by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XVI.
--'Twas time and griefs That framed him thus: Time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him.--Bring us to him, And chance it as it may.--OLD PLAY.
The sounds of Ratcliffe's voice had died on Isabella's ear; but as shefrequently looked back, it was some encouragement to her to discern hisform now darkening in the gloom. Ere, however, she went much farther,she lost the object in the increasing shade. The last glimmer of thetwilight placed her before the hut of the Solitary. She twice extendedher hand to the door, and twice she withdrew it; and when she did atlength make the effort, the knock did not equal in violence the throb ofher own bosom. Her next effort was louder; her third was reiterated, forthe fear of not obtaining the protection from which Ratcliffe promisedso much, began to overpower the terrors of his presence from whom shewas to request it. At length, as she still received no answer, sherepeatedly called upon the Dwarf by his assumed name, and requested himto answer and open to her.
"What miserable being is reduced," said the appalling voice of theSolitary, "to seek refuge here? Go hence; when the heath-fowl needshelter, they seek it not in the nest of the night-raven."
"I come to you, father," said Isabella, "in my hour of adversity, evenas you yourself commanded, when you promised your heart and your doorshould be open to my distress; but I fear--"
"Ha!" said the Solitary, "then thou art Isabella Vere? Give me a tokenthat thou art she."
"I have brought you back the rose which you gave me; it has not had timeto fade ere the hard fate you foretold has come upon me!"
"And if thou hast thus redeemed thy pledge," said the Dwarf, "I will notforfeit mine. The heart and the door that are shut against every otherearthly being, shall be open to thee and to thy sorrows."
She heard him move in his hut, and presently afterwards strike a light.One by one, bolt and bar were then withdrawn, the heart of Isabellathrobbing higher as these obstacles to their meeting were successivelyremoved. The door opened, and the Solitary stood before her, his uncouthform and features illuminated by the iron lamp which he held in hishand.
"Enter, daughter of affliction," he said,--"enter the house of misery."
She entered, and observed, with a precaution which increased hertrepidation, that the Recluse's first act, after setting the lamp uponthe table, was to replace the numerous bolts which secured the doorof his hut. She shrunk as she heard the noise which accompanied thisominous operation, yet remembered Ratcliffe's caution, and endeavouredto suppress all appearance of apprehension. The light of the lamp wasweak and uncertain; but the Solitary, without taking immediate notice ofIsabella, otherwise than by motioning her to sit down on a smallsettle beside the fireplace, made haste to kindle some dry furze, whichpresently cast a blaze through the cottage. Wooden shelves, which borea few books, some bundles of dried herbs, and one or two wooden cups andplatters, were on one side of the fire; on the other were placed someordinary tools of field-labour, mingled with those used by mechanics.Where the bed should have been, there was a wooden frame, strewed withwithered moss and rushes, the couch of the ascetic. The whole space ofthe cottage did not exceed ten feet by six within the walls; and itsonly furniture, besides what we have mentioned, was a table and twostools formed of rough deals.
Within these narrow precincts Isabella now found herself enclosed witha being, whose history had nothing to reassure her, and the fearfulconformation of whose hideous countenance inspired an almostsuperstitious terror. He occupied the seat opposite to her, and droppinghis huge and shaggy eyebrows over his piercing black eyes, gazed at herin silence, as if agitated by a variety of contending feelings. On theother side sate Isabella, pale as death, her long hair uncurled by theevening damps, and falling over her shoulders and breast, as the wetstreamers droop from the mast when the storm has passed away, and leftthe vessel stranded on the beach. The Dwarf first broke the silence withthe sudden, abrupt, and alarming question,--"Woman, what evil fate hasbrought thee hither?"
"My father's danger, and your own command," she replied faintly, butfirmly.
"And you hope for aid from me?"
"If you can bestow it," she replied, still in the same tone of mildsubmission.
"And how should I possess that power?" continued the Dwarf, with abitter sneer; "Is mine the form of a redresser of wrongs? Is this thecastle in which one powerful enough to be sued to by a fair suppliantis likely to hold his residence? I but mocked thee, girl, when I said Iwould relieve thee."
"Then must I depart, and face my fate as I best may!"
"No!" said the Dwarf, rising and interposing between her and the door,and motioning to her sternly to resume her seat--"No! you leave menot in this way; we must have farther conference. Why should one beingdesire aid of another? Why should not each be sufficient to itself? Lookround you--I, the most despised and most decrepit on Nature's common,have required sympathy and help from no one. These stones are of my ownpiling; these utensils I framed with my own hands; and with this"--andhe laid his hand with a fierce smile on the long dagger which he alwayswore beneath his garment, and unsheathed it so far that the bladeglimmered clear in the fire-light--"with this," he pursued, as he thrustthe weapon back into the scabbard, "I can, if necessary, defend thevital spark enclosed in this poor trunk, against the fairest andstrongest that shall threaten me with injury."
It was with difficulty Isabella refrained from screaming out aloud; butshe DID refrain.
"This," continued the Recluse, "is the life of nature, solitary,self-sufficing, and independent. The wolf calls not the wolf to aid himin forming his den; and the vulture invites not another to assist her instriking down her prey."
"And when they are unable to procure themselves support," said Isabella,judiciously thinking that he would be most accessible to argumentcouched in his own metaphorical style, "what then is to befall them?"
"Let them starve, die, and be forgotten; it is the common lot ofhumanity."
"It is the lot of the wild tribes of nature," said Isabella, "butchiefly of those who are destined to support themselves by rapine, whichbrooks no partner; but it is not the law of nature in general; even thelower orders have confederacies for mutual defence. But mankind--therace would perish did they cease to aid each other.--From the timethat the mother binds the child's head, till the moment that some kindassistant wipes the death-damp from the brow of the dying, we cannotexist without mutual help. All, therefore, that need aid, have right toask it of their fellow-mortals; no one who has the power of granting canrefuse it without guilt."
"And in this simple hope, poor maiden," said the Solitary, "thou hastcome into the desert, to seek one whose wish it were that the leaguethou hast spoken of were broken for ever, and that, in very truth, thewhole race should perish? Wert thou not frightened?"
"Misery," said Isabella, firmly, "is superior to fear."
"Hast thou not heard it said in thy mortal world, that I have leaguedmyself with other powers, deformed to the eye and malevolent to thehuman race as myself? Hast thou not heard this--And dost thou seek mycell at midnight?"
"The Being I worship supports me against such idle fears," saidIsabella; but the increasing agitation of her bosom belied the affectedcourage which her words expressed.
"Ho! ho!" said the Dwarf, "thou vauntest thyself a philosopher? Yet,shouldst thou not have thought of the danger of intrusting thyself,young and beautiful, in the power of one so spited against humanity, asto place his chief pleasure in defacing, destroying, and degrading herfairest works?"
Isabella, much alarmed, continued to answer with firmness, "Whateverinjuries you may have sustained in the world, you are incapable ofrevenging them on one who never wronged you, nor, wilfully, any other."
"Ay, but, maiden," he continued, his dark eyes flashing with anexpression of malignity which communicated itself to his wild anddistorted features, "revenge is the hungry wolf, which asks only to tearflesh and lap blood. Think you the lamb's plea of innocence w
ould belistened to by him?"
"Man!" said Isabella, rising, and expressing herself with much dignity,"I fear not the horrible ideas with which you would impress me. I castthem from me with disdain. Be you mortal or fiend, you would not offerinjury to one who sought you as a suppliant in her utmost need. Youwould not--you durst not."
"Thou say'st truly, maiden," rejoined the Solitary; "I dare not--I wouldnot. Begone to thy dwelling. Fear nothing with which they threaten thee.Thou hast asked my protection--thou shalt find it effectual."
"But, father, this very night I have consented to wed the man that Iabhor, or I must put the seal to my father's ruin."
"This night?--at what hour?"
"Ere midnight."
"And twilight," said the Dwarf, "has already passed away. But fearnothing, there is ample time to protect thee."
"And my father?" continued Isabella, in a suppliant tone.
"Thy father," replied the Dwarf, "has been, and is, my most bitterenemy. But fear not; thy virtue shall save him. And now, begone; wereI to keep thee longer by me, I might again fall into the stupid dreamsconcerning human worth from which I have been so fearfully awakened. Butfear nothing--at the very foot of the altar I will redeem thee. Adieu,time presses, and I must act!"
He led her to the door of the hut, which he opened for her departure.She remounted her horse, which had been feeding in the outer enclosure,and pressed him forward by the light of the moon, which was now rising,to the spot where she had left Ratcliffe.
"Have you succeeded?" was his first eager question.
"I have obtained promises from him to whom you sent me; but how can hepossibly accomplish them?"
"Thank God!" said Ratcliffe; "doubt not his power to fulfil hispromise."
At this moment a shrill whistle was heard to resound along the heath.
"Hark!" said Ratcliffe, "he calls me--Miss Vere, return home, and leaveunbolted the postern-door of the garden; to that which opens on theback-stairs I have a private key."
A second whistle was heard, yet more shrill and prolonged than thefirst.
"I come, I come," said Ratcliffe; and setting spurs to his horse, rodeover the heath in the direction of the Recluse's hut. Miss Vere returnedto the castle, the mettle of the animal on which she rode, and her ownanxiety of mind, combining to accelerate her journey.
She obeyed Ratcliffe's directions, though without well apprehendingtheir purpose, and leaving her horse at large in a paddock nearthe garden, hurried to her own apartment, which she reached withoutobservation. She now unbolted her door, and rang her bell for lights.Her father appeared along with the servant who answered her summons.
"He had been twice," he said, "listening at her door during the twohours that had elapsed since he left her, and, not hearing her speak,had become apprehensive that she was taken ill."
"And now, my dear father," she said, "permit me to claim the promise youso kindly gave; let the last moments of freedom which I am to enjoy bemine without interruption; and protract to the last moment the respitewhich is allowed me."
"I will," said her father; "nor shall you be again interrupted. But thisdisordered dress--this dishevelled hair--do not let me find you thuswhen I call on you again; the sacrifice, to be beneficial, must bevoluntary."
"Must it be so?" she replied; "then fear not, my father! the victimshall be adorned."
