The Man in Black: An Historical Novel of the Days of Queen Anne

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  It was long ere Emily Hastings slept. There was a bright moonlight;but she sat not up by the window, looking out at the moon in love-lornguise. No, she laid her down in bed, as soon as the toilet of thenight was concluded, and having left the window-shutters open, thelight of the sweet, calm brightener of the night poured in a long,tranquil ray across the floor. She watched it, with her head restingon her hand for a long time. Her fancy was very busy with it, as byslow degrees it moved its place, now lying like a silver carpet by herbedside, now crossing the floor far away, and painting the oppositewall. Her thoughts then returned to other things, and whether shewould or not, Marlow took a share in them. She remembered things thathe had said, his looks came back to her mind, she seemed to conversewith him again, running over in thought all that had passed in themorning.

  She was no castle-builder; there were no schemes, plans, designs, inher mind; no airy structures of future happiness employed fancy astheir architect. She was happy in her own heart; and imagination, likea bee, extracted sweetness from the flowers of the present.

  Sweet Emily, how beautiful she looked, as she lay there, and made anight-life for herself in the world of her own thoughts!

  She could not sleep, she knew not why. Indeed, she did not wish or tryto sleep. She never did when sleep did not come naturally; but alwaysremained calmly waiting for the soother, till slumber dropped uncalledand stilly upon her eyelids.

  One hour--two hours--the moonbeam had retired far into a corner of theroom, the household was all still; there was no sound but the barkingof a distant farm-dog, such a long way off; that it reached the earmore like an echo than a sound, and the crowing of a cock, not muchmore near.

  Suddenly, her door opened, and a figure entered, bearing a smallnight-lamp. Emily started, and gazed. She was pot much given to fear,and she uttered not a sound; for which command over herself she wasvery thankful, when, in the tall, graceful form before her, sherecognized Mrs. Hazleton. She was dressed merely as she had risen fromher bed: her rich black hair bound up under her snowy cap, her longnight-gown trailing on the ground, and her feet bare. Yet she lookedperhaps more beautiful than in jewels and ermine. Her eyes were notfixed and motionless, though there was a certain sort of deadness inthem. Neither were her movements stiff and mechanical, as we often seein the representations of somnambulism on the stage. On the contrary,they were free and graceful. She looked neither like Mrs. Siddons norany other who ever acted what she really was. Those who have seen thestate know better. She was walking in her sleep, however: that strangeact of a life apart from waking life--that mystery of mysteries, whenthe soul seems severed from all things on earth but the body which itinhabits--when the mind sleeps, but the spirit wakes--when the animaland the spiritual live together, yet the intellectual lies dead forthe time.

  Emily comprehended her condition at once, and waited and watched,having heard that it is dangerous to wake suddenly a person in such astate. Mrs. Hazleton walked on past her bed towards a door at theother side of the room, but stopped opposite the toilet-table, took upa ribbon that was lying on it, and held it in her hand for a moment.

  "I hate him!" she said aloud; "but strangle him--oh, no! That wouldnot do. It would leave a blue mark. I hate him, and her too! Theycan't help it--they must fall into the trap."

  Emily rose quietly from her bed, and advancing with a soft step, tookMrs. Hazleton's hand gently. She made no resistance, only gazing ather with a look not utterly devoid of meaning. "A strange world!" shesaid, "where people must live with those they hate!" and sufferedEmily to lead her towards the door. She showed some reluctance to passit, however, and turned slowly towards the other door. Her beautifulyoung guide led her thither, and opened it; then went on through theneighboring room, which was vacant, Mrs. Hazleton saying, as theypassed the large bed canopied with velvet, "My mother died there--ah,me!" The next door opened into the corridor; but Emily knew not whereher hostess slept, till perceiving a light streaming out upon thefloor from a room near the end, she guided Mrs. Hazleton's stepsthither, rightly judging that it must be the chamber she had justleft. There she quietly induced her to go to bed again, taking thelamp from her hand, and bending down her sweet, innocent face, gaveher a gentle kiss.

  "Asp!" said Mrs. Hazleton, turning away; but Emily remained with herfor several minutes, till the eyes closed, the breathing became calmand regular, and natural sleep succeeded to the strange state intowhich she had fallen.

  Then returning to her own room, Emily once more sought her bed; butthough the moonlight had now departed, she was farther from sleep thanever.

  Mrs. Hazleton's words still rang in her ears. She thought them verystrange; but yet she had heard--it was indeed a common superstition inthose days--that people talking in their sleep expressed feelingsexactly the reverse of those which they really entertained; and hergood, bright heart was glad to believe. She would not for the worldhave thought that the fair form, and gentle, dignified manners of herfriend could shroud feelings so fierce and vindictive as those whichhad breathed forth in the utterance of that one word, "hate." Itseemed to her impossible that Mrs. Hazleton could hate any thing, andshe resolved to believe so still. But yet the words rang in her ears,as I have said. She had been somewhat agitated and alarmed, too,though less than many might have been, and more than an hour passedbefore her sweet eyes closed.

  On the morning of the following day, Emily was somewhat late atbreakfast; and she found Mrs. Hazleton down, and looking bright andbeautiful as the morning. It was evident that she had not even thefaintest recollection of what had occurred in the night--that it was aportion of her life apart, between which and waking existence therewas no communication open. Emily determined to take no notice of hersleep-walking; and she was wise, for I have always found, that to beinformed of their strange peculiarity leaves an awful and painfulimpression on the real somnambulists--a feeling of being unlike therest of human beings, of having a sort of preternatural existence,over which their human reason can hold no control. They fearthemselves--they fear their own acts--perhaps their own words, whenthe power is gone from that familiar mind, which is more or less theservant, if not the slave, of will, and when the whole mixed being,flesh, and mind, and spirit, is under the sole government of thatdarkest, least known, most mysterious personage of the three--thesoul.

  Mrs. Hazleton scolded her jestingly for late rising, and asked if shewas always such a lie-abed. Emily replied that she was not, butusually very matutinal in her habits. "But the truth is, dear Mrs.Hazleton," she added, "I did not sleep well last night."

  "Indeed," said her fair hostess, with a gay smile; "who were youthinking of to keep your young eyes open?"

  "Of you," answered Emily, simply; and Mrs. Hazleton asked no morequestions; for, perhaps, she did not wish Emily to think of her toomuch. Immediately after breakfast the carriage was ordered for a longdrive.

  "I will give you so large a dose of mountain air," said Mrs. Hazleton,"that it shall insure you a better night's rest than any narcoticcould procure, Emily. We will go and visit Ellendon Castle, far in thewilds, some sixteen miles hence."

  Emily was well pleased with the prospect, and they set out together,both apparently equally prepared to enjoy every thing they met with.The drive was a long one in point of time, for not only were thecarriages more cumbrous and heavy in those days, but the roadcontinued ascending nearly the whole way. Sometimes, indeed, a shortrun down into a gentle valley released the horses from the continualtug on the collar, but it was very brief, and the ascent commencedalmost immediately. Beautiful views over the scenery round presentedthemselves at every turn; and Emily, who had all the spirit of apainter in her heart, looked forth from the window enchanted.

  Mrs. Hazleton marked her enjoyment with great satisfaction; for eitherby study or intuition she had a deep knowledge of the springs andsources of human emotions, and she knew well that one enthusiasmalways disposes to another. Nay, more, she knew that whatever isassociated in the mind with pleasant sc
enes is usually pleasing, andshe had plotted the meeting between Emily and him she intended to beher lover with considerable pains to produce that effect. Natureseemed to have been a sharer in her schemes. The day could not havebeen better chosen. There was the light fresh air, the few floatingclouds, the merry dancing gleams upon hill and dale, a light,momentary shower of large, jewel-like drops, the fragment of a brokenrainbow painting the distant verge of heaven.

  At length the summit of the hills was reached; and Mrs. Hazleton toldher sweet companion to look out there, ordering the carriage at thesame time to stop. It was indeed a scene well worthy of the gaze. Farspreading out beneath the eye lay a wide basin in the hills, walledin, as it were, by those tall summits, here and there broken by acrag. The ground sloped gently down from the spot at which thecarriage paused, so that the whole expanse was open to the eye, andover the short brown herbage, through which a purple gleam from theyet unblossomed heath shone out, the lights and shades seemed sportingin mad glee. All was indeed solitary, uncultivated, and even barren,except where, in the very centre of the wide hollow, appeared a numberof trees, not grouped together in a wood, but scattered over aconsiderable space of ground, as if the remnants of some olddeer-park, and over their tall tops rose up the ruined keep of someancient stronghold of races passed away, with here and there anothertower or pinnacle appearing, and long lines of grassy mounds, greenerthan the rest of the landscape, glancing between the stems of theolder trees, or bearing up in picturesque confusion their own growthof wild, fantastic, seedling ashes.

  By the name of the spot, Ellendon, which means strong-hill, I believeit is more than probable that the Anglo-Saxons had here some fortsbefore the conquest; but the ruin which now presented itself to theeyes of Emily and Mrs. Hazleton was evidently of a later date and ofNorman construction.

  Here, probably, some proud baron of the times of Henry, Stephen, orMatilda, had built his nest on high, perchance to overawe the Saxonchurls around him, perhaps to set at defiance the royal power itself.Here the merry chase had swept the hills; here revelry and pageantryhad checkered a life of fierce strife and haughty oppression. Suchscenes, at least such thoughts, presented themselves to theimaginative mind of Emily, like the dreamy gleams that skimmed in goldand purple before her eyes; but the effect of any strong feeling,whether of enjoyment or of grief, was always to make her silent; andshe gazed without uttering a word.

  Mrs. Hazleton, however, understood some points in her character, andby the long fixed look from beneath the dark sweeping lashes of hereye, by the faint sweet smile that gently curled her young, beautifullip, and by the sort of gasping sigh after she had gazed breathlessfor some moments, she knew how intense was that gentle creature'sdelight in a scene, which to many an eye would have offered nopeculiar charm.

  She would not suffer it to lose any of its first effect, and after abrief pause ordered the carriage to drive on. Still Emily continued tolook onwards out of carriage-window, and as the road turned in thedescent, the castle and the ancient trees grouped themselvesdifferently every minute. At length, as they came nearer, she said,turning to Mrs. Hazleton, "There seems to be a man standing at thevery highest point of the old keep."

  "He must be bold indeed," replied her companion, looking out also."When you come close to it, dear Emily, you will see that it requiresthe foot of a goat and the heart of a lion to climb up there over therough, disjointed, tottering stones. Good Heaven, I hope he will notfall!"

  Emily closed her eyes. "It is very foolish," she said.

  "Oh, men have pleasure in such feats of daring," answered Mrs.Hazleton, "which we women cannot understand. He is coming down againas steadily as if he were treading a ball-room. I wish that tree wereout of the way."

  In two or three minutes the carriage passed between two rows of oldand somewhat decayed oaks, and stopped between the fine gate of thecastle, covered with ivy, and rugged with the work of Time's tooartistic hand, and a building which, if it did not detract from thepicturesque beauty of the scene, certainly deprived it of all romance.There, just opposite the entrance, stood a small house, builtapparently of stones stolen from the ruins, and bearing on a poleprojecting from the front a large blue sign-board, on which was rudelypainted in yellow, the figure of what we now call a French horn, whileunderneath appeared a long inscription to the following effect:

  "John Buttercross, at the sign of the Bugle Horn, sells wine and aquavit?, and good lodgings to man and horse. N. B. Donkeys to be foundwithin."

  Emily laughed, and in an instant came down to common earth.

  Mrs. Hazleton wished both John Buttercross and his sign in one fire oranother; though she could not help owning that such a house in soremote a place might be a great convenience to visitors like herself.She took the matter quietly, however, returning Emily's gay look withone somewhat rueful, and saying, "Ah, dear girl, all very mundane andunromantic, but depend upon it the house has proved a blessing oftento poor wanderers in bleak weather over these wild hills; and weourselves may find it not so unpleasant by and by when Paul has spreadour luncheon in the parlor, and we look out of its little casement atthe old ruin there."

  Thus saying, she alighted from the carriage, gave some orders to herservants, and to an hostler who was walking up and down a remarkablybeautiful horse, which seemed to have been ridden hard, and thenleaning on Emily's arm, walked up the slope towards the gate.

  Barbican and outer walls were gone--fallen long ago into the ditch,and covered with the all-receiving earth and a green coat of turf. Youcould but tell were they lay, by the undulations of the ground, andthe grassy hillock here and there. The great gate still stood firm,however, with its two tall towers, standing like giant wardens toguard the entrance. There were the machicolated parapets, the longloopholes mantled with ivy, the outsloping basement, against which thebattering ram might have long played in vain, the family escutcheonwith the arms crumbled from it, the portcullis itself showing its ironteeth above the traveller's head. It was the most perfect part of thebuilding; and when the two ladies entered the great court the scene ofruin was more complete. Many a tower had fallen, leaving large gaps inthe inner wall; the chapel with only one beautiful window left, andthe fragments of two others, showing where the fine line had run, laymouldering on the right, and at some distance in front appeared thetall majestic keep, the lower rooms of which were in tolerablepreservation, though the roof had fallen in to the second story, andthe airy summit had lost its symmetry by the destruction of two entiresides. Short green turf covered the whole court, except where somemass of stone, more recently fallen than others, still stood out bareand gray; but a crop of brambles and nettles bristled up near thechapel, and here and there a tree had planted itself on the totteringruins of the walls.

  Mrs. Hazleton walked straight towards the entrance of the keep along alittle path sufficiently well worn to show that the castle hadfrequent visitors, and was within a few steps of the doorway, when afigure issued forth which to say sooth did not at all surprise her tobehold. She gave a little start, however, saying in a low tone toEmily, "That must be our climbing friend whose neck we thought in suchperil a short time since."

  The gentleman--for such estate was indicated by his dress, which wasdark and sober, but well made and costly--took a step or two slowlyforward, verging a little to the side as if to let two ladies passwhom he did not know; but then suddenly he stopped, gazed for aninstant with a well assumed look of surprise and inquiry, and thenhurried rapidly towards them, raising hie hat not ungracefully, whileMrs. Hazleton exclaimed, "Ah, how fortunate! Here is a friend whodoubtless can tell us all about the ruins."

  At the same moment Emily recognized the young man whom she had foundaccidentally wounded in her father's park.