouring monaſtery as a boarder, where always hearing of, and ſometimes ſeeing both, added ſhe in a voice broken by ſobs, my wiſhes will be completed: nor do I imagine you will in the interim grudge me a ſhare in Lord Leiceſter's danger." "Ah little do you know me, returned I, preſſing her hand [46] affectionately, if you think I could grudge you a ſhare in his happineſs; never, my tender, generous girl, never more will we part; never could Lord Leiceſter hope, or his wife fear any thing unbe⯑coming from a ſoul like your's. Actu⯑ated by one ſentiment, counterparts by nature of each other, you and I ſhould violate her laws were we to ſeparate." "To own the whole truth, my ſweet friend, returned ſhe, with her uſual no⯑ble ingenuouſneſs, I expected this inſtance of your generoſity; but it only confirms my reſolution, and my own heart would anticipate the condemnation of yours, were it poſſible for me to waver."

A ſenſe of ſafety, and of gratitude to my fair friend, diffuſed itſelf through my ſoul as the evening cloſed, to which I had for ſome time been a ſtranger: Lord Lei⯑ceſter preſſed us to enjoy the ſweetneſs of the hour. We aſcended the deck, and ſeating ourſelves in a little boat laſhed to it, every fear, every hope ſeemed ſuſ⯑pended, and the preſent all of our lives for which any had a ſenſe. The gentle [47] breezes only played upon the white ſails, and the veſſel cut with a ſafe and pleaſant motion, through thoſe green waves whoſe points the full moon exquiſitely ſilvered, as breaking they gave life to the ſtillneſs of the night. I turned my eyes with the ſweeteſt ſatisfaction from my love to my friend, from my friend to my love; the ſame mild orb delicately illum'd either face; a manly tenderneſs marked Lord Leiceſter's attention to me, a grateful de⯑ference that to her, while the fair Roſe, rich in the applauſes of her own heart, and nobly conſcious of her claims on ours, forgot there was any thing wanting to her happineſs. Theſe ſacred pauſes in life, which lovers only know, invigorate the ſoul as ſleep does the body, and alone can enable us to ſuſtain the paſt and com⯑ing ills. Prepared by a mental calm for the happieſt repoſe, ſleep aſſerted a claim to thoſe hours fear and fatigue had long poſſeſſed, and my Lord inſiſted on re⯑maining above: the lovelineſs of the wea⯑ther, though the autumn was far advanc⯑ed, made this leſs dangerous, and Miſs [48] Cecil and I at laſt conſented to occupy the only miſerable bed, which neverthe⯑leſs afforded us that reſt a palace had often denied. The next morning entirely re⯑verſed the ſcene, and deſtroyed at once our comfort and tranquillity; with the moon the weather changed, and the wind becoming entirely contrary, that deadly ſickneſs incident to the element, ſeized alike on Miſs Cecil and me, abſorbing even the ſenſe of danger. With an ex⯑hauſted ſullenneſs we ſurveyed thoſe roar⯑ing ſurges, whoſe hollows fancy could not venture to fathom, and ſaw ourſelves driven almoſt back to the ſhore of England, without ſtrength or ſpirits even to lament our cruel deſtiny. My Lord, happily more uſed to the ſea, reſiſted its influ⯑ence, and exerted himſelf equally in com⯑forting the ſufferers and aſſiſting the ſai⯑lors: happily too they were all well ac⯑quainted with the coaſt; while the con⯑trary wind, and enraged elements, con⯑ſtituted in one ſenſe our ſafety, as every other veſſel taking ſhelter in the neareſt port, waited in ſafety more favourable [49] weather. Toſt about for near ten days, we at laſt made Havre-de-grace early in the morning, and more dead than alive I was conveyed to the firſt inn, and inſtantly put to bed.

Here my fatigues and apprehenſions were very near producing a misfortune I from the firſt had dreaded. I had but too much reaſon to fear that the poor babe who had been the innocent cauſe of theſe calamities would never live to reward us for them, but urged into a premature ex⯑iſtence, of all this mighty world would claim only a grave. The grief this gave me increaſed the danger; I knew the paſ⯑ſionate deſire of offspring which poſſeſſed my Lord. I had often flattered myſelf this wiſh, if indulged, would fill up that void in his life the promiſe had cauſed. What then ſhould I ſuffer to ſee a diſappointment added to the ſacrifices and degradations I had already entailed upon him? It was at this criſis all the merit of Miſs Cecil ſhone forth: to the delicate attentions of a friend ſhe united the ſoft ſolicitude of a mother. She ſoothed my mind with the [50] moſt flattering hopes, and jealous leſt in any fretful moment my ſecret ſoul ſhould doubt her attachment, ſhe ſo entirely fore⯑ſtalled every ſuſpicion, that uninformed ſpectators would rather have imagined me the only ſource of her happineſs, than the ſole obſtacle to it. At length I conquered the danger, and then my ſpirits returned faſter than my ſtrength. Often I talked of England, of my ſiſter, and the expected diſpatches. I wrote to Lady Mortimer, and briefly related thoſe incidents I have here explained in many pages; I claimed her alliance, her protection, explained the preſent delicate ſituation of my health, and encloſed my picture in little, not doubting but that would identify my birth: and part of the diamonds we brought with us were converted into money, to eſ⯑tabliſh our rank, if we found it prudent to acknowledge it.

I continued a long time too weak to quit my chamber, yet at intervals a new fear diſturbed me. I perceived my Lord abſent and anxious; frequently an extreme paleneſs overcame the floridneſs of nature, [51] and traverſing the room for hours, he would give way to a chagrin the cauſe of which not all my tendereſt intrea⯑ties could wring from him. I often re⯑called the words of my ſiſter; I fancied he vainly regretted the diſtinction of roy⯑alty, the pride of ſplendor, and the plea⯑ſure of popularity. Accuſtomed to be the object of every eye, to have every wiſh foreſtalled, to be obeyed ere he ſpoke, I, ſighing, owned the change in his fate might well appear dreary. Not daring to hint my ideas, I impatiently expected the return of the expreſs ſent to Rouen, hoping it would open new proſpects, and diſperſe the heavy cloud between him and felicity. But oh how deluſive is human perſpica⯑city!—inſolently vain of our bounded knowledge, we boaſt of tracing every thought and action of individuals ſeas di⯑vide from us, even at the very moment we misjudge all with whom we are immedi⯑ately ſurrounded. My fond attention fixed partially on Lord Leiceſter, looked not out of himſelf for cauſes of grief. Lady Mortimer's anſwer at length arriv'd; ſhe acknowledged her relationſhip to me with [52] ſurprize and pleaſure, and kindly la⯑mented her infirm health did not permit her to pay, in coming to me, that defer⯑ence my regal birth intitled me to; but that her train waited our permiſſion to eſ⯑cort us to Rouen, whither ſhe urged us to haſten, as well for our own ſafety as to gratify her impatience. My expectations being fully anſwered by this letter, breath⯑leſs with joy I raiſed my eyes to Lord Leiceſter, who had been peruſing it over my ſhoulder; they met his full of a ſad⯑neſs ſo meaning, it numbed my very heart.

Long uſed now to dread every day would teem with ſome horrible event, I ſnatched his hand, and in broken accents only begged to know it. He ſunk at my feet, and hiding his tears with my robe, ſwelled with ſobs that almoſt cracked my heartſtrings. "You have told me you loved me, Matilda?" ſaid he in a broken and doubtful voice.—"Told you! re-echoed I; heavens and earth, can that, my Lord, remain a queſtion? have I not for you forgot the rights of ſex, of rank, of every thing but love?" "Have I not done all [53] could to deſerve theſe ſacrifices?" again demanded he. "Debate no more admitted merits, cried I with wild im⯑patience; oh give me the truth, and all the truth at once; nor doubly tor⯑ture me with this pomp of prepara⯑tion. Whatever it is, I will remember there might be a worſe, ſince my eyes ſtill behold you: every evil but your danger my ſoul can cope with. You ſpeak not yet: we are then diſcovered, betrayed, delivered up, condemned—the fatal power of Elizabeth has reached us even here, for nothing elſe can ſurely thus af⯑fect you?" "It has indeed," ſighed he. "Oh why then, exclaimed I, forgetful of all my aſſurances, am I unprovided with poiſon? for death muſt now be the only mercy hoped. May the ocean, from which we with ſo much difficulty eſcaped, entomb us on our return, rather than re⯑ſign us up to her licenſed vengeance." "The power of Elizabeth has reached us, added he more mournfully, though not in our own perſons. Safe ſtill in my arms, in my heart, you may, my Love, long arraign and bewail a misfortune all [54] Europe will bewail with you." His ſym⯑pathiſing eyes explained the truth—the agonizing truth—my ſoul underſtood him —aghaſt with horror, my eyes ſeemed to ſet, and every limb to ſtiffen to marble; a ſenſation, to which fainting is eaſe, con⯑denſed every faculty, and nature, power⯑ful nature, ſtruck on my heart at the thought of my mother, with a pang per⯑haps equal to that with which ſhe bore me. The radiant ſun of Love ſeemed to dip into a ſea of blood, and ſink there for ever▪ Unable to reduce the torrent of my ideas into language, I buried my head in my robe, and pointed to the door, that all might leave me. Happily, my Lord ſaw a prudence in indulging me, and laying down ſeveral letters, inſtantly re⯑tired. A horrible tranſport for ſome mo⯑ments benumbed me;—how multiplied, how complicate, how various, how new, were then my feelings! feelings which ever return with the remembrance! feel⯑ings which opened a vein in my character as well as my heart—all ſenſe of gentle⯑neſs vaniſhed. The firſt paper I peruſed [55] confirmed my fears—I ſaw in the firſt lines the decided fate of the martyred Mary.— I ſeemed to behold the ſavage hand of Elizabeth, dipt in the blood of an anoint⯑ed ſiſter ſovereign.—I felt ſhe was my mother, my fond, my helpleſs mother, and my heart floated in tears, which were hours working their way up to my burn⯑ing eyes. The furies of Oreſtes ſeemed to ſurround me, and thunder parricide, nothing but parricide, in my ear. What, groaned I, after ſo long an endurance, ſuch complicated evils, ſupported with a patience that left not her enemies a pre⯑tence for ſacrificing her, that miſery was reſerved for her daughter? Perhaps even at the moment ſhe laid that beauteous head, ſo many hearts were born to wor⯑ſhip, on the block, every agony of death was doubled, by the knowledge her daughter brought her there.—Why did I not periſh in the Receſs by lightning? Why did not the ocean entomb me? Why, why, oh God, was I permitted to ſurvive my innocence? In the wildneſs of my afflic⯑tion, I curſed the hour, the fatal hour, when [56] I ventured beyond the bounds preſcribed me. Yes love, love itſelf was annihilated, and (could I once have believed it) deep⯑ly did I wiſh I had never ſeen Lord Lei⯑ceſter. Paſſing from paper to paper, I ſaw friends and enemies unite in the eu⯑logium of the Royal Martyr. What mag⯑nanimity, what ſweetneſs, what ſanctitude did they aſſign to her—a bright example in the moſt awful of trials!—Subliming the idea of revenge inſeparable from hu⯑man nature, ſhe centered it all in compa⯑riſon.—And what a compariſon!—caſting off the veil of her mortality, to darken over the future days of Elizabeth, the radiant track of her aſcenſion concentered, while it dimmed the eyes of thoſe ſur⯑rounding nations, who too late bewailed their ſhameful inactivity. Spirit of the Royal Mary! oh thou moſt injured! ſighed out at laſt my exhauſted ſoul, from that bleſſedneſs to which the wretch now levelled with the duſt, perhaps too early tranſlated thee, beam peace and pardon! Aſſuage the horrors of the involuntary ſin, and oh, receive my life as its expia⯑tion; [57] or a little, but a little, ſoothe its ſad remainder.

Yet vain and uncertain were all my ideas reſpecting the diſcovery I imputed to Elizabeth. Convinced nothing had ever been entruſted to friendſhip, I was aſſured nothing could have been betrayed. In the boſom of my ſiſter our mutual ſe⯑cret reſted, and there I imagined every motive muſt bury it. I reviewed every paper once more; alas, I only added to my affliction, by obſerving the name of Ellinor induſtriouſly avoided. Loſt in conjecture it was ſome time ere I per⯑ceived one letter my robe half covered: I preſt to my lips the writing of Lady Arundel.

"Scarce dare I allow myſelf time to congratulate you, my moſt honoured friends, on eſcaping the deadly rage of Elizabeth, ſo much do I know you long for news of your ſiſter. Alas, that I could return, in that information, the pleaſure yours gave me. Called to viſit Lady Pem⯑broke, whoſe danger was too ſudden for me to be apprized of it, Ellinor returned [58] to Court the very hour my Lord and you left it. Filling the place of my ſiſter (who ought to have been in waiting) by this means ſhe was unfortunately preſent at the time the Queen peruſed Lord Lei⯑ceſter's explanatory letter. Unbounded in her reſentment, ſhe levelled it all againſt the unfortunate Ellinor; and in ſeverely taxing her with treachery and guilt, dropt expreſſions by which your ſiſter learnt the dangerous ſituation your flight had unfor⯑tunately placed her in, as well as the evils to which you both ſtood expoſed. Grief, fear, and indignation almoſt deprived her of reaſon; and the Queen inſiſting her ſilence proceeded from obſtinacy, threw at her a large book ſhe had been reading, which ſtriking the ſweet Ellinor on the temple, ſhe dropt ſenſeleſs at once. The other ladies cut her laces; and the eager eyes of the Queen were attracted by a ſmall pacquet ſuſpended to the black rib⯑bon ſhe always wore round her neck. Not even the ſurprizing effect its contents took on the Queen, has ever enabled any one to gueſs at them; colour, ſtrength, and [59] ſpeech, for ſome moments forſook Eliza⯑beth, when recovering her faculties, ſhe once more peruſed the memorials; then deliberately tore them into atoms; and ſummoning Walſingham and Burleigh, all her attendants, ſave the old Lady La⯑timer, retired. From the Court Ellinor was conveyed that night, though by whom, or whither, is yet a ſecret. Love and friendſhip are however inceſſantly employ⯑ed in her favour; nor can her priſon long remain ſo when once it is diſcovered. Were I to name the moſt ardent and anx⯑ious of her lovers I ſhould ſurprize you, but he ſhall only be known when with conſcious pride he preſents her to you and claims his reward.

The profound policy Elizabeth has al⯑ways preſerved with reſpect to Lord Lei⯑ceſter ſince his flight, is far from being ſatisfactory to his friends. She ſpeaks of him only in an indifferent light, and as if employed by herſelf; while all that paſſed between them almoſt every body under⯑ſtands, though no one dares to ſay ſo. It ſeems indeed as if her rage had been di⯑verted [60] from him by another object. I need not name her here. Alas, how ſe⯑verely are you both revenged on the Queen! The galling chain from which ſhe has at laſt enfranchiſed Mary, writhes round her own heart; and if it would gra⯑tify you to ſee her tremble, believe me you need only ſee her. Obliged to avow remorſe, to give an example in the ſeverity of her mourning, for a deed only her own will could have authoriſed, ſhe has the miſery of knowing her murdered royal priſoner enthroned in Heaven, and em⯑balmed in the tears of even her own peo⯑ple. Never more will Elizabeth taſte of peace, for that indeed can only dwell with innocence."

The full conviction Elizabeth had in⯑curred the abhorrence of all the world, by this horrible infraction of the rights of royalty, ſociety, and ſex, a little gra⯑tified my exquiſite reſentment. Yes, ſighed I, Heaven has invented a puniſh⯑ment proportionable to her crime. Coun⯑teracting by one ſtroke the policy of her whole life, ſhe has permitted herſelf to be [61] known, and of conſequence execrated. Deſtined to ſurvive her youth, her virtue, her fame, and her happineſs; although encircled with a diadem, her weary head ſhall vainly ſeek one faithful tender boſom to repoſe on. Thoſe fiery paſſions, ſo often deſtructive to others, wanting now an object, muſt prey upon the heart that conceals them; till envying the glorious end, as ſhe ever did the diſtinguiſhed bloom of Mary Stuart, her fate is wound up in fears of her offspring. In vain her cruel care would extirpate them; every crime will but give birth to a new fear, and the martyrdom of the Queen of Scots will multiply the cauſes of her terror, ſince ſhe now knows more than one child ſurvives her.

As the evening cloſed, this billet was given me from my Lord:—

"The heart which has long bled by anticipation for your ſorrow, demands to partake it with you. Oh! my ſole love, deny me not a ſhare in your compaſſion. Fearful every moment I ſhould loſe the daughter, the fate of the mother ſtruggled [62] with that grief in my ſoul, nor durſt I communicate it till concealment became impoſſible.—I do not aſk you to be com⯑forted; weep on, my dear Matilda, but weep in my arms, for what have I left in life if you forget to love me?"

This little billet, happily calculated to awaken the ſofter paſſions, drew forth my tears in great abundance. I reproached myſelf with violence, and unkindneſs. Let me not, cried I, while ſo ſeverely lamenting one error, be guilty of another. Loſt to the duties, the claims (oh Heaven that I ſhould be ſo!) of a daughter, thoſe of a wife ought to aſſume a double influ⯑ence. Yes, choſen Leiceſter, I am yours, am ever yours; if this oppreſſed heart does not wholly diſſolve in ſorrow, you will one day be again its only object; and ſacred from this moment be the rights of all united with me. I collected my wild afflicted thoughts, and raiſing them in prayer, a bleſſed compoſure overcame the agitations of my mind. Paſſing into the next room, where I heard my Lord walk⯑ing, I threw myſelf into his arms. Oh [63] you whom I have ſo fatally loved, faltered I, you who are now nearly my all, fill [...] up, if poſſible, every avenue to my heart, and guard it from retroſpection. He an⯑ſwered not a word, but preſſing his cheek to mine, our tears mingled.

I ſee too plainly the truth, the fatal truth, ſaid I, recurring to Lady Arundell's letter. Lovely, ill-fated ſiſter, it was you then who accelerated our hapleſs mother's death! That Elizabeth knew me for a daughter of the Stuart line, ſhe took a deadly means to certify, but how ſhe diſ⯑covered it, muſt ever have appeared mi⯑raculous without this letter; I plainly per⯑ceive my ſiſter indiſcreetly wore the du⯑plicate proof of our birth, its deareſt and beſt teſtimonial, while mine is yet trea⯑ſured in the ſecret cabinet at Kenilworth; and this in one moment deſtroyed her own peace, and determined the fate of her mother. Oh, moſt inexorable! Could thy vengeance demand more than one victim? Is then the daughter ſilently ſa⯑crificed on the lamented grave of her pa⯑rent? Never more, beloved ſiſter of my [64] blood and heart, ſhall I behold thee! never more draw comfort from thy ſweet accents, nor with thee pierce through the veil of futurity, and catch gleams of golden days. Doubtleſs Elizabeth ima⯑gines this the only authentic proof exiſt⯑ing? Oh, if in conſequence of that opi⯑nion ſhe touches the innocent life of El⯑linor, I will offer inconteſtable evidence alike of Mary's marriage with Norfolk, and our birth, at the foot of Henry's throne. He is famed for juſtice and ge⯑neroſity; I am, alas, the helpleſs object of both. The family of Guiſe will unite to protect me; perhaps all Europe will aid too late the powerleſs King of Scots, and ſave him from feeling his impotence of royalty.

Unable entirely to ſhare, unwilling in the leaſt to controul, my tender feelings for my family, Lord Leiceſter's life could not at this period be called happy. Miſs Cecil again appeared our guardian angel. As an intermediate perſon ſhe felt for, ſhe ſoothed both, till my irritated paſſions meliorated inſenſibly into ſadneſs. I be⯑gan [65] to liſten to the flattering hopes conti⯑nually inſtilled, that my ſiſter ſtill lived, and ſome fortunate event might yet reſtore her to us. My Lord was aſſured, by the united teſtimony of his friends, that Eli⯑zabeth had no pretence for impeaching him, and Henry learnt with pleaſure his deſign of fixing his reſidence in France. Thus again our peace ſeemed re-eſtabliſh⯑ed on a better foundation than it had yet been: and I devoted my attention, for the preſent, ſolely to recompencing my Lord for all he had renounced in my favor.

Overwhelmed with the repeated ſolici⯑tations of Lady Mortimer, I at laſt ſum⯑moned reſolution to ſet out for Rouen; from whence we had been ſupplied with every accommodation ſuitable to our rank. That city having long been diſtinguiſhed as the refuge of every noble exile, my Lord fixed on it for our reſidence: my relation to Lady Mortimer enſured me every ho⯑nor, and Lord Leiceſter's name would ſoon form us a little court. That criſis now approached very near, which both conſi⯑dered with joy and terror, and it appeared [66] ſome relief to be in the care of a Lady, whoſe experience and tenderneſs might leſſen my ſufferings. Lord Leiceſter's unwearied indulgence and anxious conſi⯑deration, every hour endeared him more to me: and I gladly on reflection com⯑pounded with fortune for all her other ſe⯑verities, ſince the firſt object of my heart was ſtill unaltered.

Averſe to being known ere we had formed a ſuite, and ſelected a habitation, he gave Lady Mortimer notice that we ſhould not arrive till night. As we paſt through the gates of Rouen, eſcorted by her train, my heart beat high with the idea of meeting the ſiſter of the noble Norfolk; the only being (my own ex⯑cepted) allied in blood to me. She met me at the entrance of a ſaloon; I claſped her hands with emotion; I wept upon, I preſſed them to my boſom. She em⯑braced me with extreme compoſure, and holding me back a moment, ran over my features and perſon, with ſo keen a ſcru⯑tiny, as convinced me ſenſibility was not her characteriſtic. While due compli⯑ments [67] paſſed between Miſs Cecil, my Lord, and her, I, in turn, indulged my⯑ſelf with an examination. Her perſon was full-ſized, tall, and graceful, like all the family of Howard; her features viſi⯑bly marked both by age, and decayed beauty; her dreſs ſimple, being like my own, of mourning, and her manners ſtrongly conveyed the idea of magnifi⯑cence. Dignity tinctured with auſterity, marked her converſation; and I felt, to my great regret, I had gained a relation without winning a friend. Two monks, to whom ſhe paid a profound deference; an old officer of the Mortimer family, and his ſiſter, were introduced to us as perſons entitled to ſhare our ſecret; and we ſaw it indeed lodged with them, ere our conſent was demanded. Lord Lei⯑ceſter was ſtruck diſagreeably at this diſ⯑covery, but ſtruggled with his pride, and affected good humour; while finding my⯑ſelf, after all my dangers, under a roof ſanctified by alliance, and where my Lord ſeemed reſtored to his proper ſphere, plea⯑ſure dilated my whole ſoul, and I ſat [68] down to a ſumptuous entertainment pre⯑pared on the occaſion, with an appetite I had long wanted.

She avoided, in conſideration of my ſtate and fatigues, entering into our af⯑fairs, and brought her own before us with a kind freedom; aſſured us of the friendſhip of her eldeſt ſon, Lord Morti⯑mer, who preferred the pleaſure of liber⯑ty in both his religion and actions, by ſerving in the wars of France, to ſeeking a precarious fortune in England; un⯑der an enemy to the Pope. The landed property, once the inheritance of the Mortimers, her Lord had prudently diſ⯑poſed of ere the return of Philip to Spain, in whoſe ſervice he had ever continued: and that Monarch, famed as he was for meanneſs and ingratitude, had ſhewn a ſignal ſenſe of the attachment, by a grant to her youngeſt ſon of a conſiderable por⯑tion of land in Jamaica, which he had cultivated under ſuch indulgences, as made it every day more valuable. His marriage with a Spaniſh lady, had united him more firmly to their government and intereſts; [69] but having lately had the misfortune of loſing his wife, he had yielded to the in⯑treaties of his mother to viſit France, and was hourly expected. Occupied with her own narration, ſhe no longer remembered I was weary. Miſs Cecil however re⯑minded her of the hour, and we were con⯑ducted to a magnificent apartment.

Lord Leiceſter ſlightly touched on the little diſguſt he had juſtly conceived, and indulged a drowſineſs which I could not immediately partake. New objects had awakened my fancy, and invaded my reſt; images more pleaſing than had bleſt me ſince the moment I had quitted Kenil⯑worth Caſtle enlivened my ſoul. Yes, my Leiceſter, ſaid I, ſoftly graſping the hand of my ſleeping love, for me thou ſhalt no more be endangered, and de⯑graded; beyond the reach of our enemies we may now laugh at all their impotent malice. Ah vain and preſumptuous! a deadly ſnare was at that moment winding round my heart, and a puniſhment pre⯑pared which pierced it through the boſom of ſecurity. Alas! madam, this night of [70] promiſed peace proved the aera in my life and became ſo by a misfortune which ab⯑ſorbed the ſenſe of every other. How, how ſhall I recall the ſcene, and preſerve recollection enough to paint it? Drop⯑ping into that ſoft lethargy which fore⯑runs ſleep—ah! why had I not been bu⯑ried in the deepeſt? but I was born the fate of all I ever loved. It was my pecu⯑liar miſery to raiſe the hand which cut them off from all but my memory, and oh to weep thro' life the errors of too ſoft a heart!—Sinking, as I have already ſaid, into ſlumber, I fancied I heard a noiſe in the room—Starting up with a fear habit made almoſt intuitive, I awakened Lord Leiceſter, who inſtantly drawing aſide the curtain, I diſcerned, with inexpreſſible horror, by the pale light of a lanthorn, many men ſurrounding the bed with le⯑velled arms, while one with an imperious voice called out to him to ſurrender to the Queen of England. At that fatal ſound my very ſoul recoiled, but my Lord not deigning to anſwer, drew a ſword, always laid under his pillow, and haughtily com⯑manded [71] them to leave the chamber. The men advancing, he aimed at the one near⯑eſt him, who, by inſtantly retreating, jarred the arm of his companion. The flaſh of death, the tremendous ſound, the falling of the ſword—all, all, confirmed in a moment my fate—Lord Leiceſter, the worſhipped of my ſoul—my all on earth—alas, almoſt my all in heaven, ſunk into my weak arms in a laſt convul⯑ſion.—That which, at the appointed pe⯑riod, will annihilate nature, can alone ſurpaſs the impreſſion of the moment. Terrible too was the confuſion of theſe wretches at ſo unforeſeen an event. The faint light they carried gleamed over thoſe features ſo adored. He tremulouſly raiſed my hand to his lips, and gave up his ſoul in ſilence on my boſom.

But who ſhall ſpeak the miſery of my mind? Precipitated, like the offend⯑ing angels, at once from heaven to hell, an awful ſilence took place of lamentation. Oh it was a woe too mighty for complaint! Inſenſible to fear, I at length deſperately urged his murderers once more to unite [72] thoſe they had thus ſeparated. I bathed my boſom in the bleſſed crimſon which ſtill flowed from his, and called alike on heaven and man to end me. Alas, the only object of my hopes, my fears, my cares, my wiſhes, was congealing before the eyes of the forlorn wretch condemned to ſurvive him. The entrance of Lady Mortimer wrought grief up to phrenzy, and for many days gave that relief to all my agonies.

Reaſon dawned upon my diſordered ſoul like light through chaos. A dim re⯑membrance of what I had been, preceded that of what I was. Faintly I recognized even the weak hand with which I drew back the curtain. I found myſelf in a narrow cell, lighted only through an ob⯑ſcure caſement of painted glaſs. Intui⯑tively my lips pronounced the name of Leiceſter—in vain—Nothing but my own voice returned upon my ear; and the lonely dungeon in which I beheld myſelf encloſed, overwhelmed me with ſo deadly a chillneſs, that the ſhutting of my eyes appeared a degree of relief. Thought [73] roſe tumultuouſly on thought, 'till in one moment the terrible whole flaſhed upon my mind. I ſeemed once more in that magnificent bed which from the peaceful aſylum of love an inſtant con⯑verted into the bier of death—once more I caught that laſt, laſt look indelibly im⯑preſſed—and felt once more my heart congeal with the life-blood which ſprung in torrents from his. I ſtarted up once more in wild deſpair; and wringing my hands, groaned forth his name in accents ſo piercing, that they rouſed the withered attendant allotted me, from her undiſco⯑vered pallet-bed at the foot of mine. Hurrying towards me, ſhe muttered ſome⯑thing I did not underſtand. Heavens! cried I, ſurveying her habit in amaze⯑ment, (for 'till then I had never ſeen a nun) where am I? ſurely in the Receſs; and the grave has given up its former in⯑habitants for my relief and comfort?— "Jeſu Marie! cried ſhe in French, which I very imperfectly underſtood, will this poor thing never recover her ſenſes?" "Ah no, added I, anſwering myſelf, that [74] fatal language confirms every dire recol⯑lection: inform me you, who are (I know not why) interwoven in my fate, where, where is my Lord? if all that flaſhes over my ſoul be but a wandering of intellect, and he yet lives." She caſt down her eyes muttering, "Yes, my poor child, you are ſenſible by that queſtion." "Vain, vain hope! cried I, burſting into tears, and returning to my native tongue; yet oh! alive or dead, he is the all I re⯑quire; reſtore him, but reſtore him! a dear, a ſacred duty attaches me even to his aſhes. Lead me to them, ſince they are all now left me, and allow me to lament at leiſure." She ſhrugged up her ſhoulders, implying ſhe did not thoroughly comprehend my language, and croſſing herſelf, denounced eternal perdition on me if I longer thought of a heretic, who ſeduced me from the true faith, and who of conſequence became a dreadful example of vengeance; charg⯑ing me to adore the holy Virgin Mother, who had by ſo gentle a puniſhment re⯑called me to the Catholick church. Yes, ſainted Leiceſter, in the infatuation of her [75] bigotry ſhe dared to term thy death a gen⯑tle puniſhment. Indignation throbbed through thoſe pulſes grief had nearly ſtilled, and I gave vent to all the an⯑guiſh of my ſoul: abjured with an ag⯑gravated contempt the erroneous faith of my anceſtors, bewailed too late the cre⯑dulity inſpired by my own—execrated the cruel, the treacherous Lady Mortimer, and demanded my liberty with a ſpirit that perplexed and ſurprized the Nuns. Alas! I perceived at the ſame moment, by the increaſing number who now ga⯑thered round my bed, how vain either threats or intreaties muſt prove in that in⯑ſtance. The Superior approached, and in an authoritative deciſive voice informed me, Lady Mortimer, in right of her re⯑lationſhip, had placed me entirely under their care and protection, relying on their pious endeavours both for the recovery of my reaſon and my principles: nor could I make ſo good a uſe of the firſt as to apply it ſolely to the recovery of the latter, in⯑ſtead of idly lamenting a loſs which alone could have preſerved my ſoul. They [76] called the noble huſband, of whom their illiberal tenets had juſt deprived me, an heretic; an outcaſt of ſociety; a wretch not worthy interment. I heard without replying, but my ſoul was not ſilent. I appealed to the Moſt High, and he will not forget me. Oh! in the awful day of retribution, dreadfully will he diſtinguiſh the bigotted dictators in religion!

Happily for me, they underſtood leſs of my language than I did of theirs; which perhaps ſaved me from a harſhneſs which muſt have added the ruin of my conſtitu⯑tion to that of my peace.

You will be aſtoniſhed, madam, at my ſurviving ſuch unceaſing complicated miſ⯑fortunes, and, above all, the loſs of my beloved. I regard it myſelf with wonder, and impute my ſtrength both of body and mind ſolely to the knowing no pauſe in my ſufferings. Driven from one fatigue to another, from one agony to another, lamentation was continually ſuſpended ei⯑ther by amazement, or that neceſſity for exertion which gives a ſpring to all but the weakeſt minds, and counteracts deſpon⯑dency. [77] Grief, I may affirm from ſad ex⯑perience, cannot be fatal till it ſtills and condenſes every other paſſion.

Left at laſt with only that miſerable companion, my own heart, I ruminated at leiſure. Deprived of Lord Leiceſter, happineſs, revenge, name, fortune, every charm in exiſtence, every right in ſoci⯑ety; entombed alive, ere the aſhes of my Lord were allotted a reſting place, I re⯑viewed my whole fate with aſtoniſhment. Often wearied with ſuffering, did I me⯑ditate giving up a life no longer endeared to me, and quietly purſuing my ſoul's better part. Alas, the unborn cauſe of all my late dangers would ſtill recal, ſtill hold me down to ſuffer! Yes, precious remnant of my love, ſole pledge of paſt felicity; laſt of the mighty Dudley line, ſighed I, I owe thee the painful bleſſing of exiſtence; I owe thy noble father's me⯑mory juſtice. I know the profound, the execrable policy of Elizabeth, nor doubt her eſcaping the ſlighteſt cenſure, unleſs I appear,—and ſhall I, ſhall I, oh Lei⯑ceſter, living or dead forſake thee? ſhall [78] ſhe who coſt thee every worldly good, allow thy honour, thy fortune, thy life, to be annihilated without one effort to retrieve either? No, ſince revenge is the little all now left me, let me ſecure that little. Diſappoint, oh God! the weak and enthuſiaſtic views of my unworthy relation; permit me to convey from this unhallowed grave, the honoured aſhes of my love; let them overwhelm Elizabeth with late contrition and fruitleſs ſhame, and then, oh then, allow me to bequeathe to my trembling babe that life, I no longer wiſh to groan under!

To effect any part of theſe complicated deſigns, I found it abſolutely neceſſary to ſtifle, in a degree, my feelings; and ſub⯑mitting to a diſſimulation my ſoul abhor⯑red, I requeſted to ſee that woman who was more terrible to my eyes than any thing human, Elizabeth excepted. This requeſt flattered the Nuns with the hope of my converſion, and a little opened their hearts towards me. I now learnt that the wretches who robbed my days of comfort, imputed the event ſolely to ac⯑cident, [79] nor pleaded a commiſſion beyond conveying Lord Leiceſter to England, and even that in ſo private a manner as ſhewed them without legal authority.—The whole had been conducted with ſo profound a ſecrecy, that neither the de⯑ſign nor event had ever reached the know⯑ledge of the police; to prevent which, the body of Lord Leiceſter had been im⯑mediately brought into an outer vault of the Chapel of the Convent, where it had been embalmed ready to ſend over to England, if ſuch ſhould be the pleaſure of the Queen, which, as it appeared, was all they conſidered. The jewels and mo⯑ney, both Lord Leiceſter and myſelf poſ⯑ſeſſed, when we entered the fatal gates of Rouen, ſeemed to have departed with him, as well as all information reſpecting the lodgment of thoſe ſums I have al⯑ready mentioned; and I ſaw myſelf, for all that fortune once promiſed me, inhe⯑riting only a weed.

As I endured with patience the religious viſitations and homilies of the Nuns, as well thoſe of various Monks, who united with [80] them in converting me, Lady Mortimer in a few days conſented to judge of their cares by ſeeing me. This inſolent woman con⯑ſidered the viſit as a condeſcenſion, and hardly held out a hand mine ſhuddered again to touch. Unmoved with my pale⯑neſs, my condition, or my habit, ſhe calmly diſcourſed with the ſiſterhood and the Monks, while I continued drowned in tears no human effort could ſtifle. A gentleman, who I underſtood was her younger ſon, addreſt me with the voice of ſympathy; uninfluenced by his mo⯑ther's pious prejudices, he ſpoke of my misfortune as the firſt on earth, and of Lord Leiceſter as the man who moſt de⯑ſerved to be lamented; and bewailed the delays in his paſſage, which made him un⯑happily arrive too late to ſuccour either. He ſpoke too in Engliſh. The words, the manner, the language, ſunk into my ſoul, and a ſaint hope they ſtruck out en⯑abled me to ſupport the enſuing conver⯑ſation. Lady Mortimer addreſt me with an air at once tenacious and haughty; treated me like a mere girl, who to a [81] blind and unpardonable paſſion, had made perpetual ſacrifices of every ſolid duty of religion and morality; repreſented me as the ſole cauſe of my mother's martyrdom, a ſin no penance could ever expiate; men⯑tioned with horror that union, which wanting the ſanction of the Pope, could not by her be termed a marriage: and valued herſelf on the happy plan ſhe had laid to ſeparate us. It appeared the in⯑formation of our place of reſidence paſſed from her to Elizabeth, who bargained for the ſecret delivery of Lord Leiceſter to her emiſſaries: a requeſt Lady Mortimer complied with gladly, as the eaſieſt and moſt effectual means of re-uniting me to the Church. The plan of ſeizing him at midnight, had, ſhe owned, been concert⯑ed by herſelf, as that was a time when he could neither reſiſt, nor I follow him, to create any alarm: a circumſtance ſhe dreaded beyond any other thing. From the bloody conſequence of this treachery ſhe affected to acquit herſelf, though without expreſſing any ſorrow on the oc⯑caſion.

[82]Oh, negative ſin! groaned I inwardly; oh, dire colluſion! wanting courage to act an ill, are you, when pre-acquainted, leſs guilty in not preventing it? the laws of England reached not hither; nor was Lord Leiceſter amenable by thoſe laws; wherefore entice and murder him, be⯑neath a roof alliance and hoſpitality ſhould have doubly conſecrated? Wherefore, but that the commoneſt inn would have pro⯑tected him? Tears and ſighs being all my comments on her ſpeech, ſhe joined the monks in elaborate exhortations; in high promiſes of preſenting me to all my mother's partiſans, and rendering me the head of the Engliſh Catholic par⯑ty, whenever I voluntarily recanted my errors; or if I perſiſted in them, antici⯑pating the judgment of Heaven, ſhe re⯑ſolved to puniſh my apoſtacy by an abſo⯑lute ſecluſion within the walls which at preſent confined me. Faint, and over⯑come, I promiſed to deliberate, and with difficulty obtained the only requeſt I ven⯑tured:—the ſad indulgence of weeping over the coffin of Lord Leiceſter.

[83]I could hardly fail to diſcover, through this veil of ſimulation, pride and bigotry, a ſtrong ſelf-intereſt. The agreement for delivering up Lord Leiceſter very highly offended thoſe laws which protected Lady Mortimer, and to which ſhe muſt have anſwered, had the intention only tranſ⯑pired; but when to that was added his murder, his midnight murder, in a city chiefly compoſed of Huguenots; hardly dared ſhe gueſs at her own danger. The narrow faith which emboſomed her among Catholicks, proved in this inſtance her ſafety, ſince united in her danger as well as principles, they were reſolved to ven⯑ture the utmoſt to ſecure her. Every ſubſequent day confirmed my opinion, and the abſolute neceſſity of winning me over, or entombing me alive, made the Nuns omit no care or indulgence, after once I ſeemed to liſten to them.

Fearful of rouſing all my paſſions, and reviving every prejudice, by conducting me to the dreary unhallowed vault Lord Leiceſter was laid in, and not daring to bring his ſacrilegeous aſhes within their [84] own Chapel, the Nuns amuſed themſelves (with decorating his ſepulchre with all the pompous inſignia of death.—Ah! vain attempt to ſadden anguiſh! Can midnight tapers, ſuſpended black, or waving plumes relieve thoſe eyes which ſeek in vain their only object? or gratify a heart writhing under the iron hand of calamity? Can mortal prayers enſure immortal happi⯑neſs? or can ſelf-ſainted wretches bribe the Almighty even with the ore his boun⯑ty laviſhes? Prepoſterous blindneſs!— Such were my mental replies to all their enthuſiaſtic harangues; and this ill-choſen moment of aſſailing me, only fixed my fluctuating religious principles. On the coffin of Lord Leiceſter, my ſecret ſoul pronounced a vow ſolemn and irrevoca⯑ble, to know no heaven but his, nor ſeek it in another manner. Thou too, oh moſt beloved! wert preſent—but not to me—no more my eyes were to imbibe pleaſure from the lucid beams of thine! —no more my ſoul was to mingle with thine effuſions, which ſo often had ena⯑bled me to ſuſtain the malevolence of [85] fortune! Ah, no! thou, thou, alone wert by a ſtrange tranſition become my ſovereign grief; and the cold lead which feared up duſt ſo precious, encloſed at the ſame moment the heart of thy ſad widow!

I had in vain enquired for Miſs Cecil; the Nuns aſſured me they knew only from my delirium that ſuch a perſon exiſted, and Lady Mortimer inexorably refuſed to inform me, whether ſhe ſtill did ſo. Deeply I lamented the loſs of the only friend who could have ſoothed by ſharing my affliction. Death had hallowed her paſſion with rights ſcarce inferior to my own, and my heart too frequently felt none but thoſe who loved could lament Lord Leiceſter as he merited.

Mr. Mortimer ſoon became the medi⯑um between me and his mother; deſpair⯑ing to touch her impenetrable ſoul, I employed every moment of loneli⯑neſs in ſubduing her ſon's. Slowly I unfolded my views, and ſlowly he too liſtened to them; yet he did liſten. Fear⯑ful that every hour would add a new in⯑convenience, by the birth of that poor [86] babe for whom I ſuffered ſuch unremit⯑ting calamity, and dubious whether the pious policy of the nuns might not ſnatch it, as ſoon as born, from my feeble arms, as well to enſure my ſtay as my abjuration, new terrors ſprung up in my ſoul. I could not but perceive an intereſted mo⯑tive actuated him; reduced, however, to owe my freedom to any thing, I ap⯑peared blind to a tenderneſs every cir⯑cumſtance forbad him to avow. A very few days determined him, and he in⯑formed me he had ſecured an Engliſh veſſel, the crew of which were to be his only aſſiſtants. How ſlowly is hope ex⯑tinguiſhed, and oh, how ſwiftly does it revive! actuated with the moſt impatient deſire of eſcaping, I made even my grief ſubſervient to it; and propoſed to the nuns periodically to watch in the vault with Lord Leiceſter, (a ſad ceremony their religion permitted, and mine did not forbid) being told it would be eaſier to force a way into this than the interior parts of the Convent. Mortimer had himſelf directed in conveying thither my [87] departed Love, and allowed it to be an eaſy means of eſcape, and perhaps the only one.

I paſt part of ſeveral preceding nights in the ſame manner, accompanied by different nuns, to lull ſuſpicion, were it poſſible any ſhould have ariſen. What quick, what multiplied, what various emotions foreran the appointed time! Every eye ſeemed to dive into my deſign, and every heart ſeemed intent to coun⯑teract it. I found it impoſſible to obtain the privilege of watching alone, and ſhi⯑vered leſt my deliverers ſhould arive ere my pale companion was ſummoned; or I ſhould want ſtrength to prevent her alarming the ſiſterhood. Fortunately the night proved ſeverely cold, and obſerving ſhe was no ſharer in my penance, I re⯑commended to her to retire to her cell, and rejoin me when the mattins were over. Diſguſted with her employment, and already froſt-nipt, ſhe ſullenly com⯑plied, and left me alone with the cof⯑fin of Lord Leiceſter—Loſt huſband of my choice! Oh, ever dear, and ever la⯑mented! [88] ſighed I, kneeling before, and invoking the ſenſeleſs lead, not for her⯑ſelf is thy Matilda thus anxious: to vin⯑dicate thy honor, to preſerve the preci⯑ous earth which once was part of thee, and that which will ſoon become ſo, is all the uſe ſhe now can make of freedom. An awful ſilence, which ſeemed only in⯑terrupted by the throbbing of my pulſes, ſucceeded. Regardleſs of all thoſe em⯑blems of death, which harrow up the minds of the happy, I knew no fear but of the living. The bell ſtruck upon my heart the deciſive twelve. A jarring in the fartheſt vault reached my ear; ano⯑ther opened; I heard the feet of men; another yet; I was environed by my de⯑liverers, and one ſpark of pleaſure ran through my cold frame, as I raiſed my head from the coffin of Lord Leiceſter. "Fly, fair Matilda, cried the impatient Mortimer, ſnatching my hand to raiſe me"—"Stay, generous friend, and hear me, ſaid I with firmneſs. You reſcue only half of me, if you leave the aſhes of my [89] Lord behind. Would you part a miſer from his treaſure? rather will he be maſ⯑ſacred upon it. There is encloſed the whole of mine; bear that likewiſe away, or entomb me with it; for never, I ſwear by him in whoſe preſence we were united, never will I, alive or dead, conſent to part with him." Offended at ſo unexpect⯑ed a demand, he urged the difficulty and the danger, with a harſhneſs I thought him incapable of; nevertheleſs, the place and time allowed not of long delibera⯑tion, and finding me inflexible, he at laſt ordered the ſailors to convey away the coffin likewiſe. An order they only complied with, from taking the metaphorical phraſe I had uſed, "of a treaſure," in a literal ſenſe. Attached to Lord Leiceſter be⯑yond mortality, I always felt protected when he was preſent, and with ceaſeleſs care watched my deliverers, convinced they would be but too ready to leave ſo great an incumbrance behind.

They bore me with ſwiftneſs to the banks of the Seine, where a boat waited; and the tide favoring, we ſoon reached a [90] ſhip of considerable burden, which weigh⯑ed anchor immediately. Agitated with a thouſand remembrances, that of Mor⯑timer hardly occurred to me till the veſ⯑ſel was under fail, and I ſtill perceived him on board. I had ever underſtood he was to leave me as ſoon as I was placed in ſafety. I reminded him of this pro⯑miſe. "I will leave you, faireſt of women, cried he, eagerly graſping my hand, when you are placed in ſafety; if you ſtill are cruel enough to deſire it. But can I quit you now? or venture to ſet foot in a coun⯑try where I have for your ſake violated the moſt ſacred law, and expoſed myſelf to condign puniſhment?" I ſhould have found reaſon enough in this anſwer, but that his ſtifled, ſhort-breathed joy, his ungovernable ardor, impreſſed my ſecret ſoul with terror, and robbed freedom of all comfort.

I found in the cabin, to which he con⯑ducted me, a woman allotted to attend me, who ſtrongly recommended that re⯑poſe my fate had long denied: the mis⯑fortunes from which I had eſcaped, united [91] with thoſe that ſtill threatened me, to fill my whole ſoul; and willing to avert the fearful anticipation, I entered into ſome common diſcourſe with my atten⯑dant. I found, with infinite aſtoniſh⯑ment, that ſhe was a midwife, and pro⯑vided with every neceſſary for the ex⯑pected babe. I ſhould have conſidered this as the moſt tender obligation, but that a fatal doubt had ſprung up in my heart, and ſuſpended every generous emo⯑tion. Alas, it ſoon matured into certain⯑ty! The vain and eternal fondneſs which made me inſiſt on having the coffin of Lord Leiceſter placed in the cabin, al⯑lotted for me at firſt, ſeemed to inſpire in Mortimer that horror common to weak or guilty minds, at ſight of ſuch an aw⯑ful memento: a few days rendered it fa⯑miliar to him. A paſſion he no longer concealed, led him for ever into my pre⯑ſence; neither the unburied dead, the black which ſeemed to envelop, my wi⯑thered heart as well as form, nor the ſad circumſtances in which I was widowed, any longer operated on his imagination. [92] I too plainly perceived he conſidered me as his own, and only waited my recovery to avow his unwarranted pretenſions. What dire viciſſitudes of fear did my timid ſoul experience! I ſaw myſelf entirely in the power of this man; forlorn of every hu⯑man aid! hopeleſs, helpleſs, ſave in the mercy of the Almighty. —Oh, thou ſu⯑preme! ſighed I, hourly raiſing my ſtreaming eyes to Heaven, thou whoſe omniſcient breath rolls on this mighty world of waters! oh, grant that they may prove my ſafety or my grave!

A little gallery ran before my cabin, whither I ſometimes went for air. De⯑voured with reveries like thoſe recapitu⯑lated, I one evening found them inter⯑rupted by the voice of a woman ſinging. The elegance of her manner, and the ſweet⯑neſs of her tone, convinced me it could not be my coarſe attendant; nor did I know the ſhip contained another female ſave myſelf. Wrapt in aſtoniſhment and curioſity, every ſenſe ſubſided into ear. I recogniſed a favourite hymn; a hymn ſo ſwelling, ſolemn, and ſublime, that [93] my charmed ſoul purſued the ſubject al⯑moſt to Heaven. She changed to death,—one tone, one deep, one dirge-like tone, ſtruck on my vibrating heart, and almoſt ſilenced every pulſe. A loud cry, with the name of Roſe, burſt from me—the noiſe of a perſon falling ſucceeded, and the ſinging ceaſed. I ran wildly up to the deck, and loudly demanded my long loſt friend of the aſtoniſhed Morti⯑mer. Confuſed beyond the power of de⯑ceiving me, he opened a cabin immedi⯑ately over my own. Ah, with what tu⯑multuous emotions did I raiſe the much-loved, much-lamented partner of my fate! ſlowly ſhe recovered from the ſtupor ſurprize had occaſioned; a thouſand re⯑membrances endeared the pleaſure of the re-union; as many annihilated all ſenſe of pleaſure. Embraces and tears at length ſubſided. As ſoon as alone, I queſtioned her concerning the interval, the dire de⯑ciſive interval.—Waked by the univerſal confuſion, ſaid the fair Roſe with bitter ſobs, which ſucceeded the fatal accident of the night that parted us, I demanded [94] you, my friend, with frantic ardor, but in vain. A man, I ſoon underſtood to be the ſon of Lady Mortimer, who was concealed in the houſe when we arrived; ſhortly after entered my apartment, and ordered others who attended him, to con⯑vey me on board the ſhip which brought him from Jamaica. Tears and intreaties were fruitleſs, and in the dead of night I was conducted to the banks of the Seine, and rowed to this veſſel, in which I found myſelf impriſoned, without the leaſt hope of meeting you. I ſoon learnt, from the coarſe jeſts of the ſailors, that their owner was an unprincipled villain in all reſpects, and more eſpecially where women was concerned: every hope of an eſcape was finally taken from me, by my having the ill-fortune to attach the Captain, whom fear of Mortimer alone has kept within bounds. I underſtood the veſſel was bound for Jamaica, and only waited to take in a new cargo: Nevertheleſs, I ſaw that completed without our ſetting ſail; and hoped from this the hand of provi⯑dence would yet interpoſe in my favor. [95] Alas, little did I imagine it was involving you in the ſame hopeleſs, deſperate ſitu⯑ation!— Judge then, oh moſt unfortunate, concluded the amiable Miſs Cecil, what fate awaits us both—reſcued from the li⯑centious wiſhes of your couſin, his worth⯑leſs heart has only exchanged its object, and reſigns me as the more ignoble prey to his more worthleſs companion: the little decency Mortimer has hitherto pre⯑ſerved towards you, this miſerable meet⯑ing will finally put an end to. He now knows you are infallibly apprized of your deſtination, and how will you form your mind to it? The iſland to which we are bound is yet in the hands of a few ſettlers, power is almoſt their only law, and he doubtleſs does not want that, ſince he ventures to defy every other. Never more ſhall my aching eyes diſcern the ſafe, the pleaſant ſhores of England, thoſe ſhores they joyed to loſe ſight of. —Alas, they then were fixed upon an ob⯑ject, offended Heaven has puniſhed me by claiming!

[96]How, how ſhould we reſiſt the numb⯑ing power of deſperation, did not the ſa⯑cred ſenſe of devotion moſtly ſpring from it, and lift the ſoul above humanity! Although more deplorably circumſtanced myſelf, by a courageous effort I reſolved to ſoothe and conſole her; and gently preparing her tender heart for the fatal object it was deſtined to encounter, I led her down to my cabin. Ah what affecti⯑on ſtreamed equal from our hearts and eyes upon the cold memento!

Miſs Cecil judged too truly, and the infamous Mortimer no longer deigned to veil his views; perpetually ſhocking me with free and haughty declarations of his paſſion. It was but too obvious he knew his power, and conſidered his intention of marrying me as the moſt honourable diſtinction; even at the moment he ſcoff⯑ed at every one cuſtom or nature had eſtabliſhed. Miſs Cecil was not leſs im⯑portuned, by a wretch rough as the ele⯑ment by which he ſubſiſted, and both ſo regularly viſited our cabin, that ſcarce could we call it our own, even at the [97] hours ſacred to repoſe. In thoſe eternal conflicts, ſuch a ſituation muſt cauſe, deſ⯑pair would too often prevail; and ſilently with dubious eyes we fathomed the abyſs of waters on which we floated, conſider⯑ing it as the laſt terrible aſylum.

In the midſt of theſe horrors the ap⯑pointed hour revolved, and nature made her agonizing effort. In that awful mo⯑ment I loſt every ſenſation of fear, and reſigned myſelf into the hands of my creator; beſeeching him to recall the troubled ſoul which ſo long had groaned before him, with that of the tender babe whoſe firſt feeble cries pierced my every ſenſe. As ſoon as my weakneſs allowed, they gave into my arms a girl, a dear, a fatherleſs girl, who ſeemed at her firſt en⯑trance into exiſtence, to bewail her un⯑known calamity. An impulſe new, ex⯑quiſite, unexpected, took poſſeſſion of my ſoul; an impulſe ſo ſweet, ſo ſtrong, ſo ſacred, it ſeemed as I had never loved till then. Feebly ſtraining her to my bo⯑ſom, I enthuſiaſtically prayed the Al⯑mighty to beſtow on her every bleſſing [98] ſhe had innocently wreſted from me, while my fond heart baptiſed her in its tears. Powerful, powerful nature! how did I worſhip all thy ordinations! No fate can be wrought up to ſuch a height of happineſs, but ſome interwoven ſorrow chaſtens us with the ſad ſenſe of imperfection; nor any ſo ſteeped in mi⯑ſery, but ſome celeſtial ray ſtreams through this frail manſion of mortality, ſubliming all its ſufferings.

While my eager eyes gazed unwearied on my new-born cherub, and traced in her infant lineaments her father's match⯑leſs beauty, even till they ached with fondneſs, fancy pierced through the veil of futurity to unite each grace of perſon and of mind, and enduing her with all, every human claim upon my feelings ſeemed condenſed, and revived in this new one. Oh, hope! ſweet ſubſtitute for happineſs, whoſe mental gildings dawn periodically upon the ſoul, like light upon creation, awakening and invigorating every active principle of being; recalled by this irreſiſtible influence even from [99] the dark, the dreary grave, each troubled heart ariſes, and ſhaking off the heavy dews of ſorrow, ſlowly reſumes its wonted habits. The pale converts of experience no longer dare appropriate the darling object of their wiſhes, but meekly then receive the appointed pleaſure, prepared alike either to enjoy or to reſign it. As thus the maternal tye engrafted itſelf in my ſoul, I perpetually endeavoured to impreſs that of my dear unfortunate; friend with the ſame train of ideas. Alas, in vain!—Ra⯑ther ſurprized at finding me ſenſible of conſolation, than diſpoſed to receive it, ſhe gradually withdrew a confidence I did not eaſily miſs, and delivered herſelf up to that cold and ſullen deſpair, which un⯑ſettles every principle. Intreaties and arguments ſoon loſt all effect on her. Starting at times from an impenetrable reverie, a broken ſigh would overturn all I could urge, while continued adjurations produced too often a marked diſguſt. Obliged at intervals to quit the cabin (leſt even my preſent ſituation ſhould fail to protect it from intruders) and liſten to [100] the hateful addreſſes of her boiſterous lover, often did the ſeat of reaſon appear ſhaken in this dear unfortunate on her return, and a vague and extravagant gaiety would ſuddenly give place to the deepeſt gloom and inanity. I ſaw theſe fluctua⯑tions with horror, and dreaded the mo⯑ment when a rude demand of marriage ſhould bring her fate to a climax. Ah, not without reaſon did I dread it! One evening, after a converſation of this kind, I perceived her more than uſually diſturb⯑ed. Neither my prayers, nor the pour⯑ing rain could bring her from the balcony, where for hours ſhe told her weary ſteps. I ſtarted at laſt from a momentary ſlum⯑ber on her re-entering the cabin. The dim lamp burning in it, ſhewed, her with a ſlow, and tottering pace approaching the laſt aſylum of Lord Leiceſter; ſinking by this repoſitory of her breaking heart, ſhe claſped her hands upon her boſom with a moſt ſpeaking ſenſe of woe; while over it her fair locks fell wild and di⯑ſhevelled, heavy with the midnight rain, and ſhivering to its beatings. The wet [101] pery of her white garments ſpread far over the floor, and combined to from ſo perfect an image of deſolation, as froze up all my faculties. I ſtruggled for articulati⯑on. A feeble cry alone eſcaped me. She ſtarted at the ſound from her icy ſtupor; and glanced her eyes every where, with that acuteneſs of perception which marks a diſturbed imagination; then with a long ſigh ſunk once more into herſelf. A ſe⯑cond cry, followed by her name, my bounding eager heart pronounced. She half aroſe; the motion of her lips ſeemed contending with the drear ſilence of the moment, but not a murmur broke it,— amazement, horror, the wrings of death transfixed me. Springing up with ethe⯑rial lightneſs, even while her feeble frame ſhivered with agony and affection, ſhe fixed on my convulſed features a long, long look, then waving majeſtically a laſt adieu, ruſhed again into the balcony. Unable to move a limb; my harrowed ſoul ſeemed, through the jar of the ele⯑ments, to diſtinguiſh her dreadful plunge into the world of waters. A ſomething [102] too mighty to deſcribe or endure came over me, and ſenſe fled before it.

How long it was ere my careleſs atten⯑dant came to my relief I know not, but a ſucceſſion of fits, accompanied with dangerous ſhudderings, and a raging fever ſeemed every moment to promiſe me, from the ordination of providence, that relief my loſt Roſe had ventured to pre⯑cipitate. Whether her fatal example, or my ſufferings, influenced my tyrant, his perſecution entirely ſubſided; in the ſhort intervals of reaſon my weakneſs produced, he condemned his own conduct, bound himſelf by the moſt ſolemn promiſes to convey me home, and conjured me to ſtruggle for life, if not for my own ſake, at leaſt for that of my infant. Alas, my babe! when my cheek felt once more thy tender breathings, I accuſed myſelf for wiſhing to leave thee, and acknowledged the ſad neceſſity of living. My cruel malady robbing the cherub of her natural ſuſte⯑nance, it was with difficulty ſhe received any other, and the propoſal he made me, of having her baptized, was readily ac⯑cepted. [103]That ceremony was performed the ſame evening. Alas, my precious in⯑fant, no velvet pillowed thy innocent face! no coſtly canopies preſerved it! no noble ſponſors, with ready arms, contended to receive thee! no father's bleſſing followed that of Heaven; thou wert, alas, given by a ſordid nurſe, to a more ſordid chaplain, and by a dim lamp, within a, narrow ca⯑bin, thy woeful mother raiſed her feeble head to ſee the child of Lord Leiceſter, a daughter of the Houſe of Stuart, con⯑ſecrated by the name of Mary.

Recovered a little from the effects, as well as the impreſſion cauſed by the un⯑happy cataſtrophe of my darling friend, I could not fail to adore that gracious providence, with whoſe decrees ſhe had dared to blend her own, on learning that the inſolent Captain had, on that fatal evening, by a fall broke both his arms, and loſt the power of moleſting her. At firſt this appeared a bitter aggravation, but ſoon it ſunk into my ſoul, and regu⯑lated all my future conduct. Never! ah never, from that moment have I ventured [104]to yield to raſhneſs and deſpair, but when unable to obey, I have reſolved to en⯑dure. How ſeverely has this principle been tried? How often, when over⯑weighed by the heavy hand of misfortune, have I been obliged to interpoſe between myſelf and my fate, the fleeting form of the beauteous Cecil eſcaping my helpleſs will, and ruſhing, uncalled, into eter⯑nity?

The vain hope of returning to England, with which Mortimer had flattered me into health, daily diminiſhed; the altera⯑tion of the air, united with the diſcourſe of the mariners, to prove the period of my diſaſtrous voyage approached. I heard the fond, the univerſal ſhout, and that ſweet emotion ſailors only feel at ſight of land, agitated every heart but mine. Averſe and gloomy I turned my hopeleſs eyes towards a ſhore where nature's laviſh hand had ſpread a fertility, which ſeemed to ſcorn the aid of art. Ah, where are now the barren hills, the chalky cliffs of Eng⯑land? ſighed I in ſilence. I perceived St. Jago de la Vega, the only town then [105] on the iſland; and in the idea of intereſt⯑ing the Governor I reſted my laſt hope. I knew not that eager to poſſeſs the abun⯑dant conveniences my tyrant had brought over I ſhould eſcape the notice of the inha⯑bitants, or be conſidered as living lumber not worth enquiry. Confined within the narrow bounds of my own cabin, I had the mortification of hearing the cannon and mu⯑ſick proclaim the arrival and departure of the Governor and Officers, after partaking a ſumptuous entertainment; and on the ſame evening, while intoxication ſecured the chief people of the iſland in their own houſes, I was landed, and put into a litter, which the ſlaves of Mortimer bore to⯑wards his plantations. The few idlers whom curioſity drew round me, diſre⯑garded my adjurations, and with cold in⯑ſolence examined my features. Their re⯑marks, were made in a language I did not underſtand, and I plainly diſcerned they did not wiſh to underſtand mine. I too late recollected my being unveiled might make them form a falſe judgment of my character. Meek by nature, and bowed [106] to the earth by misfortune, I loſt all power of contending with my fate; and ſupplicating only the Almighty, awaited its dire completion. I perceived it was not without reaſon Mortimer had boaſted of his authority: with overbearing inſo⯑lence he now demanded my hand, and bade me remember he was there a ſove⯑reign, nor did I ſee a being who dared even to murmur at his will. He pre⯑ſumed to rally the anguiſh he occaſioned, and even ſacrilegiouſly to inſult the cold remains of that adored huſband whoſe rights he ſeemed every moment ready to violate. Imagination had long ſince been exhauſted in ſeeking means of redreſs. Flight was impoſſible in a country where I neither knew the roads, the natives, nor whether it ſupplied an individual willing or able to protect me. Many of his Spa⯑niſh domeſtics I was not permitted to ſee; thoſe that were allowed to approach me appeared haughty, repelling, and ſilent. I ſoon found they compounded with their pride for the ſervile exactions of duty paid to him, by lording it equally over his [107] ſlaves; who, timid by nature, and ſub⯑dued by cruelty, ſeemed to have loſt the very wiſh of any other good than that of exiſtence.

Tears, ſighs, and refuſals, could no longer avert or even delay the ſacrifice; and having only a few hours of ſolitude allowed, to prepare my mind for the cere⯑mony, I huſhed my ſmiling babe at my aching breaſt, and wearied alike with mi⯑ſery and prayer, dropt into a ſlumber. A dream repreſented me in the poſition I really was—ſunk on the ground near the coffin of Lord Leiceſter. Suddenly I per⯑ceived the lid was removed. I ſtarted up, impatient to behold the choſen of my heart. I ſaw him once more, tho' wrapt in the garments of the grave—once more I ſaw rich life mantling on that manly cheek, and thoſe fine eyes, mine never beheld without pleaſure, once more beamed brightneſs upon me. Surprized, entranced, I made a thouſand ineffectual efforts to ſpeak, and holding out my new⯑born Mary, I ſaw (oh ſweet, though vain deluſion!) a father's arms enfold her. My [108] ſenſes ſeemed unequal to the ecſtacy: im⯑penetrable darkneſs ſpread over my eyes, and a burſt of ethereal muſick abſorbed every faculty. Recovering all, however, in⯑ſtantaneouſly, I looked upward. Alas, Lord Leiceſter was aſcending with his daughter in his arms. I demanded her with agonizing cries; and, catching at a mantle which yet ſeemed within my reach, it fell upon me like the craſh of nature, burying me under an immoveable weight. I awakened at the moment. 'Tis but a dream, cried my ſcared heart, but ſuch a dream as the horrors of the approaching moment alone could counterpoiſe.

Scarce had I recalled my ſhook ſenſes, when Mortimer, attended by his Chap⯑lain and domeſtics, entered my apartment. While the latter were decorating it with Catholic pomp, I ſummoned the ſmall remains of my courage to addreſs the prieſt, who ſtood ready to mock the re⯑ligion he profeſſed.—"By that awful God to whom you are conſecrated, hear, me! cried I, ſinking at his feet, and oh, that he may graciouſly impreſs upon your [109] heart the ſad proteſt of mine! by bar⯑barous hands at once widowed and be⯑trayed, it is no longer poſſible for every human power combined to make me happy; you, you alone, may make me wholly miſerable. If to complete thoſe manifold evils which the Almighty (for ends I cannot judge of) has permitted me to ſurvive, with the violation of every right, both of religion and morality, can be called marriage, and you as the delegate of Heaven dare ſacrilegiouſly to pronounce the ceremony, I ſtand here a devoted wretch, the hopeleſs helpleſs, victim of my duty! But mark, I adjure you, my laſt declaration. I have a will which circumſtances can neither alter or bend—delivered up to this abandoned man, it is in his power to make me any thing but his wife, and againſt that title my ſoul will ever revolt, and my laſt breath proteſt."—"Unhappy, deluded young creature, returned the ſordid prieſt in French, were my conſeience to pre⯑vent this marriage, it would be from a different motive than thoſe you adjure me [110] by, and ſuch is the horror your obſtinate hereſy inſpires, that did I not hope time, end a better huſband's cares would con⯑vert your erring heart, hardly would I venture to unite you with a member of our holy church."—"Submit yourſelf at once to your fate, imperiouſly ſaid Mortimer, for to end your hopes of the church's in⯑terpoſing in your favor, I will frankly acknowledge ſhe put you into my power." I turned my hands, as well as eyes, in ſpeechleſs aſtoniſhtiment towards Heaven. "Hope not, my fair couſin, rejoined he with a malicious ſmile, your ſentimental innocence, can cope with the arts of a ſiſterhood of nuns. Wearied with your obſtinacy, fearful of your eſcape, they gladly put you into my power to enſure their own ſafety." He pauſed—my mind took in at once the dreadful truth—My innocence, ah rather ſay ignorance, groaned I mentally, that fatal error which too ſe⯑verely puniſhes itſelf—Hardly ever can I pardon myſelf the extravagant credu⯑lity. "Scarce could my mother perſuade me, reſumed he, that you would be duped [111] by ſo obvious a colluſion; ſince a ſingle moment's reflection muſt have convinced you never man pervaded the laſt retreat of diſappointed women, but by their own connivance: and all the precious mum⯑mery of the buſineſs but heightened the pleaſure of the triumph. How could I fail to ſmile to ſee the coffined ſpouſe borne in the train of the living one? who proudly claſped a timid heart which, knew not then it throbbed againſt its maſ⯑ters!" Alike unable to utter or ſuppreſs the burning indignation this unmanly boaſt, this elaborate wickedneſs excited, I fixed my eyes inflexibly on the coffin of Lord Leiceſter, almoſt believing heaven itſelf would effect a miracle in my favor, by renovating my only protector. The ce⯑remony nevertheleſs commenced; when a new event transfixed not only me, but every perſon preſent. A yell, wild, deep, ſhrill, and horrible, was ſucceeded by a tumult univerſal and tremendous. The paleneſs of death crept upon the cheeks of my late inhuman tyrant, who, with his confederates, turned around his hopeleſs [112] eyes for ſome inſtrument of defence in vain. Impelled by deſperation they all ruſhed out; but were inſtantly driven back by the tide of exaſperated ſlaves. Appalled by their ferocious eyes, and bloody hands, I ſunk into a ſwoon, but revived as it were by heaven's appoint⯑ment to ſee the laſt, the deadly blow gi⯑ven to Mortimer; who reeling a few pa⯑ces, groaned his laſt on the coffin of Lord Leiceſter: thus ſignally and memorably avenged. Surrounded with death in every horrid form, I expected continually the completion of my deſtiny; which I had certainly found, but that a Spaniard, who was united in the plot of the ſlaves, with the gallantry incident to his nation pro⯑tected me in conſequence of my ſex and wrongs, and led me away to their rendez⯑vous; aſſuring me I ſhould there find ſafety. Terror almoſt annihilated my fa⯑culties as the ferocious ſlaves ran back⯑ward and forward, heaping in theſe huts the bloody plunder new murders every moment ſecured. Having gathered to⯑gether all they thought it expedient to [113] ſave, they loaded the horſes, and each other haſtening to ſecrete themſelves in thoſe woods, which by narrow paſſes led to impenetrable retreats in the mountains. Many were the unintelligible diſputes concerning me. Many a half-raiſed arm, and inflamed eye, glared death upon me; but the ſtroke was as eagerly averted by the interpoſition of the generous Emanuel. Yet perhaps his utmoſt intereſt had been unequal to the occaſion, but that one of the ſlaves they called Aimor, ſeemed ſud⯑denly won over to my party. He was among the ringleaders of this conſpiracy, and his deciſion ſilenced every murmur. Horſes were ſo precious, that Emanuel could only procure me one by reſigning to his confederates his ſhare of the plun⯑der, which it had been allotted him to convey.

Fury now began to give place to fear; and the guilty wretches haſtened their de⯑parture. The march commenced about midnight. Silent, bewildered, awe-ſtruck, I had meditated on this ſucceſſion of ter⯑rible events, without extending my views [114] beyond the preſent moment, and ſcarce dared look towards the future. To ſee myſelf and infant led away thus ſuddenly into ſlavery, by a wild and unknown peo⯑ple, feared by the oppreſſions of their murdered maſter to all ſenſe of humanity, through a country alike wild and un⯑known, expoſed to the inſults of two new-made lovers, and only ſafe in the guard they kept over each other; how ſtrange the tranſition in my fate! I yet bent my ſoul to the power, who by ſuch exemplary juſ⯑tice, releaſed me from Mortimer, and thought every other evil leſs than being confirmed his wife, ſince that alone was without any remedy but death.

Ere we had made any conſiderable pro⯑greſs in our fearful journey, the rolling clouds became tinctured with a vivid crimſon, and my companions were ſeized with the conſternation incident to guilt. Notwithſtanding they had uſed every pre⯑caution to conceal their ravages, on the ſpot from whence they had eſcaped, till out of the reach of danger, ſome unex⯑tinguiſhed ſpark had caught fire, and ex⯑tending [115] through the range of buildings, I ſaw the rich, though ravaged poſſeſſions, of Mortimer, one univerſal conflagration. The apprehenſion this diffuſed through the midnight wanderers, gave place in me to a nearer and more affecting remem⯑brance. Sad and ſilent tears ſtreamed down my cheeks, when I conſidered the whole riches of his baſe rival formed but the funeral pile of Lord Leiceſter. Fare⯑well! a long farewell! ſighed forth my oppreſſed ſoul. Oh, moſt beloved! Oh, moſt avenged! Whatever fate Heaven ſhall appoint thy perſecuted widow, hum⯑bly let her obey the God, who ſo ſignally interred thee!—Alas! a few hours and no memorial of thy exiſtence will remain, except that poor babe who feebly trem⯑bles to the beatings of her mother's heart. No faithful hand ſhall ſeparate the aſhes of the injurer and the injured: Yet let me not complain, ſince the fiat of the Almighty ſhall awfully adjudge the ſouls this fearful moment enlarges.

As Emanuel ſtill walked by me, I ſought from him to underſtand the cauſe [116] of the preſent inſurrection, and the dif⯑ferent motives of himſelf and compani⯑ons. "Thoſe of the ſlaves, ſaid that ge⯑nerous protector, are like their natures, wild and various—my own, ſimply juſ⯑tice and love. The tyrannic Mortimer, whoſe fate no being will ever deplore, eſtabliſhed himſelf in this iſland, no leſs by the favor of Philip the Second, than by marrying the ſiſter of the preſent Go⯑vernor, Don Pedro de Sylva. In that no⯑bleman he met a kindred mind; mean, mercenary, oppreſſive, and cruel; in one particular alone they differed; Mortimer was by nature bold and enterprizing; Don Pedro cautious and timid. The enor⯑mities of the firſt, however, always found ſhelter in the injuſtice of the latter; and Don Pedro not daring to carry on in his own perſon that piratical and illicit trade which alone can enrich individuals in the infancy of a ſettlement, ſecretly ſhared with his brother-in-law the purchaſe and the profit, while Mortimer was the only oſtenſible perſon, had any legal enquiry ariſen. The arrogance, cruelty, and va⯑nity [117] of Mortimer, received a fatal increaſe by the accumulation of wealth, and ſet him above all reſtraint, Don Pedro, conſcious he was in his power, ventured not to queſtion, much leſs puniſh his con⯑duct. The intervals between his frequent voyages deſtroyed the peace, and ſhor⯑tened the days of Donna Victoria, the uncomplaining victim of her brother's and huſband's rapacious league. I came with her into the family as her major domo, a poſt, which rendering me a wit⯑neſs of the brutality of Mortimer, ſoon turned the diſguſt he generally inſpired into hatred. I was the foſter brother of Victoria, and attached to her by a reve⯑rence ſo profound, that I inſenſibly adopt⯑ed her wrongs as my own. Ungoverned and licentious in every inſtance, but more eſpecially when women were the objects, force generally was employed by Morti⯑mer, where fraud failed to ſucceed; and thoſe domeſtics, alone held rank in his fa⯑mily, who were readily ſubſervient to his groſs and vicious purſuits. My views died with my lady, and I ſhould gladly have [118] quitted him to return to Spain, but that he meanly retained a conſiderable ſum I had been provident enough to ſave, as well as a legacy Donna Victoria had be⯑queathed me. Every complaint, or even ſolicitation for my own, was ſilenced with the moſt haughty threats of perpetual im⯑priſonment: a ſentence I often ſaw in⯑flicted for no greater fault. Nor could I ever hope to quit the iſland, as the con⯑ſent of the Governor depended on that of Mortimer. The ſenſe of undeſerved op⯑preſſion thus corroded my very ſoul, and prepared me for the incident which at laſt nerved my arm againſt the tyrant.

Meanwhile the baſe accomplices of his pleaſures and his crimes, aſſumed a ſo⯑vereignty over the miſerable ſlaves, which they exerciſed till invention was exhauſted in cruelty and oppreſſion. In vain my nature ſhrunk at the ſight of calamities I knew not how to remedy: unable to quit the iſland, or recover my money, two years, elapſed in fruitleſs, and ſometimes deſperate projects. I ſaw the perſecuted ſlaves ripe for rebellion, and only waiting [119] a favourable moment to riſe and ſacrifice their train of oppreſſors; and though I did not purpoſe to join the confederacy, I concealed it with a ſullen ſatisfaction, till the day which at once determined my conduct. Need I ſay it was that which brought you thither? When I ſaw you alike irradiated by innocence and beauty, led into thoſe unhallowed walls—when I ſaw the tear of misfortune fall on your beauteous babe, like the ſpring's chaſte dews upon the early bloſſom, I was per⯑ſuaded your nature intuitively ſhuddered at the monſter; and I ſwore to preſerve you at the hazard of my life; nay even at the moment hope ſhould be annihilated in your heart. I joined at once in the conſpiracy, the hands were ready, the head alone had been wanting. By various artifices I procured arms for the ſlaves, and fixed the inſurrection on the day appoint⯑ed for your marriage, as that on which Mortimer and his favourites would be wholly occupied, and of courſe unguard⯑ed. The hand of Heaven ſurely guided all our operations. The various villains [120] have atoned (as far at leaſt as life can atone) for their complicated iniquities. But, alas! Madam, I did not ſufficiently look into conſequences. It is dangerous to arm the enraged and the ignorant. I know, too late, your life and mine de⯑pends on a frail tenure, and only ſolemn⯑ly aſſure you, while mine laſts, yours ſhall be ſafe. Theſe uninformed, deſpe⯑rate wretches, with whom we are ſur⯑rounded, are not the ſimple happy beings injurious tyranny firſt found them. In⯑flicted cruelty has hardened their hearts, and the ſight of untaſted luxuries cor⯑rupted them. Their own wants have in⯑creaſed with the knowledge of other peo⯑ples enjoyments, and what they greatly de⯑ſire, they have learnt to go any lengths to attain. Why ſhould I conceal from, you that your only proſpect of ſafety is the hope of being overtaken, though that to me is inevitable ruin. The fatal fire, therefore, which now theſe entangling woods almoſt hides from us, is of all the wonders of the late evening, the moſt vi⯑ſible [121] interpoſition of Heaven in your fa⯑vor."

The nobility of ſentiment incident to the Spaniſh nation, eſpecially in whatever relates to the ſofter ſex, prevented that ſurprize ſo romantic as generoſity muſt otherwiſe have occaſioned. To gratify a requeſt made with the higheſt reſpect, I entered into a recital of my own hapleſs ſtory. Aimor, with jealous care, adhered to that ſide of my horſe not guarded by Emanuel; and not comprehending a word of the language in which I ſpoke, de⯑pended on his rival for tranſlating it; who no doubt, gave it every conſtruction moſt favorable to his own views. The infor⯑mation, that I was the daughter of a Queen, ran through the troop, and ſoft⯑ened their ferocity: but ſoon on that pom⯑pous diſtinction, were grounded vain hopes of ſome imaginary good they were all to derive from me—from me, who was, in fact, the moſt helpleſs and unprotected of all the miſerable wanderers.

I pondered much on Emanuel's re⯑mark, that my ſafety could only be aſcer⯑tained [122] from our being overtaken; but when I conſidered the deſperate ſtate of all with me, ſhould that happen, hardly dared I hope it. Still we journeyed on⯑ward, through woods the ſtars of Heaven could ſcarcely penetrate; and when I re⯑collected the frightful wilds and moun⯑tains beyond them, in which myſelf and babe muſt infallibly be buried for life, how did my heart die within me! But when to that fear was added the dread of evils yet more horrible, hardly could my ſenſes ſupport the oppreſſion. Aimor, I was convinced, would not want the aid of his whole party, and how could I hope one generous individual would be able to ſtruggle with a tide of combining foes? But even if Emanuel had the addreſs to ma⯑nage them all, would not expectations in his own favor, hardly leſs fearful to my thoughts, ariſe in his heart? Through the chill windings of the deſert woods, I raiſed my ſoul to him whoſe eye pervades alike the gloom of midnight and the blaze of noon, and ſomething ſeemed to aſſure my ſinking ſpirits, he reſcued me [123] not from the horrors of the Receſs, thus to abandon me.—I did not err in that devout confidence. The dawn of day obliging the body to be more guarded in their march, they choſe a lone hollow, and halted to ſend forth ſcouts, and re⯑freſh themſelves. Alas, I ſighed for the poor wretches, who, ſeduced by European crimes to a dire imitation of them, had wanted foreſight to procure themſelves the common comforts, which alone ren⯑der life endurable, though overwhelmed with gaudy trifles they knew not how to enjoy.

The temporary calm into which they ſunk, was fearfully interrupted. The ſcouts ſent out preſſed back, with imme⯑diate notice that they were intercepted, and ſo hemmed in that it was impoſſible to proceed a mile farther. Though by this notice my own ſafety was aſcertained, my very ſoul partook the miſery of my companion. The wretched women threw their arms, for the laſt time, round, their deſpairing huſbands, and bathed them with tears ſo bitter, as might waſh out [124] the ſtains of blood yet recent. The men, thus totally devoted, with a ſtern and un⯑altered brow, ſeized their arms, and re⯑ſolved to ruſh upon the broken parties, gracing their own death, by making the loſs equal to their enemies. Even ſome of their wives, rendered furious by the occaſion, followed with ſuch ſcattered weapons as they could collect, and the reſt, no leſs tamed, gathered themſelves and hapleſs children round me, as if I could preſerve them; purſuing their friends with a cry might ſhake the throne of mercy. Aimor and Emanuel caſt a lingering eye towards the foot of that tree at which I ſat, apparently the Queen of Sorrow. It was dreadful to make a viſible diſtinction at that moment, and perhaps embitter their laſt. Laying my babe upon my lap, I tendered a hand to each; the boon was eagerly accepted. Even the ſavage became humanized, an impaſſioned tear fell on the hand that ſhuddered at his touch; while Emanuel, more gracefully obſequious, bowed to the earth, then over the offered hand, and [125] removing his ardent eye from my face to that of his rival—"Adieu, moſt worſhip⯑ped of women! cried the gallant Spaniard, adieu, for ever! How many evils does death ſave us all from!"

During the horrible interval of blood and ſlaughter, I endeavoured to cloſe my ears to the ſound of the firing, which was echoed by the agonized groans of the wretches around me. The conflict was ſhort; and bands of Europeans pierced through thoſe ſhades, where a few mi⯑nutes had made ſo many helpleſs widows. Thoſe guilty, but unfortunate women, proſtrating themſelves before the preſent⯑ed pieces, endeavoured, by the moſt ſub⯑miſſive geſtures, and offers of their chil⯑dren, to aſſuage the wrath of the incenſ⯑ed victors. I feebly aroſe likewiſe, and preſſing forward to the apparent leader, aſtoniſhed him with the ſight of a white among the ſurvivors. I exhauſted my little remaining ſtrength in ſoliciting pro⯑tection for myſelf and child, and pity for my companions. He heard, without com⯑prehending me; his very ſoul was in⯑tently [126] fixed on the ſcattered riches this reduction of the ſlaves put into his hands, and neither myſelf, my daughter, or my fate, ſeemed an object worth re⯑gard. The whole party buſily employed themſelves in collecting the valuables of every kind, and afterwards taking into conſideration the human plunder fortune once more reſtored to them, they drove off the female ſlaves, and their children, bending beneath the weight of miſery, fatigue, and manacles.

Emerging from the depth of thoſe un⯑wholeſome woods, through which I had wandered, I lifted my eyes devoutly to⯑wards that riſing orb, which ſeems no leſs to give light to the mind than the crea⯑tion: and called on the pleaſing proſpect of the future, to counteract the horrible impreſſions of the paſt. Reſtored by this extraordinary means once more to civi⯑lized ſociety, my heart acknowledged the charm, the ſimple, the ſolitary charm of liberty, and ſpringing forward toward England, overleaped every intervening obſtacle. Convinced, by fatal experience, [127] at once of the fragility, of human happi⯑neſs, and the perſecutions to which na⯑ture's deareſt gifts too often expoſe us, the bright forms of love, ambition, and glory, vaniſhed, leaving no image for my fancy to reſt on but Content. I ſaw her meek eye lifted to her heaven-born ſiſter, Reſignation; whoſe hallowed beams ſtreamed through her earthy cottage, impearling every tear; and my ſoul ſighed after the ſad peace of which I found it yet capable. The dear, unconſcious par⯑taker of my wayward fate, with many an innocent ſmile, revived my ſpirits; and devoted to this only object of my plea⯑ſures, I ſought in her to loſe the ſenſe of every other care.

The curioſity I had at firſt excited among the whole party, extended not be⯑yond common enquiries, and as I ſpoke no Spaniſh, and French was but indiffer⯑ently underſtood by either, them or my⯑ſelf, I could hardly hope greatly to inter⯑eſt them in my favor. I had made them comprehend I was a near relation of the murdered Mortimer, but that circum⯑ſtance, [128] far from intereſting, ſeemed rather to alienate and diſguſt them.

It was night ere we reached St. Jago de la Vega, where we found the inhabitants univerſally under arms, and eagerly ex⯑pecting the return of thoſe ſent after the rebellious fugitives. Confounded with thoſe perſecuted wretches—unſheltered from the taunts, inſults, and execrations of an incenſed populace, I found myſelf yet the victim of angry fortune; and over-worn with ſuffering, dropt ſenſeleſs at the door of a priſon, where I underſtood my journey was to end. I revived on a miſerable bed, in a dark room, without any companions; but conſcious of ſafety, as well as free from guilt, I recommend⯑ed myſelf to God, and ſunk into the hap⯑pieſt repoſe I had known ſince I paſſed the fatal gates of Rouen.

A black ſlave brought me ſome coarſe proviſions in the morning, nor did I know till the evening that it was meant to ſuſ⯑tain myſelf and child for the day. It proved, however, more than ſufficient; for my conſtitution, which had hitherto [129] reſiſted every danger, had now received a ſhock of the moſt deſperate kind. Racked with intolerable pains through all my limbs, I was ſenſible, too late, that my own imprudence had added a malady of body to all my mental ſufferings. Dur⯑ing the laſt awful conflict, when the of⯑fending rebels expiated with life the ra⯑vages they had committed, I, in common with the females they had left behind, had thrown myſelf on the damp ground, alike through wearineſs and terror. The unwholeſome chills from a ſpot which yet the ſun never penetrated, ſtiffened every joint; a rheumatic fever was the cruel conſequence. Alone, uncomfort⯑ed, unaſſiſted, conſumed by an internal raging fire, I groaned, I ſhrieked, with intenſe torture. The ſtarts and cries of my little one; alone informed me I had done ſo; I huſhed her on a boſom I fear⯑ed would ſcorch her, and eagerly ſwal⯑lowing whatever liquid was brought me, had hardly intervals of ſenſe enough to ſhare it with my babe, or ſufficiently to, provide for her nouriſhment. The days of [130] this exceſſive miſery were unnumbered— inſenſibly the fever ſubſided; but left a lameneſs happier hours, and inceſſant care, could never cure.

When returning reaſon allowed me to extend my reflections beyond the preſent evil, I recollected from the time elapſed, that my impriſonment muſt be decided and perpetual. Emanuel had told me the Governor was timid, mean, and avarici⯑ous; forgetful of this, I had informed my conductors of the family tye between myſelf and Mortimer; which rendering me his natural heir, this unworthy Go⯑vernor had doubtleſs annihilated my claim to poſſeſſions he was reſolved to appro⯑priate, by claſſing me with the murder⯑ers, among whom I was found: and by an arbitrary proceeding, (not uncommon there, if Emanuel might be relied on) ſentenced me at once, not daring to ven⯑ture a judicial enquiry. The languor in⯑cident to ſuch inceſſarit ſufferings, both of body and mind, as I had for a courſe of time endured, rendered me leſs ſhocked and grieved at this, than many other con⯑tingencies. [131] It ſeemed in my power to die, and diſappoint the malice of my op⯑preſſors. It was only to remit a little, a very little care of myſelf, and my conſti⯑tution would finally give way. Perhaps I ſhould have delivered myſelf wholly up to this idea, but that the firſt great tie of nature, ſtill wound round my bleeding heart. My fate, ſaid I to myſelf, is fully, is finally accompliſhed. A ſad inheritor of my mother's misfortunes, methinks they are all only retraced in me—led like her, a guiltleſs captive through a vindictive mob, the object of vulgar in⯑ſult, and opprobrium—like her encloſed unjuſtly in a priſon, even in the bloom of life, a broken conſtitution is anticipating the infirmities of age. And ſhall the ſi⯑militude end here? No, let me like her, extract fortitude from each accumulating injury, and if the will of my Maker ſhortens the common term of life alloted to mortality, oh let me come into his preſence a ſpotleſs martyr! and thou, ſweet babe, permitted like the palm tree to flouriſh under oppreſſion, ſurely for [132] ſome great end haſt thou ſurvived the ſuc⯑ceſſion of calamities which foreran thy exiſtence, nor dare thy mother once wiſh to deſert thee!

The days, Madam, thus ſtrangely paſt on. The female ſlave I have mentioned appeared every morning, and performing the common offices of life in ſilence, placed near me the food allotted, and va⯑niſhed till the next. Imagine not I went on thus, without attempting at leaſt to aſcertain my imputed crime, but I found the poor wretch was ſo totally deaf, that not one word reached her, nor did ſhe ſpeak any other language than her own, and very imperfect Spaniſh, to which I was a ſtranger. Neither could I convey to her by ſigns, ideas I could find no vi⯑ſible object to repreſent; the tender graces of my daughter, nevertheleſs operated gradually on the untaught ſoul of the Negro, and I had reaſon to think ſhe would even have connived at my eſcape, but that ſuch a meaſure would only have increaſed my misfortunes, while thus without a friend, a home, or a hope.

[133] One only circumſtance embittered my mind with diſtant remembrances; the tower in which I was confined adjoined to the fort, and had one window com⯑manding the ſea, the other looked toward the inland country. The cannon con⯑ſtantly proclaimed the arrival, or depar⯑ture of every veſſel, and my eager heart irreſiſtibly impelled me towards the win⯑dow. But it was not for me they came— no hope of a releaſe—no well known face to greet me—thoſe ſhips that departed impreſſed me with ideas yet more painful and gloomy. The arms of England, diſtant England, often enriched every ſtreamer, and my ſick ſoul groaned un⯑der the conviction, that I muſt never hope to view the port, which would reſtore thoſe mariners (comparatively careleſs of the advantage) to the local ties of coun⯑try, kindred, and friendſhip; to all that gives charms to exiſtence. —Haunted by a pleaſure which was always in my view, without being ever in my reach, I could not ſubdue the killing emotions thus raiſed in my ſoul.

[134] The growth of my child alone marked to me the progreſs of time. Ah! mo⯑ment how ſweet art thou yet to my me⯑mory, when firſt her little voice ſtrove at articulation! The bleſſed name of mo⯑ther at length broke the drear ſilence of my priſon, and hardly the celeſtial ſounds of hovering Angels, had I been launch⯑ing into eternity, could give me a ſub⯑limer pleaſure. I ſaw her walk with a tranſport ſcarce inferior. Engroſſed by, and devoted to this ſole object of my eyes and heart, which the gracious author of univerſal being permitted her to fill, I no longer repined at my unmerited captivity. Only anxious leſt any one ſhould ſuſpect my poſſeſſion of this invaluable gem, I felt ready to hide her, even when the old ſlave made her daily appearance. The common raiment with which we were pe⯑riodically ſupplied, I became ingenious in fitting to her little form; and by that inſenſible contraction of our faculties, which extends through nature, although it is only obſerved in the organs of ſight, I drew into this narrow bound, thoſe [135] fears, hopes, wiſhes, and employments, which in rapid ſucceſſion fill up our lives, and leave behind a remembrance we always revert to with ſatisfaction, and often conceive to have been happineſs.

Fearful, at ſome intervals, left the want of air or exerciſe ſhould nip my beaute⯑ous bloſſom, I deviſed a thouſand little plans to make her run within her narrow bounds; and ſtrengthen a conſtitution born perhaps to trials, not inferior to thoſe which had blighted her mother's youth. I held her to the window, morn⯑ing and evening, and found the winds of Heaven blew not leſs pure through iron bars than gilded lattices. Ah, ſurely my memory does not err when I ſay with the poet, that

I was one day holding the dear child to the evening air, her little hands now [136] graſped the rough bars, and now were extended through them, while her inno⯑cent tongue beguiled her fond mother's attention, when I ſuddenly perceived a black woman, apparently of diſtinction, leaning under an awning, raiſed at no great diſtance; and while ſhe talked bu⯑ſily to the ſlaves who were fanning her, the eyes of all were turned intently on my infant. I ſnatched her away, with an apprehenſion the moſt lively I had for years felt; I even abſented myſelf from the window for a long time, then ven⯑turing a glance, without approaching near enough to be ſeen, I perceived her eyes were ſtill fixed upon my priſon, and the repoſe of that night was, wholly de⯑ſtroyed by a vague fear the next day con⯑firmed. At the ſame hour ſhe returned again to the ſame pavillion, and after watching the window in vain, (as I no longer dared approach it) ſhe ſhewed manifeſt tokens of chagrin and diſap⯑pointment. Alas, this was not all. My old Negro appeared ſoon after, and de⯑livering me an unintelligible meſſage, de⯑manded [137] my daughter. I prayed, wept, intreated, groaned to the poor wretch, whoſe eyes alone of all her ſenſes ſeemed affected by my agonies. After a thouſand incomprehenſible ſigns on her part, and reſolute refuſals on my own, ſhe ſnatched the child from thoſe weak arms which wanted an equal power of reſiſtance, and left me ſtretched on the floor from the lameneſs I have mentioned.

It was long ere I had courage to ap⯑proach the window; but collecting every power of mind and body, I at length ventured thither. I ſaw the darling child ſeated on cuſhions at the feet of the wo⯑man, whoſe power tore her from me, laden with toys and overwhelmed with careſſes. This, however, was but a ſmall relief to my maternal anguiſh, while un⯑certain whether I had not loſt her for ever: nor did my apprehenſions diminiſh, when I ſaw the attendant ſlaves bear their miſtreſs away on a covered couch, with my child in her arms. Ah then my pri⯑ſon became a dungeon indeed! I ſmote my head againſt the encloſing bars, and [138] the air echoed to my groans. They were only relieved by the return of my old ſlave, who leading in my lamented che⯑rub, once more bleſt my arms with the burthen. My heart ruſhed ſo impetu⯑ouſly towards her, that it ſeemed to ex⯑tend, through my whole throbbing frame. As I ſurveyed the recovered bleſſing with added fondneſs, I perceived the gentle black I had ſo injuriouſly diſtruſted, had laviſhly adorned the tender object of a ſurprizing attachment. Imagine a girl between three and four years old, flight, graceful, fair, and blooming, whoſe am⯑ber locks the hand of nature had twined into a, thouſand, ſpiral rings, which fell over a looſe veſt of ſilver muſlin, girt with roſes: her little arms and ancles en⯑circled with fanciful bracelets, of differ⯑ent coloured beads, while her hand bore a gilt baſket, filled with fruits of the country. She ſeemed a being of another world, deſcending to bleſs, this—While yet in the arms of her fable conductor, ſhe appeared to me like new-born light, repoſing on the boſom of chaos. I took [139] the little luxuries ſhe offered, and while indulging a ſenſe time and abſtinence had almoſt annihilated, I worſhipped the hand which thus at length relented.

Ah, Madam, it is only in the early ſea⯑ſons of heavy viſitation we dare to repine; when miſery once reaches the extreme, it has always ſalutary effects. Purified en⯑tirely from the vain wants and wiſhes, our pride and our paſſions for a long time re⯑preſent, as the very eſſentials of our be⯑ing, we then ſet a due value on the com⯑moneſt bleſſings, and ſoon find in every thing an enjoyment.

When I pondered over the infinite and various advantages my daughter might derive from the partiality of a woman, whoſe authority was great enough to open the doors of our priſon, my heart became ſenſible of hopes in her favor, I had long ceaſed to indulge in my own; and reſign⯑ing myſelf to the proſpect, I ſunk into a repoſe which might almoſt be called hap⯑py, A ſhort time habituated me to pe⯑riodically parting with, and receiving my daughter, always laden with ſome little [140] preſent, conducive either to my health or comfort. Our benefactreſs too, ever kind⯑ly retired to the ſpot I could command, as if deſirous to gratify me, at the ſame moment with herſelf; and greatly indeed did ſhe fulfil her purpoſe. I ſaw, in ſpite of that fatality which had long hung over my unhappy family, an exertion of Hea⯑ven in favor of my child, which encou⯑raged me to hope a favorable revolution at ſome (perhaps not diſtant) period: while in the tedious interval, the means of health and comfort were amply be⯑ſtowed on her, and the latter, through her means, on her exhauſted mother.

At ſome intervals, weeks, nay a month, would elapſe, without my daughter's be⯑ing ſent for, by which I concluded ſome one in ſtill higher authority, controled the actions of her Negro friend: though the benefits in a great degree remained to us; wholeſome fruits, better proviſions, more agreeable cloathing, and a more watchful attendance. I ſometimes won⯑dered the woman, who thus generouſly alleviated our ſufferings, never once en⯑quired [141] into their origin; but having learnt, by painful experience, the impro⯑priety of judging without information, I ſtill flattered myſelf with the proſpect of a releaſe: which at the worſt I conſidered as only delayed, till I could perfect my daughter in the woeful tale of thoſe later events, which thus unjuſtly confined us.

In proceſs of time, I underſtood from my ſweet Mary's improved accents, that our benefactreſs was named Anana; and never from that moment did my ſoul of⯑fer up a prayer, in which that name (how⯑ever unhallowed) was not included.

The total ignorance in which my daughter's mind yet remained, ſhocked and grieved me. Being wholly without books, I knew not any manner of ſup⯑plying their place, and could only ſubſti⯑tute principles for modes, and inſtil into her tender mind the religious and moral documents, which yet exiſted in mine. I endeavoured to give her an idea of the nature and appearance of books. I every day made her repeat that word a hundred times; I charged her to do ſo immedi⯑ately, [142] whenever ſhe viſited Anana. But whatever the reaſon, I ſaw her near eight years old apparently, without having been able to procure her the advantage, or my⯑ſelf the relief of reading.

Thus innocently and happily employ⯑ed, I one day ſaw my priſon door thrown open, and the interview ſo long deſired, unexpectedly granted me. Anana en⯑tered in mourning. I incoherently blend⯑ed the dictates of gratitude and ſorrow. The amiable Anana told me in broken French, ſhe came to comfort me. Charm⯑ed to find it in my power to render my⯑ſelf intelligible to her, I related briefly my ſtory, which her complacency aſſured me ſhe did not half underſtand. It was with the utmoſt difficulty I comprehend⯑ed from her, that Don Pedro de Sylva, the unjuſt Governor, who had condemned me without examination, was at length dead; that ſhe had for ſome time paſt been his favorite, and uſed the influence that title gave her to indulge her fond⯑neſs for my child, and lighten my cap⯑tivity: that it had always been as much [143] in her power to viſit my priſon as now, but not finding any certain crime imputed to me, and ſure if I could acquit myſelf of the ſuſpicion, ſhe ſhould become warm⯑ly intereſted in my favor, (perhaps to the degree of exaſperating the benefactor ſhe might then be obliged, to deſpiſe) ſhe wiſely forbore gratifying her generous cu⯑rioſity, and contented herſelf with be⯑ſtowing ſuch marks of her attachment as would not interfere with the rights of the Governor, or diminiſh her own. Final⯑ly, that death had ſnatched away the only man who could reſtrain her inclinations; and as he had bequeathed her a conſider⯑able portion of his wealth, ſhe had be⯑ſtowed a part of it, to obtain from the new Governor a remiſſion of my ſen⯑tence; and having ſucceeded, now came to aſſure me, I ſhould be at liberty to re⯑turn to Europe; for which voyage her friendſhip would amply ſupply me with means, company, and attendance as it was her purpoſe to quit for ever a coun⯑try, where ſhe had loſt her only connec⯑tion, [144] and ſeek in another, protection, re⯑ligion, and peace.

During this diſcourſe, I thought my ſenſes almoſt failed me. I made her a thouſand times repeat the welcome, the ſurprizing intelligence, that I was free; and the arrival of her ſlaves to convey me from the melancholy dungeon, I believed the day before, would at ſome future one become my grave, alone gave confirma⯑tion to ſo incredible an event. But when I really ſaw myſelf at liberty; when I ſaw the varied Heavens above my head, and the green earth under my feet; when the ſoft fragrance of the almoſt-forgotten bloſſoms indulged one ſenſe, and the ſweet founds of congratulating voices bleſt another, I wonder I did not expire with the tumult of mingled emotions this happy moment revived in my heart. I raiſed my ſoul to him who gave thoſe ſenſes, and breathed life into the elements which ſuſtain them, and beſought him to moderate my feelings, or condenſe them all in gratitude.

[145] Blended once more, almoſt miracu⯑louſly in the concerns of this world, I learnt with a thouſand ſenſations no words can deſcribe, that Elizabeth had a few months before paid the debt of nature; and that my brother James, as well by her nomination, as the rights of his birth, and the voice of the people, had aſcended the throne of England: happily uniting under his ſway two kingdoms, ſo many ages hoſtile as hardly to leave a hope of the event which was now without blood⯑ſhed fully accompliſhed. Time, grief, and misfortune, had ſo far allayed the ir⯑ritation of my mind, that I bleſſed the ordination of providence which thus left my reſentment without an object. Higher, happier, and dearer proſpects opened be⯑fore me, and I looked forward with im⯑patience to the moment, when I ſhould preſent my ſmiling Mary to my beloved ſiſter, and in the ſociety of connections ſo precious, loſe the remainder of my days.

Alas! Madam, I required ſentiments like theſe to ſuſtain me againſt the con⯑viction [146] that the intenſe heats of the cli⯑mate had united with the want of air and exerciſe to fix the lameneſs the rheumatic fever had left, and completely debilitate my conſtitution, which has from that pe⯑riod been ſubject to a thouſand little wear⯑ing, nameleſs maladies, that inſenſibly abſorb the ſpirit of youth, and bring on an early old age.

Anana, actuated by a fondneſs for my daughter ſcarce inferior to my own, ſhared with me in every maternal care, and ear⯑neſtly beſought me to receive her under my protection on our arrival in England; where I had made her ſenſible I held a diſtinguiſhed rank. Solemnly aſſuring me it was her intention to bequeath to my ſweet child the wealth ſhe derived from the Governor, alike to prove her own attachment, and as a compenſation for our long and unjuſt impriſonment. The ſtate in which ſhe had lived with Don Pe⯑dro, ſupplied an objection at which my pride revolted, but that almoſt inſtanta⯑neouſly gave way to principle. I reſolved to be above ſacrificing the duties of gra⯑titude [147] and benevolence to opinion, and remembering her untaught mind knew no tie in wedlock but conſtancy, and per⯑haps in that inſtance might vie with my⯑ſelf, I ſought, by cultivating the wild but ſolid virtues of her ſoul, to bury the remembrance of her former error, and fortify her againſt any future one. Open to the pure impreſſions of religion and morality, the amiable Anana promiſed to become an ornament to human nature; but alas, a greater power than I could over-rule ſhortened her ſpan, and at once determined for us all. The ſmall pox, always ſo dangerous in the iſlands, broke out ſuddenly, and ſwept off hundreds. The apprehenſions people of Anana's na⯑tion ever entertain of it, contribute, moſt probably, to reader it ſo fatal. She threw herſelf into ſuch agonies, that the erup⯑tion ſoon appeared, with the moſt mortal ſymptoms. Delirious alike with the dreadful malady, and her extreme fond⯑neſs for my daughter, ſhe called for her inceſſantly; ſhe ſtrove to break from her attendants, and get out of bed in ſearch [148] of her. She intreated me in the moſt moving, broken accents, once more to let her hear the little angel ſhe could no longer ſee; to ſuffer her to give into her little hand the caſket ſhe was ſo ſoon go⯑ing to bequeath her. The terrified mo⯑ther ſhrunk in ſilence from ſuch a conflict. Ah, what are all the gems ſhe will be⯑queath her, cried I, to that breathing one herſelf?—all now left of my promiſed fortunes. The dictates of gratitude t hen prevailing, I would cry, but can I refuſe the laſt requeſt, however wild and erro⯑neous, of her who preſerved the being ſhe now would involuntarily endanger? Finding reaſon ineffectual towards con⯑quering the dying wiſh of Anana, I ac⯑quitted myſelf to her, by leading to the bed of infection and death, my little trea⯑ſure, with a reſignation I could only com⯑pare to that of Abraham, and like the innocent he would have devoted, my child was returned to me. The exhauſted Ana⯑na, conſidering this with juſtice as the higheſt effort of gratitude and eſteem, yielded herſelf patiently to the will of Heaven, which ſoon called her hence.

[149]The ſincere concern this loſs occaſi⯑oned, gave way to one ſtill nearer; my child ſickened with the ſame horrible diſtemper, and centered in anxiety every faculty of my ſoul. It ſoon, however, took the moſt favourable turn, and left me at leiſure to endeavour to ſecure the legacy our loſt friend had put into my hands. The deceaſed Governor had con⯑verted the principal part of the property he realized into diamonds; a common practice in countries where juſtice is par⯑tially adminiſtered; nor did the new Go⯑vernor know either their number or va⯑lue: Anana having followed the directi⯑ons of her benefactor in hiding a part, and bribing his ſucceſſor to acquieſcence by ſharing the remainder. I had now gained worldly wiſdom enough to adopt the ſame plan; and having fulfilled every duty, I joyfully embarked for England, accompanied by ſeveral ſlaves, who pre⯑ferred attending on me to the precarious bleſſing of liberty under arbitrary power.

Ah, Madam, how different was this voyage from that already commemorated! [150] —from the fallen tree I then continually watered with my tears, a tender, a lovely ſcion had ſprung up; it flouriſhed in the ſhade; it bloſſomed in ſunſhine; with ſweet, with gentle hopes, I bore it to its native ſoil. No barbarous hand was now lying in wait to deſtroy it; no peſtilential wind blew from thoſe cliffs which ſhot their white arms into the ocean, and hoſ⯑pitably invited us to the boſom of peace. Ah, no! a dear, though ſmall circle of ſympathizing friends would receive the forlorn, the widowed wanderer, as one ariſen from the dead; would grace my woeful tale with many a lamenting tear.

My ſiſter too, my darling Ellinor— how perfect, how pure, cried my ſwelling heart, will be our re-union! how will ſhe fondly fold to her generous boſom this dear child of the ocean—this ſoothing, unconſcious fellow-ſufferer—this early partner in her Matilda's wayward fortune! —Pauſe, Madam, over this fair proſ⯑pect, and let me reſt a while my weary fingers and ſpirits.

THE RECESS, &c.
PART IV.

I STRUGGLED with the ſad remem⯑brances indelibly impreſſed on my heart, when my eyes again beheld the ſhore of England; and folding to my boſom the dear offspring of love and misfortune, I ſhut up every ſenſe in her. Already alive to the anxious hopes and wiſhes that ſo early tincture a being with which alone they expire, ſhe fondly flattered her⯑ſelf with the expectation of an unknown good, and impatiently wiſhed for the ter⯑mination [152] of our voyage. I landed at Greenwich, becauſe the ſpot where I could ſooneſt learn intelligence of the Sydney family, as the people who kept the chief inn, I remembered, had been ſervants to Lord Leiceſter: alas, I had overlooked the long term of my abſence, and the probability that they might either be dead or removed. Greenwich, which I had ſeen the ſeat of gaiety, empire, and magnificence, now appeared a dreary ſo⯑litude. The tide in ſilence laved the walls of a deſerted palace, which verging to decay like its paſt poſſeſſors, ſeemed but a gaudy mauſoleum. I pauſed over theſe fragile memorials of human grandeur, as the boat bore me towards the ſhore; and half ſurmiſed the ſtrangeneſs that might await me there. I was preſently ſur⯑rounded by a ſet of unknown faces; and after much tedious enquiry, learnt that my tender friend, Lady Arundell, ſtill inhabited her houſe near Chelſea, whither I diſpatched a meſſenger with a billet. It demanded "a welcome for a poor widowed wanderer, and a babe, for whoſe [153] exiſtence that dear woman was perhaps reſponſible, as it was wholly owing to her indulgence. I added, I would not ven⯑ture one enquiry till I gained fortitude from her preſence, but doubted not I ſhould have as much to learn as to unfold. If, as my flattering forebodings informed me, my darling ſiſter yet ſurvived, I was perſuaded by whatever name ſhe was now diſtinguiſhed, ſhe would once more an⯑ſwer to that with tranſport; and fold to her glowing boſom a weary heart, which had long fought in vain a reſting place; but I ſubmitted the diſcovery, and meet⯑ing, ſolely to the care and prudence of our mutual friend."

I waited not long in ſuſpence, for my meſſenger haſtened back with a billet, in⯑coherent as ſurprize and joy could make it. "Fly, ſaid the generous Lady Arun⯑dell, to my arms, to my heart, to my home—they will ever be open to you and yours—I ſuſpend all explanations till I ſee you.—Ah Matilda, dear to my eyes will be that lovely face, however changed by misfortune."

[154] Grateful as this invitation proved, my ſoul was ſenſible of a damp and diſap⯑pointment, from the obſcurity caſt over the interval of my abſence, and her leav⯑ing unanſwered my enquiry for my ſiſter. I haſtened nevertheleſs to obey the re⯑queſt. The ſad meditations which would have engroſſed my faculties in paſſing through London, were continually inter⯑rupted by the tranſports of my little Ma⯑ry; the varying ſtreets filled with gay ſhops, and thronged with fine-dreſſed people, were a novelty to her of the moſt charming and intereſting nature. Ere I could half anſwer her enquiry into each new wonder, it was loſt in the next, and that chaſtened pleaſure a mother ex⯑tracts from blending the ſigh of know⯑ledge with the ſmile of innocence, claim⯑ed its turn in my agitated boſom, ſuſ⯑pending more powerful emotions: but when my eyes reſted on the gates of Lady Arundell's houſe, thoſe gates from whence I laſt took my flight ſo dearly accompa⯑nied, a pang ſo pungent wrung my heart, that my feeble ſenſe ſunk under it, and I [155] ſwooned away. I revived; and it ſeemed rather by the cries and tears of my little one, than the remedies of the ſervants who ſurrounded me. My ſweet Mary had climbed up the couch on which they laid me, and claſp⯑ing her arms round my neck, laid her mantling cheek to my pale one, and ſhed deluges of tears. I comforted her, and feeling my hand preſſed by ſome body who ſat almoſt behind me, turned, and fixing my eyes on the ſtreaming ones of Lady Arundull; I threw myſelf ſilently into her arms, and felt my very ſoul diſ⯑ſolve upon her boſom. Both were half ſuffocated with feelings too high wrought, and the preſence of my daughter proved a fortunate relief; for drawing me fondly down to her, "why do you cry, mama? ſaid the dear one, and why does this lady cry? I thought we came home to be hap⯑py." "And happy we will be, my dar⯑ling, cried Lady Arundell, preſſing her to a boſom melting in her favor, who can be otherwiſe bleſt with ſuch a cherub? Can you complain, Matilda, when Heaven has [156] left you her?"—"No, my admirable friend, ſighed I, I do not complain,—my reaſon reproves thoſe tears my wound⯑ed heart will not ceaſe periodically to pour forth; this houſe; this room, even your tenderneſs awakens a train of killing remembrances, I have in vain endeavour⯑ed to arm myſelf againſt. Here, here, even here has my ſoul expanded towards her father, with a pleaſure of which her⯑ſelf, and this weed, are the only memo⯑rials."

The entrance of ſervants with refreſh⯑ments, ſuſpended a little the agitation of both; and Lady Arundell obſtinately re⯑fuſed every kind of information concern⯑ing my ſiſter or friends till the next day, inſiſting I ſhould devote the remainder of the evening to a minute recital of my own ſtory. The aſtoniſhment its inci⯑dents every moment excited in Lady Arundell, ſeemed to make it more won⯑derful even to myſelf. Having the happy aſſurance from her that my ſiſter ſtill lived, I gave way to the ſweet hope of ſeeing her, and filled up with her idea a cham⯑ber [157] which now appeared more ſolitary than ever.

My impatience concerning my Ellinor could no longer be reſtrained, and when we met in the morning, I importunately demanded her ſtory. The viſible reluc⯑tance with which Lady Arundell granted my requeſt, confirmed my fears of ſome dreadful cataſtrophe, and had I not been aſſured my ſiſter yet lived, I ſhould have concluded her loſs the fatal event our friend feared to acknowledge: but ſatis⯑fied in this inſtance, and having no tie which could comparatively intereſt me, I fortified my mind againſt the impreſſion of inferior ſorrows, by the deep ſenſe of thoſe I had already ſurvived.

Whatever courage I had collected, I needed it all, when with that fearful pomp of preparation with which friendſhip ever binds up the wounds of fate, Lady Arun⯑dell produced a number of papers, moſt of which appeared to be written by my ſiſter. I kiſſed the dear traces of a hand ſo beloved. Alas, thoſe ſheets are yet by me, and I need only copy them.

[158] The Life of Ellinor, addreſſed to Matilda.

OH, you! much loved, but little truſted, dear ſiſter of my heart, whom it fondly purſues through unknown climes, where yet perhaps you wander, the victim of a fatal attachment; receive in theſe papers, if they ever meet your eyes, the laſt teſtimony of an affection, which as it was the firſt my ſoul became ſenſible to, ſo ſurely will it be the laſt. Oh! thou allied to me in deſtiny, no leſs than blood, (for we were born alike to be unknown, except to each other) lo, I lay my heart unveiled before you, its paſſions, its pride, its prejudices, condemn them not my ſiſter, however they may contradict your own.—Eſtimate duly the ſilence I have ſo long preſerved; the ſacrifices I have made, ſacrifices ſo much the more meritorious, as my ſoul ever revolted againſt the mean impoſer, and ſubmitted but to you. I knew the delicacy of your mind, and would not add to the weight which hung upon its nobler faculties, by a confidence that might wrong at the [159] ſame moment your duty. Ah! no, I remembered Williams, and was from that moment prudent, if not happy—yet as I know too well the horrors of myſtery, in⯑certitude, and ſilence, (for have I not ſpent ages in vainly gueſſing at your fate?) let me reſcue you from a life of ſurmiſe, by peruſing this ſad memorial. Perhaps this aſtoniſhing ſeparation will prove eter⯑nal—If then my heart no more ſhall feel the throb of affection it has always given when yours preſſed againſt it, (and ſome⯑thing ſeems to tell me that pleaſure ſhall never more be mine) receive in this reci⯑tal a laſt proof of my tenderneſs, and oh, my dear, ill-fated ſiſter, may it mitigate the keenneſs of your affliction, to learn you have not been the greateſt ſufferer.

In one part of this ſtory I muſt ever have been obſcure and inſincere, but that Heaven has ſnatched away the worſhipped object, of whoſe character we judged in ſo different a manner. Oh, pardon me all-gracious Heaven, if my opinion has been erroneous!—Pauſe here, Matilda, if your riſing ſoul has taken the alarm, and weigh [160] well the love you bear me, for I ſhall need it all, unleſs I falſify the fact.

On the memorable day, when Heaven decided the deſtiny of the one ſiſter, and perplexed that of the other, by preſenting to the eyes of both the favorite of Eliza⯑beth, how diametrically oppoſite were the impreſſions each took of his character! Aſtoniſhing that two agreeing in every inſtance till that moment, ſhould for the firſt time differ in ſo decided a manner! more aſtoniſhing, that every following day only confirmed the ſeparate judg⯑ments. The darling alike of art and of nature, the eye, or mind, could demand no more than was comprized in the per⯑ſon of Lord Leiceſter—but here, in my opinion, the charm ended. His heart, not warm by nature, had been rendered in a great degree callous, from having always paſſed his life in the chilling at⯑moſphere of a Court. Unbounded in his projects, timid and ſubtile in his actions, tyrannick in his purſuits, the object he could not govern could never long attach him. Ambition, pride, and vanity, thoſe [161] leading traits in almoſt every character, were in his ſo exquiſitely blended, and corrected by the froſt of his nature, that they might often be miſtaken for nobler paſſions. You were preſented to his eyes in early youth, a finiſhed pattern of beau⯑ty, endued with royalty; in the firſt ten⯑der bloom of a newly awakened love. Uniting thus in your own perſon the ſtrongeſt powers of charming, with ſuch as were peculiarly congenial to the heart you wiſhed to win, it laid itſelf at your feet. Oh woful moment when it did ſo, as it entailed upon you all the miſeries of a mutual paſſion, without half its enjoy⯑ments! Alas, Matilda, had you really been adored—yet what could that have done, more than to ſeverely aggravate all you was born to ſuffer? and as the ap⯑parent paſſion of Lord Leiceſter had to you the charms of reality, I am to blame perhaps thus to repreſent it: but the ſea⯑ſon of diſſimulation is paſt, and my tor⯑tured heart will utter nothing but truth. So fixed was my opinion of his character, that though there was a moment of my [162] life, when my fate ſeemed wholly in Lord Leiceſter's hands, I could not then enough eſteem him to venture his deciſion. Yet ſtill a tender pity for your unmerited and everlaſting paſſion ſhould have ſuppreſſed this (in your mind) harſh judgment, but that, I once more repeat, my own actions muſt ever then have appeared eccentric and enigmatical.

How deeply both father Anthony and I regretted the imprudence which intro⯑duced into our ſolitary aſylum ſo danger⯑ous a viſitor, it were needleſs now to repeat. Prudence was for once on the ſide of paſ⯑ſion, and your fate was by the will of your only remaining guardian, for ever united with that of your lover, I ſoon found it vain to oppoſe the aſcendency he had gained in your affections; and as my own were yet unoccupied, I looked no far⯑ther than the preſent moment; and followed you to Kenilworth Caſtle without repin⯑ing. Nevertheleſs I admired the deluſi⯑ons of love, which in a moment recon⯑ciled you to a ſituation apparently ſo ob⯑ſcure and abject; and ſtill more that total [163] blindneſs to your own exquiſite perfection, which could make you fancy that low ſtate would ever appear to obſerving ſpectators your natural one. What then muſt be my aſtoniſhment to ſee Lord Leiceſter's love impoſe ſuch humiliations, on an ob⯑ject nature and fortune had placed ſo far above him, and meanly content himſelf with monopolized indulgences.

Scarce were we alone, when the pre⯑ſumption of that wretch Williams filled both of us with a terror which required an immediate remedy. Every faculty of my ſoul revolted againſt the abject com⯑pliances your entreaties exacted from me; but even thoſe only ſerved to ſtrengthen the contempt which began to predomi⯑nate in it. Lord Leiceſter's return gave us a temporary relief, but his method of getting rid of the villain, appeared to me alike unſafe and mean, and the only proper mode of ending our fears never once ſeemed to occur to him. I mean, acknowledg⯑ing his marriage; which perhaps might at that period have been done without any great danger of offending Elizabeth; [164] whoſe withering heart was becoming every day leſs ſenſible of affection, and whoſe vanity was ſo highly gratified and poſſeſſ⯑ed by the viſit of the Duke of Anjou. But it was the intereſt of my Lord to break the match with the French Prince, and to that golden idol his every paſſion bow⯑ed. We were again left to work tapeſtry, and when he had ſucceeded in his fa⯑vourite project, he left the Queen in turn, to bewail alone the loſs of her laſt lover, and came once more to amuſe himſelf at Kenilworth.

But he was not always to ſucceed; the jealouſy of Elizabeth had now juſt pro⯑vocation, and in her ſudden arrival at Kenilworth Caſtle, ſhe at laſt over-reached her politick favorite. In vain he would have concealed us—in vain he would have repreſented us as the vaſſals of his amuſement: the ſcrutinizing eye of the Queen, the univerſal voice of her more impartial train, pronounced this impoſſi⯑ble. Reduced to frame a new ſtory, tor⯑tured with the conviction that it had not gained credit, he was obliged to aggra⯑vate [165] every diſagreeable circumſtance of our preſent ſituation, by delivering us unwil⯑lingly into the hands of Elizabeth. Alas, my ſiſter, I ſaw, I underſtood, all this coſt you on my account, while not one ſigh on your own eſcaped you. I ſtifled the painful and proud ſenſations that ſwelled at my heart, and ventured into the world under the doubtful and myſterious patro⯑nage of the Queen; who better acquaint⯑ed with the fineſſes of her favorite than thoſe now nearly allied to him, never for one moment was the dupe of his fiction, though unable to diſprove it.

Ah, how viſionary ſeems on recollec⯑tion our new ſituation! ſeen without be⯑ing known; adored, without being eſteem⯑ed; puniſhed, without being guilty; ap⯑plauded, without being meritorious, we were all an illuſion. Yet ſurrounded with ſpies, and acting for ever under an eye diſpoſed to condemn, ere it could half diſcover, how difficult was it for us to avoid ſuſpicion and cenſure! One ſole advan⯑tage had either gained by converging into the ſphere of a court; a faithful friend: [166] though even that bleſſing was curtailed by the eternal policy of my Lord, who would not permit us to confide even to his own amiable nieces, the Ladies Arun⯑dell and Pembroke, any part of a ſecret which might affect, however remotely, his own ſafety. Bounded as our conver⯑ſations muſt of conſequence be, the charm of attachment nevertheleſs ſeized upon our ſouls. Mine allied itſelf to Lady Pembroke, while yours equally inclined to her no leſs amiable ſiſter, and each took pleaſure in paſſing that portion of her time with the diſtinct favorite we did not ſpend together. Ah, here Matilda, I approach the appointed moment, when the paths of life, in which we have hitherto trod hand in hand, begin to ſeparate; and every ſucceeding ſtep bears us farther from each other, till darkneſs and diſtance rob the ſtraining eye of its firſt dear ob⯑ject.—In vain each now turns back, and ſeeks the accuſtomed path, a thouſand various ones perplex the wearied mind; and while the impetuous paſſions drag us irreſiſtibly onward, we give to the ſweet [167] memory of early youth a thouſand fond and hopeleſs ſighs, then follow with trembling feet thoſe ungovernable lead⯑ers.

Lord Pembroke's partiality had long diſtinguiſhed a noble youth the policy of Lord Leiceſter ſtill kept abroad. I had ſeen many of his letters, through the me⯑dium of Lady Pembroke; and my heart had learnt to flutter at the name of Eſſex, ere yet I beheld him. Alas, even while I repeat it, I own the ſame ſenſation!—Oh, love! exquiſite deluſion! captivating error! from the moment the lips find pleaſure in that word, till they loſe the power of pronouncing it, the charm, the inconceivable charm remains.—Whether cheriſhed by the ſunbeams of hope, or chilled by the dews of diſappointment—Whether the choſen object is faithful, or unfaithful—glowing with animation be⯑fore our eyes, or ſeared up in the dark and ſilent grave; the paſſion, the power⯑ful paſſion aſſerts its eternal influence, and decides the character where it once has reigned. While I dwell on the mo⯑ment [168] which called to being this finer and more poignant ſenſe, ſenſibility, memory retraces its dear emotions with a ſoftneſs time itſelf can never extinguiſh.

Tinctured with the partiality of Lord Eſſex's friends; already acquainted with his ſentiments on heroiſm, glory, and every attachment, except that of the heart; I fondly flattered myſelf the day would come, when he would receive from me that laſt and livelieſt paſſion which forms and finiſhes the human ſoul. I interwove myſelf inſenſibly in all his concerns; I deeply lamented the tie of relationſhip, which ſubjected his actions to the will of Lord Leiceſter; and employed ſome of the little time I ſpent with my Lord, in endeavoring to bias his mind in favor of the abſent hero. Cold and ſilent on the ſubject of Eſſex's merits, Lord Leiceſter often bantered me on being ſo ſenſible of them, and ſeldom failed to remind me of the family compact, which had bound Lord Eſſex to wed Sir Francis Walſing⯑ham's only daughter: to fulfil which, he purpoſed ſoon to recal him; and adviſed [169] me rather to turn my eyes on Sir Walter Raleigh, whoſe talents he pronounced infinitely ſuperior, and whoſe homage was wholly paid to me. As this was a lover he knew I deteſted, the converſa⯑tion generally ended when he was named, but a ſucceſſion of ſuch diſcourſes con⯑firmed me in the opinion of Lord Lei⯑ceſter's ſelfiſhneſs, and prepared me, per⯑haps, to decide in oppoſition to it.

Eſſex was at length ſummoned to Eng⯑land. He arrived. An idle, unaccountable apprehenſion at once overcame my reaſon. I was perſuaded I could not ſee him with indifference. I feared the keen eye of Elizabeth, and the colder and more watch⯑ful one of Lord Leiceſter. I quitted the Court the day he was to be preſented, and paſt it with Lady Pembroke. By a ſin⯑gular chance Miſs Walſingham had choſen to do the ſame. The party enlarged in⯑ſenſibly as the circle decreaſed. Eſſex was the theme of every tongue, and while Miſs Walſingham's triumphant eyes ac⯑knowledged the implied compliments, my yielding heart received them. "He [170] is here," cried Lady Pembroke, in the afternoon, looking out of the window, and kiſſing her hand. I felt ready once more to run away, but that decorum re⯑ſtrained me. Lady Pembroke indulged one of the gay whims which ſo often were a ſource of pleaſure at once to herſelf and her friends, and inſiſted he ſhould only be told his bride was among the unmarried ladies, from whom his heart muſt ſelect her. It was an ill-judged project. Miſs Wal⯑ſingham had been contracted to Lord Eſ⯑ſex in childhood, rather to ratify a recon⯑ciliation between the families, than with any idea of a future affection. The rigid principles of Lady Walſingham had hi⯑therto kept her daughter in total ſecluſion, and the death of her mother had now given the young lady unbounded liberty. Her paſſions, naturally violent, had al⯑ways ſpurned reſtraint; but compelled for a time to ſubmit to it, they marked her character even in early youth with haugh⯑tineſs. The beauty ſhe eminently poſ⯑ſeſſed, ſoon drew around her a croud of lovers, which elevating her vanity, added [171] coquetry to pride, and united in her per⯑ſon the ſtrange extremes of ſour reſerve and unbounded levity. Sir Philip Sydney was the only man ſuppoſed to have any intereſt in her heart, but as he had from the firſt devoted himſelf to another, ſhe affected to deſpiſe him, and wait the re⯑turn of her allotted huſband, with a reſo⯑lution to accept of him.

Miſs Walſingham ſeconded the pro⯑poſal of Lady Pembroke, which rather per⯑plexed the reſt of the company; and after much pleaſantry on the ſubject of ſympa⯑thy, Lady Pembroke ſent for her Lord and the ſtranger.—Ah, Heavens, that invincible ſtranger—born to decide my deſtiny—his youth had accuſtomed me to expect to find ſomething unformed and unfiniſhed in his perſon and manners—how then was I ſurpriſed to ſee the height and majeſty of Lord Leiceſter united with features no leſs perfect; while every grace of figure, feature, and complexion, were lighted up by brilliant youth, an air at once elegant and ingenuous, and an expreſſion of ſenſibility like that he could [172] not fail to awaken! No, I have not half deſcribed the dear, the deep impreſſion—I would in vain deſcribe it—he looked, and I then firſt ſeemed to ſee—he ſpoke, and I then firſt ſeemed to hear.—Fearful leſt any marked diſorder ſhould betray me, I fixed my eyes upon the ground, but they had already borne the image into my heart: I ſtill ſaw it within, and my charmed ſenſe retained the ſound of that voice, regardleſs of all others—Smil⯑ing expreſſively at Lady Pembroke's au⯑thoritative order, he kiſſed the hand ſhe had given him, and dropping it, knelt gracefully to me.—Gracious Heaven, how exceſſive was my confuſion at this unlucky miſtake, yet how exquiſite my ſilent plea⯑ſure! The over-powering mirth of the whole party diſpleaſed him—kindly deign⯑ing to impute my diſtreſs ſolely to that cauſe, he ſolicited my pardon for having united me in the very excellent jeſt the ladies were obliging enough to make at his expence. Adding in a lower voice, that wherever parental authority had deſtined him to bow, he ſhould always remember [173] with pride and pleaſure the diſtinguiſhed choice his heart had ventured to make. Then advancing to Miſs Walſingham, whoſe readineſs ſaved him a ſecond miſ⯑take, he made her ſome cold compli⯑ment, which awakened every fiery parti⯑cle of her nature, and paſſed on to pay the ſame reſpect to the reſt of the ladies: while his eyes ever and anon reſted on me with that paſſionate ingenuouſneſs which through life has been his characteriſtic.

I left him behind and returned to Court; glowing with the ſame ardent paſſion I had once dared to condemn in you, and flattering myſelf he was already ſtudying how to break an engagement not ratified by his heart. How ſweet were the hours, rich with that hope! ready every moment to acknowledge the truth, and to indulge my paſſion by repoſing it in your faithful boſom, I found you over⯑whelmed with tears, apprehenſion, and anguiſh; for it was at this very period the cruel and extravagant jealouſy of Lord Leiceſter became apparent. Wanting courage to mention an incident remote [174] from the cauſe of your ſorrow, I buried the dear impreſſion in my heart, and devoted myſelf to ſoothing a mind ſo deeply wounded. By a ſtrange tranſition in my own ſentiments, I had learnt fairly to judge of yours, and the increaſing ſi⯑milarity interwove our ſouls every day more and more ſtrongly, though not one word eſcaped me. Dreams of pride and grandeur, which had ſometimes embit⯑tered a ſpirit I will venture to call noble, vaniſhed at once before a ſtronger paſſi⯑on; which ſtrangely filled up that void in my mind nothing yet had ever been able to fill. I no longer complained of the Queen—I no longer thought the Court a priſon—conforming from that moment quietly to my fate, I centered every wiſh in one ſole object.

I even employed myſelf diligently in developing Lord Leiceſter's ſentiments; and conciliating a difference both of you ſuffered alike by, though neither would allow it. Lord Eſſex, during theſe con⯑verſations, was ever near us—with watch⯑ful eye endeavouring to dive into the na⯑ture [175] of our connection, and the myſtery of our birth; ſo induſtriouſly buried by Leiceſter and Elizabeth. The diſ⯑guſt your Lord already ſhewed towards Eſſex, became on theſe occaſions more marked, and as its cauſe, I ſought by every little diſtinction to reward that dear lover's patience: a diſlike ſo unjuſt, heightened, however, that I already felt towards Lord Leiceſter, though at the ſame moment it ſupplied a ſtill more urgent reaſon for con⯑cealing it, than thoſe which had hitherto influenced me.

The ſufferings of your mind ſunk into mine; and profiting by the ſad example of a paſſion imprudently indulged, I call⯑ed myſelf to account for cheriſhing ſo dangerous a weakneſs, and reſolved by a courageous effort to govern, if I could not extinguiſh it. But, ah, how vain is that attempt, when once we are truly touched! Love, my ſiſter, like the en⯑writhed ſerpent, only compreſſes the heart more cloſely, for every effort we make to ſhake it off. In vain I turned my con⯑templations towards the obſcurity which [176] had hitherto attended our lives, the dark and myſterious cloud which yet hung over them; love drew a vivid rainbow acroſs it, and every tear due to misfortune fell tinctured with Eſſex. Ah, wherefore ſhould calamity heighten that paſſion? without being able to define the cauſe, I acknowledge the effect? The heart forever active, perhaps then ferments moſt powerfully, and where love has once found room, every agitation co⯑operates to its increaſe, however diſtinct its origin.

Yet if the weakneſs of woman could be juſtified by the merit of the object, the more I examined Eſſex, the more rea⯑ſon I had to be ſatisfied. That noble candor, which reſiſted through life the courtly artifice, he neither knew to profit by or adopt, was at this period eminently conſpicuous: while his warm heart, and poliſhed underſtanding, made him no leſs the friend than the patron of genius. Every indifferent ſpectator admired to ſee even his youth rich with every promiſe fulfilled in the riper years of Sydney, and thought [177] Sir Francis Walſingham the happieſt of men, in being able to match his daugh⯑ter with either of theſe diſtinguiſhed minds. The generous Eſſex ſcorned to deceive her he did not refuſe to marry, and paying his deceaſed father's will the deep reſpect of appearing ready to comply with it, waited the operations of fortune in his favor, and adored me in ſilence.

At this juncture the camp claimed Lord Leiceſter, and the nobility accompanied him. I ſhared the mortal chagrin with which you ſaw him depart in ſilence, and followed you ſo truly through all your feelings, that I ſought to perſuade my⯑ſelf Eſſex might only want the power to treat me in the ſame manner. This pain⯑ful idea operated ſo ſtrongly, as to make me aſſume a coldneſs at parting, to which Eſſex was wholly unaccuſtomed, and which, to own the truth, I did not ceaſe regretting the whole time of his ab⯑ſence.

The diſperſion and defeat of the Ar⯑mada reſtored gaiety and eclat to the Court. The fulleſt reconciliation took [178] place between you and Lord Leiceſter. My heart opened once more to hope, to happineſs, to Eſſex; who now took cou⯑rage to unfold his ſentiments to Lady Pembroke. She inſtantly adopted his cauſe, and promiſed to find him an op⯑portunity to plead it. Nor was it long ere ſhe drew me to her houſe, and telling me, with one of thoſe happy ſmiles which diſpoſed us to grant whatever ſhe wiſhed, "that from the firſt moment ſhe ſaw me, it had been one of the darling objects of her life to unite me with Lord Eſſex, who alone appeared to her likely to de⯑ſerve the heart ſhe had ſo thoroughly ſtu⯑died, ſhe had engaged her Lord to join with her in concerting that mode of introduction which appeared to me ſo wild a whim. It had fully anſwered her hopes in faſcinating one of the parties, and, ſhe added, ſhe half believed it was not loſt upon the other." Fixing her eyes for a moment on my glowing cheeks, ſhe gaily ſtarted up to throw open her cloſet door, "in ſhort, my dear, cried ſhe, here is my Lord him⯑ſelf; allow him to plead his own cauſe, [179] and when I think I can ſpeak more to the purpoſe, depend on my interrupting him:" plucking her robe from my trembling fingers ſhe ran out of the room. Diſtreſſed, irreſolute, and overcome with the arrival of a moment ſo long wiſhed for, I made an effort to follow her, but uſing the ſame means to detain me, I had unſucceſsfully tried with my friend, Lord Eſſex graſped my robe more firmly. I turned, and not daring to fix my eyes on the graceful form, the fine face on which they fell, I dropt them, and yielded in ſilence to hear him. How deep, ah Hea⯑ven, how exquiſite, is the remembrance of that moment, when the name of love firſt reached my ear, from the only voice which could render it agreeable!—"I will not imagine, moſt worſhipped of wo⯑men, ſaid the Earl, I offer you any new homage in thus bending before you. The moment my eyes firſt beheld you, my too-ready knees offered up to you a heart, new to the paſſion that moment made eternal. The higheſt ſenſe of duty to a father, whoſe will in all other inſtances [180] was governed by reaſon, hallowed even the generous error which induced him to contract me to Miſs Walſingham. Deſ⯑tined to reſign in the flower of his days, every advantage which makes this world dear to man, he ſtudiouſly ſought to ſe⯑cure them all for a ſon, who watered his pale cheek with the tears of guileleſs childhood; and to ſecure me friends at Court, who might ſupply in ſome degree his own place, allied me nominally to the politic Walſingham; whoſe intereſt alone could counter-balance that of our inveter⯑ate enemies, the Cecil family. The event juſtified his opinion. A combination of cir⯑cumſtances would have buried me in ob⯑ſcurity, had I not had the ſupport and attachment of Sir Francis. Thus circum⯑ſtanced, it would ill become me to reject the daughter of the man to whom I owe my ſafety and diſtinction; but early learning her character, and fearing to truſt my happineſs in the hands of a girl whoſe violent temper deſtroyed her own, I yielded to the pleaſure of Lord Leiceſ⯑ter in remaining abroad: not without a [181] hope (which time confirmed) that ſhe would in the interim give her heart to ſome more aſſiduous lover. I had reaſon to believe this wiſh was accompliſhed ere I ventured to return home. Her parti⯑ality for Sir Philip Sydney is indeed too apparent for me to think of uniting with her, were the friends of both willing to complete the match; but as I cannot help flattering myſelf the determination of Sir Philip will regulate that of the Walſing⯑ham family, fain would I learn from your indulgence (if indeed you deign to inter⯑eſt yourſelf in the fate of a man, born but to adore you) whether Sydney has any thing to hope from your ſiſter. Accept in this explanation, my excuſe for pre⯑ſuming to hover near your ſecret; and do not imagine by uniting myſelf in it, I ſeek to intrude on engagements I ſhall readily yield to, whether I am permitted to underſtand them or not."

Charmed alike with the accents of that harmonious voice, and the paſſion it ge⯑nerouſly avowed—prepared by the open⯑neſs of his recital to indulge my na⯑tural [182] candor, I delivered myſelf wholly up to the impulſe of my heart; and the implied acknowledgment of my affection, made when I condeſcended to explain your ſentiments reſpecting Sir Philip, lighted up his fine eyes with new ſoftneſs and gratitude. Inſenſibly led on to ſpeak of Lord Leiceſter, I recollected at once the error I was committing; and not dar⯑ing to violate the ſilence I had promiſed, I broke off abruptly, covered with bluſhes and confuſion—a long pauſe enſued—I raiſed my eyes, anxious and irreſolute, to his—chagrin had dimmed all their luſtre—he ſaw the conflict in my mind, and recollecting the ſuperiority of his own character, he conjured me "to conſider well all I would ſay, and to believe that confidence would be only a weight upon his heart, which mine ſhould ever re⯑proach me with beſtowing." His wound⯑ed feelings gave a perſuaſive tremulation to his voice; that, and the delicacy of mind which made him above profiting by the error of mine—the right a lover in⯑ſtantly acquires over the conduct of a [183] woman, who has once ventured to ac⯑knowledge her partiality—alas, above all perhaps, the exquiſite fear ſuch ever feel, at appearing for one moment to diſtruſt the object of their choice, all united to authoriſe, in my own judgment, that full confeſſion the occaſion won from me. The aſtoniſhing ſtory of our birth, the ſecret of the Receſs, its diſcovery by Lord Leiceſter, your ſubſequent marriage with him, the feint by which the Queen was influenced alike to remain ſilent on every point reſpecting us, all was fully re⯑vealed—the veil of fiction fell at once, and preſented me to him the being I was born. This intereſting confidence ce⯑mented our mutual paſſion, and gave ſuch charms to the moment, as memory ever returns to with pleaſure. I impoſed on him a vow of ſilence and ſecreſy, till your deciſive refuſal of Sir Philip ſhould fix his marriage with Miſs Walſingham; and more fortunate circumſtances facili⯑tate our own: nor could the interval ap⯑pear tedious to either, while we were daily permitted to meet, though in publick, [184] and read in each other's eyes a paſſion untinctured with doubt, and which every following day promiſed to ſanctify. Eſ⯑ſex found too many ſources of wonder and pleaſure in the mutual confidence, to oppoſe her he from that moment looked up to, and we parted ſo ſatisfied with the interview, that either would have bought it with life.

Nevertheleſs, I was far from conſider⯑ing Miſs Walſingham as the ſole obſtacle to our union. The politic Lord Leiceſ⯑ter, ſtrongly, though ſilently, oppoſed it; nor indeed without reaſon. Conſcious he had reigned ſo many years without a competitor in the heart of Elizabeth, he might juſtly dread the progreſs of a rival, in whom all his advantages were united, with many he never poſſeſſed. Not ſatiſ⯑fied with the reputation of beauty and elegance, Leiceſter ever paſſionately de⯑ſired that of conduct and valor, and had given the kingdom but too convincing proofs how unequal he was to the military rank he held. Eſſex was born a ſoldier. The rough and generous virtues of that [185] character, were joined in him with the po⯑liſhed graces of a courtier, and the moſt refined taſte for literature. A man cal⯑culated to ſhine in whatever light you examined him, could not fail to alarm all who valued and held the favor of Eliza⯑beth. Add to this, that the Earl was na⯑turally bold and aſpiring; conſequently would retain whatever he once poſſeſſed. Such were already the fears of all the fa⯑vorites of the Queen, and who could bound mine, when I recollected the du⯑bious fate of his noble father, and the laſt warning he had given to this darling ſon?

The ſudden and unexpected marriage of Sir Philip Sydney and Miſs Walſing⯑ham, revived thoſe hopes in the mind of Eſſex, I had ſo long ſtrove to throw at a diſtance; and with them too revived the vain project of confiding his views to Lord Leiceſter, with whoſe approbation of them he ſtill continued to flatter him⯑ſelf. Terrified leſt ſuch an unguarded meaſure ſhould exaſperate Leiceſter to his utter ruin, who would ill-brook [186] this embryo rival that ſhould croſs his fate in every inſtance, and dare to contend with him for a ſhare of thoſe advantages he was determined to monopolize, I ex⯑erted the utmoſt care to charm my lover to ſilence. Alas, every day made that more difficult. The Queen and Leiceſ⯑ter, fearful of my finding among the many who profeſſed themſelves my ſer⯑vants, one whoſe views would interfere with theirs, immediately allotted me that weak wretch, Lord Arlington, for a huſ⯑band; and in countenancing his addreſſes, threw every other lover at a diſtance: at the ſame time giving me but too much reaſon to apprehend, if ever I was per⯑mitted to marry, it muſt be as a ſacrifice to both. Not daring to conſult you on a ſubject I had ſo long concealed, and on which we muſt ever think ſo differ⯑ently, and unwilling to blight the little gleam of ſunſhine love illumined your days with, I reſigned myſelf up to a gloom which hardly the preſence of Eſſex could diſſipate.

[187] A very ſhort time rendered the inten⯑tions of the Queen and Lord Leiceſter obvious to Eſſex. His impaſſioned ſoul, fired alike with love of me, and diſdain of him I was commanded to love, treated Lord Arlington with ſo marked a con⯑tempt, that nothing but the irreſolution incident to weak minds, could prevent Arlington from making a mortal quarrel of it. Poſſeſſed in my confidence of the means to render Lord Leiceſter more tractable, the Earl of Eſſex ſolicited my conſent to inſiſt on that of your Lord, as well as his intereſt with the Queen, if he valued the preſervation of his own ſe⯑cret.

The tender love which attached me to you, alone could induce me to oppoſe a deſign of which my happineſs was the ul⯑timate object. But convinced an eclair-ciſſement of this kind would embroil me forever with Lord Leiceſter, and fill your ſuffering mind with a trouble beyond all thoſe you had already experienced, I conſented to ſee Lord Eſſex once more at Lady Pembroke's; and exerting at that [188] interview every power I poſſeſſed over his perturbed heart, to moderate his rage, and ſoothe his love, till the enſuing cam⯑paign in the Netherlands ſhould be over, I promiſed a ſteady reſiſtance to every matrimonial propoſal in the interval, and to decide his fate on his return. Know⯑ing it vain to hope to actuate him by any ſelfiſh conſideration of his own welfare, I buried in my own heart its deepeſt ſources of apprehenſion, and bound him to patience by a ſtrong repreſentation of the dangers to which any raſhneſs on his part would infallibly expoſe me. Thoſe inflamed paſſions no other being could ever control, were regulated by my voice; and when neceſſity compelled us to part, I ſeemed to leave in his arms the dearer portion of my exiſtence.

Occupied by feelings and views diſtinct from each other, and agreeing only in watching the wind, and ſending every wiſh towards the camp, you and I ſeldom entered into our accuſtomed confidence and friendſhip. I had, however, ſome⯑times the relief of a letter, through the [189] medium of Lady Pembroke; by thoſe I learnt your Lord ſtill maintained an out⯑ward ſhew of civility towards Eſſex, while he ſecretly made him ſenſible of all his power; yet with an art ſo profound, as left him no apparent right to complain. He often reminded me of my promiſe, and vowed to preſerve an undoubted claim to it, by ſtill enduring for my ſake. Over⯑whelmed with anxiety and perplexities, I hardly durſt look towards the unravelling of events ſo complicated, and waited in dread⯑ful ſuſpenſe the will of Heaven. It broke in thunder over me—the cruel ſitu⯑ation in which you ſoon found yourſelf, Lord Leiceſter's abrupt and imprudent return on the news of it—the politick conſtruction he gave that return to the ſick and doting Queen—her ſudden re⯑ſolution to marry him, and the immedi⯑ate neceſſity for getting out of her power, which rendered both him and you in one hour miſerable fugitives, were incidents ſo ſtrange, rapid, and unſuſpected, that I became their victim, ere I could any way account for it.

[190] The fatal morning of Lord Leiceſter's return, you left him to attend the riſing of the Queen, which was on that day your periodical duty. I waited with im⯑patience the event of my Lord's viſit to Elizabeth, in which my own ſafety, as well as yours, was immediately concerned. A ſervant of Lady Pembroke's, in whom ſhe repoſed great truſt, ſuddenly brought me word that a fright had thrown her into premature labor, and the danger was ſo imminent, that even while we ſpoke ſhe might breathe her laſt; nevertheleſs the meſſenger, in her name, urged me to haſten to her, if I valued the letters I had lodged in her hands. I gave way to the alarm without reflection, and accom⯑panied the meſſenger inſtantly; nor did I meet in paſſing through the palace any of our women, or friends, to whom I could mention the cauſe of my ſudden abſence. Happily the danger of my much-loved friend was over ere I arrived. I preſt her hand in ſilence, and took from it the packet relative to Eſſex, ſhe had kept ready to give me; which I put into my bo⯑ſom, [191] and was haſtening back, when a ſtranger, as I paſſed thro' the outer court, preſented me a note. The hand, my flut⯑tered ſenſes owned for that of Eſſex. But why ſhould he return to England? A confuſed fear aroſe in my mind, which hardly left me power to read it. It was anonymous, but I learnt from it, "he had been at the houſe of Lady Pembroke, where, ſhocked at the diſtreſs into which her misfortune had juſt thrown her Lord, as well as the whole family, he found it vain to hope their aſſiſtance towards ob⯑taining an interview with me, which, ne⯑vertheleſs, was highly eſſential to the peace and ſafety of both. He ended with conjuring me to follow the bearer, if I wiſhed to ſave him from deſperation."—Perhaps on the deciſion of this important moment depended the peace of my whole future life. Too ſurely my compliance infinitely lengthened the fatal abſence from Court which enthralled me for many pain⯑ful years; and dearly did I expiate that firſt deviation from propriety and prudence. But are we always rulers over our feel⯑ings? [192] mine were agitated with almoſt every poſſible cauſe, and coward reaſon too often retreats from the dangerous conteſt.

I ſtept into a hired boat the meſſenger ſhewed me, which was rowed down the river with the utmoſt rapidity. During the little voyage, I revolved in my mind every probable reaſon for this ſudden and alarming return of the Earl; but I was at Greenwich, ere I yet had fixed on one. I landed at a ſolitary garden belonging to Lord Southampton, and was conducted to a pavillion which overhung the water, where I found Eſſex alone: pale, diſor⯑dered, and undreſt, with every ſymptom of anxiety and fatigue. Overwhelmed with I know not what agitation, I ſunk upon his ſhoulder, as he knelt before me, and gave way to an uncertain preſentiment of ſadneſs, a few hours after ſo fully veri⯑fied. Not even the charm of his voice could immediately ſoothe ſpirits ſo many alarming circumſtances had deeply agi⯑tated: nevertheleſs, on comprehending ſurmiſe, and not misfortune, had brought [193] him thus ſuddenly to England, I felt my oppreſſed heart breathe a little more freely. I by-and-by underſtood that the ſole mo⯑tive of this journey was the ſudden one of Lord Leiceſter; that by means of friends who ſurrounded your Lord, he had always endeavored to keep a watch⯑ful eye on his actions; and found a packet of letters, brought by a truſty hand from England, had agitated him ſo ſtrongly, as to make him reſolve on leav⯑ing his command, and returning imme⯑diately. The communication of this myſterious reſolution determined him to follow the ſteps of his General, which he was enabled to do, as he fortunately acted only as a Volunteer. The impatience Lord Leiceſter diſcovered by his haſty journey, authoriſed the fears of the rival who followed his ſteps; and perſuaded him either that the ſecret of my birth had tranſpired, or that ſome manoeu⯑vre was projected, to diſpoſe of me as policy dictated. Rendered deſperate by theſe fears, he had left every thing in train for an immediate return, if fortu⯑nately [194] I was ſtill at liberty; or if he could be the happy means of delivering me, in caſe the whole truth had been diſcovered; nor could he longer doubt but I would at laſt conſent to follow the fortunes of a man, who had never for a moment put all the hopes he might perhaps juſtly form, in competition with the ſingle one of poſſeſſing me. The generous error of his conduct could not offend me, but perſuaded my own ſituation was not ſo deſperate as he repreſented it, I account⯑ed to him for Lord Leiceſter's precipitate journey, by acknowledging the truth; and urged him to leave England directly, that even his having viſited it might ne⯑ver tranſpire. But I talked to one who no longer attended to me. His eyes wandered wildly over my features, while his whole ſoul was engroſſed by his favo⯑rite project. Poſſeſſed and diſtracted with the idea, that Lord Leiceſter would in⯑fallibly ruin his hopes, by diſpoſing of me if ever I was again in his power, not all my vows of everlaſting love and fide⯑lity to him, nor promiſes of the moſt ob⯑ſtinate [195] reſiſtance to every other propoſal, could avail. "You are gone, you are loſt to me for ever, if once theſe eyes loſe ſight of you," was his impaſſioned reply, a thouſand times repeated to all my arguments and intreaties.—"It is the criſis of our fate, my love, would he cry,—yield, oh yield to it! Admitting you are proof againſt trials you cannot gueſs at till too late, how know you but I may be ſacrificed? Sir Francis Walſingham al⯑ready repents conſenting to annul the contract between me and his daughter; ſhe is already widowed; a hint would en⯑gage Lord Leiceſter to favor its renewal (for do not his views coincide with that project?) a word from him would deter⯑mine the Queen in its favor; and a com⯑mand from her, diſobeyed, would exile me for life. Thus, my ſweet Ellen, con⯑tinued this agitated lover, you not only put your own fate in the hands of a man, who will never conſent to unite it with mine, but even ſhould you have reſoluti⯑on to reſiſt his will, you deliver up to it a wretch you ſay you dearly love, and who [196] certainly loves you to madneſs." Bathing the hands he graſped, with precious drops of tenderneſs and anguiſh, he held them alter⯑nately to his lips and heart.—What was the diſtraction of my ſoul at that mo⯑ment?—Inexorably to refuſe was the hard duty impoſed by my reaſon, while my ſoul even melted with fondneſs. But the fear that I ſhould entail misfortune on the dear choice of my heart; obſcure at once the brilliant fortune which ſeemed to ſpread before his youthful ſteps, and track them perhaps with blood; a juſt remem⯑brance of the ſevere cenſure I had paſſed on your conduct, under circumſtances not leſs trying, and a conviction that ſuch a compliance would infallibly endanger your ſafety, made me reſolve to act up to my ſenſe of rectitude, at whatever price. I collected theſe reaſons, and many more, which have now eſcaped my mind, to prepare Eſſex for a diſappointment, I was ſure he would feel but too ſenſibly; and ſtrove to reconcile him to the refuſal, by convincing him his own welfare was the chief cauſe of it. Perhaps, in truth, it [197] was; for hardly can the ſun tinge the dew-drops with more various hues, than the ſoul will caſt upon its feelings. I a thou⯑ſand times aſſured him, "that to be the ſole object of his heart, did not give me more pleaſure, than to ſee him the admi⯑ration of the kingdom. The happy pro⯑miſe of his youth, I added, had centered every eye, and every hope in him. What then would be my grief and diſappoint⯑ment, if the coming years which ought to crown him with glory, were to bury him in obſcurity, or ſteep him in ſorrow—that nature had formed me with a ſtrength of mind to view every ſituation in its true light; nor could I comprize all human paſſions in love, though I thought it, perhaps, the leading one. Fill up the interval of our ſeparation, my Lord, cried I, with a long ſucceſſion of ſuch heroic actions, as may give to our union, whenever Heaven permits it, the only happineſs not comprized in itſelf—the ſacred ſenſe of having deſerved it. Nor ſhall the gentler virtues of my ſex be wanting; time, patience, and fortitude, [198] often conquer fate herſelf; nor will I ever yield to Lord Leiceſter, an obedience I do not owe him, though for my ſiſter's ſake I ſhall condeſcend to temporize, in inſtances of leſs importance. Plighted to you by every tye, the rites of the church could only ratify a claim, which will from this moment make my accep⯑tance of another, an adultery of the worſt kind. Haſten back then, my dear Eſſex; conceal, if poſſible, that you have been abſent, and beware how you expoſe to the eyes of Lord Leiceſter a ſuſpicion of his honor, he would never, perhaps, par⯑don." I broke from his arms, ſtrength⯑ened, ſurely, by ſome ſupernatural aid.—"Yet ſtay, my beloved, my worſhip⯑ped Ellinor—Oh yet be perſuaded—you leave me for ever—theſe aching eyes ſee you for the laſt time—never, oh never, ſhall I now call you mine."—Such were the paſſionate exclamations which vibrat⯑ed on my quickened ſenſe, as I flew towards the boat, and ordered the men to row to London. My full eyes ſtill ſought that graceful form, which with folded arms, [199] and a dejected air, hung over the terrace; and my heart diſſolved at the accents which ſtill lingered on my ear. Alas, I knew not then how far they were prophe⯑tic!

Such was my conflict, ſuch my deter⯑mination, during the buſy hours fraught with your fate, and mine, my ſiſter. The mind, however, ſoon recovers all its vigor, when it has dared to act up to its duties, and I had wept away my ten⯑der chagrin ere I reached the Court. Ah, let me ſhorten this part of my recital, leſt I raſhly pauſe to queſtion Heaven, why the moſt meritorious moment of my life became the cauſe of my ruin? I reached London, Matilda, two hours after you and Lord Leiceſter quitted it; and fearful of the appearance my long abſence might have even in your eyes, did you know how the time had been ſpent, I re⯑ſolved to tell you I had paſſed the day at Lady Pembroke's bedſide; and to avoid the enquiry of indifferent perſons, ſtole at the cloſe of the evening through the back courts: thus fatally eluding every watch⯑ful [200] care of Lady Arundell, who had planted aſſiduous friends in every other avenue to the palace, ready to intercept me when returning, after ſhe had cauſed London to be explored in vain to find me.

Ah, gracious Heaven, what were my emotions when entering our apartment, I ſaw the Queen's women and officers in poſſeſſion of it! The diſorder of our ca⯑binets and cheſts; every thing indicated a dangerous diſcovery—a terror, for which there is no name, came over me. A joy⯑ful exclamation on the part of thoſe into whoſe hands I had fallen; and a diſpatch to the Queen, gave me reaſon to fear alike for my Matilda. To the enquiries I made, no other anſwer was given, than that they were employed to guard, and not inform me; and an officer of the Queen's immediately appeared to conduct me to her preſence. Unable to com⯑mand a ſingle moment of ſolitude and ſilence to regulate my thoughts or ac⯑tions, the paſt, the preſent, and the fu⯑ture, preſented only one wild chaos to [201] my mind, which hardly the breath of Heaven ſeemed able to bring into order. Pale, horror-ſtruck, and ſpeechleſs, I was dragged like a criminal into the clo⯑ſet of the Queen; whoſe burning cheeks, and enraged eyes, told me in one killing look all I had to dread. My conductors were ordered to retire, and Lord Bur⯑leigh, with the old Lady Latimer, were the only ſpectators of this dreadful inter⯑view. Scarce could my trembling limbs ſupport me, or my ſunk ſoul utter a ſin⯑gle word. Death—death in the moſt terrible form glared upon me—What do I ſay, death? Oh, that I had feared no other evil!—Grief, inſult, obloquy, all that can add horrors to the grave, pro⯑miſed to forerun it. The remembrance of the packet of letters, the teſtimonials of my birth, whatever was wanting to confirm the doubts of Elizabeth, or re⯑double her rage, were all to be found about me. Matilda, Eſſex—thoſe forms ſo dear, gliſtered before my tearful eyes; and I ſeemed in this peril⯑ous [202] moment to drag down to the earth every human being I loved and valued.

Elizabeth gave way to that coarſe vio⯑lence which marks her manners. Is there a vindictive or opprobrious epithet ſhe did not exhauſt? Lord Burleigh, apprehend⯑ing this ungoverned paſſion, would rather give than gain information, ſolicited her permiſſion to examine me, which ſhe ſul⯑lenly granted. To all his artful and inſidi⯑ous enquiries I replied with truth, veiling only ſuch particulars of your life and my own, as malice might conſtrue into a crime; always referring myſelf to Lord Leiceſter, in whoſe boſom the ſecret of our fate was, as the Queen well knew, depoſited. "Ah, ha! then, traitreſs, cried Elizabeth, no longer able to contain her rage, her very eyes flaſhing fire, ſo thou wouldeſt artfully feign ignorance of thy deteſted ſiſter's marriage with that vil⯑lain thou gloſſeſt over ſo rarely; that in⯑formation, I thank him, he has thought proper to give me under his own hand, (pointing to a paper lying on the table near her) take that truth from me, and [203] now unfold the reſt, or tortures ſhall wring it from thee."

She continued to ſpeak, but I had ceaſed to hear—breathleſs, mute, aſ⯑tounded, my feet ſeemed to take root on the ſpot where I ſtood, and my tears alone proved I was not marble.—Lord Leiceſ⯑ter's marriage acknowledged—authenti⯑cated at ſuch a juncture—and by himſelf too—Heavens, what a chaos did this news make in my mind!—"Speak, Jeze⯑bel! (exclaimed the exaſperated Queen, in a tone almoſt as inarticulate through paſſion as mine was through fear) thou art ſtill in my power—though the perfi⯑dious villain I had raiſed from the duſt, and loaded with benefits, though he, I ſay, and his minion have eſcaped my vengeance, thou art yet within my reach—tremble leſt thou ſhouldſt anſwer, ſhould ſuffer for all."

Alas, her utmoſt rage could hardly have added a pang to thoſe which at that moment overwhelmed me. Another kil⯑ling truth had unwarily eſcaped her—Lord Leiceſter himſelf then thought there [204] was no ſafety but in flight—he was gone, and my ſiſter, it was plain, had accom⯑panied him—both had ſurrendered me up a hopeleſs, helpleſs victim, however unoffending—even tears, as well as lan⯑guage, now failed me, and my brain ſhot through with fire. Oh, Eſſex, in this mo⯑ment I yet remembered thee. Thy laſt words yet rung in my ears, and my ſoul ſtruggled with the deep regret I felt for having ſcorned thy project, through a vain, vain generoſity. Elizabeth finding threats and interrogations alike loſt on a girl whoſe abſent ſenſes ſeemed to have wholly retired into her heart, now gave way to one of her violent tranſports; ſhe threw a large book of devotion, which lay by her on the table, with ſo good an aim, that it ſtruck me on the temple, and I ſunk ſenſeleſs to the earth. The atten⯑dants were all called in, and my laces cut, as having fainted, the Queen not chuſing to avow a reſentment ſo groſsly expreſſed. A ribbon, from whence hung the dearer part of my exiſtence, thoſe teſtimonials of my birth, which were [205] one day to fix my rank in life, attracted the eye of Elizabeth. The ready atten⯑dants diſengaged and preſented them to her hand, together with the packet con⯑taining my correſpondence with Eſſex. I was inſenſibly reviving when ſhe pe⯑ruſed the firſt, but ſurely that moment half avenged me.—Never did mind or body undergo a greater revolution—rage evaporated at once—ſurprize, grief, con⯑fuſion, ſilence ſucceeded; with a face pale as my own, trembling hands; and failing eyes, over and over again did ſhe exa⯑mine the inconteſtable proofs of ſo ſur⯑prizing an event: then wildly glancing towards my features, tore the papers into atoms, ſhe never thought ſmall enough.

During this interval, I had ſo far re⯑covered myſelf as to be capable of ſpeak⯑ing; but ſcarce had I uttered a ſound, ere ſhe ſtarted, in her turn afraid to hear, "take her away on your lives, cried ſhe, in a broken and inward voice; con⯑vey her into my little cloſet, nor let one ſoul ſee or ſpeak to her, as you value my favor." The ſervile ſlaves of her will [206] executed this order with the [...]tmoſt ala⯑crity; and the room was guarded by two officers, who took from me every means of eſcape or death. Alas! I thought not of either. Yielding to the deſolating flood which had in one hour encompaſſed me, I braved the future.—Betrayed, de⯑livered up by Lord Leiceſter,—neglect⯑ed, forgotten by my ſiſter—the pair for whom alone I ſeemed hitherto to have lived; had fate another blow in ſtore? Yet even if ſo, it muſt ſport with human miſery to level it at me, when thoſe already given were mortal. A ſtern and ſullen deſpair ſucceeded the keen viciſſitude of emoti⯑ons which had marked the laſt hour of my life; I conſidered myſelf as the de⯑voted of Heaven and man, and reſolved to oppoſe a heart rendered callous by in⯑jury, to every future ſtroke of fortune.

Elizabeth forgot not her uſual policy even while overwhelmed with ſurprize; the room in which ſhe had ordered me to be confined, had another door, which led to private paſſages through the palace, and from this entrance a guard approached [207] at midnight, and informed me it was the pleaſure of the Queen that I ſhould fol⯑low them. I obeyed in ſilence, and get⯑ting into a litter I found at the garden gate, enquired not even my deſtination. I travelled almoſt without reſting for two days and a night; care having been taken to provide relays, which were every where ready. During the firſt day's journey a guard attended, but all proſpect of my being releaſed by human aſſiſtance then ceaſing, I found myſelf delivered into the charge of Lord Burleigh and his ſervants. My deep perturbations began now to ſubſide, and my ſoul inclined to its wont⯑ed habits: though to have been betrayed by Lord Leiceſter and my ſiſter, was a recollection my wounded feelings had not yet courage enough to cope with. Alas, how ſhould they? When the paſſions are permitted to decide our conduct, how⯑ever heroic it proves, we claim not thoſe returns reaſon tells us are due to every inſtance of virtue, which had no other in⯑centive than reaſon. Ah, Eſſex! dear prophetic Eſſex! ſighed my heart at ſome [208] moments, why, why, did I inexorably reject thy generous propoſal? that un⯑grateful ſiſter to whoſe ſafety I ſacrificed the ſweeteſt hopes of my life, manacles thy devoted love; and flies far away to take ſhelter in that country I dared not ſeek even under thy protection.

At the turn of the night, a dreadful ſtorm of thunder, lightning, wind and rain, broke over us; and the terrors na⯑tural to my ſex on ſuch occaſions, were doubled on finding the whole party were ſet on by a banditti. A moment before, and I ſhould have affirmed I had nothing to dread, yet ſo lively was my new fear, that even the vengeance of Elizabeth became nothing in the compariſon. The ſer⯑vants of Lord Burleigh made a deſperate but vain reſiſtance; and the whole were at length led away by the ruffians into a wood adjoining: where all, no doubt, like me, expected to be murdered. The ſtorm now began to abate, and the moon ſometimes forced its way through the vo⯑lumes of black clouds which yet hung over it. My quickened ſenſes caught [209] its gleams to examine if any habitation, or other hope of reſcue was in view. In vain I ſtrained my ſight. The wood in⯑volved us entirely, and every feeble hope died away, when my eyes ſuddenly reſted on—ah, gracious Heaven!—our own Receſs.—Yes, the well-known entrance of the tomb preſented itſelf, and a thouſand vague ideas of ſafety and danger ming⯑ling in my mind, as the robbers approach⯑ed the litter to take me out, I ſcreamed, and ſwooned away.

Alas, my ſiſter, call to mind your own feelings, and gueſs at mine when I once more opened my eyes in the great room of our Receſs—that room once hallowed with the prayers of father Anthony, and the preſence of Mrs. Marlow—that room where once the portraits of our parents ſmiled peace and ſecurity on their now deſolate offspring—how hideous was the change!—its bare walls, grimed with a thouſand uncouth and frightful images, preſented only a faint picture of the preſent poſſeſſors, on whoſe hardened faces I dared not fix my fearful eyes.

[210] Conſidering me but as accidental plun⯑der, they were wholly engroſſed by the old Lord Burleigh; in whom ſome im⯑portant view ſeemed to centre, I ſhrunk from the terrible ſcene, and called upon the awful ſhades of thoſe moſt dear to me, to appal, in turn, the deſperate wretches who made the time-ſtruck walls reſound with threats and execrations. My ſhock⯑ed eyes ſought the ground as a relief, and fixed upon a well-known object—It was that ring of Mrs. Marlow's, with which father Anthony wedded you to Lord Leiceſter, and well I remembered that ring was on your hand when laſt we parted. I ſtooped impatiently for it—my ſenſes more fully recogniſed its ſet⯑ting.—The dreadful truth flaſhed upon my mind. "Alas! my ſiſter and Lord Leiceſter are alike enſnared, groaned I forth without any conſideration—well I know they muſt be here—Oh, in what dungeon have you hid them?" "Your ſiſter, fair Lady, returned one of the vil⯑lains, with an odious grin; comrades, our Captain will thank us for this prize, [211] this muſt be ſhe he talked ſo much about when the other travellers threw themſelves into our hands.—Make yourſelf eaſy, miſtreſs, your ſiſter is locked up as ſafe as cords can keep her."

All the anguiſh I had before felt be⯑came nothing at this moment. "My ſiſter in this dungeon? cried I; oh, born to ſuffer with me, dear Matilda! how will that ſoft frame, always unequal to the trials of life, and now entirely debilitated, ſupport theſe horrors! Alas, Sirs, if there is yet in your hearts one touch of human pity, conduct me to this tender ſufferer, and let her die in my arms." "All in good time, young woman," replied another, with an air ſo ſurly, as awed even my convulſed ſoul to ſilence.

Lord Burleigh ſtill was their great ob⯑ject; threats, and oaths were exhauſted on him: when, to conſummate the terrors of that moment, the name of Williams reached me. That name expounding both the paſt and future, wrought my fears up to frenzy. I caſt my wild eyes around in ſearch of any means to die, [212] and could in that terrible moment, like Portia, have ſwallowed fire; when a tu⯑mult without the room, at once ſuſpended that within it. The ſound of piſtols, the precipitate entrance of ſuch of the rob⯑bers as were not already round us, fol⯑lowed by many unknown perſons, in⯑ſtantly convinced me Heaven had deliver⯑ed us from our oppreſſors, by ſome means leſs ſhocking to humanity, than thoſe deſ⯑pair had filled my thoughts with. A dreadful conteſt enſued, but our deliver⯑ers prevailing, immediately began to un⯑bind Lord Burleigh; who, almoſt mute with exceſſive ſurprize, found in them a train of his own domeſtics from the ad⯑joining Abbey of St. Vincent, which I underſtood was now one of his ſeats. Nor was their amazement leſs at meeting with their Lord in this newly-diſcovered den. I comprehended the whole in a mo⯑ment; and plainly perceived the ſervants of Lord Burleigh muſt have come through the ſubterraneous paſſage, that commu⯑nicated with the Abbey; I recollected that it was unknown to Williams, nor doubted [213] but you and Lord Leiceſter had eſcaped through it. Overwhelmed with the bleſſed events comprized in this deliverance, I for⯑got I had any thing ſtill to fear; and no conſidering Lord Burleigh as my keeper, I ſaw in him only a fellow-ſufferer. I roſe with alacrity, and led the way to the dungeon which communicated with the Abbey; thoſe who newly came from thence following me in ſilent aſtoniſhment. I perceived the cords with which you and my Lord had been bound, and demanded you of the ſervants with a joyful impati⯑ence. Lord Burleigh learnt from my in⯑coherent tranſports, a truth I had refuſed before to inform him of: that chance had impriſoned us in the very ſpot where you and I were bred. Wholly taken up with my own exclamations, and regard⯑leſs of the ſilence of my followers, I hailed the entrance of the Abbey, ſo long our happy aſylum. Ah, Heavens, how cruelly were theſe lively emotions repelled and extinguiſhed, when by the command of Lord Burleigh, his ſervants once more ſeized me as a priſoner, and attempted [214] to lead me towards a remote apartment. With a heart humbled and broken by ſo many ſucceſſive frights and afflictions, I ſunk at his feet, not diſdaining the moſt ſubmiſſive attitude, and only ſolicited to ſee you. I reminded him of the dangers he and I had ſhared together, and con⯑jured him to remember you alone could have opened the paſſage which led us all to freedom,—unleſs he baſely reſolved to become to me a murderer, as dreadful as thoſe from whom we had juſt eſcaped. Inexorably cold, he replied, "my un⯑guarded acknowledgments only gave him ſtronger reaſon to imagine much was yet concealed; and that whenever I would re⯑ſolve to be wholly ſincere, I ſhould not want his intereſt with his royal miſtreſs." Breaking from thoſe trembling hands, which every moment more infeebled, he ordered his ſervants to bear me into the grated room at the end of the eaſtern cloiſter. You cannot but remember the diſmal place. Half ſunk in ruin, and overhung with ivy, and trees of growth almoſt immemorial, it appeared the very [215] cell of melancholy. Alas, her pale repre⯑ſentative took poſſeſſion of it in myſelf. The maſſy bars no ſooner gave aſſurance that I was ſecure, than my conductors impatiently flew to rejoin the reſt, and learn the news of the family. To me that ſmall relief was barbarouſly denied. So near the cauſe and partaker of my ſorrows, they were deſtined to flow in ſolitude; nor could imagination decide whether you were yet a priſoner, or had again eſcaped. How terrible are the vague ſuſpicions of an impaſſioned mind, when deprived of every means of certitude! The pale gleams of the moon ſeemed every moment to people the dungeon they glanced through—my pulſe beat with redoubled ſtrength and quickneſs—the whole cloiſter reſounded the long night with diſtant feet, but they came not to me—fearfully I often ſtarted when ſink⯑ing into a lethargy, rather than ſlumber, by the echo of ſome remote voice, which fancy continually told me I knew, but it died away ere memory could aſſign it an owner; and though my fertile brain ex⯑hauſted [216] poſſibility, the dawning day re⯑alized no other objects, than thoſe drea⯑ry ones my chamber preſented. The bats and owls began to retire to their haunts in my neighbourhood, and the ſhort viſit of the riſing ſun, only ſhewed me the limits of a dark and diſmal pri⯑ſon. By this time both mind and body were alike exhauſted, and a miſt appeared to envelop my ſenſes, which ſtill recall a thouſand fleeting forms, by turns ſurround⯑ing me, till fatigue threw me into a deep ſleep.

It was at length interrupted by a maid who brought me breakfaſt, and a meſſage from her Lord, "that if I would inform him what was wanting to my comfort and accommodation, his orders ſhould immediately ſupply it." I caſt my eyes expreſſively around, and bid her tell him in one word, "every thing." The wo⯑man ſeemed affected; I ſnatched the for⯑tunate moment, and putting my purſe into her hand, aſked in return only to know the fate of Lord Leiceſter and my ſiſter. I learnt, to my inexpreſſible re⯑lief, [217] both had, by ſome incomprehenſible means again eſcaped, and that Lord Bur⯑leigh's generous daughter was confined as their abettor. A haſty ſummons to the maid left me once more alone; but the news ſhe had communicated, and the idea that the amiable Roſe might hereafter be alike ready to relieve my diſtreſſes, gave a new turn to my ſpirits, which now gather⯑ed courage to retrace the paſt, and look into the future.

Although unable to comprehend what the urgent motives could be which impel⯑led Lord Leiceſter and my ſiſter to ſo pre⯑cipitate a flight, every thing argued that they were deſperate: for that it was ſud⯑den and without preparation, their inten⯑tion of taking ſhelter in the Receſs ſtrong⯑ly indicated; and whenever I recollected the dangerous ſituation of Matilda, I ſhared with her that compaſſion ſelf is but too apt to engroſs. Was there a ſpot of St. Vincent's Abbey, however gloomy, which did not call to my mind ſome in⯑ſtance of that integrity, affection, and nobility of heart, which diſtinguiſhed my [218] Matilda? and could I remember theſe, yet doubt that by whatever chance I was deſerted, your will could have no ſhare in it? Believe me, my ſiſter, the firſt prayers I addreſſed to Heaven in my priſon were for your ſafety.

When time and ſolitude reſtored me reaſon enough coolly to conſider my own ſtate, I ſaw no immediate danger it could teem with. Though a victim to the fears of Elizabeth, and the policy of Lord Bur⯑leigh, I had not yet learnt to conſider them as mere murderers, and if they were not ſo, impriſonment was the only evil I could have to apprehend, nay even that might per⯑haps be ſhort, as it was undoubtedly both illegal and unjuſt. Malice itſelf could affix on me no other crime than that of being daughter to the Queen of Scots; a fatal truth which Elizabeth would gladly forget, but ſurely never publiſh. Could I reſolve, therefore, to endure with pa⯑tience the puniſhment ſo unworthily im⯑poſed on me, I might in time emerge unſullied to diſtinction. I called upon the example of her who gave me being, [219] to ſupport my drooping ſpirits, and ſhould perhaps have vied with her in fortitude, but that one cheriſhed grief wound round my aching heart, and often wrung forth its deareſt drops. Eſſex, the moſt be⯑loved of mankind; that faithful lover, whoſe ardent prayers, whoſe generous pro⯑poſals, I had obſtinately reſiſted, when his irritated mind ſeemed daringly to lift the veil of futurity, and pierce through thoſe complicated dangers which followed our parting—Ah, what ſhould guard him, when my loſs was diſcovered, from giving way to his injured and exaſperated affection? If fortune ſhould even ſeparate him and Lord Leiceſter, how could I be certain Elizabeth herſelf would be ſafe from his reproaches, and who was ever ſafe from her vengeance, when once thus deſperately awakened? The premature fate of my much-honoured father, the noble Norfolk, returned upon my me⯑mory—the tower, the diſmal tower, ſcaf⯑folds, axes, a bleeding lover, and a broken heart, daily paſſed in long array before me, [220] and peopled the ſolitude to which I was ſo unjuſtly condemned.

The decency with which I was attend⯑ed and ſerved, convinced me both Eliza⯑beth and her Miniſter had ſtill terms to keep with me; but the ſervant who had ventured to anſwer me was impeached by thoſe who waited without the door, and my purſe being found upon her, no doubt became a ſufficient proof of guilt. Certainly I ſaw her no more, and the wo⯑men deputed in her place, were either too guarded, or too ignorant, to inform me on any ſubject, had I left myſelf mo⯑ney to try their fidelity.

I had once been ſo accuſtomed to ſeclu⯑ſion, that it would ſoon have loſt its hor⯑rors, had my misfortunes reſted here; but reſolved, however, not to augment them by vain and fruitleſs repining, I de⯑manded ſuch books as might ſtrengthen and amuſe my mind: thus oppoſing the wiſdom of ages, to the pangs of the mo⯑ment. By ſharing a part of my food with the birds which inhabited the over⯑hanging trees, I drew around me ſome [221] mute aſſociates, who more grateful than the ſuperior beings that venture to look down on them, are always attached by benefits.

This lethargic tranquillity was ſoon in⯑terrupted by a viſit from Lord Burleigh. With the fair language of an experienced courtier, he "commended my reſignation to an inevitable fate, and admired the wiſe uſe I made of confinement, in thus applying myſelf to enrich my underſtand⯑ing; aſſuring me he went beyond his or⯑ders for my accommodation, but that an expreſs which arrived over-night from the Queen, had at laſt put it in his power to reſtore that liberty, he had by her com⯑mand deprived me of," My heart leaped at ſo unhoped an alteration in my fate, but he intercepted the tranſport ere it reached my lips, and ſent it back a dead weight into my boſom. "Think not therefore, fair lady, ſaid he, that her Majeſty's indulgence is unconditional—She wills, if ever you paſs theſe walls, it is as the wife of Lord Arlington."—"They will then be my grave, my Lord, [222] returned I, in bitterneſs of ſpirit; ſhame on her indulgence, inhuman tyrant!"—"Moderate your wrath, reſumed he in the ſame equal tone, after your bold at⯑tempt to impoſe on her by forged teſti⯑monials of an impoſſible marriage, and ſuppoſitious birth, you ought rather to imagine ſhe treats you with lenity."—"Forged teſtimonials? retorted I with great acrimony, why then did ſhe ſo care⯑fully deſtroy them? but ſhe deſtroyed them, my Lord, in vain—look down bleſt ſpirits of thoſe who once owned this noble manſion! look down thou dear de⯑parted ſiſter of the murdered Norfolk!—look down too, revered Mrs. Marlow, thou gentle guardian of our youth, and ſay to whom we owe our being?—but why do I call the bleſſed from their reward, to authenticate thoſe rights the malice of Elizabeth cannot annihilate? Oh, Royal Mary, dear unknown mother, how would the tender yearnings of thy boſom juſtify the aſſertions of thy perſecuted daughter, did not a cruel tyrant, by a double in⯑juſtice, encloſe in ſeparate priſons the [223] mother and the child?—bring us but to⯑gether, and you ſhall find"—"I am not commiſſioned to parley on ſo delicate a ſubject, replied the crafty Lord Bur⯑leigh,—ere you give way to theſe violent tranſports, remember how fatal they may prove—over the head of the Queen of Scots, the ſword has long hung only by a ſingle thread—it is now put into your hand—conſider well ere next I ſee you, who, and what you will be;" with theſe tremendous words he roſe and left me—left me—ah, how? Convulſed, annihilated, a terror hitherto unknown ſeemed to fix every feature, and freeze every ſenſe. Oh, thou, whoſe awful will alone could authorize this nameleſs infliction, give me ſtrength to bear it, ſighed forth my ſhocked ſoul! Can I then deſerve the title of daughter, only by renouncing all claim to it?—My mother, my gracious royal mother, who even when overwhelmed with woes, didſt take ſuch tender care of the little unfor⯑tunates to whom thou gaveſt being; ah, were their lives preſerved but to ſhorten thine? Meditations like theſe almoſt ſhook [224] the ſeat of reaſon: and I reſolved to conform to the moſt inhuman com⯑mand of Elizabeth, rather than ſuffer the horrible ſcene his laſt implication preſent⯑ed, to paſs another hour before my bewil⯑dered ſenſes.

It was ſurely at this tremendous criſis in my life, my fermented blood firſt adopted and cheriſhed thoſe exuberances of paſſion, which ever after warped the equality and merit of my character; that blood now boiling in my veins, joined with a diſordered imagination to call around me a thouſand viſionary inconſiſ⯑tent forms, to whoſe voices my burning heart reſponded—now ſlowly retreating to every vital ſource, the very powers of being ſeemed to congeal, and I remained for hours a breathing icicle. Whenever the firſt ſenſation actuated me, the ſtrong de⯑ſire of ſaving my mother ſtill returned; and in theſe dire revolutions of conſtitu⯑tion, four and twenty dreadful hours elapſed.

Lord Burleigh, at the ſame time the next day, came once more to learn my [225] final reſolution. Scarce able to reply, or raiſe my heavy eyes from the ground, in which they ſought, and ſaw, only a grave, my whole appearance ſtrongly proved how I had paſſed the interval. The deſolate acquieſcence my ſilence beſpoke, encou⯑raged him to produce a paper. He be⯑gan reading it, while rivetted with a new ſurprize I liſtened to the incredible and diſgraceful forgery, as if l had loſt every other ſenſe than that of ear. It was called, as I think, "the voluntary confeſſion of El⯑linor, on behalf of herſelf and ſiſter Matilda; and ſet forth, that ſoon after Mary Queen of Scots ſought ſhelter in England, (under the protection of her ſiſter Elizabeth) for divers politick and ambitious reaſons, (as firſt, in caſe her only ſon ſhould die, and leave her without iſſue, on which to ſup⯑port her claim to Great Britain, as well as to the kingdom ſhe had lately abandoned; next to attach to her intereſt the diſloyal perſons into whoſe charge ſhe was given) ſhe reſolved to pretend to have made a marriage with Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk; and by the aid and confeder⯑acy [226] of his ſiſter, the Lady Scroope, (whoſe Lord was her keeper) together with that of divers Scottiſh ſervants, as well as of one Gertrude Marlow (the baſtard ſiſter of Lord Scroope) the ſaid Queen of Scots, did feign a pregnancy, and in proceſs of time a delivery of two daughters, who were, with the aſſiſtance of the ſaid con⯑federates, brought up in ſecreſy, by the ſaid Gertrude Marlow, till ſuch time as Mary ſhould judge fit to produce them; and that ſundry teſtimonials were invent⯑ed, drawn, and witneſſed by ſaid parties, tending to legitimate ſaid ſurreptitious off⯑ſpring at the pleaſure of the Queen of Scots, by the names of Matilda and Elli⯑nor. The ſaid Ellinor underſtanding, in proceſs of time, the above plauſible col⯑luſion, and ſorely repenting the offence againſt Elizabeth, Queen of England, her lawful Lady and Sovereign, doth on behalf of herſelf and ſiſter Matilda, freely acknowledge, and ſolemnly affirm, that they do not believe themſelves born of the ſaid Mary Queen of Scots, but have reaſon to know their parents of a low de⯑gree, [227] who, for the lucre of gain, reſign⯑ed them for ever, to be done with as the ſaid Queen of Scots, and her confeder⯑ates, thought beſt. This declaration is made and ſigned on the ſpot where Ellinor owns herſelf and ſiſter were thus ſecretly brought up, to wit, the Abbey of St. Vincent, the ſeat of the late Lord Scroope, in the preſence of, &c." Hav⯑ing concluded this notable memorial of villainy, he ſummoned ſeveral domeſtics, and put a pen into my hand. My un⯑ſubdued, indignant ſoul, ſpurned at the idea of villifying both myſelf and mother, even to ſave her life. I would have ſpoke, but ere grief and rage could be converted into language, he transfixed me with a look; and holding before my eyes an or⯑der for the execution of the Queen of Scots, ſigned, dated, authentic, com⯑plete in every form, my ſhuddering na⯑ture could not endure the conflict. I raſhly ſcrawled my name, and ſnatching that tremendous mandate he yet held be⯑fore me, tore it into a thouſand atoms, and ſunk upon the ground in the moſt [228] violent convulſions. They were ſo rapid and dreadful, that to have left me alone had been little elſe than murder. His do⯑meſtics attended me with a humanity un⯑known to their Lord; and theſe fits at laſt gave place to a frenzy fever. Alas, during its raging paroxyſms, I doubtleſs continually confuted the infamous tale I had witneſſed; for every affecting remem⯑brance preſſed upon my confuſed and weakened mind.—My mother, my ſiſter, and my love, by turns bled before my eyes; and death preſented himſelf in every form dear to me, while I vainly invoked him to take my own.

Exhauſted nature ſeemed to reſt on the very verge of the grave.—Ah, had I then ſunk into it, how many pangs had I been ſpared!—the care of my attendants ſo far recovered me, as to enable me to quit my bed, when pronouncing me well, they left me to my own meditations—a hide⯑ous train, my ſiſter—to add to their bit⯑terneſs, fancy had now thrown a new co⯑lour on my fate—how if this infamous forgery had been extorted from me, only [229] to ſtigmatize my ſiſter and myſelf?—A ſtill more aggravating idea ſprung from that—What ſhould prevent Elizabeth from preſenting to the eyes of the unfor⯑tunate Queen of Scots a defamatory de⯑claration, which muſt give her a ſtab no leſs mortal than the blow it ſaved her from, though perhaps more ſlow? how indeed, if ſo, could I hope ſhe would ever forget or forgive an inſtance of de⯑pravity, apparently as unaccountable as it was ſhocking? finally, (oh grief yet more pungent) might not the Queen take plea⯑ſure in wringing the haughty ſoul of Eſ⯑ſex, by ſhewing him the unhappy object of his deareſt affections for ever ſtigma⯑tized by her own hand?—This painful aſſemblage of ideas and objects, was too much for my hurt brain—I groaned, I ſhrieked, I relapſed, and very nearly ob⯑tained the relief I ſo much longed for.

Impelled thus by tyranny down the precipice of fate, my ſwift courſe ſeemed ready to bury me in the gulph it over⯑hangs, when another projecting point in⯑terpoſed, and ſuddenly ſtopped me.—I [230] recollected that in thus reſigning myſelf to the ſtroke, I rendered the laſt fatal blot my own hand had fixed on my cha⯑racter indelible; that while I lived I had yet a chance of juſtifying my intention, in an act which reflected alike on myſelf and all dear to me. By a weakneſs for which I cannot account, I ſuddenly be⯑came more willing to ſupport all the evils of a life thus prolonged, than the idea of an unknown end, and unhonored grave.

My conſtitution, deſtined to ſtruggle with ſtill greater calamities, ſunk not wholly under the impreſſion of theſe; but the period of recovery was marked by a gloom and dejection I can never forget. Silence was now no leſs my habit than inclination, and I often fancied myſelf incapable of ſpeaking. Lord Burleigh, by a ſecond viſit, called together every enfeebled power remaining. Regarding my altered countenance with an air of in⯑ſidious pity, he lamented the painful duty impoſed on him by the Queen. Eſtrang⯑ed from ſympathy ſo long, that the leaſt [231] mark of it affected me, I ſunk into lan⯑guor and tears. "Unhappy young crea⯑ture, reſumed he, deſtined every way to condemn yourſelf, hear all I am commiſ⯑ſioned now to ſay, and finally decide your own fate. I need hardly inform you on whatever grounds your connection with the Queen of Scots is founded, a due re⯑gard for herſelf, and the peace of the king⯑dom of England, will not allow my royal miſtreſs to enlarge one whoſe high ſpirit and diſtinguiſhed underſtanding muſt ſo greatly aid whatever cauſe ſhe is a party in. But when the attachment between you and the Earl of Eſſex is conſidered, (whoſe ambition and daring temper ſuffi⯑ciently alarm the prudent part of the Queen's counſellors, unaſſiſted as he yet is by any imaginary rights) it is obvious that one way alone can you hope for free⯑dom." At the dear name of Eſſex, to which my ear had been ſo long eſtranged, every emotion that had gathered ſlowly toward my heart, ſpread in wild pertur⯑bation through my frame. I faintly re⯑peated it, but Lord Burleigh motioned [232] me to ſilence, and I confined to contemp⯑tuous glances my opinion of the re⯑mainder of his ſpeech.—"I ſhall not conceal from you, returned he, that Eſſex had influence enough over the Queen to make her for a while ſuppreſs her ſen⯑timents on this error in his conduct. Perhaps ſhe would have truſted to time for otherwiſe matching you, but that this hot-headed, raſh young man"—I groaned in impatient ſilence—he caſt on me an attentive eye and purſued his ſubject.—"After finding it vain to hope he ſhould diſcover your aſylum, (for which I muſt tell you he ſpared neither threats, intrea⯑ties, money, or aſſiduity) he completely irritated Elizabeth by uniting himſelf in a plot to releaſe the Queen of Scots. Providentially for my royal miſtreſs it tranſpired in time, and the traitors are taken. The chief object of her indigna⯑tion muſt of courſe be him ſhe ſo greatly favoured. Convinced you are the only cauſe of his rebellious practices, nothing but your making another choice can ſave him from expiating them on the block. A [233] fond weakneſs renders Elizabeth ſtill anxi⯑ous to preſerve him. For my own part I confeſs the ſafeſt remedy I ſhall always think the beſt."—"Ah, let him live, groaned I, adopting at once the train of ideas he ſo artfully arranged, though not for me! Even Elizabeth is merciful, and ſhall I then condemn him? Rob the world of an unequalled ornament, only becauſe I am not permitted to poſſeſs it?—I will no more haunt her ſlumbers—I will no more gild his—of what conſe⯑quence is the name I am called by during the few days I linger in this miſerable world? Inform me, my Lord, but how I can ſave him."—"The ſame reaſons that concur in obliging the Queen to ſeparate you and Eſſex, ſaid the crafty Burleigh, will equally prevent her from matching you with any man gifted with his aſpiring qualities: yet as it is not her wiſh wholly to debaſe you, Lord Arlington was to me the meſſenger of her will;" (I ſhud⯑dered at the fatal name) "the bounded capacity he poſſeſſes is one motive for her chuſing him, as it enſures her own ſafety; [234] and his titles and fortunes another, as thoſe are diſtinctions ſhe is not willing to deprive you of. You marry him, or he returns directly, and his return is the ſig⯑nal for Lord Eſſex's execution."

Yet weak and unrecovered, my mind wanted firmneſs to enter into all the rea⯑ſons which ſhould regulate my conduct. Alas, I ſaw no more of my own fate, than was inſeparably interwoven with that of my lover.—Urged by the generous ex⯑ceſſes of which I knew his heart capable, he has for my ſake then endangered his honor, liberty, and life. Perhaps that danger is exaggerated, hinted prudence—but oh, if not—if actuated by fear and rage Elizabeth ſhould condemn him to the block, as ſhe already had my father, for no greater crime—my wounded ſoul ſhrunk from the bare idea—long faintings and delirium followed—fancy realized every image fraud had preſented; I ſeem⯑ed to behold every moment the choſen of my heart tried, ſentenced, executed; I drenched the maimed, yet beauteous form my eyes for ever worſhipped in my tears, [235] and hardly could be perſuaded, during my lucid intervals, that he yet lived, and that his fate ſtill depended on my deter⯑mination.

Lord Burleigh, faithful to the unge⯑nerous truſt repoſed in him, and weary of the taſk of confining me, took a willing advantage of the weakened ſtate of my intellects, to wring from me a compliance with the wiſh of Elizabeth. I was now releaſed from my priſon, and the Chap⯑lain and family being aſſembled, Lord Arlington was introduced, the contracts ſigned, and a tearful midnight marriage abruptly ſolemnized, during which my abſtracted mind purſued A thouſand diſ⯑tant ideas.

Wedded—loſt—annihilated—the woful miſtreſs of a magnificent ſolitude, where my inward eyes traced for ever the revered ſteps of thoſe who were no longer to be found on earth, one only conſolation could my exhauſted heart ſupply. "I die, that [236] Eſſex may live—I ſigh, that he may breathe freely."—But, oh! ſuch ſighs, they ſeemed to tincture with blackneſs and melancholy the very air that received them. Lord Arlington wanted judgment alike to ſubdue the deep regrets of ſilent ſufferance, or to yield to them. My mind could never hold any correſpondence with his; and by this means alone was I igno⯑rant, for a time, of a calamity, which when known, totally overwhelmed me:—Alas, my ſiſter, by a refinement in bar⯑barity, our fainted mother was led to ex⯑ecution, almoſt at the very moment I was defaming you and myſelf to ſave her. This climax of grief and misfortune was too mighty for my reaſon—I had paſſed from fear to fear, from ſorrow to ſorrow, in ſuch rapid ſucceſſion, that there were only intervals enough of time to render each more poignant. In one ſhort month to behold myſelf deceived, defamed, and ſacrificed—I blended the bitter tears of ſelf-love with thoſe of filial duty and affection. The idea of Eſſex remain⯑ed engrained on my heart, and dou⯑bled [237] every agonizing ſenſation. Lord Arlington, however, returned to Court, and gave me the little relief of ſolitude.

Severed at once from every tie both of nature and of choice, dead while yet breathing, the deep melancholy which ſeized upon my brain ſoon tinctured my whole maſs of blood—my intellects ſtrangely blackened and confuſed, fre⯑quently realized ſcenes and objects that never exiſted, annihilating many which daily paſſed before my eyes. I ſometimes obſerved the ſtrong ſurprize of my atten⯑dants when I ſpoke of theſe viſions, but much oftener I remained lethargic and inſenſible. There were moments when I ſtarted as from a deep ſleep, (and oh, how deep a ſleep is that of the ſoul!)—turned my dubious eyes around with vague re⯑membrance—touched my own hand, to be convinced I yet exiſted—trembled at the ſound of my own voice, or raiſing my uncertain eye toward the blue vault of Heaven, found in the all-chearing ſun a ſtranger.—Alas! my ſiſter, look no more in this ſad recital, for the equal-minded [238] rational Ellinor you once ſaw me; ſenſa⯑tions too acute for either endurance or expreſſion, from this fatal period blotted every noble facility, often ſubſtituting impulſe for judgment. Always ſenſible of my wandering the moment it was paſt, ſhame continually ſucceeded, and united every miſery of madneſs and reaſon.

Spring reviving all nature, extends its genial influence even to the withered heart.

My intervals became more calm and frequent. I gathered ſtrength to walk into the garden—there I ſlowly retraced to myſelf the fatal whole, and began to find, or fancy it more ſupportable. That I had been a dupe to Elizabeth and her miniſter, was too obvious; but I was wil⯑ling to acquit the weak man, perhaps ſufficiently puniſhed in a wife like me, of having been a confederate in their plots. I had long been the object of his choice, and it is a common error among his ſex to be careleſs of the means by which their views ſucceed, provided they attain them. But my feeble effort to⯑ward [239] recovery requiring every indul⯑gence, I wrote to Lord Arlington, aſ⯑ſuring him, "I would make the beſt uſe of my returning reaſon, in forming my heart to the future performance of thoſe pain⯑ful duties, a combination of fatal circum⯑ſtances had impoſed on it; but that the taſk was too difficult not to claim every allowance on his part; and concluded with hoping, ſolitude would enable me one day to meet him with feelings leſs embittered."

With my intellectual powers too re⯑turned my affections. The myſtery of your fate, my ſiſter, and that of Lord Leiceſ⯑ter, racked my weary imagination in vain. I encloſed in the letter to Lord Arlington a billet to Lady Pembroke. It contained only an enquiry for you.

When theſe letters were diſpatched, I bent my every thought to fulfilling the promiſe made in the firſt. A thou⯑ſand times on my knees I beſought the Almighty to confirm thoſe upright ſenti⯑ments he alone could inſpire; I ſtrove to obliterate every remembrance of the hu⯑man [240] means by which his will was effect⯑ed, and conſidering it only in the light of his will, tried meekly to ſubmit to it. Alas, the anſwer of Lady Pembroke ſhook every juſt determination—aſtoniſhment, terror, and affection were obvious in every line of it—eagerly ſhe ſolicited news of myſelf, and the incomprehenſible means which firſt reſtored me to St. Vincent's Abbey, as well as thoſe which fixed me there by ſo extraordinary a marriage.

From her letter I at laſt underſtood a part of your motives for ſo ſuddenly ab⯑ſenting yourſelves. I found too you had happily arrived in France, by the accounts many had received from you; when all at once (ſhe added) the correſpondence broke off, and every effort at renewing it only increaſed the ſadneſs and perplex⯑ity of your friends. That Le Val, hav⯑ing obeyed the orders left by his Lord in haſtening to Kenilworth, came on from thence to the Receſs; which he found thrown open, as well as that his Lord had infallibly been there. Not able to gather any further information, he came back to [241] London, there to wait Lord Leiceſter's directions; but none arriving, this extra⯑ordinary and alarming ſilence induced the faithful Steward to return to his native country, in ſearch of his Lord. Fear and grief having however ſeized upon his heart, a bad paſſage wrought both up to a criſis, and he died immediately on his landing. That every other meſſenger and friend had been equally unſucceſsful; though many had traced you as far as Rou⯑en. Nor had the myſtery of your fate ever yet tranſpired, though Lord Leiceſter was admitted to be dead by every body. It was given out he expired in his way to Kenilworth Caſtle. Certainly he was there laid in ſtate, and afterwards interred at Warwick: but notwithſtanding this report was apparently believed, as hav⯑ing the weight of the Queen's credence, the ſtrongeſt doubts aroſe in the minds of his friends and relations, upon her ſeizing Kenilworth Caſtle, and various poſſeſſions of his, as a ſecurity for ſums due to her: a conduct little agreeing with the indul⯑gence ſhe had for ſo many years ſhewn to⯑wards [242] him. In fine, having bribed the ſervants employed in blazoning this pom⯑pous fiction, the family were indubitably aſſured, the body buried under the name of Lord Leiceſter, was one procured for that purpoſe.

Almoſt petrified by this myſterious and affecting recital, I ſtrove in vain to ex⯑pound it; that Lord Leiceſter was dead could hardly be doubted, but when, where, or how, imagination could not fathom. Yet the conduct of the Queen proved her too well informed. Ah, where then is now my Matilda? Where then that more unfortunate being, than even myſelf? Convinced, by a compariſon of circumſtances, that your death would alike have been publiſhed, but that by ſome undiſcoverable event you ſurvived your Lord, I was led to conclude ſome convent in France ſtill ſupplied you a grave to groan in: yet even if ſo, why bury with you that knowledge, for want of which ſo many affectionate hearts have been racked?—Alas, my darling ſiſter, year after year have I vainly repeated to [243] myſelf this one affecting queſtion:—E⯑merge, I beſeech you, if yet an inhabi⯑tant of this world, and ſatisfy a fearful heart which achs with fondneſs. Nay, if tranſlated to a better, and yet ſenſible of aught ſublunary, oh deign to inform me! How often, in the depth of midnight, when the happier world are at reſt, have I called upon thee, impelled by an affec⯑tion incapable of fear—but all was awful ſilence—no voice replied to me—no form obtruded on the deep gloom where ſight itſelf is loſt—yet the days that elapſe in incertitude, paſs not in vain; they inſen⯑ſibly urge forward one ordained to clear up every doubt.

I dreamt of Eſſex—Ah, what did I ſay? I dreamt of Eſſex?—Alas, I have dreamt of him my whole life long!—Something ſtrangely intervenes between myſelf and my meaning.—No matter, I am too ſtupified now to explain it.

[244]Oh, theſe cruel wanderings!—but I dare not attempt to correct or avoid them, leſt in the very effort reaſon evapo⯑rate, and one inconſiderate ſtroke ſhould confuſe my whole ſtory.

Alas, Lady Pembroke, how could you venture to tell me Lord Eſſex was mar⯑ried?—And to Lady Sydney too?—Graci⯑ous Heaven! I made myſelf a wretch then only to crown her future days with un⯑ſpeakable happineſs!—At this idea, over⯑whelming paſſion breaks the feeble boun⯑daries of reaſon and religion, ſweeping away inferior ſorrows—my mother—my ſiſter—alas thoſe ties ſo dear, ſo revered, ſerve only to ſwell the flood that ſinks them.

Hence, agonizing ſenſations!—I have drawn them up, Matilda, in one weighty ſigh.—Ah, ſurely my heart eſcaped una⯑wares at the ſame moment, it has left ſuch [245] a fearful void within.—Yes, my ſiſter, Eſſex is indeed married; that very Eſſex for whom I more than died,—and privately too—the ſacred, tender union, had every charm but honor—for Lady Sydney he incurred the anger of the vindictive Queen.—Gracious Heaven, I thank thee for that thought—it was not for me.—No, I was dying, withering at the heart far from the moſt falſe—Ah, ſtill the moſt beloved of his ſex,—that little thought ſtrangely conſoles me—rather indeed would I have died, than have been a ſpot upon that radiant ſun, my dim eyes no more muſt look up to.

I perceive I have in the wild colourings of a diſordered imagination, unfolded a truth my heart almoſt burſt with—this thunderſtroke concluded Lady Pembroke's ſecond letter.—How deep, how dreadful was its effect!—tranquillity, health, reaſon all fled before it—to the evils fate im⯑poſes, however grievous, our nature in⯑ſenſibly [246] accommodates itſelf, but oh, when the arrows of calamity are winged by love, and dipt in poiſon by friendſhip, the wounds they make always gangrene. The idea of deceit, ingratitude, and un⯑kindneſs, irritated and preyed on me con⯑tinually.—It brought on another Green⯑land winter's night, which laſted many lingering months; and in recovering I ſeemed to acquire a new diſpoſition.—I had loſt with my equanimity all ſweetneſs of temper—revenge ſeemed the only principle which ſupported my being, and I nouriſhed a project in ſecret long ere I could bring it forward. Wonder not at this alteration, my ſiſter, misfortune ſerves but to ſoften the ſoul, injury alone can render it callous. Ah, ſtrange! that we ſhould at the very moment imbibe the vice by which we ſuffer.

Lord Arlington early in the ſpring re⯑viſited St. Vincent's Abbey. My reſent⯑ments being levelled at a dear and diſtant object, I behaved towards him, when miſtreſs of my intellects, with a melan⯑choly graciouſneſs which made him fancy [247] them reſtored; and propoſe taking me with him to London, when neceſſity obliged him to return. I acquieſced with readineſs, as this was the very point to which I wiſhed to bring him, and my unexpected compliance, flattering the egregious ſelf-love that marked his cha⯑racter, he was charmed with the effect, without examining into the cauſe. He was eaſily perſuaded that decorum would demand my being preſented at Court, and undertook to propoſe it to Elizabeth: while Lady Pembroke, amazed alike at all ſhe heard, and all ſhe ſaw, ſteadily op⯑poſed a project fraught with ſo many painful uncertainties. But it was the paſ⯑ſion of Lord Arlington to mortify Eſſex, and conceiving that only in his power by preſenting to his eyes, the dear object fa⯑tal circumſtances had robbed him of, and others yet more fatal had wedded to him⯑ſelf, he ſoon became as intereſted in my wiſh, as if his own heart had dictated it. The Queen heard it, as I foreſaw, with ſurprize, and declined it with ſcorn; but ſhe ſoon found I had ſkill enough to ma⯑nage [248] even the fool ſhe had ſelected for me; who perſiſted in quitting the Court if ſhe denied him the compliment due to his birth. Elizabeth had now put her peace ſo far into his power, that ſhe dared not entirely break with him, and fearful leſt the black hiſtory hid in my heart ſhould be publiſhed to the world, were ſhe to urge her imprudent refuſal, ſhe at laſt reluctantly conſented to receive me. I heard this with a bitterneſs of ſpirit I once thought myſelf incapable of, and brooded over the dreary triumph I had ſo long projected.

I deferred appearing at Court from time to time, till certain Lord Eſſex was return⯑ed from the camp. Alas! the univerſal plea⯑ſure that return excited, aggravated my deep and increaſing reſentment. Diſtin⯑guiſhed now with the ſame partiality Eliza⯑beth once ſhewed to your Lord; loaded with honors in his own perſon, and the chief medium through which others obtained them, Eſſex conducted himſelf with ſuch no⯑bleneſs as endeared him even to thoſe whom he failed to ſerve: while the happy few who [249] won his confidence, looked up to him as to a being of a ſuperior kind. I, I alone dared ſilently to impeach his generoſity, his honor, his integrity. Wearied with an everlaſting diſcuſſion of his merits in all companies, and not daring to utter one ſyllable on the ſubject, leſt groans ſhould take place of language, I often teſtified an impatience Lord Arlington conſtrued into an extinction of that fatal paſſion I once entertained for his rival, and a due regard for the rights which he had acquired over me. Charmed with this idea, Lord Arlington became laviſh in the jewels, and other cuſtomary orna⯑ments; and the tranquillity with which I prepared to appear, lulled every ſuſpi⯑cion to ſleep. Alas! while they were adorning me with the coſtly habiliments ſelected on the occaſion, I took a mali⯑cious pleaſure in tracing the ravages grief had already made in my features, conſti⯑tution, and figure; the firſt, ſhrunk, wan, and withered, the latter emaciated beyond all concealment. I knew, however, thoſe who ſaw me every day might deceive themſelves, in preſenting this ſhadow to [250] his eyes, whoſe ardent heart once touched with colours yet more glowing, a form then rich with the gifts of nature, youth, and hope—Oh, well I knew what vo⯑lumes of reproaches were contained in a ſingle look!

I entered the Preſence Chamber with an air of determination, grandeur, and compoſure, aſtoniſhing even to myſelf. My ſoul found him ſhe alone ſought in a moment. Eſſex was reſting one arm on the back of the Queen's chair, in the ſame familiar, gay, and graceful attitude I had ſo often ſeen Lord Leiceſter aſſume. His dreſs, bold, magnificent, and mar⯑tial. His features (oh, thoſe fatal fea⯑tures! deſtined to ſubdue alike my wiſe and erroneous reſolutions) lighted up by every emotion youth, ſoftneſs, pride, and pleaſure ever blended. His fine eyes lightly glancing over each ſurrounding object, fixed at laſt on me—fixed, I may well ſay,—how deep, how deadly, was the effect of that ſingle look!—his unfi⯑niſhed ſpeech to the Queen became anni⯑hilated, while his quivering lips, in broken [251] ſounds, breathed forth unutterable anguiſh.—Surprize, tenderneſs, grief,—ah, more than grief!—agony—chaſed away the bright expreſſion of happineſs from every perfect feature, and flooded his eyes in a moment.—No longer remembering the place, the Queen, the circle, he ſtarted forward, and almoſt in the act of kneel⯑ing, felt the abſurdity, and vaniſhed—with him too vaniſhed every trace of that miſapplied reaſon which had ſo ſtrongly impelled me to this ſtrange revenge. They told me, I ſuffered myſelf to be led to the chair of the Queen, who no ſooner in the common form preſented me her hand, than I haughtily repelled it, and fixing my eyes on her with a dreadful meaning, gave a deep groan, and ſunk ſenſeleſs at her feet. Elizabeth ſtarted up in high indignation, and reproaching Lord Arlington as not leſs mad than my⯑ſelf, in thus obtruding me upon her, retired precipitately to her cloſet. Not much more ſenſible than myſelf, through aſtoniſhment at a conduct ſo unexpected on my part, he ſoon ſo far recovered his faculties, as to [252] take the advice of his friends, in trying to appeaſe the Queen: committing me to the care of thoſe around me. By this means alone he eſcaped witneſſing a ſcene which touched the ſenſibility of every ſpectator. My friends bore me through the great gallery, as the way moſt con⯑venient; in the anti-chamber leading to it, the unhappy lover I had taken a bar⯑barous ſatisfaction in wounding, had thrown himſelf on a couch to recover at leiſure. A preſentiment of the fact as the croud approached, made him eagerly ſtart up, and reſigning himſelf to the impreſſion of the moment, he ruſhed through them all, and ſnatching me with impetuoſity from thoſe who held me, placed me on the couch, and kneeling beſide it, ſought to re-animate my chilled ſenſes with burn⯑ing tears, and agonized embraces. A thouſand times he called me "his dear betrothed love—his murdered, precious Ellinor,—here is ſome black artifice, ſome diabolical villainy in this buſineſs," would he cry, ſtarting up haughtily, and throw⯑ing his inflamed eyes around, in dread⯑ful [253] ſearch of him who happily was ab⯑ſent: "Oh, if I find it ſo, added he, they ſhall not 'ſcape who ſevered us!" By vague and raſh exclamations, he thus publiſhed the chief incident in our un⯑happy ſtory; while I alone, ſtill inſenſible, heard not the well-known voice I once fancied the grave only could cloſe my ear to.

This ſcene, which every following mo⯑ment threatened to make fatal, was at laſt interrupted by the appearance of Lady Pembroke. The excellent underſtanding of that amiable woman, had made her from the firſt conſider my deſire of appearing at Court (even while unapprized of its mo⯑tives) as the wild ſtart of an unſettled mind: ſhe had employed intreaty and ar⯑gument in vain to make me give it up; finding the project alike agreeable to Lord Arlington and myſelf, ſhe became ſilent on the ſubject, but declined accom⯑panying me, and dreading ſome ſtrange event, retired to her own apartments in the palace, to tremble for it in ſecret. The news of my having frightened the [254] Queen, and broke up the Court, imme⯑diately reached her there. However of⯑fended at my obſtinacy, ſhe was ſhocked at its effects, and readily emerged to ſerve and ſave me if poſſible. Preſſing through the aſtoniſhed croud, the fond extravagance of Lord Eſſex continually increaſed, ſhe beheld me in his arms, and heard his lamentation. Amazement in her collected mind is but a momentary emotion. "What are you doing, my Lord? ſaid ſhe, with an air which re⯑called even him—is this the way to reco⯑ver the ſenſes, or reaſon of this dear un⯑fortunate? remember the reſpect due both to her and yourſelf, and leave her entirely to my care." Neither prayers nor anger warped her from rectitude: ſhe com⯑manded her ſervants to bear me to her barge, and followed me herſelf. The diſtracted Eſſex held her by force, and vainly ſolicited leave to attend me. With a dignity which eminently diſtinguiſhes that charming woman, ſhe chid him for a madneſs not leſs extravagant than my own, though far more cenſurable, and [255] requeſted her Lord to pay him an equal attention.

The women who followed me into the barge ſprinkled me with water; that and the open air gradually revived thoſe facul⯑ties, ſo long dormant, they ſeemed gone for ever. I feebly lifted my head from the boſom of Lady Pembroke, and won⯑dered awhile how I came there. A thou⯑ſand gloomy uncertainties occurred to me, and a flood of tears at laſt ſo far re⯑lieved me, as to ſuffer my mind to fix on the fact. Lady Pembroke, perceiving I was capable of attending to her, ſpared me the trouble of enquiring into the paſt ſcene by relating it; with ſuch comments as an enlarged mind, and tender heart, would naturally dictate. My pulſes were yet low, and her gentle admonitions made a due impreſſion. "Review the whole of this wild ſcheme, my dear Ellinor, ſaid ſhe, and I think you will unite with me in calling it ſo. The Queen (beyond your revenge in this world) can amply retaliate on every one dear to you, for the temporary alarms and vexations you cauſe [256] her. From the eyes of the noble Eſſex you have ſnatched away a bandage, which ſaved both him and yourſelf from danger. I have hitherto ſuffered you to imagine him unfaithful and guilty, becauſe anger in your ſituation, muſt be a much leſs dangerous emotion than love. His whole ſoul is once more awakened, and I would in vain now affect to deceive either—he will be heard—he will even be ſeen, if to the raſh ardor of his temper you do not oppoſe the moſt inflexible prudence—Alas, my ſweet friend, what direful con⯑flicts do I ſee before you!—conflicts, the ſtrong and untried ſoul would wiſh to ſhrink from—how then ſhall your wound⯑ed ſpirit"—"Fear not, anſwered I nerved by the occaſion, my dear, my watchful monitreſs; born for conflict, I ſeem only to exiſt by that mental action, and though I lament, with you, the invin⯑cible obſtinacy which has once more thus involved me, yet believe me I ſeem bet⯑ter able to bear every evil which may re⯑ſult from the vindication of Eſſex, than the dreadful weight of his ſuppoſed in⯑gratitude. [257] For every other evil I had been accuſtomed to prepare my heart.—That heart, cheriſhed by tears and ſoft⯑neſs, ſtarted not into exceſs and inſanity, till thoſe ſources were dried up. Ah, open again every ſluice of pleaſure!—Tell me Eſſex is indeed innocent, unaltered!—Tell me he is ſtill the incomparable being my youthful fancy firſt worſhipped!—Tell me, in ſhort, the whole truth, and ſee if my ſoothed ſenſes are not equal to the confidence."—"How little reaſon do theſe eager exclamations, theſe impaſſioned tears, and glowing cheeks, give me to think ſo, wiſtfully replied the ſweet Lady Pembroke; perhaps were it yet in my choice, I ſhould ſtill reſolve to deceive you, but in now revealing all, I am only before-hand with him, who in tenderly urging a juſt vindication of his conduct, would effectually re-eſtabliſh himſelf in your affections, to the utter ruin of the little peace Heaven has allowed you.

The deſperate ſtate of my health at the time yourſelf and ſiſter ſo unaccountably vaniſhed, made my Lord guard againſt [258] my obtaining that information with the utmoſt caution; and the firſt alarm I re⯑ceived, was from the ſudden return, and perpetual viſits of the Earl of Eſſex. Theſe were often at odd and improper hours, and generally began or ended with a private conference. A continuance of this conduct, even after I was able to quit my apartment, gave me a diſguſt to your lover, I did not conceal from my Lord. He pleaded his unhappineſs, as his only, and indeed ſufficient excuſe, and thus laid himſelf open to my enquiries, which ſoon obliged him to own the whole truth. Its deep effect on me made Lord Pembroke congratulate himſelf on having thus long concealed it. My agitation and affection ſoon reconciled me to Eſſex, and united me in his views. Wholly en⯑groſſed by the hope of finding you, every day gave birth to a new project in one or the other. How many diſappointments did we experience! yet the fertility of his imagination being only equalled by the warmth of his heart, no toil diſcouraged him; and adopting all his aerial plans, I [259] urged him to perſeverance, taking plea⯑ſure in heaping fuel on a flame, pru⯑dence ſhould rather have ſtifled. News happily arrived of Lord Leiceſter and Matilda, which renovating every hope in both him and me, I joined the deluder ſelf in aſſuring him, he was deſtined to reſtore you to the noble exiles, and in receiving your hand, to unite himſelf at once in their happineſs and fate.

The romantic heroiſm interwoven in his character, made him readily liſten to theſe pleaſing deluſions; till a ſtrange ru⯑mour reached us one day, that you had been married to Lord Arlington, in the preſence of Lord Burleigh, and left by him at St. Vincent's Abbey. Impreſſed with the ſtrongeſt reliance on your faith, Eſſex aſſerted it in the warmeſt terms, and ſeemed ready to fly to the ſpot where it was reported you yet exiſted. The paleneſs of my countenance reproved his implicit confidence. The name of Bur⯑leigh, the remembrance Arlington had lately quitted the Court, that intuitive ſenſe which arranges and combines a [260] thouſand important nothings, tending to ſtamp a ſad conviction more inſtantane⯑ouſly than one can pronounce a ſen⯑tence, now told me that this was true.—Lord Pembroke propoſed going to the Miniſter, and thus deciding the point. We gladly conſented, and Eſſex tra⯑verſing the room in great agitation dur⯑ing the interval, found a thouſand rea⯑ſons to juſtify his opinion; ſo cautiouſly collected, as ſhewed he was not without a ſecret fear. Lord Pembroke at length returned, and confirming the fatal news, added, Lord Burleigh had ſhewn him the contract, ſigned by both. But what was the paleneſs impreſſed on my counte⯑nance, to that which ſpread over the flo⯑rid complexion of your lover at this fatal confirmation! The ſilent ſtruggle in his ſoul, ſurely combined every pang of death, without affording its relief.—Speech and colour at laſt returned; his complexion now glowed with indignation, while his lips trembled with tranſports of bitterneſs and grief. He quitted us pre⯑cipitately, and my Lord devoting him⯑ſelf [261] to aſſuage my ſorrow, was not im⯑mediately ſenſible of the departure of our friend. Alas! could either of us poſſibly have ſuſpected the fate, the untoward fate, that awaited him!

The moment Lord Eſſex thus abrupt⯑ly quitted our houſe, he haſtened to that of Sir Francis Walſingham; where he found only Lady Sydney, who, ſecretly as ſenſible of his merit, as ſhe had before been of my brother's, received him with equal ſurprize and pleaſure. Without entering into the motives which influenc⯑ed his conduct, he eagerly tendered him⯑ſelf to her acceptance. Her objections were thoſe of one who wiſhed to be per⯑ſuaded, and he would neither hear of de⯑mur or delay: his own Chaplain was quickly ſummoned, and the marriage ſo⯑lemnized in a manner, almoſt as ſudden and ſolitary as your own.—Ah, fatal marriages both! beginning and ending in tears!—This news broke upon us with the morning. Lord Pembroke was aſ⯑tounded. I recommended to him to haſten to the wretched bridegroom, and [262] reconcile his mind to the unlucky choice he had thus precipitately made, ere raſh expreſſions of grief or diſappointment ſhould rouſe that turbulent ſpirit which made my amiable brother's philoſophy ſo ſoon give way to diſguſt. Well we knew the fiery ſoul of Eſſex would ſpurn at ſuch a bondage, however voluntary.

The contempt and coldneſs both Lord Pembroke and myſelf had always ſhewn to this imperious woman, who firſt intro⯑duced diſcord into a family, before diſ⯑tinguiſhed by unanimity, rendered this a great effort of friendſhip. The time loſt in reconciling our feelings to the conde⯑ſcenſion, made it wholly uſeleſs. My Lord found Sir Francis almoſt annihilated with ſurprize, and underſtood at once that his daughter was in fits, and Lord Eſſex gone. Unable wholly to conceal the an⯑guiſh that preyed on his ſpirits, and flat⯑tering himſelf a generous confidence in his bride might in time cement their union, by the charm of eſteem at leaſt, Eſſex had laid open his whole heart to her. The mortal hatred ſhe ever enter⯑tained [263] both for yourſelf and ſiſter, ſhe wanted judgment at this period to ſtifle. The melancholy Eſſex, who ſought for pity, not paſſion, incautiouſly defended her he had unwarily arraigned. The vindictive temper of his bride, blazed forth in all its littleneſs, and the quarrel roſe ſo high, that early the next morning he ordered his horſes, and calling her at once, "his error and his puniſhment," he took his leave, with the bitter remark, that "he followed in all things the fate of Sir Philip Sydney." A reproach like this might well ſhock the moſt callous heart: it threw Lady Eſſex into fits.—Regard⯑leſs of this, her Lord mounted, and de⯑parting with the utmoſt ſwiftneſs, was ſoon out of the reach both of friends and enemies.

The Queen, who was every day more partial to Eſſex than ſhe had been the former one, inſenſibly had ſuffered him to take, both in her heart and court, the place of Lord Leiceſter. It was the opinion of many, that ſhe intended to marry him, and the rage this ſtep of [264] his excited in her, lent force to the ex⯑travagant conjecture. Deeply reſenting alike his haſty marriage, and abrupt de⯑parture, ſhe baniſhed his Lady the Court, nor did Sir Francis eſcape a reprimand, however undeſerving it.

Eſſex ſoon fitted out ſome ſhips, with which he joined Drake and Norris, and his fame daily endearing him more to the Queen, ſhe could hardly ſupport that ap⯑pearance of reſentment ſhe thought due to his temerity, and inceſſantly languiſhed for his return.

We ſoon had letters from the Earl, acknowledging the raſh ſtep he had taken in marrying, and that to avoid bluſhing for it in our preſence, he had thus exiled himſelf. Though pride made him ſtill ſpeak of you with acrimony, it was obvi⯑ous from the tenor of the whole letter, that he had quitted England, no leſs to avoid ſeeing you, than living with the woman he had inveſted with a legal right to make him unhappy. The generous anxiety he ſhewed for your ſiſter in ſend⯑ing, even at this juncture, Sir Walter [265] Curtis once more to Rouen, with directi⯑ons to ſpare neither trouble or money to diſcover Matilda, was another new in⯑ſtance of that nobility of mind, which al⯑ways graces even his faults. Conſecrat⯑ing his cares to a more noble purſuit than love, he thus ſought to fill up the void, the aching void, that blighted paſſion had left in his heart.

He was not born for inaction; and ſoon his daring ſpirit employed the thoughts of the whole nation; when Eli⯑zabeth, who knew too well its preſent ex⯑ertions were but the wild efforts of diſ⯑appointment and deſpair, relaxed at once from all her apparent rigor, and recalled him. Diſguſt had ſunk ſo deep, that he ſtill heſitated, and nothing but her pe⯑remptory command could induce him to return. While in daily expectation of him, I received your firſt letter. It con⯑tained not a word could inform me of your real ſituation, or the motives of an action ſo eccentric, as your acceptance of Lord Arlington. Your long ſilence, your obſcure and laconic epiſtle; the ſtrong [266] deſire I had to ſee tranquillity reſtored to yourſelf and your lover, though happineſs had eſcaped both, made me reſolve to ſhew him the letter, in which he was not even named, if once the ſubject aroſe; from this I gueſſed he would moſt pro⯑bably conclude the union with your own free will, as well as the retired ſtile of your preſent life. An opportunity ſoon offered; nor was I miſtaken in my judg⯑ment. Lord Eſſex peruſed it in ſilent aſtoniſhment, and the conviction it con⯑veyed produced a ſurpriſing alteration in his mind and manners. No ſymptom of either pride, paſſion, or diſappointment, from that moment, has been viſible in his conduct. Conforming at once to his fate, he profited by the indulgence of the Queen, and reſolved to live decently with his wife, if not happily. Never ſince have I heard your name from his lips—I knew not it lived even in his heart; and finding this artifice ſo ſucceſsful with one, I reſolved to try it with the other, When you related to me the cruel fiction by which Lord Burleigh wrought upon [267] your feelings, what purpoſe would it have anſwered to inform you, Eſſex was never concerned in any plot—never impriſoned, much leſs condemned. The high ſenſe you entertained of a ſacrifice, apparently unvalued by him, made it improbable any explanation, or even converſation, ſhould take place between minds thus deeply and juſtly offended with each other. How then was I chagrined to ſee you, on your arrival in London, fondly nouriſh ſome unfathomable project, which threatened wholly to defeat mine! Find⯑ing all advice ineffectual, I thought it moſt judicious to leave your mind to its own workings; hoping the gentleneſs of your nature, would counteract the irri⯑tation of your paſſions. Alas, my dear, this fatal day ſhews me my error, and its extent. In how many ways will you now wound the noble heart of Eſſex!—Tor⯑tured at once with the anguiſh of diſap⯑pointed, injured love, the narrow doubts of his untractable wife, and the arrogant vigilance of the Queen, his life will, from [268] this moment, be as devoid of comfort, as it has long been of hope."

The tender motives which dictated this late confeſſion, as well as the paſt concealment; the melancholy inference with which Lady Pembroke concluded, all made a deep impreſſion, and opened every ſluice of tenderneſs, to the great relief of my oppreſſed and burning heart. "No, my generous, amiable friend, re⯑turned I in a more equal tone than Lady Pembroke expected, I cannot miſcon⯑ſtrue conduct which has ever had the moſt upright intention; and in doing juſtice to that of the afflicted Eſſex, you ſupply me motives for an exertion I ſhould otherwiſe ſink under. The neceſſity for prevent⯑ing a part of the evils my imprudence may occaſion, will recall me to reaſon, honor, and myſelf.—Oh, thou! cried I, melting into tears, too dearly beloved, too deeply lamented, pardon me if I paſs a dark and dewy cloud over the bright ſtar of thy diſtinguiſhed fortune: ſoon will it emerge with undiminiſhed ſplen⯑dor, while I alone ſhall drop in tears, [269] enriching the earth that hides me.—And thou too, moſt favored among wo⯑men, in being born to ſhare his fate, en⯑deavour but to make it happy, and ſhe who has no uſe for life, but to weep thy lot, will join to crown it with every earthly felicity. I find my fluctuating mind unequal to entering further on the intereſting ſubject, concluded I on arriv⯑ing at home. Adieu, my dear Lady Pembroke, be this embrace the pledge of mutual pardon; and if you have not bluſhed for the laſt, as well as firſt, time for your poor friend, her better ſelf muſt again deſert her." She ſtrained me to the pureſt boſom that ever beat, and left me once more alone, with that unſtable counſellor, my own erring heart.

The return of Lord Arlington, exaſ⯑perated by the rage of the Queen, and the ſurmiſes of the Court, tried my firm⯑eſt reſolutions: perhaps even thoſe would have been unequal to the conflict, but that I remembered my promiſe to Lady Pembroke, and was determined to ſup⯑ply a bright example to that noble lover, [270] I now conſidered as equally unfortunate with myſelf. I remained from this pe⯑riod wholly at home, yet not without ex⯑pecting ſome intelligence from Lord Eſ⯑ſex; though I knew not how he could poſſibly convey it. It reached me at laſt in the moſt extraordinary manner. Lady Pembroke ſeized the firſt interval of lone⯑lineſs to addreſs me. "Perplexed cir⯑cumſtances make ſtrange emiſſaries, ſaid ſhe ſighing,—who would have imagined I ſhould requeſt to convey the letter of Lord Eſſex to you, Ellinor? but finding him determined on thus addreſſing you, I voluntarily undertook the truſt, as well to judge of all that paſſed, as to prevent his humiliating himſelf and you to what⯑ever ſervant he could bribe, and perhaps, if he erred in his choice of a meſſenger, it would be to the ruin of your peace and reputation.

Hardly hearing this generous pream⯑ble, my eager eyes were fixed on the let⯑ter, and I gave the fair hand that held it the ſpontaneous kiſs I was at firſt tempt⯑ed to beſtow on the precious paper.— [271] Ah, how affecting were the emotions produced by the ſight of that well-known hand! His language was impaſſioned, and incoherent—he accuſed himſelf, me, the friends of both, and the over-ruling fate which actuated all. He ſeemed aſ⯑ſured fraud, myſtery, and a thouſand yet unknown execrable arts had been com⯑bined to ſeparate us. He conjured me to diſcover both the perſons and the means. He ſpoke of Lord Arlington rather as a weak tool in the hands of his more crafty enemies, than the object of that deep and eternal reſentment, which only ſlept till I ſupplied it one. "Scorn, continued he, the narrow prejudices of cuſtom, and your ſex, nor be wholly the ſacrifice of ſituation. Dare to be ſincere, and think an adherence to your firſt ſa⯑cred vows (vows, dear as inviolable) the true point of honor, of religion, and mo⯑rality. Oh, call to mind the fatal mo⯑ment when you tore yourſelf inexorably, from arms that beauteous form no more, perhaps, ſhall fill.—A little confidence, a little faith, had then made both happy; [272] now, alas, they can only make us leſs miſerable. Yet ſpeak, my betrothed love, concluded he—tell me all—Once more I conjure you, by thoſe rights your falſhood, or death alone can annul, tell me all; and by your care of the life which throbs within this agitated boſom, give me a motive for wiſhing it to linger there."

As I peruſed this touching tranſcript of his ſoul, mine melted within me.—Nevertheleſs, I reſolved to act up to the idea I had formed, and ſnatching a pen, I thus replied to him:

"In giving you my heart, my Lord, I own I gave you a right, in every action of my life, which though events may ſuſpend, they cannot annihilate.—Alas, the only right I reſerved to myſelf, was that of concealing aught which might render you unhappy. Suffer me then, to bury in this boſom, the combination of fatal events which tore us from each other. Need I tell you, they have wrung it even to phrenzy; for nothing leſs could have juſtified the premeditated ſhock I [273] cruelly gave you. The deep effect of my preſence—perhaps (for why ſhould I conceal it?) that of your own, join with a ſevere duty in telling me, while thus circumſtanced, we muſt meet no more. The world, a buſy, partial judge, de⯑lights in beholding the execution of thoſe painful ſentences it impoſes. Ah, choſen of my ſoul! remember its afflictions can only be completed by your failing in the arduous trial, I am otherwiſe reſolved to ſuſtain. Rob me not of the melancholy pleaſure fortune ſtill allows me, in what⯑ever ſolitude I am henceforth buried, of thinking him I ſelected from all man⯑kind, was every thing but an Angel.

Above the ſlavery of opinion, I know no guide but rectitude: that tells me, Heaven itſelf will approve the efforts I yet make to charm you to life, to great⯑neſs, and to glory.—Oh, awful father of univerſal being! whoſe will alone could ſnatch from each the only object in cre⯑ation, ſanctify to the nobleſt purpoſe theſe dictates of my reaſon; and form both for the ſeparate lots appointed us. [274] Elevate the paſſions of my Eſſex above the little motives of revenge, or malice—ſublime his love into philanthropy, his rage into heroiſm.—And, oh! on the frail heart which now bleeds before thee, beſtow patience and reſignation, ſo to paſs each long day as if the next were to unite me to him. I ſolicit not ſtrength to ex⯑pel him from that heart—no, rather may he ever continue its ſole object; but be his conduct ſo ennobled, that when both are called with the whole world before thy dread tribunal, I may look down on the misjudging part of it, and truly ſay,—Father, it is not Eſſex I have loved, but Virtue in his perſon."

This paſſionate apoſtrophe, however highly wrought, in the cool judgment of Lady Pembroke, was even in her opinion entirely calculated for the romantic ſpirit to whom it was addreſſed. I earneſtly beſought the amiable Eſſex to ſuffer this to end the correſpondence, which ad⯑mitted not an indulgence beyond thoſe conveyed in the letter; and gave it into the hands of my friend, with that ſweet [275] ſenſe of ſelf-applauſe, which ever attends the conſciouſneſs of having gone beyond a painful duty.

Yes, ſtill this dear ſenſation remains to me—it irradiates at intervals the deep gloom which ſteeps my ſoul, and anni⯑hilates my ſenſes.—I fear I begin again to wander, for my hand writing appears to my own eyes that of Eſſex.—Oh, how tight my head, my heart ſeems bound!—will no one looſen the ſhrunk fibres?—Hark! Is not that this Queen?—No—It was but the deep voice of the Winter's wind.

Poor Eſſex!—and did my letter thus deeply affect him?—Did he ſo fondly preſs it to his lips?—Did he bliſter it with his tears? Thoſe I have ſhed for thee, Eſſex, would have drowned thee had they been treaſured.—"Unequalled Ellinor—Oh, moſt adored!—Yes, I will purſue the bright wanderings of the pure mind I have aſſiſted to unſettle, and be [276] all ſhe wiſhes me from this moment."—(Who told him I wandered then, I won⯑der?—I am ſure I always ſtrove againſt it before him)—Ah, dear and precious ſentiments! how my ſoul imbibes the charm!—Have you not a penknife, Lady Pembroke, to write theſe words in my heart—on my very heart?—Oh, I would have them ſink deep—deep—would feel as well as ſee them.—And thou too, memory, treacherous memory, for once do thou retain the pleaſant tone of the voice that repeated them—not even Lady Pembroke's own is ſo harmo⯑nious.

Married to Lord Arlington did you ſay?—Oh, ſuch a marriage!—What did he gain by villainy and fraud? the in⯑ſupportable ſociety of a wild wretch, whoſe weary ſpirit threatened every mo⯑ment to eſcape, and leave in his arms the vile droſs he thus purchaſed.—And yet they tell me it is ſo—he drags me [277] about with him ſtill, and calls me his—his, Oh Heavens!—But I am nobody's elſe, mark that—mark that, or we ſhall perhaps have murder; and I not there to ſtep between the fatal ſwords, and ſee which will befriend me.

Matilda, I have not told you about that I think—but I am not very able juſt now, ſuch a heavy ſleepineſs ſeals up every faculty—and yet if I don't now, I never may wake more you know—but I have waked over and over again now I recollect, till I am quite tired, and ſo for once I will ſink quietly into a ſlumber and dream of you.

Let me ſnatch a moment of reaſon and recollection to forward my ſtory.—In pur⯑ſuance of the good reſolutions I had formed, I requeſted leave of Lord Arling⯑ton to reſide for the future wholly at St. Vincent's Abbey; to which he readily con⯑ſented. If my offered retirement did not wholly obviate his ſuſpicions, it, left him [278] at leaſt no pretence for tormenting me with them. His character I ever found of a common ſtamp; credulous and mu⯑table, yet ſelf-willed and paſſionate: vain of the rights of his rank, without merit to diſtinguiſh them, he always conceived himſelf injured when another was pre⯑ferred; and the partiality of Elizabeth towards his rival, offended him almoſt as much as that I had ſo obviouſly ex⯑preſſed.

The generous Eſſex reſpected my peace and virtue ſo far, that after another fruit⯑leſs effort to perſuade me to ſee him, he conſented to purſue the path I had traced out; and ſatisfied of my fidelity, ſwore ſacredly to cheriſh the ſentiments I had permitted him to retain. It was needleſs to aſk partial intelligence of a man who employed the voice of the kingdom. I had fortunately diſtinguiſhed one, fame had adopted. I therefore took a tender leave of Lady Pembroke, and mingling my parting tears with a thouſand un⯑ſpoken bleſſings, by an effort of virtue I admired in myſelf, I boldly encountered [279] my fate, determined to uſe every effort to render it as ſupportable as might be.

St. Vincent's Abbey again received me. This manſion Lord Arlington had pur⯑chaſed at the time of his marriage, leſs for any charms he perceived in it, than the advantages of the country round, which ſupplied him every variety of rural diverſion. Here I at laſt began to breathe, and forming my mind to that melancholy repoſe, a decided deſtiny however deplorable, allows, I called to my aid the ſuſtaining principles of reli⯑gion and morality. I turned my feeble feet towards every dwelling misfortune had paſſed over, and raiſing both with gifts and ſoothing the ſad wretches ſhe had depreſſed, reflected back into my own boſom the comforts I had beſtowed. I gathered into the Abbey ſuch of their children as were weakly and deformed, and while thoſe bleſſed with florid health purſued the track of labour, the others were inſtructed in tapeſtry, point, read⯑ing, writing, and muſick, according to their ſex and age. Surrounded by theſe [280] affecting objects, who thus found in the liberality of art, a counterbalance for the unkindneſs of nature, I ſometimes touched my lute with ſenſations ſo ſub⯑lime, that fancy diſperſed every bodily imperfection in my little auditory, and lighting up their cheeks with the ſofteſt tinge of the morning, I ſeemed to ſee the human robes of wretchedneſs drop off, and the light pinions of immortality wave towards Heaven.—Striving by ſuch, and indeed every means in my power, to ſhut out the fruitleſs wiſhes for loſt happineſs, which ſtill beat fervently at my heart, I filled up with unceaſing employments the long, long year. Often did my feet wan⯑der towards the cell and the Receſs. Often, in the well-known windings of that wood, where once we carolled toge⯑ther notes as careleſs and pleaſant as thoſe of the birds around us, have I pauſed, my ſiſter, and watered with embittered tears the precious memorials of days that never could return.

Conſcious I could ill brook the leaſt doubt or enquiry into my conduct, I [281] made it an invariable rule never to paſs the gate unaccompanied; yet Lord Ar⯑lington conceived an antipathy to this ſolitary aſylum every day increaſed: I did not compliment him with a total for⯑bearance of the few amuſements inno⯑cence and retirement allowed. Alas, I learnt from his conduct, that jealouſy, the moſt reſtleſs and inſatiate of all our paſſions, mingles in the habit, even when driven out of the heart.—Had his love known the refinements common to that paſſion in a generous nature, he would have felt that an unhappy attachment is nouriſhed by ſolitude and home; and that the perſon who once reſolves to ven⯑ture abroad, ſhews a noble reſolution to contend with it. A thouſand times he haunted my footſteps; he broke in upon my lonelineſs. You would have thought he had taken pleaſure in beholding the tears and regrets he firſt occaſioned.

The dotage of the Queen became every day more manifeſt; and even the blow, ſhe in one of her wild tranſports gave Eſ⯑ſex, more diſgraced herſelf than him.— [282] His intrepid reſentment—his uncourtly ſincerity—his haughty retirement—every action of his life confirmed that admira⯑tion I ſtill thought myſelf entitled to cheriſh. The unbounded power he af⯑terwards poſſeſſed when reconciled, ſhew⯑ed the extravagance of her attachment; and Elizabeth, cruel, inexorable to me in every other inſtance, crowned to her own diſgrace in this, the only wiſh ſhe had permitted me to retain.

After ſeveral ineffectual efforts to gain diſtinction at Court, Lord Arlington con⯑ceived himſelf injured, and by retiring wholly into the country, perſecuted me the year round with his company. But not having a taſte for the ſciences, nor any of thoſe reſources a ſtrong under⯑ſtanding involuntarily ſupplies, even to the unfortunate, he exiſted only while employed. Hawking, hunting, and fiſh⯑ing ſpun out the tedious years, and a ruſ⯑tic company often cloſed the evening with intoxication. That apathy my exhauſt⯑ed paſſions had now ſunk into, appeared to his undiſcern [...] [...] content; and [283] as his own love abated, he fancied mine increaſed; till he made a diſcovery his moſt needy paraſite never ſeconded—that we were at length entirely happy.

To confirm this ſurprizing happineſs, (which exiſted only in his own imaginati⯑on, and perhaps owed its creation to con⯑tinual inebriation) he reſolved to exter⯑minate thoſe ruins where I had owned I paſſed my childhood, and which, he thought, ſtill kept alive embittered re⯑membrances time would otherwiſe eraſe. His Steward ſuggeſted that the materials were wanted to erect a manufacture in the neighbourhood, and that the cutting down the ſurrounding woods, now grown to valuable timber, would more than an⯑ſwer to the expence incurred; while new plantations would at once open the proſ⯑pect on that ſide the Abbey, and deprive me of an inanimate object of affection, of which Lord Arlington ſtill entertained a jealouſy as exceſſive as prepoſterous.

This propoſal met the ſtrongeſt oppo⯑ſition from me on every account; it was dreadful to think of annihilating every [284] trace of my youth; every object which could remind me I had ever been belov⯑ed or connected. To diſturb the ſacred aſhes of my early protectors, and leave them expoſed to the winds of Heaven, and the hands of the laborer—But it was yet more dreadful to me to riſque the little peace I had been able to collect from the wreck of all my hopes—to wake wiſhes, which were perhaps torpid, only becauſe vain—to tempt Lord Eſſex to break the promiſe I had wrung from him—in ſhort, to take the moſt remote chance of again beholding him—for to prevent the daily regret I might experi⯑ence at being a ſpectator of this diſagree⯑able metamorphoſis in my favourite ſpot, Lord Arlington was determined to take me for that time to London. In vain I remonſtrated; the ſtronger my diſguſt appeared, the leſs he imagined he had to dread; nor among his whole round of ſuppoſitions, once thought it poſſible I could fear myſelf. Painful experience now reminded me that the leaſt hint on this ſubject would be ruin, and every [285] other reaſon rather ſtrengthening his de⯑ſign, I was compelled to yield to it.—How readily, with every paſſing mile, recurred the dear habitual impreſſions! My quickened pulſes were again animated by my heart, and I beheld even the palace without diſguſt, becauſe Eſſex reigned there. Lady Pembroke met me with an embrace neither time or abſence had chilled. She ſurveyed my amended looks with infinite ſatisfaction, and flattered herſelf, becauſe I was no longer a ſpec⯑tre, I was happy. Ah, much erring friend, the embers of that fatal fire tears had almoſt quenched, again were gradu⯑ally relighting!—I felt almoſt diſappoint⯑ed at hearing Eſſex was ſtill on the ſeas; that crowned with victory at Cadiz, his valour had only been ſurpaſſed by his conduct. The ſenſation this news excited, rendered me ſenſible of the precipice on which I ſtood, and thanking Heaven moſt devoutly for his abſence, I acknow⯑ledged in it my ſafety.

[286] The few friends fortune had left me welcomed my return with ardor; and in their ſociety my ſubdued ſpirits might have found ſome relief, had I been per⯑mitted an unlimited ſhare of it; but Lord Arlington ſaw the world in a dif⯑ferent point of view when mingling with it, and at a diſtance. The habit of be⯑ing informed of every employment of mine he did not witneſs, had now grown upon him ſo ſtrongly, that he laid an em⯑bargo on my time, and ſuffered none of it to be paſſed out of his own houſe, without he was of the party. Indigna⯑tion was by nature the marking feature of my ſoul.—Alas, what ſufferings had it already entailed upon me!—This glar⯑ing inſult at once ſhocked my feelings, and ſtruck at my principles.—Thoſe traits of bitterneſs and wildneſs I had ſtrove to obliterated in ſolitude and ſilence, again appeared in my character. I became ſullen and impenetrable—for my own ſake I forbore violence and error, but I no longer cared whether I was ſuppoſed to do ſo.—Perhaps Lord Arlington was [287] not ſo culpable as he at firſt appeared; for the hatred of the Counteſs of Eſſex in⯑exorably purſued me.—From the fatal mo⯑ment when I fainted at Court, ſhe believed herſelf licenſed in her injurious ſurmiſes: they had long known no bounds, and expecting her Lord home daily, ſhe by remote and artful inſinuations poiſoned the mind of mine, to ſecure her from any danger ſhould Eſſex arrive.

Weak and misjudging woman!—had ſhe generouſly ſympathized in the cruel events which robbed me of happineſs, to caſt it away on her, my melting heart would have ſpent its laſt breath in wiſh⯑ing that happineſs perpetuated. The pureſt mind alone attracts the venom of the world, as the ether the vapors of the earth; but like that, unleſs agitated to a ſtorm, ſoon recovers its clearneſs, and inſenſibly returns in bleſſings the groſſneſs it exhaled. Far from meditat⯑ing any injury to the Counteſs of Eſſex, I reſpected too much the peace of her huſband's mind to recall to his re⯑membrance, [288] a wretch born but to de⯑ſtroy it.

Nevertheleſs, I did not think virtue herſelf would refuſe me one little ſatis⯑faction, I could not but deſire; a picture of the ſtorming of Cadiz had been drawn by a Spaniſh painter taken there, and ſent by Eſſex to Lord Pembroke. Among the many portraits it preſerved, his own was the moſt conſpicuous; and every one pro⯑nounced it the fineſt ever drawn. It at⯑tracted the curioſity of all ranks of peo⯑ple, and the gallery it was placed in was ſcarcely ever empty. It was ſo much the topic of diſcourſe, that faſhion muſt have excited a deſire in me to ſee it, had my heart been unintereſted. Yet the unrea⯑ſonable jealouſy of Lord Arlington con⯑demned me to ſilence; nor dared I pro⯑poſe viſiting Lady Pembroke at this cri⯑ſis, leſt the deſire ſhould be conſtrued into a proof of mental guilt. My na⯑ture ſpurned at the conſtraint to which I found myſelf ſubjected; and my amiable friend (fearful I ſhould ſuffer in my in⯑tellects [289] more ſeverely for the ſelf-denial, than I poſſibly could for the indulgence) planned a method by which ſhe thought the ill-effects of either guarded againſt.

The Queen gave an entertainment at Greenwich, on the marriage of one of her favorites, to which ſhe invited the whole Court; and a variety of maſques, and other entertainments were projected.—Lady Pembroke could not diſpenſe with appearing there, nor could Lord Arling⯑ton. Convinced he muſt for once be ſafely abſent, ſhe propoſed calling in her barge ere ſhe went to Greenwich, and conveying me to her houſe, leaving me in the gallery, with orders to her ſer⯑vants to attend me home whenever I pleaſed.

In this project there was nothing diſ⯑honourable or unſafe; and I embraced it readily. Lord Arlington, I knew, was to be at Greenwich in the morning, as the bridegroom was his relation, and I waited for the appointed moment with an impatience thoſe only who live like [290] me whole years upon a look can judge of.

Lady Pembroke executed this deſign with as much facility as ſhe had formed it; and paſſing on to Greenwich, committed me to the care of her family, who were told it was my intention to copy a beau⯑tiful drawing of their Lady, fixed up in the gallery. How diſdainful of myſtery is a truly noble ſoul! I ſtopt ſhort on the threſhold, and could I with⯑out ſingularity have ventured immedi⯑ately to return, I had not entered the houſe. It was ſilent and ſolitary; all but the inferior domeſtics having followed ei⯑ther their Lord or Lady. The ſervants who conducted me locked the door by which I entered, to guard me from in⯑truders, to whom this picture had accuſ⯑tomed them.—Ah, how lively was my emotion, to behold the features indelibly impreſſed on my heart, perpetuated with almoſt the ſame ſtrength and truth! In the act of wreſting a ſword (the inflamed eye of him who held it, ſhewed had a [291] moment before been pointed at the Eng⯑liſh General's boſom) Eſſex proudly looked down on the ſurrounding Spani⯑ards; whoſe impaſſioned geſtures ſuppli⯑cated for the life of him who had thus immediately attacked the conqueror.—Ah, Heaven, cried I fearfully burſting into tears, have I thus long dreamt of glory—honor—immortality—nor conſi⯑dered the dangers by which thou muſt acquire them?"—"'Waſte not thoſe precious gems on ſenſeleſs canvas, ſaid a voice to which my heart was born to vi⯑brate,—behold thy Eſſex himſelf, thy faithful Eſſex; as truly thine, as when this ſoft hand firſt returned his ardent preſſure."—Alas, my ſiſter, what a vi⯑ciſſitude of powerful emotions took poſ⯑ſeſſion of my ſoul, and ſet every feature at an event ſo unexpected! Fear and horror were however prevalent, and ſeem⯑ed to check the ſweetneſs of again be⯑holding him; for though my eyes ſur⯑veyed his form, my heart for the firſt time ſeemed to ſhut him out, and fold [292] itſelf up in utter darkneſs.—"You ſpeak not, my beloved, added he, oh, ſatisfy my agonized heart, and let me think you know me!"—"Know you? Ah Eſſex, faltered I, redoubling my tears, can aught but the grave obliterate thoſe features from my memory?—Perhaps even that wants the power—but a thou⯑ſand nameleſs miſeries make me ſhrink from the moment—make my terrified ſoul ſhrink even from you."—"Col⯑lect yourſelf, my worſhipped Ellinor, reſumed he, believe me I come not an artful, black ſeducer—chance, and chance only has crowned wiſhes ſo long ſub⯑mitted to your will. It would not ſuffer thoſe ſacred ſighs to become common air, thoſe lovely tears to fall upon the earth; it ſent me here to profit by indul⯑gences you were willing to beſtow on my ſhadow,"—"If I with-hold them from yourſelf, returned I, endeavouring to collect my fluttered thoughts, impute it not to my will, but to the over-ruling fate which has torn us from each other. [293] —Oh, Eſſex, let us not venture once to look behind, but conſider only the pre⯑ſent—the time, the place, the perſon, would ſtamp me with ignominy if diſco⯑vered, and rob me of the only pride, the only conſolation fortune has left me.—I have long ceaſed to live to the world, and to myſelf; but to my God, and you, I yet owe an exertion of the principles he gave, and you called into acti⯑on."—I roſe deeply diſordered, and attempted to draw away my hand; but his firmer nerves obſtinately retained the trembling priſoner; and my heart yielding to his piercing ſolicitations for a few minutes, I ſat down once more with him by my ſide.—Good Heavens, while I relate this it appears a mere viſion!—Did I really ſee Eſſex?—Were my ſenſes really revived by that voice ſo long for⯑gotten, except when fancy recalled it?—Ah, I have had but too ſad a conviction this has been, however ſtrange and im⯑poſſible it appears.—" Wrong me not with ſuppoſing I would entrap you, my [294] ſweet love, ſaid he, I am even now ar⯑rived in England; nor did I foreſee, in yielding to pique in a ſecret return, how great a happineſs I ſhould enſure to my⯑ſelf—diſguſted with the injuſtice of the doating Queen, (who has graced Howard with the laurels won by me) I reſolved to call my friends ſecretly together, and Pembroke is juſt gone to collect them—at midnight all are to meet here, and agree on the way moſt likely to puniſh her un⯑fair deciſion. By a happineſs in my for⯑tune, ungueſſed by him, and unforeſeen by me, we walked in this gallery while conſulting, and when left alone, the fa⯑tigue of my journey made me throw my⯑ſelf on the couch in yon window, and draw the curtain, to indulge the drowſi⯑neſs with which I was ſeized. How ſweet⯑ly was my ſlumber diſturbed, by her who has broken ſo many with ſorrow! Dear was the ſurprize with which I ſaw her enter; I ſaw the careful ſervant, as if ac⯑tuated by love, encloſe her, and retire. Entranced with a pleaſure which almoſt [295] took from me the power of motion, I beheld her lovely eyes fixed on my inani⯑mate portrait. I ſaw, or rather I felt, the tender expreſſions her unguarded ſoul ut⯑tered.—What dreary ages have elapſed ſince my eyes have been thus permitted to fix themſelves on hers—ſince in this dear hand I graſped the bleſſing that was to have given value, as well as happineſs, to my future life!"—"Alas, my Lord, reſumed I, recollect that thoſe pleaſant days, thoſe flattering hopes, thoſe dear wiſhes, a higher power has annihilated:—nor while the tie which robbed you of this trembling hand ſubſiſts, can I ſuffer it to be thus preſſed in yours. Yet recollect at the ſame moment, the influence you ſtill have over my heart—an influence virtue alone conteſts with you—Ah, gen⯑tle Eſſex, fix not an angry eye upon me—you know not the wound you give—the horrors you may occaſion."—The wild accent of my voice ſtruck even my own ear, and not daring to truſt it with another ſyllable, I ſtrove to bury my agi⯑tation [296] and ſenſibility in ſilence.—Alas, nature was too highly wrought.—A ſuffo⯑cation more painful than fainting enſued, and agonized with ſurprize, tenderneſs, and fear, Eſſex would have called loudly for aſſiſtance. I retained juſt ſenſe enough to prevent him, and throwing open a window, he then ſought to recover me by vows of implicit obedience. My fa⯑culties were almoſt reſtored, when a noiſe at the door made me wiſh them for ever annihilated. No longer able to conſider the juſt or proper, I threw myſelf for ſhelter into thoſe arms that gladly open⯑ed to receive me, and buried my face in the ſattin cloak of Eſſex. The voice I dreaded ruſhed upon my ear, and in⯑creaſing my terror, cauſed me to graſp my ſafeguard more cloſely.—A danger too preſſing for apologies obliged that generous lover to throw me from him.—I opened my fearful eyes, ſoon fixed by horror, to behold the ſwords of Lord Eſſex and Lord Arlington pointed at each other's boſoms. Why did not my [297] frail and erring reaſon at this perilous moment forſake me? Alas, I was never more ſenſible of agony and terror! I thought the cry I ſent forth muſt be mor⯑tal, but perceiving it inſufficient either to kill me or prevent the bloody conflict, I ſtarted up, and forcibly flung myſelf be⯑tween their ſwords: that of my huſband pierced my ſhoulder, while his more ſkil⯑ful adverſary wounded and diſarmed him. Inured to every kind of miſery, ſave this, I beheld my ſtreaming blood with a diſ⯑may unknown before, and from the faintneſs it occaſioned, never doubted that I approached the period ſo often wiſhed for, and pronounced myſelf dy⯑ing:—Then raiſing my eyes to the pale ſtatue of Eſſex, who reſting on the two ſwords, hung in ſilent agony over me, I adjured him to vindicate my fame, and beſeeching the Almighty to receive my guiltleſs ſpirit, and crown his future days with that honor and happineſs I alone had interrupted, I turned toward the er⯑ring wretch beſide me, with whoſe flow⯑ing [298] blood mine mingled, and having at⯑teſted in broken accents my innocence; deigned to requeſt his forgiveneſs. I had no longer, however, power even to receive it. Extreme weakneſs blended for once objects ever before ſo diſtinct, and I ceaſed to feel for the lover, or dread the huſband.