A 4 ^. "LI B RAR.Y OF THE U N IVLRSITY Of ILLINOIS Cop 2. i. .^ f :*^.t yc 4^ ^ (J¥u^ 67. — 10. for heart read hearts 124. — 5. /or Scherazade r«ai Sheherazadc 201. — 12. before seemed insert and VOL in. 74. — 3. after was insert a 139. — last, after resume omit to 256. — 6. /or I viewless read A viewless a6o. — 14. for snow drop read snow-drop 16. for famed read loved a6i. — 14 & 15. omit the parenthesis VOL. IV. 50. — 6. after pelisse, put a colon 75. — 12. OOT/V on after turban 80. — 19. omit thrown after shadow 81. — 20. omit up after wrapped 91. — 21. far expreses read expresses 184. — last, ^/^r adducing oot/# of 265. — II. /or blazing rr^^/ blasting 274. — 3. /or desires rea^ designs 290. — I. omit him iefcre to 3*1. — 18. ^tf/or OSBRIGHT. 4l half frantic with apprehensions, and his alarm was increased ten fold, when he dis- covered that the chace had beguiled them mto the woods of Orrenberg. Away rode the hunters, some one way, some another : four of the most trusty followed Rudiger, and while he made the forests ring again with thename of Joscelyn, the hand of Providence, in order that the murderer might be punished, guided him to the place, whefe the poor child had already breathed his last ; it was near a small river ; the ground was stained with blood, and a huge wound stood gaping upon his ivory bosom. Search was made for the assassin, who (it was evident) could not have gone far, for the body was not yet cold ! and a man, whose garments were still crimsoned with blood, and whose counte- nance pronounced him capable of committing any mischief, was found concealed in a thicket at no great distance/' — — " And what reason had he for. . . . " — — " Oh ! Sir Knight, every one guest at the reason, as soon as Martin (the Count's 42 Squire) exclaimed, that he knew the assassin, and that he was one of the Count of Orr en- berg's domestics. The villain too knew in whose presence he was, and addressing Count Rudiger by his name, he fell on his knees, and entreated him not to hurt him ; a sure proof of his being conscious of some crime, else why should he have been apprehensive of receiving hurt, Sir Knight ? well ! he could not deny his belonging to Gustavus, but for a long time he persisted in swearing, that he had found the child already insensi- ble in the wood, and that the blood had stained his clothes, while conveying him to the rivulet, in hopes that by bathing his face with water he might restore him to his senses. Truly, the fellow was artful enough, and made out a good plausible story j but Rudiger was not easily to be deceived. He had the villain conveyed to the Castle of Frankheim, and there proper means were taken for extorting from him a confession of the truth." — BLANCHE AND OSBRlGHT. 43 — " And what was that confession ?" — — " Exactly what every one expected; that he had been commanded to murder the child by his master, Gustavus of Orren- berg."- — " He confest it ? — Almighty powers ! — Are you sure^ that he confest it ?" — — '' Sure of it ? why, alas-the-day ! I heard him say it with my own ears. He was asked by the Count, — " who set him on to commit the murder" — and I heard him answer as plain as I now hear you — " Gustavus of Orrenberg." — — '* Is it possible 1" exclaimed Osbright in agony. His last lingering hope was now destroyed, and with all his anxiety to believe Gustavus innocent, he found himself unable to exclude the irresistible conviction of his guilt. — " Ah ! it is but too certain !*' resumed the Friar with a deep sigh ; " one would willingly disbelieve the existence of such villainy,^ but I heard the assassin own it my- 44 "MISTRUST ; OK self; and a hardened sinner he was ! in spite of all my pious exhortations to repent- ance, not a word would he confess, though I begged him with tears in my eyes ; for wicked as he was, it almost broke my heart to see the tortures which he endured, and all out of his own obstinacy ! Since the very moment that he made the desired confession, my lord ordered him to be taken from the rack, though it was then but to Httle pur- pose." — — " The rack ?*' exclaimed Osbright, seizing the old man's hand with a convulsive grasp ; " was it then only on the rack, that he made this confession ?" — — " No truly ; till Count Rudiger had re- course to torture, not a syllable would he utter, but assertions of his own and his master's innocence. Nay, even when he was actually on the rack, he persisted in his ob- stinate falsehood. He had ah'eady remained there so long, that he was scarcely unbound, before lie breathed his last, poor sinful BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 4S wretch 1 Heaven pardon him and take him to its mercy !" — Now then the heart of Osbright again beat freely. It is true, the death of his brother made that heart the abode of deep sorrow ; but to banish from it the beUef, that Gus- tavus was the boy*s assassin, was to reUeve it from a burthen of insupportable agony. That belief grew weaker with every question, which he put to brother Peter ; he found, that while in possession of his strength and faculties the supposed culprit had most strenuously denied all knowledge of the crime ; that the excess of torture alone had forced from him the declaration, that Gus- tavus of Orrenberg had any concern in it ; that the name of Gustavus had been sucrsrest- ed by the prejudices of the suspicious and already exasperated father ; and that the whole confession was comprised in the mere pronouncing that name, when the speaker was seduced into uttering it by the certainty of immediate release from tortures the most^ 46 MISTRUST; OR excruciating. Osbright had been educated at a distance from his family, and his mind therefore had not imbibed the prejudices,which made the Count of Orrenberg be considered as an incarnate fiend throughout the do- mains of Frankheim. His Uberal nature in- cUned him to wish all hearts to be as pure and as benevolent as his own j and his judge- ment was both too candid and too keen to mistake assertions for proofs, or to be deluded by the artful colouring, in which prejudice ever paints the actions of a detested object. In defiance therefore of all his father's endeavours, he had resolved to suspend his opinion of Gustavus, even while his charac- ter was a matter of indifference to him : but now that the dearest of all interests made him wish to find him worthy, to have found him so deeply culpable \^'0uld have wrung with excess of torture the most sus- ceptible fibres of his heart. On reflection, he found, that his plans must be delaved till the innocence of Gusta- BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT] 47 vus in this bloody business could be fully cleared to the satisfaction of Count Rudiger and of all Germany ; and he silently vowed never to know rest, till he had proved that innocence, and ascertained, beyond the power of doubting, the real name of the monster, whose dagger had sent the bloom- ing Joscelyn to an untimely grave. But how was he to commence his inqui- ries ? Brother Peter was so fully convinced of the guilt of Gustavus, that his answers to Osbright's questions, only served to mislead his search, instead of furnishing the unravel- ling clu^ to this mystery of iniquity. The youth anxiously desired to talk over the business with some unprejudiced person ; and fpr this purpose he resolved to depart immediately for the Castle of Sir Lennard of Kleeborn. This worthy Knight was, in spite of their alienation, considered equally as a friend by the two families of Frankheim and Orrenberg ; Osbright had seen enough of his character, during his last visit at his 43 MISTRUST; OR father's, to feel for him the highest senti* ments of esteem and reverence ; and he re- solved to lay his difficulties, his hopes, and his fears before this excellent man without disguise, and entreat his assistance in for- warding the one and removing the others. The moon shone bright; in defiance of the Friar's entreaties he resolved not to wait for morning, since grief and anxiety would have prevented sleep from visiting his couch» However, being anxious to avoid tlie pre^ sence of Count Rudiger till the first emo- tions of grief for the loss of his child, and of passion against the house of Orrenberg, should have subsided, he requested the Monk to allow him to find hospitaUty within his cell on the succeeding night, when (as he said) his affairs would necessitate his being again in the chapeFs neighbourhood. His request being readily granted, he charged the old man to conceal his visit from every one; and then having enforced his charge, by a considerable present to be appropriated to BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 49 the use of Brother Peter's Patron-Saint, Os- bright vaulted upon his courser, whom fide- lity had detained near the chapel, and whose frequent neighing had already announced his impatience at the absence of his Lord. VOL. I. so CHAP. III. *' Alas ! the spring-time's pleasant hours returning Serve but to waken me to sharper pain, Recalling scenes of agony and mourning, Of baffled hopes, and prayers preferred in vain ! 1 hus was the sun his vernal beams displaying. Thus did the woods in early foliage wave, While dire disease on all I loved was preying. And flowers seemed rising, but to strew his grave," CiiAULOTTE Smith. While the Castle of Frankheim resounded with cries of agony and threats of venge- ance, the spirit of tranquil sorrow reigned on every brow and in every heart through- out the domains of Orrenberg. Seven months had elapsed since the death of the heir of those domains, the young and ami- BLANCHE Al^D OSBRIGHT, Si able Philip ; the t\'ound was skinned over, but the pain was still felt ; tears had ceased to trickle, but the heart had not yet ceased to bleed. Gustavus stood at an oriel- window, and contemplated the fertile fields, which he hoped on his death-bed to have bequeathed to his darling. The lady Ulrica was employed at her tapes tr)'--frame ; but her work was often suspended, while she cast a look of anxious tenderness on the lovely Blanche, (who Was at work beside her,) and while she breathed a mental prayer, that Heaven in mercy to an almost broken heart would preserve to her this, her loveliest, her dearest, her only remaining child. The silence was interrupted by the en- trance of an old female domestic, who in- formed Blanche, that she had at length found the canvas bag which had been so long missing, and which she now presented to her. Blanche hastily quitted the tapestry- frame, while her cheek alternately coloured D 2 52 MISTRUST J OK with anger, and grew pale with apprehen- sion. — " Oh ! Rachel 1" she exclaimed in a tone of reproach, " how thoughtless to bring it hither ! ah ! and see ! my dear mother has recognised it but too surely, for her eyes are already filled with tears !" — and she threw her arms affectionately round the waist of Ulrica, and entreated her pardon for being the occasion of suggesting such painful recollections. — " What is the matter ?" demanded her father, advancing from the window ; — " what distresses you, Ulrica ?" — then glancing his eye on the canvas bag, which Blanche had suffered to fall upon the ground, — *^ Ah!" he continued, " I need no an- swer ! those are the play-things of my poor dead boy !— What would you do with them, Blanche?''— — " I meant, to give them to the gar- dener's children ; they were Philip's play- fellows and friends, and they have not BLANCHE AND 0SBRI(5hT. 65 forgotten yet, how dearly he loved them. It was only yesterday that as I past towards St. Hildegarde's grotto, I met the poor chil- dren going to adorn Philip's grave with their choicest flowers ; and their father tells me, that they mention him every night in their prayers, and never pass a day without visit- ing his monument — and so I fancied, that by giving these play-things But I wish, that I had never thought at all about them, since the sight of them has distressed you so much, dear mother ! — Nay now, pry'thee, weep no more ! you know, my father says, that 'tis sinful to murmur at the dispensa- tions of Providence, and that it gives him pain, whenever he sees our tears !" — — " And should not that refleetion check your own, my Blanche r'^ enquired Gusta- vus ; " why are your cheeks so wet ? Fie ! fie, my child !" — ■ — " Ah! dear father, I cannot prevent their flowing, do all that I can ! When any one seems happy, I cannot help smiling ; D 3 54 » MISTRUST ; OR and when any one dies, surely I needs must weep. But at least I obey you better than mv mother : indeed neither of us talk of Philip, but then she always /Z?/?2;^.y of him, and is always melancholy. Now I am always gay, and endeavour not to think of him ; ex- cept when something brings him suddenly before me, and then I cannot choose but weep, or else my heart would break in two : ' — for instance, when I look at these play- things, it seems to me, as if Philip were pre- sent ; I think, I see him arranging his troops so busily on the ground j I think, I hear him entreating me to leave my tiresome tapestry, and observe, how bravely he will fight the battle. " The blue," he used to say, " are the vassals of Orrenberg, and the red are the vassals of Frankheim ; and now — "Of Frankheim, Blanche?" interrupted Gustavus; "no,no; that was not what Philip called them ; " the red,'' he used to say, "are our enemies."— BLANCHE AND OiPBRIGHT. 55 — '^ Yes, yes ; our enemies, the vassals of Frankheim." — — " You misunderstood him, Blanche -jwliy should Philip call the vassals of Franklieim our enemies ?" — — " Nay, dear father, are they not so ? every oae in the castle thinks, and says it."— — " They, who say so, had better not say it in my hearing. The count of Franklieim is my nearest relation, a man of singular military prowess and distinguished by many noble qualities. It is true, the dissimilarity of our manners and habits, together with vari- ous other impediments, has prevented so cordial an intimacy between the families, as should exist between such near connexions; but still I entertain a high respect for tha character of the owners of Frankheim, and shall not hear without displeasure those persons called my enemies, whom I would, willingly boast of as my friends.'*- — — ^'^ Your friends ? oh ! father 1 would d4 56 MISTRUST ; OR you call those your friends, who have poison* ed your only remaining son, who have deprived me of an only remaining brother? Ah! should I not call these cruel people our enemies, our worst of enemies ?" — — "Poisoned my son ? poisoned Philip?" — — " Nay, it is the common talk of the v/hole castle ! every child on the domains knows it, as well as I do, and trembles at the name of Rudiger, the ruthless cliild-mur- derer ! nay ; has not my mother openly ac- knowledged that " — — " Blanche !" interrupted Ulrica hasti- ly ; " you go too far ; you misrepresent the fact. What have I ever openly acknow- ledged ? I merely, in confidential conversa- tion, let fall a hint, a sort of suspicion . . , . that it was just possible. . . . that to judge from appearances. ... that I was al- most tempted to imagine. ..." — " Aye, Ulrica,*' replied lier husband ; " I feared from the very first that you were the original cause of this ill-founded report. 1 BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 51 Is there no hope then, that my entreaties ^nd advice will ever eradicate from your mind the only dark speck, which deforms it? Of all the defects of the human heart, there is none more encroaching, more insidious, more dangerous than mistrust : viewed through her distorted optics, there is no action so innocent, no every-day occurrence so insignificant, that does not assume the appearance of offence. Words are miscon- strued ; looks are interpreted ! thoughts are guest at and acted upon, as if thoughts were facts J the supposed fault is retaliated by a real one ; that one gives birth to more ; injury succeeds injury, and crime treads upon the heels of crime, till the web of mischief and misery is complete ; and the suspector starts in surprise and horror to fmd both himself and his adversary equally involved in that guilt, which but for his suspicions would probably have been the lot of neither." — — " Nay5Gustavus, why thus severe? what d5 6^ ^USTRtrST ; OP; have I done ? I assert nothing ; I accuse no one : I merely have hinted at the possibility .... and that, while I have life and consci- ousness, I ?}ii{st maintain — to die so suddenly! to-day in all the bloom of health, and to- morrow in his coffin! — Oh! that fatal in- heritance ! to that shall I ever ascribe the loss of my child ! — And then the livid spots, which broke out upon my poor boy's corse. . , . and the agonies, which he suffered ....the burning heat, and the insatiable thirst which tormented him. . . . and above ail the rapid putrefaction. . . . Yes ! yes ! the moment that I beheld that, I exclaimed — " such a death cannot be natural"— a dread- ful light broke in upon me, and. . . . " — And at that light you have kindled a torch, capable of burning to the very ground the house of your unsuspecting neighbour, of your nearest relation 1 you have infliuned the imaginations of the giddy unthinking multitude, whose rage if once let loose, and countenanced by their superiors. . , . " — BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 59 — ^^ I inflamed them ? oh ! you injure me, my husband! it is true, their rage, their hatred against the Count of Frankheim is at this moment extreme ; but I have done my utmost to prevent their breaking out into violence. I dread Count Rudiger ; but I hate him not, for I will not hate any one ; and though your former k)ve for Magdalena once made me fear her influence over your heart, your uniform kindness during many long years has totally erased all such appre- hensions from my bosom. Do not then sus- pect me of stirring up our people to venge-- ance upon the Frankheimers. Alas ! it needed no instigation of mine to make them understand a tale so clear, a fact so evident, that the murder circulated from lip to lip, ere I had time to impose silence on the death-bed attendants ; and every man's own consciousness suggested to him the murder- er's name." — — " A tale so clear, Ulrica ? before your lather's fatal bequest had raised suspu D 6. GO MISTRUST ; OR cions of each other between the families, you attended Magdalena's lying-in — the child lived but a few hours, and expired in your arms. Had Magdalena been as mistrust- ful as yourself, how well would the tale have jDeen told, that jealous of my former attach- ment to the mother, you had privately, while pretending to kiss it,confnied the wind- pipe of the child, or prest its skull together,or else. . . . "— — " Oh! spare me, my husband! yes, such a tale might have been told. . . . Oh I horror! might perhaps have been believed. I will say nothing more ; I will accuse no one in future ; I will bury all my suspicions in oblivion ; I will forgive all. ... if they will but leave me this one blessing, this one dar- ling, this my last, my only existing childT' — As she said this, Ulrica threw her arms round her kneeling daugliter ; and she was still weeping upon her neck, when a domes- tic entered, and announced a herald from the Castle of Frankheim. As all intimacy BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. Gl between the families had ceased, and they now only met on great festivals, or at tourna- ments, or on some solemn occasion, it was concluded, that the herald's business related to some public occurrence, some imperial edict, or some regulations for the welfare of thePalatinate — thewomen,therefore,thought proper to withdraw : Ulrica, greatly agitat- ted by the conversation which had just taken place, retired to indulge the agony of ma- ternal regret in her own solitary apartment; and Blanche. . . . ?• — The war was concluded ; the troops were dismissed; the knights v/ere re' urning home. — " Perhaps /" said Blanche and with a light step and heart full of I )pe, she fled through the secret passage towards the c:ive imong the rocks. 6E MISTRUST; OR GHAP. IV. — *' Oh ! my soul come not thou into their connstis ; unto their assembly, mine honour, be not thou united ; for in their anger they slew a man, and in their seli- will they digged a wall. Cursed be their anger, for it was fierce, and their wrath, for it was cruel."" — And the hopes of Blanche wore not quite disappointed. It is true, the cave was vacant : but he had been there ; but he had left a token, that she Vv'as not forgotten by him. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 63 To-morrow according to their mutual agree- ment she might depend upon seeing once more the youth, whose image gratitude had engraved upon her heart in characters never to be effaced ; and then might she claim his promise of revealing to her his real name, and clearing up the mystery, in which he had hitherto enveloped all that related to him, except his adoration of herself. Satis- fied of that most material point, she had hitherto been content to leave every ether in' obscurity ; but now she should know every- thing ; now her lover would disclose him- self, and authorize her disclosing their , at- tachment to her parents ; and precious as they held her, she still feared not their op- posing her union with a man, whom she loved so tenderly, and by whom she was so tenderly beloved. Besides, her father was sinking into the vale of years; the^ family required some younger and more active chamoion to defend them aranst the nef^ious designs o£^, their mortal foe, the 64 MISTRUST ; OR cruel and insidious Count of Frankheim ; and where could they find a fitter protector than this unknown knight, who had already- proved the strength of his arm and valour of his heart so successfully, when he rescued her from the banditti ? oh ! when once his bride, she should no longer tremble at the dreadful name of Rudiger 1 all then would be peace, security and happiness ! and while she made these reflections, she prest the well- known scarf to her lips a thousand and a thousand times. The sun was setting, and it was time for her to return home. She threw herself on her knees before the crucifix, which she had herself placed on the rough-hewn altar ; she poured forth a prayer of fervent gratitude to St. Hildegarde, traced a cross upon her forehead and bosom with the same holy water, which had formerly quenched the thirst of that virgin martyr, and then bidding a tender adieu to the cavern in which she had passed so many happy moments, she BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 65 sped back towards the Castle, the scarf flut- tering in the evening-breeze as she retraced the secret passages. She was proceeding towards her own apartment, when in crossing a gallery which was connected with the great hall, she was alarmed at seeing several of the domestics hurrying backwards and forwards in con- fusion ; she stopped, and listened^ she heard her father's name frequently repeated, and at length caught some w^ords, as if some acci- dent had happened to him. Now then everything else was forgotten in the appre- hension of his being in danger. She flew towards his apartment, which was on the other side of the castle ; but in crossing the great hall, she was detained by the young Baron of Hartfeld. — " Heaven be thanked, that I have found you, Lady 1" — said he, taking her hand aftectionately — " the Countess charged me to seek you, and prevent your being suddenly alarmed. Nay, look not so terri- 60 MISTRUST ; OR iied! on my knightly word there is no danger, and a few hours will restore your fiither to that fortitude, of which the too great sensibility of his nature has at present deprived him.''— — " Oh! what has happened? what has overcome his fortitude ? something dreadful surely! is he ill, Sir Ottokar? oh! assure me at least, that he is not ill !"— — " His illness is merely temporary ; by this time no doubt it is quite past. — It is true, his senses forsook him for a timej he fainted, and. . . . " — — " He fainted ? oh ! heavens I let me hasten to him this moment. , . , " — — " You must not, till you are more calm. Your present agitation would affect him, and probably occasion a relapse. Suffer me to lead you into a less public apartment ; there you shall hear all that has happened, and when your spirits are composed, you shall then carry peace and consolation to the wounded feelings of your father."- — BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 67 But the emotions of Blanche could admit of no delay ; she still hurried onwards ; and as in fact Sir Ottokar had only wished to de- tain her, in order that he might enjoy her society for a few minutes without re- straint, all that he had to communicate was told, before they reached the Count's chaiji- ber-door. Interlarding his discourse with many com- pliments to his auditress.and insinuations of the tender interest which he felt for her, the Baron now related, — " that the business of the Count of Frankheim's herald was to ac- cuse Gustavus of the assassination of the Count's youngest son, and to proclaim open and inveterate feuds between the families of Krankheim and Orrenberg. This the herald had not only announced to Gustavus in the most disrespectful manner, but had thought proper to repeat the purport of his mission publicly in the court yard ; at the same time accompanying his speech with such insult- ing remarks upon their master and his whole 68 family, that the indignation of the vassals became outrageous, and threatened the in- solent herald with consequences the most dangerous. " The Count of Orrenberg was alarmed at the tumult, and hastened to the court.yard to appease his incensed people, whose affection for them was unbounded. Gustavus was but lately recovered from a perilous malady, occasioned by grief for the loss of his last male-heir : he v/as still in a state of lamentable weakness, and the shock of being so unexpectedly accused of assassi- nation had greatly increased the irritability of his nerves, which naturally was excessive; yet still he exerted himself most strenuously in endeavouring to quell the confusion. But in vain did he command his vassals to be silent and temperate ; in vain did he conjure the herald to be gone, if he valued his own safety. The insolent emissary per- sisted in heaping taunt upon taunt, and slander upon slander. The people grew more incensed with every word, that he BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 69 Uttered ; and at length overcome with agi- tation, heat, fatigue, and weakness, Gusta- vus sank into the arms of his attendants, and was conveyed to his apartment in a state of insensibility. However, he was already nearly recovered, when Ulrica re- quested Sir Ottokar to seek her daughter, and relate what had happened, lest she should be unnecessarily alarmed.'* — But Blanche loved her father too dearly to believe, that he was quite out of danger, till her own eyes had convinced her of his health and safety. She found him very pale and feeble, and his recollection was yet scarcely clear enough to permit his perfectly understanding the events, which had taken place. Blanche sank on her knees by the couch, on which he was reposing, and threw her white arms round his neck affection- ately. — " You have heard it all, my child?'* said Gustavus j " you know, of how dread- 70 MISTRUST ; OR ful a crime your father is accused I but surely you will not believe me capable of . . . . " — ' — " Nor she, nor any one can believe it,'* interrupted Ulrica, " except those, who are interested in working the destruction of you and all your house. Nay more ; every one, except yourself, knew well, that sooner or later the rancour and avarice of Count Ru* diger must end in open war ; but I little thought, that he would have advanced so gross a falsehood, as an excuse for commenc- ing hostilities ! they to accuse you of mur- dering a child ! they, who themselves but seven months ago. deprived us. . . . " — — " Peace ! Peace ! Ulrica ; no more of that !•— But tell me. . . . my ideas are still so wandering. ... Is it then true, that Rudiger's son is murdered V' — -— " It is but too certain. He was found dead in one of our forests, and what makes the fact more distressing is, that one of our domestics was the assassin. He confest his BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 7l crime on the rack, and died in a few minutes afterwards : died (horrible to tell !) with a lye still warm upon his lips. For oh ! my husband, in his last moments he declared, that he had been bribed by you to assas- sinate the poor child!" — — " By me?" exclaimed Gustavus, and started from his couch ; " confest it ? no ; this is not to be endured ! under such an imputation there is no living. Bring my .armour ; saddle my steed ! I will hasten this moment to Frankheim ; I will assert my in- nocence with all the irresistible energy of truth ; I will demand to be tried by every ordeal, by fire, by water. . . . Nay, nay, de- tain me not, I must to Rudiger this instant, and either convince him that I am guiltless, or perish by his hand." — He was rushing towards the door, but all present hastened to impede his passage. — '^ Count, this is insanity !" exclaimed Sir Ottokar ; " you are rushing on inevit- able destruction ! Rudiger is not to be con- n vinced. He has vowed your destruction with the most solemn and terrible adjura- tions : nor your destruction only ; his ven- geance includes all, who are related to you, all who love you ! your wife, your daughter, your very domestics — " My daughter?" repeated Gustavus, clasping his hands in an agony of horror ; *^ my innocent Blanche ?*'— - — " All 1 all are involved in Count Ru- diger's plan of vengeance 1 he has sworn to give your castle a prey to the flames, and to feed them with its wretched inmates. No man, no woman, no child, no, not the very dog that now licks your hand, shall be suffered to escape 1 this did I myself hear the Count of Frankheim swear last night at the burial of his murdered child ; and his friends, his servants, his vassals, all made St. John's vaults echo, while with one voice they repeated the bloody, the diabolical oath. My friendship for you, my Lord, and my alarm for the safety of the Lady Blanche, BLANCHE AND OSBRIGilT. 73 made me hasten homewards to summon the assistance of my followers^ they are mount- ed to the number of forty, well-armed and accoutred, and I have conducted them hither prepared to spill the last drop of their blood in vindication of your innocence, and in defence of the Countess and vour lOvelv daughter." — — " I thank you. Sir Ottokar, and should there be no means of avoiding this unoatu- ral war, I shall profit with gratitude by your kind and ready friendship. But still I in- dulge the hopes of peace : I have no real fault towards Rudiger; and could I but contrive a personal interview with him. . . . could I but explain the injustice of his sus- picions. ... at least 1 will make the attempt ; and perhaps. . . Ha! well remembered! Kurt," he continued, addressing himself to a grey- headed domestic, who was standing near the door, " is the herald yet gone ?'' — — " Gone?" repeated the oldman5shak. VOL. I, E 74 MISTRUST; OK ing his head with a smile of satisfaction ; " No, truly, nor likely to go, the villain 1" — — " Then call him hither instantly. — He shall bear my request for an interview with Rudiger, and . . . How is this, Kurt ? why, do you still Hnger here ? I would have the herald come to me ; bring him this mo- ment i'.' — — " Bring him ? why, aye, to be sure I could easily do that ; but as to his comirtg^ he*d find that a difficult matter. . . . unless he can walk without his head. — Nay, my Lord, it is even so, and now all's out — the people's, rage was not to be bridled -, when they saw you fall, they thought, that the herald had stabbed you ; they fell upon him, men, women, and children, like so many mad- people, and before one could say — "Ave" — his head was off his shoulders, and nailed over the gateway between the two great kites."— — " Ulrica! — Ottokar !'' stammered th^ BLANCHE AND OSBRiGI-iT. *1S Count, and seemed, as If he had been struck by a thunder-bolt ; " is this true ? has my Castle indeed been polluted by so horrible an outrage ? — Almighty powers ! the mur- der of a herald. ... a character, ever held sacred even among the most barbarous na- tions. . . . murdered in my o\^Tl castle. . . . almost in my own sight. . . . Now then indeed the mischief is irremediable. From the imputation of this guilt never shall I be able to clear myself in Rudigcr's eyes V — — " Nay, my dear Lord," replied Sir Ottokar ; " let not this misfortune affect you so deeply. The insolent menial merited well such a fate; a fate which (/can witness, as I arrived in the heat of the tumult) you did your utmost to avert. But to save him was not within the power of a mortal. His calumnies. . . . his threats against your whole family, , . . Your people's hatred of Rudiger .... their consciousness, that he had deprived you of your son Philip by poison. . . . "- — — '' Aye, aye !" exclaimed GustaVus ; e2 •76 MISIRUST; OR "hear you that, Ulrica? now then you see the fatal effects of your mistrust ! now then you enjoy the bloody fruits of those un- grounded suspicions, which you so lightly infused into the minds of the rash and wanton multitude ! Oh ! my wife, I fear greatly, that at the day of judgment when this mur- der is cited, your hands will not appear quite bloodless ! God forgive you !" — The Countess shuddered, but only an- swered by a flood of tears. — " Spare your Lady;' my noble friend," said Ottokar, taking the Count's hand ; " even if your reproaches are deserved, they now come too late, and the present difficul- ties demand our attention too much to ad- mit of reflections on the past. The Frank- heimers are powerful and inveterate : Ru- diger has sworn the extirpation of your whole family; Osbright is returned from the wars to assist his father's plans of venge- ance : these human wolves thirst for your blood, and. . . . Earth and heavens ! can it be BLANCHE AND OSBKIGHT. 77 possible ? it is. . . . it must be the same ! — Pardon me. Lady Blanche -, by what strange accident do I see that scarf in your posses- sion ?"^ — " This scarf ? — you know it, Sir Knight ? — I came by it. . . . That is. ... I found it. ... as I was passing through the secret passages, which lead. . . . " — — " The secret passages ? Osbright of Frankheirn lurking in the secret passages of Orrenberg Castle ?" — — '' Osbright V* exclaimed Ulrica in the greatest alarm — " and you traversed those passages alone ? — Oh ! my child, from what a danger have you escaped ! No doubt, his purpose there " — • — '' Must needs have been hostile to the inmates of this Castle !" interrupted Otto- kar eagerly ; " perhaps. . . . perhaps, he was aware, that the lovely Blanche frequented those secret passages, and hoped, that his dagger might unobserved revenge. . . . '* — — " Oh ! no. Sir Knight," exclaimed the E 3 TS mistrust; or aHrighted Blanche, " you niisiiRderstood me ! no one was lurking in the secret paths! it was not there that 1 found the scarf; it v» as in the cavern of St. Ilildegarde. . . . and perhaps you mistake about the scarf too ! perhaps, it is not Osbf ight's ! oh • no, no, no ! heavenly mercy forbid, that it should be!''— — " Indeed?" said Ottokar, while jealousy whispered a thousand suspicions to his mind ; " nay, of that there is no doubt : it is the work of the Lady Magdalena, and too remarkable to be mistaken. Besides, in saving the Palatine's life in battle, Os- bright's. bosom "was slightly wounded ; his scarf was stained with blood, and I heard him swear, that the blood shed in his sove- reign's defence was the noblest ornament of his scarf, and should never be effaced — look, lady, look ! Osbright has kept his oath."— Blanche looked on the bloody marks ; the scarf fell from her hands, and she clasp- ed them in an agony of despair. With every BLANCHE AND OSBRlGHT. 79 moment did Sir Ottokar's jealous fears grow more strong, and his desire to impress Blanche with an idea of Osbriojht's animo- sity more keen and anxious. — " But one thing more !*' said Blanche Vvith difficuky, while she almost gasped for breath — " that horrible curse, which you spoke of. . . . which Rudiger. .^ . . which hi:^ vassals pronounced. . . . was it pronounced by Osbright ? was Osbright in the chapel, when it was pronounced ?" — — " He was, lady 1 he was [" repUed Ot* tokar, eagerly and peremptorily; " I was near the chapel-door, and saw him rush into the chapel with a maniac*s look, his eyes burning with vengeance, his lips pale wath passion, his whole frame trembling with eagerness, and with fear lest he should be too late to join in the horrible execration. — ^I heard Count Rudiger de» vote to destruction your father, your mother, your innocent self! I saw Osbright rush furiously forward to join his father ;: e4 80 MISTRUST ; OR and instantly every voice except my own re- echoed the dreadful words — " vengeance I everlasting vengeance on the bloody house of Orrenbera: !'' — — " And did not one kind voice," said Blanche faintly, " did no suggestion of pity .... ah ! did no one utter one word to plead for the poor Blanche V — — " No one, lady ! no one, as I have a soul to save !" — — " Oh ! I am very faint, my mother [" murmured Blanche, and bursting into tears she sank upon the bosom of Ulrica. Her pale looks and trembling frame great- ly alarmed her parents ; but believing her agitation to be solely produced by apprehen- sion and by horror at the dreadful threats pronounced against her life by the Frank- heimers, they advised her to retire to rest and compose herself. Blanche willingly accepted the permission of departing, and hastened to meditate in the solitude of her chamber on the fatal discovery, which acci- dent had just made. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 81 CHAP. V, '^ Let no one say, that there is need Of time for Iofc to grow : Oh ! no ; the love, which kills indeed, Dispatches at a blow. *' Love all at once should from the earth Start up full-grown and tall : If not an Adam at his birth. He is no love at all." Lord Holland /rowz Lope de Vega. While these transactions were passing at Orrenberg, Osbright was anxiously employ- ed in finding means to remove all existing prejudices, and establish a dose and lasting e5 Sli MISTRUST 5 OR j amity between the rival kinsmen. He found Sir Lennard of Kleeborn willing to assist his design, and scrupled not to lay before hiiiT the dearest secret of his bosom. So great had been his father's apprehen- sions of treachery on the part of Orrenbei»g, that Osbright was seldom suffered to visit his paternal mansion. Year after year, how- ever, having past away without any fatal effects arising from the supposed avaricious views df Gustavus, and the youth being now of an age to take his own part, Count Rudi- ger about nine months before had gratified himself and his fondly anxious Consort by the recall of his first-born son. The break- ing out of hostihties compelled Osbright to leave the Castle of Frankheim a second time; but previous to his departure it had been his fortune to rescue the lovely Blanche from the hands of ruffians, and at the same moment to receive and impart a passion the most ardent and irradicable. Blanche declared her name to her deliverer, 2 BLANCHE AND OSBTllGHT. 8$ and earnestly entreated him to accompany her to the Castle of Orrenberg, where her parents would receive their child's deliverer with all the warmth of heart-felt 2:ratitude : but Osbright's prudence forbade his taking, so dangerous a step, especially when the dis- course of his mistress convinced him, how deeply engraved, and how odious in their nature, were the prejudices attached to the name of Frankheim in the minds of the inmates of Orrenberg. Educated himself at the court of Bamberg, his heart was un- tainted by the gloomy mistrust, v/hich (with the solitary exception of Magdalena) he found prevaihng throughout his father's domains ; and the knowledge of Blanelie-s family name instantly suggested to his fancy the pleasing hope, that their union might be the means of extinguishing the animosity, which prevailed between two families so nearly related; but he found that the mind of Blanche was very dirJerentiy modelled^ Tlie Lady Ulrica was naturally of a. temper E 6 ■ 84 MISTRUST; OR timid and suspicious. Jealousy of her lord's early attachment to Magdalena had origin- ^ ally disposed her to consider the actions of the Frankheimers in no favourable point of view ; her father's unfortunate bequest made her regard them as persons, whose in- terest must necessarily lead them to wish for the extinction of her famaly ; a variety of trifling circumstances, which her jaundiced imagination made her see in false colours, strengthened her in this persuasion ; and the successive deuths of four sons thoroughly persuaded her, that she had not evil wishes alone to fear on the part of those, who would benefit so greatly by depriving her of her children. All these ideas had been imbibed by her only remaining offspring. Blanche from her infancy had been accustomed to pray, that the virgin would preserve her from Satan and the Frankheimers ; at the mention of Rudiger's name she never failed to cross herself ; afid while she was thanking Osbright for her rescue from the ruffians, he X BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 85 could scarcely help smiling at the positive- ness, with which she assured him of their having been emissaries either of his wicked father or of his blood-thirsty self ! Till these prejudices so deeply-rooted could be effaced, Osbright thought it abso- lutely necessary to conceal his name, and to refuse Blanche's invitation to visit the Castle of Orrenberg. At the drawrbridge he re- spectfully took his leave, and in return for his service, he only requested her word of honour, that she would not mention her ad- venture to any human being. Though sur- prized at the entreaty, Blanche could not refuse to give this promise ; not to mention, that she was herself apprehensive, that if the danger which she had ran should be made public, her mother's anxious care would never again suffer her to pass the walls of Orrenberg. This promise therefore she gave readily ; but she hesitated a little, when t^e unknown youth exprest an ardent hope, that he should in future be permitted to 84 MISTRUST; OR timid and suspicious. Jealousy of her lord's early attachment to Magdalena had origin- ally disposed her to consider the actions of the Frankheimers in no favourable point of view ; her father's unfortunate bequest made her regard them as persons, whose in- terest must necessarily lead them to wish for the extinction of her family ; a variety of trifling circumstances, which her jaundiced imagination made her see in false colours^ strengthened her in this persuasion ; and the successive deaths of four sons thoroughly persuaded her, that she had not evil wishes alone to fear on the part of those, who would benefit so greatly by depriving her of her children. All these ideas had been imbibed by her only remaining offspring. Blanche from her infancy had been accustomed to pray, that the virgin would preserve her from Satan and the Frankheimers ; at the mention of Rudiger's name she never failed to cross herself ; aftd while she was thanking Osbright for her rescue from the ruffians, he 1 BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 85 could scarcely help smiling at the positive- ness, with which she assured him of their having been emissaries either of his wicked father or of his blood-thirsty self! Till these prejudices so deeply-rooted could be effaced, Osbright thought it abso- lutely necessary to conceal his name, and to refuse Blanche's invitation to visit the Castle of Orrenberg. At the drawrbridge he re- spectfully took his leave, and in return for his service, he only requested her word of honour, that she would not mention her ad- venture to any human being. Though sur- prized at the entreaty, Blanche could not refuse to give this promise ; not to mention, that she was herself apprehensive, that if the danger which she had ran should be made public, her mother's anxious care would never again suffer her to pass the walls of Orrenberg. This promise therefore she gave readily ; but she hesitated a Uttle, when tlj^e unknown youth exprest an ardent hope, that he should in future be permitted to 88 MISTRUST ; OR his accomplishments and dignified frankness of his manners, convinced her, that the sphere, in which he moved, must needs be elevated. Such w^as the present situation of the lovers, which Osbright now laid before the good Sir Lennard. His host heard him with evident satisfaction ; and his excellent heart exulted in the prospect of a reconciliation between two families, the chiefs of which had both been his earliest friends, and with whom (in despite of their disunion) he was still upon the most amicable terms. He therefore said everything in his power to confirm Osbright in his attachment. He exclaimed loudly against the injustice of sup- posing Gustavus to be concerned in tfce death of Joscelyn : he described him as the most humane of mortals, a man, whose fault was rather to push compassion and bene- volence beyond the limits of reason and pru- dence, than to be seduced into the commis- sion of a crime so atrocious as the murder of BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 89 an unoffending child ; and as to the tempta- tion which was supposed to have influenced Gustavus in this transaction, he quoted a thousand acts of disinterestedness and gene- rosity, each strong enough to convince even the most prejudiced, that the man, who performed them, must possess a mind totally free from the pollution of avarice. In con- clusion Sir Lennard promised the youtli his best offices ; and as he judged it m.ost ad-. viseable to make the whole business known to Gustavus as soon as possible, he en- gaged to visit the Castle of Orrenberg the next day, where he was certain, that Os- bright's proposals would be received with eagerness. The great point, however, wa& to remove from Rudiger's mind the per- suasion, that Gustavus had caused his. younger son to be assassinated, and he ad- vised Osbright to spare no pains to dis- cover the real murderers : that mystery opxe cleared up, all other difficulties be look- ed upon as trifles. Osbright received Sir f^9 MISTRUST; OR Lennard's advice with gratitude, promised to obey it implicitly, and having past the night at his friend's castle, he returned with renovated hopes to the Chapel of St. John. Father Peter gave him the most cordial welcome, though still ignorant, that his humble cell was honoured by affording a re- fu2re to the heir of Frankheim. Osbrlcrht made him repeat the story of tiie murder circumstantially, and among other things the old man mentioned, that the little finger of Joscelyn's left hand was missing, when his corse was found, and that it had been re- peatedly sought on the fatal spot, but with- out success. This circumstance struck Os- bright as very singular, and he thought it not impossible, but that it might furnish a clue to unravel the whole mystery. But with much more sanguine expectations did he learn from Father Peter, that the assassin had left a wife, for whom (even while enduring the agony of the rack) he exprest the most ardent affec- BLANCHE AJTD OSBtirCIiT. M tion. Was it not probable then, that this beloved wife was in her husband's confi- dence, and could explain tlie motive, which tempted him to commit the crime ? Osbright resolved to examine her himself; but he found, that she had gone to visit a relation at some distance, where she was said to be inconsolable for the loss of her ill-fated husband. To depart without seeing Blanche was too much to be expected ; he therefore determined to pass the day in Father Peter's cell, to visit St. Hildegarde's Grotto in the evening, and after assuring himself that the heart of Blanche was still his own, to set forward on his expedition witliout suffering a moment*s longer delay. Evening approached; and Osbright was crossing the aisle, which led towards the principal gate of the chapel, when his atten- tion was arrested by the murmuring of a voice, proceeding from . a small oratory de- dicated to the Virgin. The door was open, and he cast a passing glance within. A youth 92 was kneeling at the shrine in fervent prayer, and a second glance assured Osbright, that the youth was the page, Eugene. Enthusiasm seemed to have marked Eu- gene for her own, even from his earliest in- fancy ; and succeeding events had given to that enthusiasm an universal cast of tender melancholy. Rudlger esteemed and ad- mired the Lady Magdalen a ; but a visit to the Convent of St. Hiidegarde several years after his marriage convinced him, that he had never loved till then. He there saw a sister of the order, who made upon his heart the most forcible impression ; and though Rudiger possest many noble quahties, the mastery of his passions was not numbered among them. The personal attractions, which had gained for him the heart of Magdalena, were equally triumphant over the principles of the sister Agatha ; she eloped with him from the convent, and became the mother of Eugene. But all the blandishments of her seducer, BLANCHE AND OSBRIGIIT. 03 *whose love survived the gratification of his desires, could not stifle in her bosom the cries of remorse. She saw herself the dis- grace of her noble family, and the violator , of the sacred marriage-bed; the dread of discovery constantly tormented her ; her perjury to heaven made her look upon her- self as a mark for divine vengeance ; she trembled every moment with apprehension of punishment in this world, and she des- paired of obtaining pardon in the next. At length her mental sufferings became too ex- quisite for endurance; she resolved to break the disgraceful chains, which united her to Rudiger, and endeavour to atone for her past errors by the penitence of her future life. She made by letter a full confession to the Lady Magdalcna; entreated pardon for herself, and protection for her helpless in- fant ; and then hastened to conceal her igno- miny in a retreat, to discover w^hieh baffled all the inquiries of her forsaken seducer. Magdalcna forgave her husband's faults. ^t MlSTPtUST; OR pitied his sufferings, and became the benevo- lent protectress of his child. It was thought highly adviseable for the sake of his own re- spectability, that Rudiger should be supposed to have no concern in this business, and that the disgraceful circumstances attending the child's birth should be supprest, as much as possible. Accordingly, Eugene was edu- cated as a foundling, whose helpless situation had attracted Magdalena's notice and com- passion ; but this fortunate delusion was not suffered to last. The wretched mother felt that her end was approaching, and could not resist her desire to see and bless her child, though she prudently resolved to keep her relation to him still unknown. Remorse, and self-enforced penance the most cruel, had worn her to the v^ry bone* Opprest with long travel, her feet bleeding, fainting, dying, she arrived at the Castle of Frankheim, She sought out her boy ; she saw him ; and in an agony of tenderness and grief the mother's heart betrayed her secret. BLANCHE ANI>OSBRIGHT. 9^ The boy's character had ever appeared singu- lar. He entered into no childish sports ; he would listen for hours to stories of murders, or robbers, but above all he delighted in the narrative of religious miracles and the suf- ferings of martyrs. His favourite walk was in the church-yard, where he past whole evenings, learning by heart the rhymes en- graved upon the tombstones. He was sel- dom moved to laughter ; even in his smile there was something melancholy ; nor had he any way of expressing joy or gratitude, except by tears. Every word, look, and gesture already betrayed the enthusiast ; and from his fondness for all church ceremonies and his continually chaunting religious hymns, he had obtained among the domestics of Frankheim the name of the Little Abbot. Such was the boy, who at ten years old saw himself unexpectedly clasped in the arms of an expiring mother, whom he had long numbered among the dead. The sudden recognition j her wild and emaciated appear- 96 MISTRUST; OR tince; her tattered garments, her bleeding feet ; the passion of her kisses, the agony of her tears j the description of her faults, of her remorse, of her terrors of the future, of her dreadful and unexampled penance ; all these united were too much for Eugene's sensibility to endure ! when in spite of all Magdalena's efforts to prolong her existence, the wretched mother breathed her last, the son was forcibly torn from the corse deliri- ous. No sooner had the report reached the Countess, that a dying beggar had declared herself to be Eugene's mother, than she has- tended to assist the sufferer, and rescue the feeling child from a scene so terrible. But she arrived too late ; a few moments termi- nated the Nun's existence, and Eugene had already received a shock, which during a twelvemonth set the physician's skill at de- fiance. His senses at length returned; but his heart never seemed to recover from the BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 97 wound, which had agonised it so exquisitely. Pale, drooping, absorbed in thought, no- thing seemed capable of affording him plea- sure. He declined all amusements ; he ne- glected all attainments, both, literary and warlike : and when chid by the chaplain for inattention to his lessons, and when mocked by the miUtary vassals for effeminacy, he listened to their reproofs and taunts with indifference, and answered both with silence. His time was past in listless indolence ; he would stand hour after hour dropping peb- bles in the river, and gazing upon the cir- cles as they formed themselves and then vanished into nothing. Vain were the exeiv tions of Magdalena and her husband to awaken him from this torpor of the mind: though compelled to endure their kindness, he evidently felt it a burthen, and sedulously avoided it. Agatha's sad story occupied his whole soul: he could not but consider Mag- ^lena as hlling t^e place, which his mother should have occupied j he could not but con- VOL, I. - F 98 MISTRUST ; OR sider Rudiger, as the author of his mother's sufFerings; andthough the Count ahnost doat- ed upon the boy with a truly paternal ten- derness, the most that he could obtain from him was implicit submission and cold re- spect. Eugene only saw in himself a forlorn being, whose odious birth had branded his mother with infamy, and whose existence was given under circumstances too disgrace^ ful to permit his being avowed by his sur- viving parent. Magdalena's kindness was the offspring of mere compassion ; the me- mory of his mother's wrongs was insepar- ably connected with the sight of his father : he felt, that he had no claim to the love of any one, nor did he see any one, towards whom his heart felt love, till accident made him the preserver of the little Joscelyn. The child had strayed from its careless nurse, and fell into the river. No one but Eugene saw its danger, who having obsti- nately refused to practise all manly exercises. BLAKCHE AND OSUPaoHT. 99 was totally ignorant of the art of swimming. The river was deep, the stream was strong ; to attempt to save Joscelyn was to expose himself to equal danger : yet without a mo- ment's hesitation did the effeminate Eugene plunge into the river, gra^p the child's gir- ments with one hand and the bough of a neighbouring willow with the other ; and thus did he sustain his already insensible burthen, till his frantic cries attracted the notice of the domestics. They hastened to the place, and arrived at the very moment, when the bough giving way menaced the child and his preserver with inevitable de- struction. PYom that moment Joscelyn became the object of Eugene's whole soUcitude and af- fection. He was his brother, was a being who had no faults in his eyes, and was one, who but for him would have been number- ed with the dead. Attachment to Joscelyn now divided his heart with grief for the earthly sufferings of his mother, and with F 2 l.GO MISTRUST j OR religious terrors for lier eternal salvation. However, as he increased in years, it was suspected in the castle, that other passions V\^ould ere long possess no inconsiderable in- fluence over his bosom. Though he still shunned society, it was remarked, that he only shunned that of men : in the company of women, his habitual gloom seemed to inelt into a voluptuous languor. The Countess's damsels perceived, that when they addrest him in the language of kind- ness, his large eyes swam in tears and spark- led with fire, and the rush of blood spread a hectic crimson over his _ pale fair cheeks. Moreover it was observed, that though his devotions w^ere performed with unabated ardour, after he reached the age of fifteen Eugene prayed to no saint but female ones. Even now it was to the Virgin, that he was kneeling, when Osbright discovered him in the Oratory. During his short visits at Frankhcim, the knight's attention had been BLANCHE AND O SB RIGHT. I'Ol engaged by the singularity of the Page's demeanour; and though respect for his own character had induced Rudi^rer to conceal the relationship between himself and Eugene from his son's knowledge, still Osb right, promp*^ed by his own feelings, had neglected no means of showing the boy, that he bore him much good-will. But his advances were all rejected with the most obstinate coldness: Eugene only looked uron him as the posses- sor of thai place, which, if his own mother had filled Magdalena's,he should himself have occupied : he could not help envying Count Rudiger's f. rtunate heir and avowed off- spring : and \\hen he reflected, that but for this odious elder brother, his darling Josce- lyn would one day be lord of the exten- sive domains of Frankheim, a sentiment mingled itself with his envy and repugnance, which nothing but his religious principles prevented from becoming hatred. As a Christian, he would not hate any one; but as a human^ being, he felt, that it was impos- f 3 102 MISTRUST ; OR sible for Irm to love Count Rudiger's eldest son and J sce'yn's elder brother. Finding his attentions so ill repaid, Os- bright bcotovv'ed no further thought on the wayward lad ; and the interest, with which he at this moment surveyed him, arose frcm the recollection of Eugene's ardent attach- ment to the murdered child. He listened in mournful silence, while the Page poured forth his, lamentations in a strain of devotion the most ardent ; with a thousand touching expressions, with enthusiasm' almost deliri- ous, he described his favourite's perfections, and bewailed his own irreparable loss ; but what was the knight's astonishment to hear the Page conclude his orisons by imploring the blessed spirit of Joscelyn to protect from every danger, and watch with coelestial care the precious life of Blanche of Orren- berg ! An exclamation of surprise burst from Osbright's lips, and warned Eugene of his being over-heard. The Page started from BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 103 the ground, and in his confusion a rosary- formed of ebony and coral escaped from his hands. Osbright sprang forwards, and seized it, for he knew that rosary well j and had he doubted its identity, the name of Blanche engraved upon the golden crucifix would have removed all hesitation on the subject : in an instant a thousand jealous fears rushed before his fancy. The lad was singularly beautiful : his figure, light and ex- quisitely formed, might have served the Statuary as a model for a Zephyr ; confusion had spread over his cheeks an unusual glow^, and his bright and flowing hair glittered in the sun-beams like dark gold. Osbright eyed him v/ith displeasure, and asked him haughtily, how that rosary came into his hands. — " Noble sir," replied Eugene, trembling and embarrassed ; " I. ... I found it : — I found it near the cave of St. Hilde-siarde." — — " And of course you know not its F4 104 MISTRUST ; OR owner, or I should not find it still in your possession ?*' — (Eugene was silent.) — " Well ! the workmanship pleases me ; there is a diamond of price ; take it,Eug(sne, and let the rosary be mine." — He drew a ring from his finger, and pre- sented It to the page ; but it was not ac- cepted. — '-^ Oh ! Sir . Osbright," exclaimed Eu- gene, and sank upon his knee ; " take my life from me ; it is at your disposal \ but while I live, do not deprive me of that rosary. — It is my only remembrance of an event so dear to me. ... Of the day, in which I first found existence valuable ! — Three months are past, since while following my Lord, your father, to the chace, my horse became ungovernable, and bore me to the brink of a precipice. My efforts to restrain him were in vain : I at length sprang from his back, but too late to save myself. I rolled down the declivity, and BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 105 was dashed to the bottom of the preci- pice. I lost my senses, but projecting shrubs doubtless broke liiy descentjand preserved me from destruction. On opening my eyes, I believed, that my fall had killed me, and that I was in Heaven already : for near me knelt a form so angelic, with looks so bene-^ volent, with eyes so expressive of compas- sion ! and she questioned me about my safety in so sweet a voice ! and she related with an air of such interest, how in re- turning from St. Hildegarde's Grotto she had observed my fall ; how she had trem- bled for my life, and had brought water from the cave to wash off the blood, and had torn her veil to bind up my wounded head 1 and then she bade me so tenderly be of good chear, for that the danger was past, and that she hoped, I should soon be quite well ! Oh ! how valu- able did my life , then become in my own f5 10(5 MISTRUST; OR eyes, when I found, that it had some worth in hers !"— - — " And you knew not her name ?" — •' Oh! no, my Lord, not then: but alas ! lier terror too soon made me guess it : for no sooner did I mention the Castle of Frankhcim as my abode, than she utter- ed a loud shriek, started from the ground with every mark of horror and alarm, and fled from me with the rapidity of an arrow. Then did my foreboding heart tell me too truly, that she, in whom the bare mention of Frankheim could ex- cite such aversion, must needs belong to the hostile family of Orrenberg. That suspicion was confirmed, when I observ- ed lying near me this rosary, which she had forgotten in her haste, and whose cru- cifix bears the dear, dear name of Blanche ! a name, which from that moment I blest in every prayer ! a name, which has ever since 1 BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. lOj been held in my fancy sacred as that of my Patron-Sain ! '— — " And you saw her no more ? and you spoke to her o mor ? — Nay answer me with frankness, boy, or I swear. . . . " — — " Oh ! be patient, good my Lord ; I mean not to deceive you. Yes ; once more, only once I addrest her ; I would have re- stored her rosary ; I wished to thank her for her timely succour : but the moment that she beheld me, her former terrors returned. She sb ieked out — ' a Frankheimer V — and hastened away, as if flying from an assassin. Thenceforward I accosted her no more : I found that the sight of me alarmed her, and I forbore to intrude upon Her, whom my whole soul adores, a presence so hateful ! you now know all : noble knight, restore my rosary." — The frankness of this narration dissipated entirely Osbright's jealous terrors. The im- passioned yet respectful manner, in which Blanche was mentioned, and the height of F 6 108 MISTRUST; OR admiration which the sight of her had in- spired, both pleased and softened him ; and he could not help feeling himself strongly- influenced in favour of the young enthu- siast, whose heart beat so perfectly in unison with. his. own. Yet he judged it prudent to conceal that favourable impression, and ac- company the surrender of the rosary with a lecture on the folly of his nourishing so^ hopeless a passion. — " There is your rosary," said he, as- suming a severity of tone and manner very foreign to his feelings; " though I know not, whether in restoring it I do you any kind- ness. Imprudent youth, for whom do you feel this excess of adoration ? for the daugh- ter of your patron's most inveterate enemy ; of a man, accused of the murder of your dearest friend ; of one, against whom scarce forty hours ago you vowed in this very chapel. . . . " — " Oh ! no, no, no !'* exclaimed the Page with a look of horror ; " 1 vowed nothing ; I BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 109 ■took no oath ; I heard, but joined not in the blasphemy ; and when all around me cursed the devoted family of Orrenberg, I prayed for the angel Blanche !" — — " For the daughter of Joscelyn's sup- posed assassin ? Joscelyn, whom you profest to love so truly, that your life. . . . '' — — *' Oh ! and I did love Joscelyn, truly, dearly ! but I feel, that I love Blanche even better than Joscelyn, a thousand, oh! and a thousand times!" — ^' Love her indeed ? . alas, poor youth ! love whom ? the only child of the rich and noble Count of Orrenberg ; after me, the , heiress of all those domains, on which you have been educated through my father's charity. Blanche, Countess of Orrenberg, and the orphan Page, Eugene, a foundlings without family, without friends ; how ill do these names sound together ! my gQo4 lad, 1 mean not to wound, your feelings, but observe, how hopeless is your present pursuit J rouze yourself from your romantic no MISTRUST ; OR dream, and erase from your heart this frantic passion !*' — During this speech, the glow faded from the cheeks of Eugene ; the fire of enfhusiasm no longer blazed in his eyes ; the deepest gloom of melancholy overspread his counte- nance. His head sank upon his bosom, and his eyes were filled with tears. — " True ! true ! Sir Knight," said he after a short pause ; " I know it well ! I am an orphan-boy, without family, without friends ! God help me !" — He prest the crucifix to his trembling lips, bowed his head to Osbright with humi- lity, and turned to leave the chapel. Osbright was deeply affected, and he suf- fered him to pass him in silence : but soon recollecting himself — " stay, Eugene," said he, calling after him, and the Page stopped ; " I would not have my parents know, that I am in their neighbourhood ; should you revcal,that I am hcre5my displeasure. . . . — " — ^^ I reveal ?" interKupted Eugene proud- BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. Ill ly ; " I am no tale-bearer, Sir Knight !" — and he quitted the chapel, his passion for Blanche inflamed by the opposition ' made to it, and his antipathy to Osbright strength- ened by resentment at his being the person who opposed it. 112 mistrust; or CHAP. VL — '' My life I my soul ! my all that Heaven can give 1 Death's life with thee, without thee death to live!" — DRYDEN» While Osbright was employed in smooth* ing the real obstacles to their union, his iTiistress was the victim of imaginary terror. •^Sh^ had discovered in her unknown lover the son of her father's most inveterate BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT.^ 115 enemy ; a man too, whom from her cradle she had been taught to consider with horror^ and who (according to Sir- Ottokar's ac- count) had* taken a most solemn and irrevo- cable oath to exterminate herself and her whole family. She now believed, that Os- bright's protestations were all false, and only calculated to beguile her to destruction ; or else that' he was ignorant of, her origin, when he pretended affection ; or that, even if in spite of her bearing the detested name of Orrenbcrg, he had still formerly felt a real love for her, she doubted not, that grief for his brother's murder and thirst cf venge- ance had converted that love into hatred, and that he would seize the first opportu- nity of fulfilling his horrible vow by plung- ing his dagger in her bosom. But she prudently resolved to afford him no such opportunity. The image of her loved preserver no longer beckoned her to the Grotto ; she only saw there him, whom her prejudiced fancy Jiad delighted to load 1 14 MISTRUST ; OR with every vice, and who thirsted to sign in her blood his claim to the rich inherit- ance of her parents. No! to St. Hildegarde's Grotto she would venture no more : that was a point determined ! — And it re^ mained determined for a whole long day and night : but when the second morning arrived, her resolution faltered ; and when the evening was at handj her prudence totally failed. Yet another hour, and the knight would be waiting for her in the cave; and for what purpose he waited, now ap- peared to (her but of little consequence. He might murder her, it*s true ; but to see him no m^ore she felt, was but to perish by a more painful though m»ore hngering death, and she determined to ascertain the worst immediately. Her mother was occupied by household arrangements. Gustavus was in close conference with Sir Lennard of Klee- born, who was just arrived : no one ob- served her movements, and she employed her liberty in hastening to the grotto of St. Hildagax'de. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 1J5 ^o one was there ; and now a new terror eized her, lest Osbright should not mean to ;ome. She seated herself on a broken stone vhich had rolled from the rock above, and vas lost in melancholy reflections, when ome one took her hand gently. She look- id up ; Osbright stood before her ; but in he moment of surprize she only saw in him he dreaded assassin, and uttering a cry of error, her first movement wzs to fly from he place. The knight started back in asto- lishment. But she soon recollected herself, ind returned. — " Is it you then r" she said, endea- vouring to assume a tranquil look, and ex- ending her hand with a smile, equally ex- [jressiv^ of tenderness and melancholy 5 • Ifea d I thought ^'— — " I . hat did you think ? what could pur innocence have to fear ?'* — and he r^ently drew her back to the seat, whieh she had quitted, and took his place by her side. 116 MISTRUST ; OR — " I feared. . . . that some enemy. . . that some assassin. . . . that some emissary of the Count of Frankheim. . . . " — — '" Ah ! Blanche 1 still this aversion ? to belong to Frankheim is sufficient to become! the object of your hate." — — " All, who belong to Frankheim, hatC; mer— — " Not all^ Blanche, certainly." — — "•' The Count at least."— — *' Deadest Blanche ! did you but know the pain, which 1 feel, when you calumniate the Count, . . . ! he is stern and passionate I confess, but he has ever been an h nour- able man. — Shall I own to you the truth, my Blanche? the Count is my friend, is my best friend ! his affection is my prov.dest boast ; his commands I have never dis- obeyed. . . . " — — ^' Indeed?— and never will ?" — ~'^ Never ; at least, I hope not 1 his com« niands from my earliest infancy have ever BLANCHE ANp.a^IJ.IGHT. 117 been to me as a law, and. . . . ray love 1 why thus pale ? what alarms you ?. what distres- ses' you ?" — — " 'Tis nothing ! it wdll soon be past ! I am not quit<3 well, and. . . . " — — " You speak still more faintly ! — stay pne moment 1 I will bring water for you from the grotto." — . — " Oh! no, no, no!" she exclaimed, and detained him by his arm. He stopped, surprized at the eagerness with which she spoke. — " Yet *tis no matter 1" she con- tinued ; " bring it, if you will ; I will drink it."— . — " I will return instantly 1" said he, and hastened to the water-fall. Blanche started wildly from her seat ; she sank upon her knees, covered her face with her hands, and prayed for a few moments fervently and silently. — " Now then," she said in a firm voice, while she rose from the ground ; " now then I am prepared for everything. Let hina 118 MISTRUST ; OR l)ring me what he will, be it water, or be it poison, from his hands will I receive it without hesitation, and die, if he will have it so, without a murmur.'* — A consecrated goblet ever stood upon the rustic altar of St. Hildegarde ; it was sup- posed to be that, which had once pressed; the blessed lips of the Saint, and even the' starving robber respected its sanctity. Os-. bright hastily filled it, and returning to his mistress, urged her to taste the water which it contained. Blanche received the cup with a trembling hand, and fixing her eyes upon his counten- ance — " will it not chill me too suddenly V* she asked. ■ — " You need not drink mucii of it ; a few drops will be sufficient to produce the effect desired." — " Indeed ? is it so powerful then ? nay, it is all the better. See, Sir Knight, you arc obeyed ; from your hands even this is wel- come !" — and she placed the goblet to h^ BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 119 lips, nor doubted that she drank a farewell to the world. — " Look!'* she resumed restoring the cup ; "have I swallowed enough? are you satisfied ?" — — " Blanche !" exclaimed* the youth, his surprize at her demeanor increasing with every moment ; " what is the matter ? what means this mysterious conduct ? you seem to me so much altered. . . . " — — " Already ? does it then work so spee- dily ? nay, then I must be sudden, and here all disguise shall end. You promised, when I saw you last, that at our next meeting you would disclose your name : I know it already, Osbright of Frankheim ; know the hatred, which you bear to me and mine; know the dreadful oath, which was taken last night in the chapel of St. John, and know also that you have now made one step towards fulfilling it. Osbright, when I raised yonder goblet to my lips, I was not ignorant that it contained poison, .... " — — " Poison ?" interrupted Osbright j 120 MISTRUST ; OR - *' • what ! . you believe then. . . . you suspect .... yet believe it still ! yes, Blanche, yes 1 let this convince you, that the cup, which you have tasted, Osbright will raise to his lips with joy, even though that cup be poisoned 1" — and he seized the goblet, and drank its contents with eagerness. — ^' Osbright ! my own Osbright !'* ex- claimed Blanche, and sank upon her lover's bosom ; " oh ! that it were indeed poison, and that I might die with you in this mo- ment, for to live with you I feel myself un- worthy ! shame upon me 1 how could I for one instant belie your generous nature so grossly ! never, no, never more will I suspect. . . . " — — " Nor me, nor any one, my Blanche, I hope, without some better reason. Oh ! banish from your bosom the gloomy fiend, Mistrust ; so pure a shrine should never be polluted by an inmate so odious ! away with the prejudices, which have been so carefully instilled into ypur youthful mind : see no BLANCHE AND OSBRIGIIT. Ig-i more with the eyes of parents ; see with your own, my^ Blanche, and judge by your own good heart of the fedings of others. Then will the world again become lovely in your sight, for you will see it the abode of truth, of virtue, of affection; then will this host of imagined enemies be converted into a band of real friends ; then will your mind be freed from these visionary terrors, so in- jurious to others, so painful to yourself, which ROW fill your waking thoughts with anxiety, and your nightly dreams with gloomy re- collections. You have told me yourself, that you have frequently started from sleep exclaiming, that Count Rudiger of Frank- heim was at hand : and yet this Count Rudiger is Osbright's father ! you have mistaken me ; you are mistaken in A/>;/, and. . . . ?"— — " In the Count ? Oh ! no, no, no, Os- btight ! impossible ! Indeed, indeed the Count is a very fierce, a very cruel man! ah I your partiality blinds you ; but if you knew VOL. I. G 122 MISTRUST; OR as well as I do. ... but I was forbidden to mention it. . . . r'' — " And have you still secrets from me^ Blanche ? From this moment I have none to you.''— • — " Nay, look not so sad ; you shall know all ; and you should have known it before, ' but that you ever spoke so warmly in favour ' of the Count, that I was unwilling to grieve you. Well then, Osbright ; it is certain, (^'w/Y^ certain!) that the Count of Frank- heim caused my poor brother Philip to be poisoned." — — " Indeed ? quite certain ? and do you know, Blanche, that it is equally certain, nay, mtich more certain, that the Count of Or- renberg caused my brother to be assassinated in Burnholm wood?" — — " Oh ! most atrocious calumny ! oh ! falsehood most incredible ! what ! my father, whose actions. . . . '' — — " My father never did an unworthy action, either, Blanche."— BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 125 — " Nay, but I saw with my cwn eves the livid spotSjwith which Philip's neck. . . . '' — — " I too saw with mine the deep wound, which gaped on poor Joscelyn*s bosom.'* — — " The attendants, the physician, all have told me themselves " — — " Every inmate of Frankheim Castle heard the confession. . . . '* — — " That your father had bribed Philip's nurse, who left us about a week before his illness. ... — — " That assassins were bribed by your father to murder Joscelyn while hunting.'' — — " Nay, what is more strong, my mother herself assured me. . . . " — — " But what is still stronger than tliat is, that your father's crime was actually con- ies t by the very assassins themselves." — — " Well, Osbright, you surely cannot xpect me to see everything with your oyes...."— — " Should / see everything: witji youn. Blanche T' — G 2 124? ^USTRUST; OR — " Nor to believe my dear good father, whose heart I know so well, guilty of a crime so base and so atrocious !" — — " Does not the argument hold equally good for me, Blanche ? your father may be innocent of Joscelyn*s death, but so is mine of .Philip's ; you love your father well, but not better, than I love mine. Each thinks the other's father to be guilty; why may not each be wrong? both believe their own father to be innocent, and why should not both be right ?" — — " Oh ! that it were so ! how gladly should I banish from my bosom these gloomy terrors, which now torture it so cruelly. No, Osbright ; the heart may feel, but the tongue can never utter, how painful it is for me to hate one, who is so much beloved by you ! — Osbright thanked her by a kiss, the purest and the warmest that ever was sealed upon the lip of woman : and he now proceeded to unfold to her his intentions of seeking the 3 BLANCHE AND OSBRIGIIT. 125 wicio\^ of the assassin, and endeavouring to learn from her the real motives of her hus- band for murdering the innocent Josce- lyn. She approved of his design, and then urged his immediate departure, as the even- ing was already closing round them, and Osbright's road lay through a forest, ren- dered dangerous in several parts by pit-falls and not entirely free from wild beasts. Osbright obeyed ; but he first advised her to visit St. Hildegarde*s Grotto no more till his return, of which he could easily apprize her by means of Sir Lennard of Kleeborn. — " For I must confess,'* he added, " though I am certain, that nothing could induce my father to act ill deliberately, yet his passions are so violent, and so frequently overcome his better judgment, that I know not into what extremes he might be hurried in a momentary ebullition of fury. My brother's death (I understand) has almost driven him frantic ; he breathes vengeance against the whole family of Orrenberg j it is G 3 126 MISTRUST ; OA rumoured also, that the herald, whom he dispatched to signify to your father. . . ." — — " Alas ! it is but too true! the wild cruel people murdered the poor man ; but my father did his utmost to prevent the crime ; indeed, indeed, Osbright, my father was not in fault !" — — '' Heaven grant, that it may be found so ; but at present appearances are greatly against Count Gustavus, and this unlucky event will make my father's resentment burn with ten-fold fury. He is noble, generous, benevolent, friendly. . . . But in his rage he is terrible, and he cherishes in his heart with unjustifiable fondness the thirst for vengeance. Some officious vassal may observe your visits hither, and unpro- tected as you are, may easily purchase his lord's favour by delivering you into his power. Dearest Blanche, enraged as he is at this moment, I would not even answer, that your life. . . . '* — — " Mine ? one, who never offended him BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 127 by word or deed? one, who for your sake would so willingly love him ? and you real- ly think Ah ! Osbright, say what you will, I fear, that your father is a very w icked man !"— . — " He has his faults, but they are great- ly overbalanced by his virtues. Yet I con- fess there have been moments when. . . . But let us drop this unpleasant subject. Time presses ; I must be gone. Give me your promise not to visit this spot during my absence, one sweet kiss to confirm that pro- mise, and then farewell, my Blanche." — The promise was. given; the kiss was taken ; the farewell was said ; and then Osbright, having conducted his mistress in safety to the spot, which concealed the pri- vate entrance to Orrenberg Castle, (and which was within a very short distance of the cave,) returned to the place, where he had fastened his courser, and giving him the spur, was soon concealed within the shades of the neighbouring forest. G 4 128 MISTRUST; OR But scarcely had he quitted her, when Blanche recoHected, that the consecrated gob- let v/as left on the outside of the cave. To re- place this, her leverence for the saint made her think absolutely necessary ; yet the close of her conversation v/ith Osbright made her feel no small degree of repugnance to revisiting tl.te grotto by herself. However, it was so near, that she could not suppose it possible for her to meet Vvith any danger during the few minutes, which it would take her to perform this duty, and therelbre after some little hesitation she retraced her steps. Trembling as she ran, she traversed the space, which divided her from the cave, threaded the rocky passages, and soon reached the R outh of the cave. The goblet was re- placed ; an Jve was murmured before the altar in all haste, and she now hurried back again ; when as she rushed out of the grotto ■ — " Stay !" — exclaimed a voice, and spring- ins; from tlie rock above, a man stood before .her. She shrieked, and started back; the BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT 129 moon, which was now risen, showed het what seemed rather to be a spectre, than any- mortal beinj^. His tall thin form (viewed through the medium of her fears, and seen but indistinctly among the shadows of the surrounding rocks) dilated to an height which appeared gigantic, his tresses flutter- ing wildly in the evening blast, his limbs trem.bling with agitation, his face colourless as I he face of a corse, his large eyes almost starting from their sockets and glaring with all the fires of delirium, his hands filled with locks of bright hair torn from his own head, and stained with blood which had flowed from his own self-mangled bosom, such was the stranger ; such was the wretch- ed EuQ:ene. The terror, which the sight of him evi- dently caused in Blanche, had prevented the page from obtruding his presence upon her any more ; but he could not prevail upon himself to abstain from the delight of gazing upon that beauty, which had made so o 5 130 MISTRUST; OR forcible an impression upon his youthful heart. He watched her, and observed, that regularly every evening she visited the cave of St. Hildegarde ; and regularly every even- ing did Eagene climb the rocks, among which it was situated, and feed his hopeless passion by gazing for whole hours upon the lovely form of Blanche. He admired the ccelestial expression of her countenance, as she knelt in prayer before the shrine ; he listened in silent ecstacy, w^hen, seated before the grotto's mouth, and weaving into gar- lands the wdld-flowers which sprouted among the rocks, she chaunted some sweet though simple ballad J he smiled, when he saw her smile, ^jat'^thedexterityj with which her flowery work had been completed ; and when some melancholy thought glanced a- cross her mind, he echoed back the sigh, which escaped from her bosom. He knev/ not, that .the wreaths were woven to deck the seat, which had been hallowed by sus- taining a rival ; he knew not, that the 1 BLANCHE AND 03BRIGHT. 131 igh proceeded from grief for that rival's absence. And thus had whole months rolled away ; and with every day did the charms of Blanche inflame his heart with more glowing pas- sion, and exalt his imagination to an higher pitch of enthusiasm. At length came the fatal blow, which at once destroyed this soli- tary source of ideal happiness : he found not only that he had a beloved rival, but that this rival was the man, w^ho possest that place in his father's affections, which h^ would so gladly have possest in them him.r self ; was Count Rudiger's avowed oiFspring, while be was rejected and pointed out to the world as nothing better, than an orphan and an outcast j was the heir of the rich domains of FrapkUeim, while be was con* demned to a life of servitude and obscurity ; in short, was the very man, towards whom of all existing beings he cherished, and had cherished from his childhood, the mostun- veterate and uncontroulable antipathy. . G T; OR Breathless with agitation, and fixing his nails in his bosom in order to distract the sense of mental agony by the infliction of bodily pain, he had witnessed from the rock above them the interview between the lovers. He heard not their words ; but he saw, as they sat, the arm of Osbright tenderly en- circling the waist of Blanche, and witnessed the kiss, which he prest upon her iip at parting. They were gone ; yet the boy still lay extended upon the rock, stupefied by a blov/ so unexpected. A few minutes re- jitored him to sensation, but not to himself. Horror at Joscelyn's death had shaken his nerves most cruelly ; since that event grief had scarcely permitted his tasting food ; that constitutional infirmity, which the know- ledge of his mother's sad story had inflamed into delirium, now exerted itself with dread- ful violence upon his enfeebled frame and txalted ima;^ination : his brain was un- able to support the shock, and he now stood a maniac before the aifrighted Blanche. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 133 — " It is she indeed!" he exclaimed; *' she here again ? here, and alone ! oh ! then it was no illusion ! the night-wind murmur- ed in my ear — " death !" — And the screech- owl shrieked in my ear — " death !" — And the wind and the screech-owl told me true, for you are returned on purpose ! yes, yes ; I feel it well, angel ; you are here, and the hour is come !*' — — "What hour? I know you not.— - You terrify me ?" — She attempted to pass him, but he grasped her by the wrist. — " Terrified? are you not a blessed spirit, and what can you fear ? I must away to the skies, and there will I kneel, and im- plore for you, and pray, that you may speedily follow me thither 1 you will soon be made a Saint in Heaven, but I must pre- pare the way for you : take this sword, and plunge it. . . . Nay, nay ! why should you dread to use it ? have you not plunged a dagger in my heart already ? you have, you 1S4 MISTRUST-, OR have ! and C)h ! that wound was a wound so painful. . . . Take it, I say ; take it ; here is my naked bosom 1" — And as he said this, he tore open his doublet with one hand, while with frantic eagerness h^ endeavoured to force her to take the sword with the other ; when sum- moning up all her strength Blanche rushed swiftly past him, and with loud shrieks fled through the rocky passage. The frantic youth pursued her, in vain imploring her to stay : with fruitless efforts did Blanche ex- ert her speed ; the maniac gained upon her ; and overcome by terror she fell breathless at his feet, at the moment when guided by her shrieks Baron Ottokar arrived to her assistance. He heard her scream for help ; he saw her pursued by one, who held an un- sheathed sword ; he beheld her sink upon the earth, and doubted not, that she had perished by the blow of an assassin. - — " Inhuman ruiilan !'* exclaimed the Knight, and instantly his sword struck the BLANCHE AND 03BRIGHT. ]35 supposed murderer to the earth. Then raising the trembling Blanche in his arms, he hastened towards the castle to procure sur- gical assistance for his lovely burthen. During Blanche's absence. Sir Lennard of Kleeborn was employed in the performance of his promise to Osbright. He requested an audience, of the Count of Orrenberg, which was readily granted ; but Gustavus added, that as what Sir Lennard had to state was announced to be of importance, he begged, that Baron Ottokar m.ight share the communication ; the nature of his engage- ments to that young nobleman being such, that they possest a common interest in every thing. Sir Lennard foreboded from this declaration an obstacle to his negotiation : however, he immediately commenced it, dis- closed to the astonished Count the mutual attachment betw^een Osbright and his daugh- ter, and concluded by advising him most strenuously to seize so favourable an oppor- tunity of putting a final close to the dis- 136 MISTRUST ; OR putes, which had so long separated the kin- dred houses of Orrenberg and Frankheim. Wliile Gustavus listened to this narrative, a variety of emotions exprest themselves by turns on his countenance. Sir Lennard had finished. The Count past a few minutes in silence ; but at length taking his resolu- tion decisively, he assured bir Lennard, " that most earnestly did he desire to see amity established between the two families ; that there was no personal sacrifice, which he would not joyfully make to accomplish an event 30 desirable; but that unfortunately, he had already contracted such engagements as formed an insuperable obstacle to the u'nion of Blanche and Osbright. — " No, my k)rd," hastily interrupted Ottokar ; " you have contracted none, at least if you allude to those which you have contracted with me. It is true, last night I received your knightly word, that the hand of Blanche should be mine : and had you proHiibed me the Imperial crown, I should BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 137 have thought the boon less valuable. But when the object is, to prevent the effusion of kindred blood, to establisli peace between the two noblest families in the whole Palati- nate, nay more, to procure the happiness of Blanche herself, shall I suffer my ov/n selfish wishes to interfere ? shall 1 hesitate for one moment to sacrifice tliem to the general welfare? no,mylord5readtheheart of Ottokar more justly' . Were the affections of your daughter the prize,I would dispute it against Osbright, against the world, and would never resign my claim but with the last sigh of my bosom ; but the possession of her hand alone could only make me wretched. The heart of Blanche is Osbright's ; Blanche can only be happy in being his, and unless she is happy, / must be miserable myself. Count of Orrenberg, I restore your promise ; I resume my own : let this wished-for union take place. Heaven itself surely lighted up this flame in the bosoms of the lovers ; and the hour, which gives Blanche to the envied 138 MISTRUST; OR Osbright, will doubtless bury in eternal oblivion all past offences, all existing preju- dices, all future mistrust. It is true, my heart will bleed ; but the applause of my consci- ence will repay me for every selfish pang most amply. — Still consider me as your warmest friend, Gustavus ; but for the sake of Blanche, I must now refuse to be your son.'*— In vain did Gustavus combat this gener- ous resignation : Ottokar was firm, and at length the Count honestly confest to Sir Lennard the joy, which he should feel at the accomplishment of the union in question. The difficulty now was, how to convince Rudiger of the injustice of his suspicions respecting Joscelyn's murder, and to bring him to view Osbright's attachment in the same favourable light. In this also Ottokar proffered his assistance. As nephew to the Lady Magdalena, though he was no fa- vourite with her lord, he had ready access to the Castle of Frankheim ) that lady was BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 13^ well aware of the strength of his attachment to Blanche, and the generosity of her own nature rendered her fully capable of appre- ciating the sacrifice, which he made in sur- rendering his claims in favour of Osbright's. He knew aVso, that the feuds between the families had long been to her a source of mental uneasiness the most acute ; that she had ever vindicated the conduct of Gustavus, as far as Rudiger's violence would permit •her prudence to give such an opinion ; and he was certain, that she would seize with joy an opportunity of terminating disputes so odious. He therefore proposed his im- mediate departure for the Castle of Frank- heim,_where he would make a confidential communication of the whole business to the Countess, and discuss with her the most likely means of gaining over to their side the inclinations of her stormy husband. This plan was universally approved of; and without an hour's delay Ottokar set out for I'rankheim Castle, accompanied by the warm- 140 MISTRUST : OR I est gratitude of Gustavus, and the highest admiration of Sir Lennard. It was on his progress to Frankheiin, that the shrieks of the alarmed Blanche had sum- moned him to her assistance. On his arri- val with her at the castle, immediately all was anxiety and confusion : but it was soon ascertained, that she had received no wound, though some time elapsed, before she could recollect herself suiHciently to give an ac- count of what had happened. Even then, her narrative was greatly confused : alarm and anxiety to escape had prevented her from hearing much of Vvhat the maniac ad* dressed to her. She could only relate, that a youth (whom she remembered to have seen tvvice before, and who had confest hinnpself to be a Frankheimer) had surprized her among the rocks ; had accosted her with much violence and passion, frequently men- tioning the word — " death" — and (as she believed) had told her, " that her hour was come,'* She was however quite certain, that BlJl^JCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 14- 1 he accused her of having attempted 'Ho plunge dagger in his heart ;" had threatened " to make her a Saint in Heaven,*' and had drawn his sword to put his threats in execu- tion ; at which she had fled, still pursued by him, till her strength failed her, and she sank on the earth before him. Having given this imperfect account, Blanche was committed to the care of her female attendants, and advised by the physician to retire to rest, and endeavour to compose her ruiHed spirits ; advice, which she readily adopted, and immediately withdrew to her own apart- ment. Gustavus had listened to her narrative with surprize, Ulrica with horror; and when Ottokar confirmed the assertion of Blanche, that the supposed assassin was in the service of the Count of Frankheim, (add- ing, that he haxi seen him occasix)nally in at- tendance upon Magdalena, and that he rather believed his name to be Eugene,) the 142 . MISTRUST; OR Countess darted a triumphant glance upon her husband. The latter ordered some do- mestics to go in quest of the assassin, and convey him to the castle. — " Perhaps,*' said he, " his wound may not be mortal, and we may induce him to .explain this mysterious business. I confess, that at present it wears a most hideous aspect ; ; yet I cannot believe, that the noble and . brave Count Rudiger would descend to so base an action as to instig^ate a menial to take away the life of an innocent girl by assassi- nation. If indeed, he should really be guilty of an action so atrocious. . . . " — • — " If?" interrupted his wife impatient-"- ly ; " and is it possible any longer to doubt his guilt ? is not everything confirmed ? does not this agree with my suspicions re- specting Philip ? suspicions, did I say ? 'twas certainty 1 'twas fact, supported byproofs too clear to be mistaken by any eyes, but by those of wilful blindness 1 nay, I could tell you more. . . . " — BLANCHE AND OSBHIGHT. 143 — " Indeed ?" said Gustavus with a look of incredulity. — " Yes, Gustavus, yes ! you re^nember well the fever, which about two years ago brought you to the very gates of the sepul- chre ? you were recovering ; you w^ere pro- nounced out of danger ; when a present of sweetmeats arrived for you from the Lady Magdalena." — — '* And what inference. . , . " — — " Be patient ; I come to the point. I warned you not to taste them, and presented you with some conserves prepared by my own hand. You were obstinate ; you first ridiculed my fears, then chid me for enter- taining such unjust suspicions. What was the result ? you eat freely of Magdalena's present, and the very next day your fever returned w^th such violence, as made the physician for several days despair of your recovery." — — " It was very singular ! you are perfectly 1 44 MISTRUST ; OR correct , Ulrica ; and certainly. . . . But stay i I think, I recollect one little circumstance, which. . . . Exactly so ! our dispute took place in the honey-suckle bower on the south- side of the garden, and out of patience at (what YQu termed) my obstinacy, you left me in displeasure. Scarcely were you gone, when old Grim the wolf-drg came bounding to caress me, and springing upon me unex- pectedly, Magdalena's present fell from my hands, and the vessel broke into a thousand pieces. This accident made me have re- course to your conserves, which were still standino; on the table : and what is somethinq- singular, old Grim (who had appropriated the fallen sweetmeats to himself without he- sitation) suffered not the least inconvenience; v^hile 1 had scarcely tasted those prepared by your own hand, before my fever returned with violence, and I was declared to be in danger of my life." — — ** Why, certainly," said Ukica, hesitat- BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 145 mg, and embarrassed ; "there are two ways ©f telling everything. Appearances seemed Strong. ... I argued to the best of my know- ledge. . . . Every body is liable to be mis- taken " — — " Are they so ? then, good Ulrica, since you find yourself mistaken in one instance, allow the possibility of your having been mistaken in another. In short, I insist upon it, and will not be disobeyed, that you are henceforth silent on the subject of Philip's malady. Were he poisoned or were he not, it is my pleasure, that he should be mention- ed only as dead, and nothing further. Nay, Ulrica ! not a syllable more, I entreat you ! —My friends," he continued, turning to Ottokar and Sir Lennard ; " advise me what to do. This new adventure, I own, wears a very embarrassing appearance : and yet ap- pearances are no less strong against myself respecting the Herald's death, and still more respecting the murder of young Joscelyn. One of my own people was found near VOL. I. H 146 , mistrust; or the corse ; he declared upon the rack with- his last breath, that I had instigated him to commit the crime ; and yet God sees the heart, and knows, that I am innocent. Ru- idiger may be equally guiltless of this attack upon my child: if fortunately, there should still be life in the assassin, and he could be brought to confess. . . . " — — " Nay," exclaimed Ottokar, " he must confess ;- he \jZ?^// confess ! if he refuses, the rack shall force from him . . . " — • — " And if he then declares, that Rudiger set him on. . . . " — ' — " Then the business is ended! then Rudiger's guilt is clear, and. . . . '* — — " Indeed ? then it is also clear, that I am Joscelyn's murderer. Is not that equally well proved, Sir Ottokar, and by means ex- actly the same ?" — The youth coloured, and hung his head in confusion : nor did any one break the silence, till a domestic entering informed the Count, that the assassin had been removed BLANCHE AlTD O^BRIGMT. 147 from 'die place, where Sir Ottokar left him. On enquiiy he had learned from -some pea- sants, that they had found the youth Weeding profrisely, but that his v/ound • appeared not to be dangerous : that they were preparing to convey him to the Castle, when a party of Frankheimers accidentally past that way, and recognizing a favourite domestic of their liege-lord, had forced him from them, and hastened to convey him out of the domains of Orrenberg. All hopes of Eugene's clearing up this mystery being thus removed, it was thought best, that Ottokar should resume his intend- ed visit to the Lady Magdalena, should in- form her of all that had happened, should en- treat her to account for the highly culpable conduct of the Page, and ascertain, whether Rudiger was disposed to bury all mutual in- juries in oblivion ; a measure, which for his own part, Gustavus profest himself still perfectly ready to adopt, in spite of the sus- picious transactions of that eventful even- H 2 14S MISTRUST i OR ing. Ottokar immediately 5et forth; but Sir Lennard remained at the Castle of Or- renberg to wait the issue of the young war* rior's negotiation. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT, 14^ CHAP. VIL — ** The image of a wicked heinous fault 1 ires in his eye ; that close aspect of his doth shew the mood of a much troubled bosom."— King John, The arrival of Ottokar at Frankheim Castle appeared to create no trifling astonishment and embarrassment in the domestics. Sus- picion and ill-humour were exprest on every countenance ; and Wilfred, the Seneschal, only answered the youth's inquiries for the H a 150 MISTRUST ; OR Lady Magdalena by a dry and sullen — " this way. Sir Knight !'* — The Countess was alone ; his appearance seemed to excite in her almost as much surprize as it had produced on her attendants, and her reception of him was studiously cold. But the frankness and impetuosity of Ottokar's nature soon banish- ed this constraint ; he opened his embassy without loss of time ; and as she listened, the countenance of his auditress gradually brightened. The mutual attachment of Osbright and Blanche equally surprised and pleased her-; she bestowed the his^hest encomia on that o generosity of sentimient, v/hich had prompted Ottokar to sacrifice his own passion to the ejencral welfare ; she declared her thoroucrh persuasion of the' merits of the fair Blanche, and her anxiety to see these odious feuds terminated in an amicable manner. She was: also willing to give credit to Ottakar's solemn protestations, that Gustavusw^as innocent of Joscelyn's death : but she greatly feared, that BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 151 it would be difScult to inspire her husband with the same confidence ; especially at the present moment, when his persuasion of Gustavus's animosity had gained additional strength from several late occurrences The account of the Herald's murder, she said, had inspired Rudiger with a degree of in- dignation, which (often as she had witnessed the strength of his emotions) had far sur- passed anything, of which she had before believed him capable. Ottokar hastened to clear up this transac- tion, at which he was present ; and his ac- count perfectly exculpated Gustavus in Mag- dalena's eyes, though (conscious of Rudiger's innate obstinacy) she was doubtful of its being equally successful with her husband. Ottokar, whose chief virtue was by no means that of patience, took fire at this ; and it escaped him to say, " that it ill be- came a person to be so difEcult in believing the innocence of another, who lay himself under such strong suspicions of having in- H 4? 3 52 MIST RL' ST ; OR stlgated an assassin to commit the very same crime" — the Countess eagerly demanded an explanation, and heard with surprize and resentment which increased with every word — ^' that in the coarse of that very evening a domestic of Count Rudiger had at- tempted to stab the Lady Blanche, and would have succeeded in his diabolical attempt, had not Ottokar arrived in time to fell the assas- sin to the ground." — Ottokar was still expatiating with all the warmth of a lover on the atrocity of the attempt ; the Countess was still listening to this dreadful charore in such horror, as de- prived her of all power to interrupt her nephew; when the door was thrown open with violence, and Count Rudiger rushed into the room, — " Have you heard it, Magdalena ?" he exclaimed in a thundering voice, while he stamped upon the floor with passion ; " have you heard. . . . " — at that mon:ent his eyes rested upon Ottokar, and instantly they ap- BLANCHE AND OSERIGHT. 15^ peared to flash out fire. He started back ^ all the blood in his body seemed at once to rush into his face; for some mo: 'tents he gazed upon th-e youth in terrific silence, as if he would have devoured him with his eyes. At length — " So !" he exclaimed in a satis- fied tone ; " /jcre ! he is here ! — What hc^a ! Wilfred !" — And he rushed again froin the apartment, as abruptly as he had entered. — " What can this mean r" said the amaz- ed and trembling Magdalen a ; " those looks .... that well-known terribre expression. . . . oh I this very moment I must be satisfied." — She hastened to a window which over- looked the principal court, and summoned the old porter, who was then crossing it. lie soon entejed the apartment, and the Countess hastily inquired, w hether within the last hour any strangers had arrived at the castle, and whether her lord had se^n them. — " No, Lady, no strangers !" replied tile old man \ " but truly Martin and his soi^ H 5 154 MISTRUST ; OR Hans, the farmei'S of Helmstadt, are arrived, and sad news they bring to be sure. By your inquiry, Lady, I suppose, that you have not yet heard, what has happened at Orrenberg ? Ah ! the hard hearts ! Ah ! the barbarians 1 How could they be so cruel as to hurt the poor harmless innocent lad ! One so gentle, that. . . . the Lord have mercy! Is ityou,Sir Ottokar?. Why, sure- ly you must be distracted to show your face within these walls, after committing an act so barbarous !"- — Ottokar declared his ignorance of the old jiian's meaning. — " Indeed ?. Nay, then perhaps the story is not true ; Martin and Hans may have mis- taken the name, and Heaven grant it may prove so ! But to be plain, Sir Knight, Martin told me himself, that on his road hither he found the young page Eugene bleeding and fainting •, that the peasants, who stood near him, had assured him, that the lad was stabbed by no iwnd but yours, BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 155 and that you had perpetrated this barbarous action by the command of the Lady Blanche, under whose very eyes it was committed. Finding that Eugene still lived, and knowing how much my Lord and yourself, noble Lady, value him, Martin and his companions rescued him from the hands of the Orren- bergers, and endeavoured to bring him home to the castle. But his wound being dangerous, they thought it safest to stop with him at the Convent of St. John, where they left him under the care of the good fathers, and then hastened hither to inform my Lord of what had happened. But, bless my heart ! I quite forget, Lady ; the Count ordered me to summon Wilfred immediately to his chamber, and I doubt, even this little delay will bring me into anger. Your par- don. Lady ; 1 must away this instant I" — And he hurried out of the apartment. — "Eugene?" repeated Magdalena; "Eu- gene wounded ? and wounded by your hand, Ottokar ? A boy, a poor harmless boy ? Oh ! H 6 156 MISTRUST ; OR impossible ! This is some egregious mistake^ and "— — " No, Lady; there 13 no mistake in this ; the peasants told the truth. It was my hand, which struck Eugene to the ground ; , for Eugene was the wretch, who (as I before mentioned to you) attempted this evening the precious life of Blanche." — — "You rave, Sh* Ottokar! Eugene, an assassin ? The assassin of a female too ? He, who bears to the very name of woman a love, a reverence almost idolatrous ? He, the gentlest, tenderest " — — " Lady, I saw him myself; I heard the shrieks of Blanche udth my own ears 1 I saw her sink at his feet in terror ; I saw Eu- gene with his sword drawn on the very point of plunging it in her bosom " — i — " Is ay, nay ! Let us not waste our time in disputing about Eugene. Be he innocent, or be he guilty, your hands are stained with his blood, and here you are no longer in BLANCHE AND 05BR1GHT. 15T safety. So dear as Eugene is to my hus- band "— — " Surely, Countess, surely, he will be no longer dear to him, when Rudiger learns his guilt ; or if he still protects him, that prf> tection will prove, that Rudiger himself can- not be innocent. Criminal as Eugene is, if he can still inspire his master with any senti- ment, but indignation, but hatred " — — ''Hatred? His master ? Oh! Ottokar, you know not. . . . there is a mystery about tJiat boy. . . . there is a secret reason. . . . Rudiger hate Eugene ? Eugene, who is his own. ... 1 mean. ... I would say. . . . Eu- gene, whom Rudiger loves as dearly, as if he were his own son !" — The eagerness, with which she endeavour- ed to recall her words ; the hesitation, v.'ith which she pronounced the correcting phrase; the colour, which crimsoned her cheeks at havino: so nearly divulc-ed. her husband's se- cret ; ail these immediately dispelled the cloud, which overhung; the birth ofEu2:ene. 158 MISTRUST ; OR Ottokar instantly comprehended, how dear an interest Rudiger took in the page's wel- fare, and how odious the man must appear in his eyes, who had plunged his sword in the boy's bosom. He hesitated, what course to pursue; Magdalena advised his leaving her to reconcile the mind of her husband to what had happened, and not to repeat his visit at the castle, till she should inform him, that his present offence was forgotten and forgiven : and the Knight was on the point of follov/ing her counsels, when the door was again thrown open, and the Count of Frankheim re-entered the room. The Countess shuddered, as she cast an anxious glance upon his countenance. His face was of a deadly paleness; the deepest gloom sat upon his frowning brows ; his burning eyes glared with terrible expression : yet a smile of forced urbanity played round his bloodless lips, and on his entrance he bowed his proud head towards Ottokar with an air of unusual condescension. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 159 — " You are welcome. Sir Knight V* said lie ; " this visit affords me a satisfaction to- tally unexpected. Magdalena, your nephew will need some refreshment : will you not see, that it is prepared ?" — The tone, in which this question was ask- ed, converted it into a command : she was obliged to obey, and could only whisper to Ottokar in passing — " Be on your guard, for God's sake!" — ~" Be seated. Sir Ottokar,'' resumed the Count j " nay, no ceremony ! and now may 1 inquire, what lucky circumstance brings you hither ? It is not often, that Frankheim Castle is honoured by your presence. You come, I understand, fron> Orrenberg : you are a friend of Gustavus, and a suitor of his daughter ; is it not so ? A fair lady and an excellent choice : I am told, that her influence over you is unbounded ; that what sbe desires, be it right, or be it wrong, you perform v/ith all the ardour of a true lover ^ and in truth, it is fitting, that you 1 J 60 MISTRUST ; OR should. But as I said before, you come straight from Orrenberg: perhaps, you bring some message- from your friend Gustavus ? Some conciliatory proposal. . . . some expla- nation of past circumstances. ... or perhaps, he has sent me a defiance in return for ncHne, and your friendship for him induces you to appear before me in the sacred character of his herald. Am I right. Sir Ottokar ?" — — " As the herald of Gustavus ? No, Count Rudiger : I come here as your friend, if you will permit me to be so ; as your gtiest, unless you have forsworn the rights of hos- pitality." — " My guest ? Oh ! undoubtedly ! You do me but too much honour ! But. . . . am I to understand then, that you bring no commission from Orrenbers: ?*'— •— " Yes ; one, which I trust w^ill convince you, that I am not more the friend of Or- renberg, than of Frankheim. Count, Gus- tavus wishes to hold with you a personal conference. BLANCHE AND OSBRiGKT. 161 — " A conference ? With me ?" — — ** You may well be surprized : I was sa myself, when he first itientioned it : but he asserts with such solemn adjurations his in- nocence " — — " His innocence ? Indeed ?" — — '' He declares himself so certain of prov- ing to your complete satisfaction, that he had no hand in Joscelyn's murder, and he is so anxious of laying before you a plan for putting an end to all feuds in a manner equally beneficial and agreeable to both fami- lies, that if you will but listen to him. . . . "— — " Listen to him ? Oh ! by all means. "When you see him again, pray, assure him, that an interview with him will give me the highi^st satisfaction.'' — — «« When I see him ? Dear Count, since you charge me with so welcome a commis' sion, I will hasten back to Orrenberg without a moment's delay. Oh ! from what a. weight shall I relieve his mind, and how wisely do you act in showing this readiness 162 to conciliation ! Rudlger, may the right hand, which I thus stretch toward heaven, wither and rot away, if I am perjured in swearing, that I believe Gustavus to be in- nocent. Now then, farewell 1 Yet hold 1 there are two points. . . . two unlucky acci- dents, v\ hich have lately happened. . . . and which while un?:splained. . . . must have pro- duced a dl*- advantageous in^pression upon your mind, and may be the source of future dissension. Permit me therefore to mention, that Eugene "— — '' I know it ; I have heard it already ; Eugene has been mortally wounded in the neighbourhood of Orrenberg Castle. You need say no more about it.'' — — " Not mortallj^ Count. I am assured, that his wounds are not mortal : I trust, that he will recover." — — " Not mortal, you say ? Nay, just as you please!" — —« Count Rudiger !"— BLANCHE ANL> OSBR.-IGHT, 163 — " Any thing more ? You mentioned tivo accidents, I think, and " — — " Before I enter upon the second, per- mit me to explain, that if there was any fault in the first, it proceeded entirely from the conduct of JLugene himself. He attempt- ed to assassinate the Lady Blanche this evenr ing, and '%— — " Oh ! to be sure ! extremely probable, and extremely wrong; the boy deserved hi3 fate ! And I make no doubt, that Gustavu^ supposes him to have been instigated by me to commit this crime ? Nay, 1 confess, that seems highly probable too i" — — ^' No, Rudiger, you wrong him. It is true, every one else at Orrenberg accuses you, but Gustavus himself loudly asserts his con- viction of )^ur innocence." — —'.' Fiend ! fiend ! Oh ! artful devil. . . . ten thousand pardons. Baron ! a sudden pain. . . . but 'tis gone : I am quite myself again. Now then; the second little acci- dent. . . . ?"— 164 MISTRUST ; OR — " The herald, whom you sent to Orren« berg two days ago. . . . " — — " Was knocked on the head : they told me so before ; but of course, Gustavus had no hand in the affair !" — — " He had none, indeed. I was present myself, and witnessed his exertions to calm the fury of the mob ; till unluckily, exhaust- ed with fatigue, and overcome with appre- hension, he fainted, and while he was insen- sible ''— — " He fainted ? that was unlucky in- deed!"— — " This misfortune has distrest Gustavus beyond measure : he has commissioned me to say, that any reparation which you can de- mand in honour. . . . " — — " Reparation for such a trifle ? Oh ! absurd ! the thing is really not worth talking of."— — " Count of Frankheim !" — — " For after all, the man was but a herald ; and what is a herald, you know !" — BLANCHE AND OSBRi GHT. 165 — " What is he? permit me to say. . . . " — — " How is this, Sir Ottokar ? you es- pouse the cause of heralds so warmly, that one would think, you were a herald yourself; and in fact you are so ! you bring the Count of Orrenberg's messages ; you make the Count of Orrenberg's conciliatory proposals ; and therefore to all intents and purposes you are the Count of Orrenberg's herald. Is it not so, Sir Knight ?'* — — " Rudiger, I repeat it, I am here only as your friend, and as the Lady Magdalena's near kinsman — and even should the laws of Chivalry not induce you to respect the he- rald, the rights of hospitality must surely make you consider the person of your guest as sacred." — — " Sacred ? my guest ? Oh ! undoubt- edly ! nothing can be better said, or more certain — the person of my guest must always be considered as sacred by me : only. . . . there is one trifling point, of which it may be 166 MISTRUST; OK as well to make you aware. — / also am vci'y subject to/^/>2//«^." — —"Indeed?" exclaimed Ottokar, starting; then fixing his eyes on those of Rudiger, he read in them an expression, which almost froze the marrow in his bones — " Farewell, Count Rudigerl" — said he, and hastily quit- ted the room. The Count remained in his seat, reclining his head upon his hand, silent, motionless, and gloomy. — Some minutes elapsed, and still he moved not. — " Save him ! save him !" shrieked Mag- dalena, as she rushed into th6 -charnber, pale as death ; " hasten to his fescue, Rudiger ! For God's sake, hasten! look! lookf' — and she threw open the window which com- manded the court-yard, and from whence the light of the full moon and the blaze of numerous torches permitted her to observe distinctly what was passing below. " He is surrounded. , . . Ottokar. . . ahe people, the BLANCHE AkD OSBRIGHT, 167 wholo croud of them, with swords, with clubs. . " . fly, fly? Rudiger, and rescue him ! —■Mercifur Heaven! they drag him from his horse. . . . they throw him on the earth. . . . they will kill him ! they will murder him ! — Nay, look yourself ! come to the window ; speak to the w^ild rabble, or their fury. . . . Ha! he fortes -imself out of their clutches! he draws his sword he fights. ... he drives them back. . . . now, now, my lord I now they can hear you ! seize this interval of fear, and command them. . . . > . Alas ! alas ! now they all rush upon him at once, like madmen; he defends himself still, but their numbers. . .... Rudiger ! Rudiger I for mercy's sake, for God's sake, call to them from the win- dow. . . . speak one word, speak but one word, and. ... Ah ! his head. ... a blow. . . . he staggers . . . and now anothe \ . . . and another. . . . it's done ! it's done ! — he falls ! he is dead ! — Oh \ blessed Mary, receive his soul to mercy 1" — She sank upon her knees, prest to her lips 165 mSTRlTST y OK the golden cross, which hung at her bosom, and past some minutes in fervent supplication for the sins of her unhappy nephew. As she prayed, the excess of horror gradually abated ; religion already poured balm into her still bleeding wounds ; the thought of eternal hap- piness hereafter, enabled her to sustain the weight of her present afRictions ; the agony of grief was softened into melancholy tender- ness ; she found, that she could again breathe freely ; and a torrent of grateful tears rushed into her burning eyes, and relieved the bur- then of her over-charged bosom. She rose from her knees : she turned to- wards her husband, who still sat motionless in his chair. — " Rudiger !'* she said, *^ your guest, your kinsman has been murdered in your castle, almost before your eyes : it would have cost you but one word, but one look, nay, the very sight of their Lord's counte- nance, his mere presence would have been suiEcient to recall the rabble to iheir duty, I BLANCHE AND OSBRIGflT. 179 and terrify them from accompliishlng their barbarous purpose ! I told you what would happen ; I called you ; I implored you ; and still you were deaf to my cries ; and still you moved not ! Oh 1 what cruel insensibility ! Oh ! what inhuman obstinacy ! Now God grant, that in that bitter liour when you most want his help, he may not be as slow to afford it, as you have been to the wretched Ottokar !" — The Count replied not — the door opened, and Wilfred entered. — " Noble Lord !" said he j " your orders are obeyed." — — " Obeyed ? his orders ?" repeated Mag- dalena with a shriek of surprise and horror. ^She fixed her eyes upon the countenance of her husband with a look of dreadful enquiry. Every muscle in his gigantic form seemed convulsed by some horrible sensation ; the deepest gloom darkened every feature : the wind from the unclosed window agitated his raven locks, and every hair appeared to VOL. I. I 170 mistrust; or writhe itself. His eye-balls glared ; his teeth chattered ; his lips trembled ; and yet a smile of satisfied vengeance played horribly round them. His complexion appeared suddenly to be changed to the dark tincture of an African : the expression of his countenance was dreadful, was diabolical ; Magdalena, as she gazed upon his face, thought, that she gazed upon the face of a daemon. — " Obeyed ?'* after a long pause she re- peated once more ; " Rudiger ! obeyed !'* — He raised his eyes to hers, but he could not support their gaze. He turned hastily away, and concealed his countenance with his robe. --"Now then,'^ she resumed, " the whole is clear ! fool that I was ! and I called you to the innocent youth's rescue ! fye, oh ! fye ! — this is not the action of a warrior, of a man ! this is so odious, so despicable, that /, your wife, your fond, your humble, your much-injured, your ever-enduring wife, even I pronounce it odious and despicable, and dare to proclaim aloud my hatred and my I BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 171 contempt. Oh ! shame ! shame ! — how the man sits there, and must endure to hear the just reproaches of one, whom he knows so inferior in all things but virtue ; of a woman, weak in mind, weak in body, but strong in conscious innocence, and therefore stronger than himself! Heaven can witness, with what truth, with what fondness, with what adoration, I have ever loved you, Rudiger : but the feeling of what is right is superior to all other feeUngs ; but the voice of justice will be heard : and not even the husband of my heart, not even the father of my chil- dren is to me a character so sacred, as to stifle the sentence of my reason, of my con* science, which cries to me aloud — " The husband of your h£jart, the father of your children, is '^murderer T — Your caprice, your pride, your wayward humours, your infi- delities, I have borne them all, and loved you still; but when I see your hands stained with the blood of your kinsman, of your guest, of a man who came hither solely for your T 2 172 mistrust; or service, who had sacrificed to your welfare all his heart's dearest wishes ; when I see your hands stained with his blood, with his innocent blood. . . . Oh! Rudiger! Rudiger! is it possible, that I should ever love you more !" — Her heart agonized, her brain almost dis- tracted, she fled from her husband's presence, and inclosing herself within her oratory, past the night in prayer equally for the souls of the murdered one, and of his unhappy mur- derer ! BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 173 CHAP. VIII. — " Semina, floresque, tt siiccos incoquit acres ; Additet exceptas luna- pemocte pruiaas, Etstrigis infames ipsis cum carnibus alas, Vivacisque jecur cervi; quibus insuper addit Oracaputque novem cornicis saecula passcB." — Otid. —-*' Here boil'd she many a seed, and herb, and flower. And dews in moonshine culled at midnight hour, Bat's wings, a stag's still-panting heart, and last A raven's head, o'er which nine hundred years had past."— While his father was thus plunging him. self in an abyss of real guilt, Osbright was hastening in eager pursuit of means to elu- cidate the imaginary crime of Gustavus. 1 3 174 mistrust; or The forest was thick ; the way was long, and difficult to find without a guide. Osbright had obtained ample instructions respecting the course, which he was to hold, and he believed it impossible to make a mis- take : but his mind occupied with canvass- ing the obstacles, which impeded his union with Blanche and the reconciliation of the families, and in weighing the arguments for and against success in his present pursuit, he suffered himself to fall into a reverie, during which his steed directed his course entirely at his own pleasure. At length the animal thought proper to stop. The cessation of motion recalled Osbright to himself: he looked around, and found himself in the deepest part of the wood, and where no beaten path was discernible. Which way to guide his horse he had not the most distant idea. Highly incensed at his own negligence, he urged his courser on at random, being only able to decide, that to reniain where he wus then^ was the worst BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 175 thing that he could do ; whereas by pro- ceeding he might possibly either regain the proper road, or might find some peasant to direct him how to find it. He therefore continued to hasten onwards, till his horse put his foot into a pit-fall, antl entangled himself too completely to be extricated by any efforts of his rider. Osbright was now at a complete loss, what to do. The groans of the animal an- nounced, that he had received some injury, though the thickness of the boughs exclud- ing all assistance from the moon, the Knight was unable to ascertain the nature of his hurt. A sound, like distant thunder, seem- ed to foretell a coming storm, and to re- mind him, that it was probable in a short time that his situation would become still more disagreeable ; while his meditations on the means of extricating himself froir- his present embarrassment received very unplea- sant interruptions from the howling of wolves and other wild beasts, by whom the 1 4 176 mistrust; or forest was infested. Suddenly Osbright fan- cied, that he saw something glimmer among the trees. He hastily hewed away with his sword some of the intervening branches, which impeded his view, and was delighted to perceive the light of a fire, which evi- ,dently shed its rays through the casement of a cottage-window at no great distance. Thither he resolved to hasten, and request its owners to assist him in recovering his horse. He arrived at the spot, whence the light proceeded. Here stood a low and wretched- looking hut, rudely constructed, and cover- ed with fern and withered boughs. Before he gave notice of his presence, the youth judged it prudent to ascertain the nature of the inhabitants. Accordingly he approach- ed the small window without noise, whence he had a perfect view into the hut's in- terior. A young girl, who seemed to be about fifteen, and whose patched garments declar. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 177 ed her to be the child of poverty, sat upon a low stool by the hearth. Sometimes she fed the fire with dry sticks, aiid at others she cast different materials into an iron kettle, which was boiling before her. She frequently stirred its contents, and seemed extremely intent upon her occupation. Os. bright doubted not, that she was preparing the repast of her parents, or perhaps of her master, and he was on the point of lifting the Litch of the door, when he heard the girl speak, as if addressing some one in an adjoining room. — "Yes! yes!" said she; " I hear you: all is going on well!" and then turning again to the cauldron — " Now then," she continued ; " ojnce again ! First for Father. — '' Peace to his bones! May they sleep in the cell, Ne'er nMngled for mischief in poison, nor spell 1 Rest in the coffin ! All ghastly and pale. By night may his ghost ncyer wander and wail ! Joy to the soul !. May he rise without fears, When the trumpet, to sinners so dreadful, he hears." — 1:5, 178 mistrust; or " Now for my grandmother. — " Feuds with the Fiends! May the Hag's evil eye Ne'er cause " — — "Barbara! Barbara!" screamed a cracked voice, from the inner room — " Idle hussey, what are you thinking about? I'm sure, you're not repeating the three wishes !" — — " Sure, are you ? Nay, for certain, if the Saints are half as deaf as you are, I repeat them to little purpose. Set your heart at rest, I tell you \ I warrant you, all goes right. — " Joy to the soul ! May he rise. — " No ! no ! I said that ; where was I r Stay ! oh ! aye, now I remember. — " Feuds with the Fiends ! May the Hag's e^il eye JNe'er cause our cow Brindlc to droop and to die ! Mercy to man ! May h^r limbs cease to ache, Which the ague now forces to shiver and shak* ! Safety with Saints ! Let not Satan succeed In laming her tongue, when she's saying her creed !"— 1 BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT.. 179 — " And now for myself ! — " Holy and sweet ! May the knot soon be fyed By the priest, which shall make mc some honest man'S- bridc ! Sorrow and Joy I When in child-birth I lie. Light be my labour, and " — Here her eye fell upon Osbright, who having lifted up the latch of the door soft-. ly, had entered, and was nov/ standing be- side her — " Oh ! preserve me, all blessed saints and angels 1" cried the girl with a loud shriek, and sprang from her seat ; " mercy upon me. Sir Knight; v/ho are you, and what brings you here ?" — — " Be not alarmed, my pretty lass !" answered Osbright ; " my horse has fallen into a pit- fall, and I need assistance to draw him out. Are there any men belonging to this cottage, who " — — " Oh ! no, Sir Knight; there is no one here, but myself, and my old grandmother, who is confined to her bed with a terrible I 6 18,0 mistrust; or ague-fit !. But to the right, you will find ' a narrow path, which leads to the village of Qrrenberg : there you may procure as- sistance in plenty ; it is not above a mile off: and now, good Sir Knight, be gone, I entreat you !" — And she turned again to the hearth. — " To the right, I think, you said ?'* inquired the youth ; " my good girl, leave your cookery to itself for a few minutes, and just point out the path of which you spoke, and an am.ple reward " — — " Oh ! no, no, no ! I could not stir a step out of this room for the universe. Sir Knight ! So pry'thee, interrupt me no longer, or you'll certainly. . , . look you there now !" she exclaimed, running to the caul- dron, and beginning to stir it again with great eagerness ; " I thought, what would come of talking to me I. The brewage was just going to boil over, and then all the charm would have been to do over again !" — -^" The charm ?" — BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. ]81 - — " No, no ! not a charm! I did not mean to say, charm. ... I don't know, what I meant .to say ; but I know, I wish, that you would not interrupt me any longer. Now do go away, there's a good young Knight ; now go 1" — And she began again to mutter her rhymes. — " Barbara 1" called again the; cracked voice from the inner room — *' For Heaven's love, don't forget the ague!" — — " No, no !" replied Barbara, " nor the cow neither." — — " Did I tell you," resumed the voice ; " did I tell you, that the snail-shells must be w^hole ? If they are cracked in the least part, the broth will be spoiled, and then the child's finger will have no power or vir- tue."— — " A child's finger ?" — Osbright started, and his heart beat violently at the sound : he recollected, that Father Peter had mea- tioned the loss of Joscelyn's little finger of the right hand : should this prove to be tb^ 182 mistrust; or same, here was a due furnished, which might lead to the most important di'Kioveriesl While he made this reflection, Barbara an- swered her grandmother — '' that she had observed her caution respecting the shells, and bade her make herself quite easy." — — "Good! good!" said again the old woman ; " only be sure, that you put ia cobwebs enough, for that is a prime ingre- dient." — And now Barbara resumed her entreaties, that the stranger would leave the cottage. — " By no means !" answered he reso- lutely ; " there seems to be something im- proper going on here. A child's finger is boiling in that cauldron, and I must know for what purpose you procured it, and in what manner you came by it, before I stir one step from this apartment. '^' — — " Now indeed, Sir Knight 1" cried the girl evidently alarmed, " the purpose^ for which it is intended, is a very harmless ene. A child's finger is boiling yonder, I BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 185 must confess; but it is only to make a spell of great virtue, though so innocent, that the Virgin herself need not have scru- pled to make use of it. That kettle contains the broth of good-luck, and whatever wishes I pronounce, while it is making, sooner or later will all come to pass. And then when it is done, the child's finger being past nine times through a wedding-ring, it affords an infallible cure for the ague and the ear-ache; and being wrapped in the skin of a dor- mouse with a sprig of St. John's wort, and laid under the threshold of the door, it is better than an old horse-shoe, and neither witch nor devil will venture to put their noses over it ; and being dipped in bat's blood, and well rubbed in. . . . but mercy on me, what am I about ? I ought to be alone while the broth is brewing, for my grandmother herself must not set her foot in the room, because she's not a virgin. Now, dear, good young Knight, go along, for if any impure per- son is present, the charm is quite spoiled.'* — 184 — " Very possibly," observed Osbright ; " but though an impure person may do so much mischief, the presence of another pure person ought to make the work go on still better." — — ^' hi deed ? Why, as to that point, my grandmother gave no instructions, and it may very well be, as you say. Sir Knight I Stay a moment, and I'll ask her." — — " By no means !" resumed Osbright, detaining, her with a look of feigned se- verity ; " it v^^ould be quite superfluous, as I am determined, not only to remain where I am, but to know, by what means the child^s fmger came into your possession." — — "Oh! gracious! Sir Knight! my grandmother charged me not to say a word about the finger to any soul breatli- ing ; she said, that it might bring us into much trouble, in spite of our innocence." — — " It will bring you into much more trouble, if you do not obey m.e without a moment's hesitation : for I shall hasten to BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 18^ the next village, and depose, that I found you in the very act of composing an unlaw- ful potion. Both yourself and your grand- mother will be seized as witches, and. . . . *' — — " Oh ! all ye blessed Saints protect us !'' cried the girl trembling in every limb; " that is exactly what we are afraid of; that is it, which has obliged us to take refuge in this wild forest out of the reach of every human eye. Indeed, Sir Knight, we are honest creatures ; but my grand- mother is a wise woman, and knows a power of strange secrets, and all the hidden virtues of herbs and plants ; and so some ignorant evil-minded person accused her of dealing in sorcery, and if she had not escaped in time, the poor innocent woman would most probably have been burnt for a witch, only because she knew a little more than her neighbours. Nov/, good Sir Knight, do not depose against us ; only promise to keep our secret, and you shall know every sylla- ble of the matter as faithfully, as if I was 186 mistrust; or kneeling at confession before the Father- Abbot of St. John's himself!"— Osbright gave the required promise — and now he listened with interest, which almost deprived him of the |^ower of breathing, while the girl related — " that a fortnight had scarcely elapsed, since she found in the wood a young boy, apparently not above nine years old, and at the point of deaths She endeavoured to save his life but in vain ; he had only time to tell her, that while sepa- rated from his friends during the chace, he ] had been seized by a wolf; that he had drawn his little dagger and had defended himself so successfully, that though in the contest he gave himself several wounds with his own weapon, he atchieved the death of the ferocious animal ; but before he could accompUsh this, his bosom was dieadfully lacerated, and he had lost so much blood before the girl's arrival, that in spite of all her efforts to succour him, he soon breathed his. last. Assured, that he was quite dead. i BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 187 ihe left the fatal spot, but took with her the lead wolf, whose skin, she knew, would be m acceptable winter-gift to her grandmother. The old woman, however, on hearing the Jtory, informed her, that she had left some- hing behind much more valuable than the ikins of all the wolves in the forest. This A^as the little finger of the child's left hand, Arhich being boiled with certain mystical in- Tredients, possest a thousand important and oeneficial properties. Barbara greatly re- gretted her not having been aware of its •virtue ; especially as she had taken notice, ihat in struggling with the wolf the boy had broken that identical finger, and as It seemed only to hang by the skin, nothing would have been more easy for her than to naake herself mistress of it. However, it might possibly not be too late, and she hur- ried back to the scene of death. The corpse was still lying there ; no one observed her, and she secured the finger : but in one mi- nute more she would have been too late. 188 mistrust; or She heard footsteps approaching, and had scarcely time to conceal herself behind bush, when a man arrived at the place, whom she well knew to be a domestic of the Count of Orrenberg, having frequently seen him at the castle, when she occasionally venture ed thither to dispose of the eggs of her poul- try, and the milk of the aforesaid cow Brindle, The man, she said, seemed to be greatly distrest and shocked at finding the poor child weltering in his hJood ; he lifted him in his arms, and she watched him to the river's side, where she left him bathing thq child's forehead, washing the blood from the wounds, and using all those efforts to recover him, which, experience had already assured her, must be ineffectual. However, she judged it unwise to tell him so, lest see* ing her cloaths stained with the blood which had trickled from the dead wolf, and per- haps missing the little fmger from the child's hand, he might be induced to suspect her of having been accessary to his death. She BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 189 therefore left him still engaged in his cha- ritable endeavours, and returned to her grandmother with her important prize ; the use of which, however, had been deferred till the present evening, on account of the Jdifficulty of collecting the other ingredients of the charm." — Such was Barbara's narrative, and Os- bright heard with rapture the confirmation of Gustavus's innocence. He asked the girl, why she had not disclosed these cir- fcumstances, when inquiry was made res- ipecting the child's supposed murder : but no [such inquiry had reached this secluded hut, ; whose existence was unknown even at Orrenberg, though so near, and whose inha- bitants had no intercourse with the rest of the world, except when necessity compelled Barbara to venture with fear and trembhng, either to the Castle to dispose of her ware, or to the village to purchase those few arti- cles of life, which were indispensible. Osbright rewarded the girl's information 190 mistrust; or liberally, and then having received certain instructions for reaching the neighbouring village, he set forward to request assistance for his embarrassed horse. His plans were now changed; and instead of prosecuting his journey, he determined to hasten to Sir Lennard of Kleeborn with the explanation of those circumstances, which (as that war- rior had assured him) formed the principal objection to his union with Blanche and to a reconciliation between the hostile kins- men. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 19i CHAP. IX. '^ To you my soul's affections move. Devoutly, warmly true ; My life has been a task of love, One long, long thought of you."— r. Moore, OsBRiGHT found the castle of Kleeborn in all the hurry of warlike preparation. Tlie court-yard was strown with swords and lances ; on every side Vassals were seen employed in furbishing up their shields and 192 MISTRUST; OR breast-plates, and from every quarter re- sounded the noise of the busy armourers. The youth was too eager to impart the pur- port of his visit to Sir Lennard to allow himself time for inquiring the cause of all this bustle. He hastened to his friend's apartment, and started back in surprize and disappointment at the marked coldness, with which he was received. With all the frankness and impetuosity of his age, he demanded the re:ison of this al- tered treatment ; and he now learned, with equal grief and horror the crime with which his father had burthened his soul, and the effect, which it had produced at Orrenberg. Sir Ottokar had always been particularly ac- ceptable to Gustavus and his wife : his de- ference to their opinions, and the partial in- terest which he had ever taken in their con- cerns, had not only flattered their pride, but had even been of essential benefit on rpany most important occasions : his wealth his power, his high birth and military talents ! BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 193 rendered his friendship and support a trea- sure to those, on whom it was conferred : his evident adoration. of Blanche had made them for some time past consider him as their future son ; and the generosity, with which in their last interview he had sacri- ficed his own pretensions to the washes of Blanche and the welfare of her family, had exalted their esteem to a pitch of the highest admiration ; a sentiment, which was shared by Sir Lennard, whose heart Ottokar's dis- interested conduct had completely won. When, therefore, the news of his murder reached Orrenberg, the consternation, the astonishment, the grief, the thirst for re- venge, and the bursts of frantic anger, which it excited, exceeded all powers of description. Ulrica poured forth without restraint the ciiusions of all that jealousy and mistrust, which she had so long stiHed with- in her bosom against the house of Frank- heim. The gentle Blanche wept floods of tears, alternately pitying the kind youth, VOL. U K 194 MIS^fRUST; OR who from her childhood had been to her as a brother, and bewaihng this fresh obstacle to a reconciliation with her lover's family j while Gustavus now mourned the loss of his friend, whom he considered as having fallen a victim to the warmth, with which he had espoused the interests of Orrenberg, now expatiated on his numerous rrierits and his own extensive obligations to him, and now vowed to enact a dreadful vengeance for his death on the barbarous bloody Rudiger. Sir Lennard, inspired with similar indignation, agreed, that no vengeance could be exacted too severe for such a crime ; he promised to- assist Gustavus in obtaining it with his whole power ; and having sworn to renounce all intercourse with the house of Frankheim, he hastened to his own castle to arm his> vassals, and lead them to the assistance of- Gustavus. Osbright listened in the utmost conster- nation, while the above circumstances were- narrated by his host: but the vehemence. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGIIT. 1 95 with which he reprobated Ottokar's murder^ and the agony, which he evidently felt at hearing the guilt of his father, were such as speedily to remove frorn Sir Lennard's mind every unfavourable impression respecting the youth himself. The good Knight, therefore, gave him his hand with his accustomed cor- diality, and assured him of his undiminished anxiety for his welfare. Heartily did \vt vdsh his future happiness ; but he added, that after his solemn promise to Gustavus, he must confine himself to merely wishing it. Osbright must now prosecute his love- suit entirely by his own address: if he could obtain the lady, no one would feel more joy at his success, than Sir Lennard. But never more should the name of Osbright be pro- nounced by him at the castle ot Orrenberg, he had sworn it, and nothing couid induce him to violate his oath. Entreaties, that he v/ould change this re- solution, proved unavailirg, and Osbright departed with a heavy heart. \et a hm^], K 3 196 MISTttUST ; Ok which had fallen from Sir Lennard, had not teen wasted in the air. Could Blanche be induced to fly with him, and unite her fate to his, the castle of Kleeborn would af- ford them a secure refu2:e durins: the first storm of paternal indignation. He was himself innocent of any offence, and doubt- less Gustavus would soon forbear to con- found the son with the father. The irre- vocable knot once tied, the two fami- lies must needs reconcile themselves to a measure, which could no longer be avoided: Time, the great healer of wounds, might even obht crate the remembrance of this atrocious act from the minds of the diffe- rent parties ; and their respective interests being inseparably blended by this marriage. Mistrust (that odious and malignant mon- aster, which for so long had blasted the hap- piness of the hostile kinsmen) must needs perish for want of ;jllment. That Blanche could be persuaded to abandon those parents, whom she loved so passionately, Osbright 1 BLANCHE AND OSBRIGIlT. 197 with justice greatly doubted ; but he re- solved, that at least the attempt should be made. An interview with her must be im- mediately procured : then if she refused to share his fate, he determined to bid an eter- nal adieu both to Blanche and to Germany, to join the Crusaders v/ho were on the point of departing on their holy mission, and to lose on the ensanguined plains of Palestine at once his sorrows, his alTection, and his life. But how was he to obtain this interview ? Blanche was not to visit the grotto, till in- formed of his return bv Sir Lennard, and Sir Lennard had positively refused to inter- fere any further in the business. He in vain looked round for some other friend to render him this service ; and after much deliberation, he determined, that under pre- tence of disposing of her v/are at the castle, the young Barbara might easily deliver a letter to Blanche. He, therefore, hastened once more to the cottage in the wood. His lyS MISTRUST J OR. 1 liberality soon induced the girl to under- I take the commission. Writing materials were procured at the next village : and Bar- bara soon departed with a most pressing letter, for the answer to which he deter- mined to wait at the cottage. But Blanche was no longer mistress of her actions. In the height of their indignation at Ottokar's murder, her parents had insist- ed upon her renouncing all thoughts of an union with Osbright of Frankheim. Her heart would not allow her to make this re- nunciation. She protested against the in- justice of implicating the son in the fa- ther's guilt, and avowed the impossibility of withdravv'ing her affection. Ulrica, whose passions were violent and whose under- standing was not strong, was highly indig- nant at her daugiiter's disobedience, de- clared, that she would see her no more till she was av.akened to a proper sense of duty, and ordered her to be confined to her own apartment ; as to Gustavus, though he dis- BLANCm% AKB OS&RIGHT. 199 approved in his heart of such compulsory measures, yet having entirely given up the management of Blanche to his wife hitherto, he forbore on this occasion also to interfere with her orders. Willingly would the poor Blanche have complied with her lover's request for a last parting interview, to which he had confined himself in his letter, thinking the plan of elopement more hkely to be adopted by her, if presented without allowing her time for consider aiion : but how was that com- pliance to be effected ? She was a captive, and could not even leave her own apart- ment, much less the castle. In this di- 1 em ma she resolved to a^ ptal to her nurse, the only person who had access to her, rnd one who had ever shown towards her the affection of a mother. The good woman at first remonstrated loudly against the impropriety of her lady's quitting her father's home clandestinely, and insisted upon the danger of her being en- 200 MISTRUST ; OR countered by the emissaries of the Count of Frankheim, from whose bloody designs she had so lately and so narrowly escaped. But the prayers and tears of Blanche con- quered all resistance ; and on her promising to be absent but a single hour, and to wear such a disguise, as must effectually prevent her being recognized either by friend or foe, Margaret consented to assist her temporary evasion. Her sen, a young peasant, was at that time on a visit to her and resident in the castle. His stature was nearly the same as that of Blanche : it was accordingly agreed, that Margaret should procure permission for him to take leave of his young mistress, who was also his foster sister, previous to his quitting the castle : that Blanche arrayed in a suit of his cloaths, might easily elude the vigilance of her guards, while he remained concealed in her apartment till her return; for which his being supposed to have re- membered something of importance to say BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 201 to his mother would afford a plausible rea- son : and that, as the late occurrences had occasioned the private passage to be shut up, Barbara should wait near the draw-bridge to conduct Blanche to the grotto by a path through the woods, by which means she would be less exposed to observation and discovery, than if obliged to traverse the usual and beaten road. Blanche adopted this plan with eagerness, and rewarded her kind nurse for her invention with a thou- sand benedictions and caresses : but as this discussion had lasted till the approach of night, it was agreed to defer the interview till the succeeding evenings This being arranged, Barbara hastened back to the cottage with a letter, whose as- surances of undiminished affection filled the heart of Osbright with hope, and joy, and gratitude. To prevent by his presence even- the possibility of danger, he engaged to meet Barbara near the draw-bridge at the appointed hour 5 and he now sought the K 5- 202 villager, to whose care he had entrusted his wounded horse, and from whom he had borrowed a sorry beast for his excursion to the castle of Kleeborn. He found his courser perfectly recovered, rewarded the villager for his attention, and he now resolved to return to Frankheim ; where his plans made it necessary for him to furnish himself with gold and jewels for the expences of his journey in case of his departure for the Holy Land, or for the sustinence of his wife, in case he should be so fortunate as to prevail on Blanche to accompany him in his pro- posed flight. His course was again directed to St. John's Chapel ; where the intelligence €ommunicated by brother Peter, respecting Ottokar's murder, Eugene's illness, and the state of CavSlle FrankKeim, conhrmed him in the prudence of his determinations. He found, that under the present circum- stances there was no hope of getting his father to countenance his affection for the daughter of Gustavus : but his knowledge BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 203 of Magdalena's character, and of the warm undeviating affection she had ever borne him, convinced him, that he ran no danger of her betraying him, should he venture to confess to her his- love and his designs ; and that if they were once made known to her, she would assist his wishes to the very ut- most of his power. Accordingly, he re- quested brother Peter to convey a letter to the Countess, which must be delivered with the greatest secrecy into her own hands ; in this, he disclosed to her his irrevocable vows to Blanche, entreated her to use every means to soften his father's heart towards the fa* E mily of Orrenberg, and finally requested her to transmit to him by the bearer a casket containing gold and some jewels of value, which she would find in a particular part of his bed chamber. The good Friar, though still ignorant of the name of his young guest, already was too much fascinated by his manners and conversation to refuse him any honest ser- kG 204? MISTRUST J OR vice : accordingly, without requiring to have his curiosity gratified by an explanation of its nature, he readily accepted the com- mission, and departed with the letter for the castle of Frankheim. BUiNCHE aSD osbright. 205 CHAP. X. — " Horror and doubt distract His troubled thoughts, and in his bosom stir The hell within him Now conscience wakes despair Which slumbered ; wakes the better memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be, Worse; of worse deeds, worse sufferings must ensue." Milton. Anger had satiated itself with blood ; the tempest was past : the voice of conscience now could be heard again, and dreadful was its sound in the ears of the guilty Rudiger» 20S MISTRUST; OR- Blinded by passion, he had persuaded him- self that in putting Ottokar to death he had exercised a just retaliation for the murder of his herald : but now that the illusion was dissipated, he shuddered at perceiving, that the two actions wore a very different com- plexion. Gu.stavus at least had given no positive orders for the one ; but no such excuse could be alledged for the other : the one at least was sudden, and might have occurred through accident ; the other was premeditated, and could only have hapuCned through design : again, the herald \\'as the partizan of a foe, and was indeed a foe him- self; but Ottokar w^as a friend, was a kins- man, was a guest wh.i had trusted to the lav/s of knightly hospiiahty and knig!u!y honour ; laws, which had been found insu in- dent to preserve his life. Conscience and his wife's reproaches had awakened Rudiger to a full ense rf his guilt ; but instead of being beneficial, fatally dreadful were the effects, which this con- BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 207 viction produced upon his character. He was not a villain ; on the contrary, crimes filled his soul with horror and indi^piation ; nay, he possessed a thousand noble, generous, and heroic feelings : but he was the slave of tempestuous passions, and even in the most audable movements of his nature, he might rather be said to detest vice, than to love virtue. Now then, when he saw himself on a sud- den the object of his own abhorrence, of that abhorrence which, he had formerly ex- prest so loudly ^nd so Vv-armly against others; \vhen he heard the bitter reproaches of Mag- dalena, and felt in all the agony of his soul^' that her reproaches were deserved; he sank at once into the deepest gloom of despondency, into all the horrors of self-loathing, and all the bitterness of mental misery. He induced no wish of reparation } he formed no plan of repentance ; he sought no excuse for his crime : he rather exaggerated its atrocity. What he now felt towards Gustavus was no 208 MISTRUST; OR I longer suspicion, or jealousy, or ill-will I No ; it was the deepest, deadliest hatred ; it was a burning thirst for vengeance, which the blood of the whole family of Orrenberg seemed scarcely enough to quench. He was guilty, he was the most execrable of mortals, he was odious in his own eyes ; and what punishment could be inflicted too severe on- ' the man, who had made him so ? That man- was Gustavus ; on Gustavus he swore to be revenged with the most dreadful imprecati- ons : the magnitude of this one crime made* him consider all future ones as but of little account, and he became the more a villain from his very abhorrence of vice. When the first emotions of grief and horror had subsided, and Magdalena's heart i no longer prevented her better judgment from exercising its influence, she regretted bitterly her having exposed her feelings so plainly before her Lord. She was well aware, that with his temper reproaches could ] only serve to exasperate his passions, and BLANCHE AND OSBRIGIIT. 209 unqualified opposition to confirm him in a course of error. With the dawn of morn- ing, therefore, she hastened to his chamber, determined to remove as much as possible the impression, which she had left on his mind at their last parting. She wished to soothe the agonies of his bleeding conscience, to convince him gently and gradually^ that all these mischiefs arose from the long-sub- sisting and unnatural enmity o' the two houses, and (if possible) by using the gentlest persuasion to win from him a consent, that the occurrence of similar disasters should be prevented by the union of Blanche and Os- bright, and consequently of the dearest in- terests of the two families. But her good intentions were frustrated : she was refused admittance to Rudiger, who passed the next-four-and twenty hours in the solitude of his chamber, alternately execrating him- self and others, and passing by turns from the depth of the blackest gloom to the ex- treme of the wildest fury. 12X0 MISTRrsr; OR i No one but Wilfred v/as suffered to ap- proach him : nor wi3uld he quit his chamber, till inforixied of the arrival of Eugene, whom (though his wound was not mortal) it had been at first judged imprudent to remove from the monastery of St. John. Though he had hitherto endeavoured to conceal it even from himself, pa: ■ ly through prudence, partly through pride, it was in truth this unacknowledged boy, who possest the whole paternal love of Rudiger. The difference of his sensations towards him and Qsbright partook of those, which he had felt towards their respective mothers. His esteem, his admiration were bestowed in the highest degree on Magdalena ; but his heart had never melted with love but for tlie un- Iiappy Agatha. Osbright was his heir, was a hero ; he was fond of him, but on Eugene he doated. In the one, he prized the transmitter of that name, which was so precious to his vanity ; but he cherished Eugene for his own sake. It is true, if BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 2Vl he had beea asked — " which of the youths should perish" — he would have sacrificed Eugene without a moment's hesitation ; for, in the bosom of Rudiger pride ever bore a sway far superior to that of ten- derness : but had he been asked — " which of them he could consent never to see again*' — he would have felt as little doubt in answering — '' Osbright" — nor perhaps would have felt very deeply the deprivation^ though the being his heir was the strongest claim to his attention. Still the reflection^ that he ?nust be his heir, made Rudiger en- tertain some little jealousy towards him ; and in the presence of Osbright, the father's self-love felt painfully wounded by being sensible, that the perfections of his son made the defects of his own character appear in a more ghiring light. On the other hand he saw in Eugene a poor defenceless being, w^hom he had brought into a woild of sor- row, where his lot was hard, and against >i^hose difficulties he was ill calculated to 212 MISTRUST: on I struggle : he pitied him for his destitute situation, and he loved him for his likeness to his wretched mother. In short Eugene was dearer to him than Osbright ; but the pride of blood was a thousand times dearer to him than either : he would have sa-^ crificed his own life to preserve Eugene's ; but he would have sacrificed Eugene's as well as his own to preserve in Osbright " the future Count of Frankheim." No sooner was he informed of the youth^s arrival, than he hastened to visit him ; but he had scarcely past the threshold of his chamber, when Magdalena stood before him. He started back, and a deep gloom darkened all his features. In vain did she address him in the most soothing language, and endeavour to extenuate the atrocity of Ottokar's murder : he listened in silence, and only replied by a look of scornful in- credulity. In vain did she recant the too hasty declaration of her sentiments towards him, and assure him of her undiminished f BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 213 afTection : the bending of his head with constrained politeness and a smile of the bitterest irony was the only manner, in which he exprest his gratitude, f lis coldness hurt, and his suUenness alarmed her. Pier eyes filled with tears ; she motioned to take his hand, and press it to her lips ; but he drew it back, haughtily and gloomily, and passing her without uttering a word, proceeded to the chamber of Eugene. r> But no comfort awaited him there. He found the wretched youth tortured by one of his most violent paroxysms. He raved incessantly of his mother and of the mur- dered Joscelyn ; of the lovely cruel Blanche, and the happy hated Osbright. Every word, which fell from his lips, either tore open a scarcely healed wound in his father's bosom, or inflicted upon it a new one. Rudiger lis- tened with horror and remorse to the reca- pitulation of the poor Agatha's injuries and sufferings : the mention of Joscelyn 's mur- der re-kindled in his heart the flames of 21* MISTRUST ; {)R vengeance against Gustavus : but when he collected from Eugene's ravings, that the' child of that very Gustavus was Hkely' to become his daughter-in-law; that she, whose fatal beauty had robbed his darling son of his reason, and almost of his life, had also fascinated the affections of his heir;' and that the proud name of Frankheini was destined to be perpetuated through a • descendant of the detested race of Orren- berg ; no sooner was this discovery made to him, than his surprize, his alarm, hW indignation were extreme, extravagant,, ungovernable. He rushed from Eugene's i apartment, hastened to that of Magdalena, •; and entering abruptly, assailed her at once with such a storm of passion, of threats, of vows of vengeance against Blanche, against Osbright, against herself if he should find her privy to her son's attachment, that it was long, before the Countess could discover the origin of his frantic beha* viour* I BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 21$ ;. "But v^'hen she did discover it, she found all efforts to appease his fury totally una- vailin^Tj. Qn the contrary, the attemj^t to [soothe him, and the bare suggestion of the advantages likely to result from Osbright's attachment, only served to increase his passion; and after loading his wife with the bitterest reproaches, he was rushing I from the chamber, when his eye rested on a letter, which in her agitation had fallen I from her bosom unobserved. At the same I moment with her Lord, she also had per- ceived the paper ; with a cry of terror she hastily caught it from the ground; but Rudiger had recognized his son's hand- WTiting, and Magdalena's evident alarm convincing him, that it contained some mystery, and that a mystery of no slight importance, he rudely forced the letter from her. One half, however, remained in the hand of the Countess, and she has- tened to conceal its contents from disco- 216 MISTRUST; OR very by throwing it into a brasier, which was burning on the hearth. It was Oibright's letter, which Brother Peter had delivered not an hour before. Pale and trembling with passion, Rudiger read the avowal of his son's love for Blanche exprest in the most glowing terms, his urgent entreaties that Magdalena would prevail on his father to consent to their • union, and his confession, that for several days he had remained in concealment at the cell of Brother Peter. He also men- tioned, that he was to have an interview • with Blanche that evening. . . . — and here \ the letter broke off. Ihe object of that ; interview, the place of rendezvous, the ,] precise time of meeting, these points were contained in the burnt half of the letter ; ■ and on these points the alarmed Magdalena resolutely refused to give any information. Threats and entreaties were employed in vain ; and having placed guards at hfer chamber-door, lest she should make O BLAKCHE AND OSBUIGHT. 217 briQ-ht av.^are that his incensed father was o apprised of the intended meeting, Rudiger left her to meditate on the most certain means of getting the defenceless Blanche •into his power. Wilfred was summoned to his counsels ; but the Seneschal refused his assistance, till assured that his Lord's designs aimed at the liberty, but not at the life of Blanche ; though perhaps had he reasoned justly, he would have known, that with a man like Rudiger, whose passions were so impetu- ous, and who was ever swayed by the im- pulse of the moment, her liberty once lost, her life could not for one instant be se- cure. However, at present Rudiger's ob- ject was, by getting Blanche into his hands, to prevent the possibility of her marriage with Osbright, and to inflict the bitterest agony on Gustavus, by making him trem- ble with every minute for the life of his darling daughter. He also fancied, that her presence might be of great efficacy in iC* VOL. I. L SIS' MISTRUST : OR I Storing Eugene to his senses j but he swore with dreadful imprecations, that if she failed to produce that beneficial effect, she should be the lunatic's only nurse and con- tinual attendant, and should pass the re- mainder of her existence in witnessing the frantic transports of the wretch, whom her fatal charms had ruined. Such being his avowed objects, Wilfred made no longer any scruple of giving his advice. It was accordingly agreed, that St. John's Chapel should be watched ; that Osbright should be followed to the place of rendezvous j and that Rudiger should hasten thither with a small body of chosen men^ to seize and convey Blanche to the Castle of Frank- heim. — But Wilfred (who dreaded the re- sentment of his young Lord, should he be known to Lave had any hand in this bu- siness, and in whose power he should be left entirely after Rudiger's decease) stipu- lated, that every possible means should be used to surprize thj Udy, either previous BLANCHE AND OSBUIGHT. 219 to her meeting with Osbright, or after she had parted from him, but not when the lovers were together. By taking this pre- caution, he trusted, that Osbright would be kept in ignorance of the persons, by whom his mistress had been carried oflF; all resistance on his part would also be precluded, which otherwise was likely to be very desperate and dangerous to the assailants ; and it might even be possible to conceal from him, that the scene of his mistress's captivity was the Castle of his own father. To these stipulations Rudiger readily consented ; and every thing being now ar* ranged, he waited with the utmost im- patience for the information, that Osbright had set forward from the Chapel of St. John, L 2 !20 IlIISTRUSTj OR CHAP. XL '^ Why does she stop, and look often around. As she glides down the secret stair ; And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound, As he rouses him up from his lair ; And though she passes the postern alone, Why is not the watchman's bugle blown ?" W. ScoWs " Lay of the Lad Minstrel:' The time was arrived, at which Osbright had engaged to meet Barbara near the draw- bridge : but some suspicious circumstances had alarmed Brother Peter, and made him BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 22 i intimate to his guest, that spies were cer- tainly watching near the Chapel-gate. There was no other out-let : Osbright, how- ever unwillingly, thought it advisable to protract his departure for a short time : after which Brother Peter was sent out to examine, whether the persons, whose ap- pearance had excited his suspicions, were still loitering near the place. The old man soon returned with the report, that all seemed quiet, and that in his beUef his guest might now set forward without dan- ger of a discovery. But as much time had been lost by tliis hesitation, the youth doubted not, thiit Blanche and her com- panion must have long since quitted the Castle of Orrenberg, and probably had already sheltered themselves within the cave. Thither he therefore hastened with all possible expedition, and found his conjec- tures verified. Blanche and Barbara were safe within St. Hildegarde's Grotto, and L 3 222 MISTRUST; or extremeiy uneasy at his not arriving. In two hours the draw-bridge of Orrenberg Castle would be raised, and Blanche's return prevented : while on the other hand Barba- ra was uneasy at being so long absent from her decrepit gran dn^. other, and yet could not think of leaving Blanche in the cavern without a companion. The arrival of Os- bright at once dispelled their uneasiness. Blanche received him with mingled joy and sorrow : and Barbara, having congratulated the lovers on their meeting, stated her own presence to be now superfluous, and en- treated permission to return to her grand- mother, who (she was certain) must be ex- tremely uneasy at her absence. The per- mission was readily granted, and she lost no time in profiting by it. And now did Osbright employ every re- source of his eloquence to persuade Blanche, that the hour was come, when they must either part for ever, or must part no more. Blanche heard the assurance with agony; BLANCHE AND OSERIGHT. 223 but the proposal of flight, of marriage un- authorized by her parents, was rejected by her, not merely with firmness, but even with abhorrence. She owned, *' that to see Osbright no more, was the bitterest of all earthly misfortunes, except to live under the consciousness of having merited pater- nal displeasure." She said, " that in truth her parting with him would break her heart, but her flight with him would break the hearts of her parents ;" and she pray- ed — " that the vengeance of offended Hea- ven might fall heavy on her head, if she ever planted a single painful feeHng in those bosoms, which from the first moment of her birth had only palpitated with love and with anxiety for her.'' — In answer to this, Osbright said every- thing, that despairing passion could suggest. In vain did Blanche assure him, that no per- suasion could induce her to act in contra- diction to her sense of duty. The youth persisted in pointing out all the advantages L 4 224 MISTRUST ; OR likely to result from so slight and so tem- porary a deviation from ' the path of strict propriety ; and he was still urging his hope- less suit, when a stone fell through the chasm iui the Grotto's roof, which was at some little distance from the rocky bank, on which the lovers were seated. Osbright turned round; a second stone fell, and was followed by a third, accompanied by a low murmuring noise. He Hstened, and fan- cied, that he could distinguish his own name. He rose, and advanced to the chasm. — " Is any one above ?'' said he aloud ; " did any one call. . . . '' — — "Hush! hush! Sir Knight!'* interrupt- ed a voice, still whispering ; " speak softly for heaven's sake ; I am Barbara ! Oh ! Sir Knight, I fear, that we are all undone, or at least that the Lady Blanche has got into the saddest hole, that ever poor lady put her head into. Would you think it. Sir Knight ? I had scarcely set my foot on the BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 2^25 outside of the narrow passage. ... I was go- ing along gaily, singing to myself, and (the Lord knows) thinking of no harm. . . . all on a sudden — ' Seize her/ cries a voice Uke thun- der, and in an instant I found myself surround- ed by armed men. I fell on my knees, and begged for my life, and with good reason; for one tall terrible Knight had got his dagger drawn as if ready to stab me, only his com- panion caught him by the arm, and bade him remember his oath — ' Righf ,' said the fierce- one ; ' then away with her to tlie Castle ! Con- fine her in the dungeons of the South Tower T —When I heard the word ' dungeon,' I thought, that I should have died outright ;. so I fell to crying and entreating more than ever, and as luck would have it, the moon just then happened to come from behind a cloud — 'HaT cried the quiet-one, as soon as he saw my face ; ' this cannot be the Lady Blanche ?' — ' Oh ! no, no, no 1' said I, before I gave myself time to think ; ' I am not the Lady Blanche indeed. She is yonder in the L. 5 0^26 MISTRUST ; OR C2ive with Sir Osbright, disguised in boy*s doaths, and " — j — " You told them so ? Imprudent girl ! You have undone us all !" — — " Alas the day ! Sir Knight ! I was in such a flutter, that I scarcely knew, what I did, or what I said: but as soon as they knew, who I really was, they released me, and bade me go my ways. I would fain have returned to tell you^ what had hap- pened J but they would not suffer me, and I was obliged to set forward as if going to my own home. Yet I could not bear to leave you in ignorance of their evil designs : so after a little while I stole back again without noise, and by help of the shrubs and bushes I crept behind the two, who appeared to be the chief of the party, so that I could overhear their whole desio-n." — — '' And that design is " — -— " To seize the Lady Blanche on her leaving the grotto, and convey her to the Castle of Frankheim, where she is to bo o BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 227 shut Up in a dungeon, till she consents to marry some young madman, who (it seems) has lost his wits for love of her. The fierce- one was for going to the Grotto, and dragging her away this moment ; but his companion reminded - him of his promise of seizing her if possible, after she had parted with Sir Osbright — ' But suppose,' says the fierce-one, ' he should not part with her, till she is safe within the walls of Orrenberg ?' — At last it was agreed be- tween them, that they should still wait an hour to see, whether Blanche would come out alone ; but if that time should elapse without your quitting the cave. Sir Knight, tiien the fierce-one swore with a thousand: dreadful oaths, that he would tear her from, you with his own hands — ' And if he re- sists,' continued he in a dreadful voice, and he clenched his hands^ and I could; hear him gnash his teeth; ^ if he resists, I will either plunge my sword in the hated. h 6 228 mistrust; or girl's heart, or he shall bury his in his father's;*— — " Your father, Gsbright? Your dread- ful father ?'* exclaimed Blanche, wringing her hands ; " now you see, in what danger even this trifling breach of duty has in- volved me ! Oh ! my parents, my dear, good parents ! How severely am I punish- ed for having clandestinely left for one hour the shelter of your protecting arms!" — — "No! no!" said Barbara eagerly, while Osbright vainly endeavoured to calm the terrors of his mistress, though his own alarm was scarcely less ; " all is not lost yet, dear Lady ; calm yourself, and listen to me; for as soon as I knew the designs of these villains, I bethought me of a means to save you, and it was for this purpose, that I hazarded to climb the rock, and steal hither unobserved to give you this intelligence. It seems, that Sir Osbright is in no danger ; they v/ill let him pass forth without hindrance, and will rejoice in get- BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 219 ting rid of him, in order that they may bear you away to their horrible dungeons without resistance. Now mark, what you must do ; throw oflf that long cloak, in which Dame Margaret wrapped you up so carefully ; array yourself instead in Sir Os- bright's armour, and then march forth with a stout heart, his shield on your arm, and his helmet on your head. The shadows of night will doubtless prevent the strangers from observing any difference in your height ; the clattering of the armour will confirm them in their mistake ; and though to be sure the moon shines bright- ly just at present, that is a circumstance in your favour ; for I heard one of the villains tell the other, that though you were in boy's cloaths, there could be no mistaking you for Sir Osbright, who would be known by the device of his shield, and by the scarlet and white plumes on his helmet. Come, come, make haste, Lady; for I war- rant you, there is but little time to spare."' — 230 mistrust; or Osbright had already divested himself of his breast-plate and his glittering casque, and he now hastened to adorn with them the delicate form of Blanche. Confused and terrified in the extreme, she yeilded to his entreaties> but frequently compelled both him and Barbara to repeat their assurances, that he ran no danger in remaining in the grotto. At length her disgui e was com- plete, and with a beating heart and trem- bling limbs, she set forward on her danger- ous expedition. No sooner had the lady left the cave, than Barbara resumed her discourse — " And now, Sir Knight," said she, " it will be necessary for you also to play a part. I v/arrant you, the Lady will be no sooner out of hearing, than the strangers will hurry hither to se- cure their prize; and should they discover her flight immediately, they may still be in time to prevent her escape. Therefore wrap yourself up in her scarlet mantle, and con- ceal your face under the large slouched hat. BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 231 Wjhich she has left behind her; they are aware, that she is in male apparel, and by- disguising your voice a little, you may easily persuade them, that you are the person whom they seek, till she is safe at Orren- berg. That's right ! now then the hat i — hark ! I hear the noise of armour. Keep up the deception as long as you can ; you know, they can but carry you to your own Castle ; and as it seems, that the chief of these strangers is your own father, at worst you have only to discover. . . . they are here ! hush !'*— Barbara was correct. Count Rudiger and his attendants had suffered the trembiins: Blanche to pass unmolested through their ambuscade : they only marked the clank of her arms and the waving of her parti-colour- ed plumes ; while the faintness of her step, and that she tottered under the weight of the ponderous shield, past entirely unobserv- ed. Yet as she drew near the out-let of the rocky path, she once heard a voice whisper 232 MISTRUST ; OR. from among some bushes — " Now then I now 1" — and the sound appeared to her the sentence of death. Her pulse ceased to beat ^ she staggered, and caught at a projection of the rock : but presently another voice whis- pered eagerly in reply — " No ! no ! be silent, fool 1 ^tis Sir Osbright ! I know him by that casque;'' — and she felt her hopes and her spirits revive. She rushed forward with re- newed vigour, and in a few minutes found herself in the great road leading to Orren- berg. — •" Now praised be the Virgin !'* she ex^ claimed in a rapture of gratitude ; " I am safe !" — ^when at that moment she found her- self seized with violence : her lance was wrested from her hand, and on looking round she perceived herself surrounded by armed men. A shout of exultation imme* diately followed her capture. — " What is the matter ?" exclaimed a warrior, at whose approach the croud gave way, and in whose voice Blanche recognized BLANCHE AND OSBRIGH^T. 233" with shame and terror the voice of her fa- ther. But the vizor of her casque was closed, and he little guest, that the warrior who stood before him, was the daughter, v/hom he believed secure in the Castle of Orrenberg. — " The business is half done, my Lord !** was the answer ; " I should know that helmet and shield among a thousand ; and I here present you (without the capture cost- ing you a single blow) with that redoubtable warrior, Osbright of Frankheim.*' — — " Sir Osbright ?" cried Gustavus, *' Maurice, are you certain of what you assert ? — Nay then, this is indeed a prize ! But time permits not .... Fear nothing. Sir Knight ; your treatment shall be noble, but for the present you must remain my pri- soner. Let six of you convey him to the castle, and confine him in the state-cham- ber, adjoining to the Great Hall. Guard him honourably, but closely, and see, that 234} MrsTRusT ; or no one has access to him* Now then for Rudiger! Away!" — Gustavus said, and hastened towards the Grotto: and now Blanche found herself compelled to visit the castle of her parents, as an enemy and a captive. However, her plan was already arranged. She determined to keep her secret till safe within the walls of Orrenberg. Once arrived there, she meant to request an interview with her mother, confess to her the whole of her imprudence, and entreat her assistance in repairing it. She doubted not, that the strength of maternal tenderness would soon conquer the first emotions of resentment; that Ulrica would find some means of enabling her to regain her own chamber undiscover^ ed; and that as the disappearance of the supposed Osbright might easily be accounted for by his having effected his escape by brib- ing his guards, or any other artifice, her fault and her danger on this adventurous night might effectually be kept from the BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. %3S knowledge of her father. Such were the designs of Blanche; and having thus ar- ranged them to her satisfaction, she pro- secuted her journey to Orrenberg with ^ less heavy heart. Q€6 MISTRUST 5 OS. CHAP. XIL *' Even-handed Justice Commends the ingredients of the poisoned chalice To our own lips." . Macbeth, A DOMESTIC, whom Count Rudlger had chastized for some trivial fault with unjus- tifiable severity, in revenge had fled to the Castle of Orrenb^rg, and informed its Lord>| BLANCHE AND OSBklGHT. 237 that both Osbright and his father were in St. Hildegarde*s Grotto, slightly attended, and might easily be surprized. Gustavus failed not to employ so fortunate and un- hoped-for an opportunity of getting his chief enemies into his power. He imme- diately set forward with all the force, which !ie could muster — and so great was the su- periority of his numbers, that in spite of Rudiger's resistance (who exposed his life on this occasion with all the inconsiderate fury of a madman, and performed prodigies of valour almost incredible) the small body of Fraiikheimers were soon put to flight, and their Chief was conveyed a prisoner to the castle of Orrenberg. Now then it was in the power of Gus- tavus to take a full revenge on his furious kinsman, and secure to himself, by the deaths of Rudiger and his son, the entire possessions of the haughty house of Frank- heim : but to profit by this opportunity was not in the noble and forgiving nature 38 MISTRUST ; OK of GustaVus : he meditated a more honour- able vengeance. His own injuries were al- ready forgotten : the death of Ottokar was still remembered, but remembered with grief, not rage. His enemies were totally in his power ; that consideration was suffi- cient to make him view them no longer as enemies : and he seized with eagerness this opportunity of evincing the disinterested- ness of his wishes and the sincerity of his professions of good-will by a proof so clear and striking, as should effectually banish all future mistrust, even from the suspicious bosom of Rudiger. He communicated his intentions to Sir Lennard, who on that evening had arrived with his promised suc- cours at Orrenberg. The worthy Knight sanctioned the plan with his v/armest ap- probation, ard Gustavus now hastened, with a heart glowing with delight at the thought cf doing a great and generous act, to ex- plain himself to his indignant prisoner. BLANCHE AND OSBRI0HT. 239 The great hall was the scene of this in- terview between the hostile kinsmen. His guards had caused Rudiger*s wounds to be carefully drest, but had thought it proper to restrain him by chains from committing acts of violence. Gustavus, however, no sooner observed this precaution, than he ordered the fetters to be removed ; but the sullen captive neither thanked the ser- vants for their care of his wounds, nor the master for the restoration of his li- berty. He looked on all around him with an air of haughty indifference; but while he listened to Gustavus's professions of good will, and proposals for a mutual ob- livion of past injuries, the expression of gratified malice glared terribly in his burn- ing eye-balls. — " In short,'* said Gustavus in conclu- sion, " I am convinced, that the numerous causes, which have occasioned the mutual alienation of our hearts and faniilies, arose 240 ' MISTRUST ; OR entirely from misinterpretation of accidental circumstances, and not from any intention of offence, or desire to inflict a premedi- tated injury. Your suspicions are easily ex- cited ; those of my wife are not more dif- ficult to rouze; every trifle was exagerated, every fact was misrepresented, and supposi- tions were counted as facts. It is my most earnest wdsh to root out all misunderstand- ing for ever, and I know of no more certain means than an union of our children, the union of Osbright and Blanche." — — "Blanche?*' repeated Rudiger "Blanche? - — Nay, 'tis a most fortunate idea ! — I only doubt the facility of. . . . " — — " Nothing can be effected more easily !'' interrupted Gustavus, rejoiced to find his proposal so favourably received — '' they love each other. . . . have loved each other long, and. . . . '' — — " True ! I have heard so ! Osbright loves your daughter fondly ; and no doubt you love her fondly too ?" — BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHr. 1341 — *' Fondly f passionately ! She is the joy of my existence, the being, on whom alone I depend for the W^hole happiness of my fu* ture life!" — — " Indeed •? that is still better — I rejoice to hear it — there is a vouth at home. . . . His name is Eugene. ... He too loves her passionately. . . . madly, indeed, I might say But she, you think, loves Osbright?"-*— — " T/jink it ? I know it ! It was but this morning, that she assured me so ar- dently, that her heart burned for him with such true affection. , . . " — — " Nay, it may be so ; you must know best ; and yet I cannot help suspecting, that her heart feels colder towards him now, than it did this morning." — — " Your suspicions are unjust, Count Rudiger. Blanche is no capricious . . * . But you shall hear her own lips declare her sen- timents. She shall be called hither, instant- ly, and. . . . " — VOL. h M 242 — " By no means," cried Rudiger hasti- ly, wHile he detained his host; "by no jfieahs ! She is probably retired to rest ; I do not wish her to be disturbed ; I do not ev^n wish to see her. * . . till Osbright shall present her to me as his bride." — — " That may be done this instant : you are not yet aware, Count Rudiger, that you are not the only captive of rank whom , this night's adventure has thrown into my ^ power. Your son inhabits yonder cham- ber."— Instantly the expression of Rudiger's countenance changed. He turned pale, and '; starting from his chair grasped the arm of ■ his Seneschal, who had been captured with \ him in the cave, and had accompanied him to Orrenberg. — " My fion here ?'' he exclaimed ; " here ! in your power !" — A similar dismay seemed to have taken possession of the Seneschal. ^ — " I warned you," he replied in broken BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 243 accents; "I told you I charged you.. . " — ; — " Peace, babbler !" interrupted his Lord passionately ; while Gustavus thus resum- ed his discourse. — " Yes ; Osbright, on leaving the cave, was seized by my followers, and conveyed hither ; but calm this agitation. Count, which doubtless is caused by yojur un- just suspicions respecting the death of your younger son. Your elder, your only one, is now in my hands, and with a single word could I annihilate your whole race. But fear nothing ; I would rather perisli myself, than pronounce that word. Os- bright's liberty shall prove to you, that I am innocent of the death of Joscelyn : he shall be immediately restored to you, and I only ask in return your consent to his union v/ith my sole heiress, wdth my darl- ing child." — " I consent!" cried Rudiger eagerly ; "I consent to that, to every thing ! only give me back my son 5 suffer us to depart this m2 ^■1-4 MlsTRtrs't ; Oft. instant, and to-morrow name your owti con- ditions." — •— " You shall be obeyed," answered Gustavus, and ordered the doors of the captive's chamber to be thrown open, and himself conducted to their presence.— *' But," he continued, addressing him- self to Rudiger, " surely you will not de- part immediately. 'Tis late ; the espousals may take place to-morrow ; a messenger may be dispatched to inform the Lady Magda- lena of the cause, which detains you ; then tarry here this night, and. . . . " — " This night ?" exclaimed Rudiger wildly; " no, no ! not an hour ! not an instant ! — Count of Orrenberg, would you extort my consent to this union ? would you believe this reconciliation to be sincere, if made with your captives ? no ! be generous ! give me back my son without conditions ; restore us to liberty ; then scrd your herald to the Castle of Frankheim to-morrow, and receive my answer, free and uncontrolled.*' — BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHTr 24i? — " Be it SQ !" said Gustavus ; and at the same moment the captive Knight enter^ ^d the hall. The Count of Frankheim, in spite of his agitation (which increased with every moment), recognized the well-known 5hitld and helmet j and before Gustavus had time to explain what had happened, he hastily commanded the youth to follow him. But the youth obeyed not the com- mand. Again it was repeated, and still he remained motionless. Rudiger, whose im- p tie .ce by this time* amounted almost to frenzy, rushed forwards to grasp his son's iianu, aiiu uiav> i*i*Ai. \jj r^..^^ r.^... *u^ apartment. The youth started back with a cry of terror, and retreating nearer to the Count of Orrenberg, seemed to implore his protection against his incensed father. Gus- tavus endeavoured to re-assure him. — "-^ Fear nothing, noble youth '•*' said he ; " vf ur fathe; kno vs you: atta hment, and approver it. We are ro longer enemies^ your union v\ith my daughur is sCwJed, and M 3 V.46 yoa will only leave this castle to-night, that . you may return to it to-morrow as the ac- i knowledged bridegroom of yourBlanche." — — " Indeed ?'' exclaimed the young Knight in joyful surprize ; " oh ! happy tidings ! now then I need nothing more to compleat my happiness. . . . nothing but my father's pardon — then pardon me, my father/' he continued, at the same time throwing oft his ponderous casque, and fall- ing at the feet of Gustavus ; " oh ! pardon your penitent, your imprudent child !" — — " Amazement V* exclaimed the Count — " Blanche ?'' cried Rudiger, " Blanche in Osbright's armour ? — Oh 1 Wilfred, Wil- fred ! whom then. . . . ? Speak, girl, speak ! explain. . . . oh ! lose not a moment. . . . you know not the fears the agonies. . . . speak, oh ! speak 1" — Agitated by hope, blushing at her impru- dence, confused by the rapidity and violence , with which Rudiger questioned her, it wa? with difficulty^ that Blanche related the ad^ BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 247 ventures of the cave to her astonished audi- tors : but Rudiger soon heard enough to guess the rest. He understood, that the lovers had been aware of his approach ; that they had changed habits ; that dis- guised as Blanche, Osbright had remained in the cavern ; he required to know no more ! a shriek of horror interrupted the narrative ; his countenance exprest all the agonies of despair j he seemed to be some fiend, rather than a human being. — " The blow is struck 1" he exclaimed ; " 'tis past ! all is over ! — agony ! — madness ! — yet 'tis possible. . . .To the cave! to the cave ! to save him, or to die !" — he said, and rushed out of the hall. — " Oh! follow him!" cried Wilfred, wringing his hands ; " drag him from the cavern ! nay, nay ! detain me not ! his brain will turn. ... his heart will break. . . . He promised so solemnly. . but his violence. . .... his passions. ... a sudden burst of fury. .^ M 4 248 mistrust; or . . let me be gone ! for the love of Heaven, eh I let me depart this moment."— And brea>:ing from Gustavus, who wish- ed him to explain the cause of this excessive agitation, the Seneschal followed his master, who had already crossed the draw-bridge with the rapidity of an eagle. After a few words to tranquillize his affiiglited daughter, the Count of Orrenberg judged it best to pursue the fugitives, and learn the cause of their alarm : but before he could leave the hall, a fresh incident ob- tructed his progress. A young girl, bathed in tears, pale as a spectre, and her garments spotted with blood, rushed wildly into the room, and threw herself sobbing at the feet of Blanche. It was Barbara. — " He is gone 1" she exclaimed, wring- ing her hands ; *^ oh ! Lady, Lady ; he is gone ! — From the rock above I heard the clank of the assassin*s armour, as he rushed into the cavern — " Blanche ! Blanche !" he cried j " Blanche of Orrenberg !'' — *« Here BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 249 I' am I" answered the poor vktim, " what ivould you with Blanche ?'*- — " Ha ! sorcer- fes !" cri^d a^ain the terrible voice; *' take this! 'tis Eugene, who sends it you !" — and then. . , . oh 1 then 1 saw the weapon gleann .... I heard a dreadful shriek. ... I heard no more ! — ^I lost my senses : when they Returned, all was bushed — I ventured down from the rock. ... I stole into the cave. . . . I dragged him into the light. ... he was bloody. ... he was cold. ... he was dead !*' — — " Whom ? whom ?" exclaimed Blanche, almost frantic with a' arm. — " Oh! Osbright! Osb ght!'' answered, the sobbing girl ; d Blanche fell lifeless at the feet of her father. At the door cf St Hildegarde's cave stood the wretched Rudige : before him lay a. cors^', on which he gazed for a few mo- ments in silent agony. At length with desperate resolution he drew away the large hat, which overshadowed the face of. the dead person, and the moon-beams shone full M 5 250 MISTRUST ; OR Upon his features : Rudiger knew those fea-^ tures well I he tore ofF the scarlet robe, in which the body was enveloped : he saw a large wound on the breast ; he saw his own dagger in the wound y he snatched it forth, plunged it in his heart, and then murmuring the name of Osbright, the Slave of passion sank upon his victim's body, and sank to rise no more!. Blanche was restored to life, but her hap- piness was fled for ever. She languished, through a few mournful years, and then sought the grave, whither her broken-heart- ed father soon followed his darling. The. fatal inheritance past into another family,, and the proud race of Frankheim closed its illustrious line for ever. At the expiration of some years, Eugene was unhappy enough to recover his senses sufEciently to know, that Blanche was al- ready numbered among the dead. He visit- ed her tomb, wept, and prayed there ; then fixed the Cross upon his bosom, and wander- BLANCHE AND OSBRIGHT. 251 ed in pilgrim's weeds to the Holy Land, He was never heard of more ; but with a. frame so delicate, intellects so shattered, and a heaxt so wounded, doubtless his sufferings could not be long. ' Magdalena and Ulrica, th se sisters in ca- lamity, retired to the Convent of St. Hilde- garde, where they soon after assumed the veil, and in whose chapel they caused a stately tomb to be erected over the ashes of their departed children. Here every day they met to indulge their common sorrows : here every night they joined in prayer for • the eternal happiness of those dear-ores : here during maiiy years of unavailing an- guish they bathed with tears the marble tab- let, on which stood engraved these words, so mournful, so fatal, and so true, — *' Here rest the Victims of Mistrust." — FINIS. M 6 THE ADMIRAL GUARINO, — " I hare a weapon, A better never did sustain itself Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen th« day^ When with this little arm and this good sword 1 have made my way through more impediments Than twenty times your stop." — OtJieUa. THE ADMIRAL GUARINO, Hark, and heed me, deeds reciting Sad to hear and sad to tell 3 How at Roncevalles fighting, Charles's choicest warriors fell. Dealing round eternal slumber. Still Guarino kept his sword : ]Vloorish monarchs, seven in number. Seized at length the Christian Lord. "Whose the Knight should be;, deciding. Seven times seven the dice they shake 5 Seven times seven the rest deriding, Proud Marlotes wins the stake- 256 THE ADMIRAL GUARINO'^ More rejoiced that he possest him. Than Arabia's realm to sway, — " Captive" — thus the Prince addrest hlm^ " Captive, hear, and then obey ! " Quit the faith to Mahom hateful, Gursed by Heaven, arid fcufsedby mej Follow mine j thy master, grateful. Shall thy friend and father be. " Of two daughters hig^i descended. This shall in your arms be' prest ; That shall work you garments splendid. Deck your bed, and watch your rest, " And, because I prize thee dearly. Thine Arabia's crowh shall be! Now, Sir Christian, speak sincerely ; Wilt thou more, I'll give it thee !"— Spoke the Ktiight;to Heaveh appealing) ' (Hark, an^ heed t'ti6 Wordl^ h^said,) — *' Subtly now is Satan dea:lii^^,' Blessed Virgin ! 'bemy^idi'' THE ADMIRAL OUARINO. 25? *' Moor, I'il ne'er be Mahom'i servant. Ne'er the name of Christ profane. And my heart, with failh most fervent. Wears a Christian maiden's All confest their skill too weak ; Till, with scorn and anger burning. Thus the King was heard to speak :-— •— '* Touch no breast shall babe complaimng^ Man no bread shall dare to eat. Till some Knight, the mark attaining, Laya^tat my royal fe^t !"— THE ADMIRAL GUARINO. 25!5 Of the noise was well aware He, In the dungeon's depth who lay : -—" Holy Cross, and Blessed Mary, Wherefore shout the Moors to-day ? *' Does their Chief some blooming virgin Home as bride in triumph bring ? Or is come my time of scourging To delight the cruel King ?" — Spoke the Gaoler :-^** 'Tis no virgin. Who to-day must lose the name, Nor is this your time of scourging, -\i'n>oti vno -<.}aiiv>/» liww iifociaim : *' 'Tis St. John's day thus reppected. And his feast to honour more Hath the King a shield erected. Bright with gems and precious ore. *' All the Moors, their lances throwing. Vainly hoped the mark to reach j Till with ijuick impatience glowing. Vowed the King in angry speech, *260 THE ADMIRAL GUARINO. " Till on earth the shield was seen, no Bread should in his realm ht broke."-— — " Say'st thou ?" cried with joy Guarino, (Hark, and heed the words he spoke :) ** Give me back ray courser trusty, "Which was wont my weight to b-^arj Give my armour now so rufty, Which I erst was wont to wear j " From its lofty station driven. Soon I'll bring the buckler low. j: This I'll do, or else by Heaven, On the block my diuou tma^i x^w« i*. — " Seven long winter?/* spoke the Gaoler, *' In this dungeon hast thou seen. And another's force would fail here. When he scarcely one had been ; " Yet presum'st thou now to proffer Deeds of strength and skill to show ? Slave, farewell ! thy daring offer Soon the Moorish King shall know,**— ~ THE ADMIRAL. GUARING, 261 Thus he said with taunts and chidings. Then with speed he sought the King ! — *' Monarch, deign to hear rty tiding, Wond'rous is the tale I briftg ! '' Know, my prisoner boasts fall loudly. Steed and armour but restore. Yonder shield now placed so proudly, Soon he'll lay your throne before."— This the King with wonder learning. Bade him straight the Knight produce; Then Guarino'sarms returning. Spoiled with rust and long disuse. Spoke Marlotes, grimly smiling, — " Now, brave Sir, your course pursue ; Lies a warrior's lips defiling. Mount, and make your boasting true I"—* Soon his steed Guarino mounted. In the well-known weight who joyed : Seven long years the beast had counted, la the vilest tasks employed. 2G2 THE ADMIRAL GUARINO. Then with speed of lightning flying, (Calm his eye was, mild his mien,) Hurled the Knight his lance, and lying On the earth the shield, was seen. Straight the Moors the victor leap on. Envying sore that gallant feat ; But Guarino's Spanish weapon Makes them bleeding soon retreat. Though their numbers are so mighty. They obscure the light of day. Through the ranks of hostile fight. He Boldly hews his desperate way. ^ Then with vigour still unshaken. Home his course Guarino shaped ; Many a Knight the Moors have takcn^ But like him hath none escaped! FINIS. KING RODRIGO's FALL. — «^ O Lasso ! Quanti dolci pensicr, quanto disio Meno costoro al doloroso passol" Dante. "The unfortunate passion of King Rodrigo for Count Julian's Daughter, which occasioned the conquest of Spain by the Moors, is too well known to require any recital of it here. This Spanish Helen is by some authors called Florindai but La Cava is the name assigned to her in this Ballad, and (I believe) is that, by which shdis most usually distinguished." KING RODRIGO's FALL. The moon was full, and full the tide ; The warring winds were heard to ravej The fish in anxious terror sighed*. So rude a tempest shook the wave s When to that ric h and royal tent. With gold and gems so bright and gaj. His foot-steps King Rodrigo bent. For there his loved La Cava lay, ^hree hundred silver cords sustained That proud Pavillion's vaulted height; Twice fifty maids within remained. So costly clad they dimmed the sight : • " Los Feces daban gemidos Per el tiempo que hacia." VOL. L N 266 KING RODRIGO'S FALL. And half those maids delighted still On lyres and lutes soft airs to play j And half those maids with vocal skill Breathed still some melting lovely lay. Oh ! then a stranger-damsel came. And thus the sleeping King bespoke. And Fortune was the damsel's name. Whose voice the midnight silence broke. — " And dost thou, Don Rodrigo, sleep ? Awake, Sir King ! awake, and see. Who evil sows, must evil reap, And bad by worse must followed be. '' Awake to see your subjects slain. Your flying friends, and conquering Foe ; Your towns, and towers, and wide domain. In one sad day laid waste and low ; " Your castles strong, your blooming land. Shall now a stranger Lord obey j And would'st thou know, whose fated hand Shall work this ill, e'en that I'll say. KING RODRIGO*S FALL^ 267 " 'Tis Count Don Julian ! well, too well. Thou know'st (alas !) that injured name ! His daughter's wrongs his bosom swell. By thee his daughter robbed of fame j " And now he comes his word to keep, (With many an oath that word was said) That just revenge should never sleep. Till thou a bleeding corse wert laid." These words the King with trouble fill ; He woke, and sadly thus quoth he : — ** Thanks, Fortune, for thy news though ill j A heavy heart thou leav'st with me." — And now comes one, who Ictter-s brings To say. Count Julian scours the coast r Swift on his steed Rodrigo .-springs, And hastes to front the Rebel-host. But such their numbers, such their might, The Monarch finds resistance va"n : His chiefs and soldiers all in flight Alike forsake jthe fatal plain. ^68 KING RODRIGO'S FALL. Adieu, Rodrigo's subject bow6rs ! Adieu, his native groves and skies ! He flies his regal halls and towers j Alas, poor King ! a'ojie he flies ! I^is (iourser roved, as humour pleased > Neglected flowed the guiding rein : Such deep despair the King had seized. That sense had nearly left his brain. All ghastly dyed in crimson gore, A brand of fire he seemed from far j His casque, with gems incrusted, bore In deep-hewn dints the stamp of war. His arms were marked from head to heel With many a bruise and gaping flaw j Such frequent strokes had hacked the steelj His trusty sword appeared a saw : . And down he sadly drooped his head, Like one with anguish worn and weak -, And drops of pain, and toil, and dread. Defiled the luckless Monarch's cheek ; KING RODKIGO'S FALL. 269 And thirst and anguish plagued him sore 3 His lip was parched, and wild his eye : I wot, to see what then he bore. Had cost the hardest heart a sigh. He gained a mountain's beetling height j He paused awhile, and looked below : He sought his troops ; Oh 1 shameful sight j They fled before the shouting foe. He sought his standard's royal pride And vassal-bam. ers waving round : He saw them scattered far and wide. And trampled on the unworthy ground. He sought the field's once verdant hue. But streams of blood distained the green j He sought his captain- brave and true ; Alas ! not one could now be seen ! Then pondering on his piteous case. The weiv^ht of woes his temper broke; And gushing tears bedewed his face, While thus the vanquished Monarch spoke:— N3 270 KING RODRIGO's FALL. -— " This morn I rose sole Lord of Spain, And now no foot of land have I ; This morn whole cities owned my reign;, And now unhoused my limbs must lie : •* This morn did armies croud my lists Of those, who bent a subject-knee j And now on earth no soul exists, Would stoop to show respect to me ! " Then curst that day, and curst that hour. Which saw me born to wealth and sway. Since all that wealth and all that power One luckless mom hath snatched away. *^ Oh ! haste thee. Death, my woes to end j My soul from this loathed body free ! I'll thank thee, as my truest friend. The only friend now left to me."— FINIS. BERTRAND & MARY-BELLE, Post medias visus nocteSj cum somnia vera. Horace. *"Tv/a? just past midnight, Tvhen itmetmyTiew^ AnJ at that hour ('tis said) all dreams are true,''— N BERTRAND & MARY-BELLE. — " Pale shines the moon ! the evening star Illumes both grove and dell ! Bright are its beams, but brighter far The eyes of Mary-Belle. '* Soft echoes from the hills repeat The nightingale's sad swell j xSweet are hernotes, but far more sweet The voice of Mary-Belle. •' Of truth unchanged and happy love Now let each zephyr tell -, While Bertrand through the moonlight grove Conducts his Mary-Belle."— N 5 274 BERTRAND AND MARY-BELLE. Through many a wood the fond-ones past, O'er many a meadow wide. And gain'd a valley's gloom at last. Which Mary trembling eyed. There every object breathed dismay. There all was still and dread ; The stars no light, the moon no ray. Athwart the darkness shed. With wonder Bertrand saw the tear From Mary's eye descend — — ** What sorrow stains thy cheek, my dear ? Why mourns my- lovely friend ? ** Weep you, because in wealth and power No more your parents shine ? Or weep you, that the marriage hour Has bound your fate to mine ?" — — " I weep not that my friends no more Can shine in power and wealth, Since ease still loves my father's door. He still is rich in health j BERTRAJTD AND MARY-BELLE. 275 " I weep no', that by holy vows I now am Bertrands wife, Jor since he tirst becaoie my spouse, Full blest has been my lile. " But when this dreary vale I view, My tears unbidden stream ; I trepible. lest my dream prove true. My sad foreboding dream. '* Methought all in the dead of night, E'er, in this very vale, I saw nine maids in garments white. Their f'actis wan and pale. «' With solemn steps advanc'd the band. And on her breast each maid, Imprinted by hojtie cruel h nd, A ghastly wound display'd. " I heard their hollow voices swell. And this was still their song 3 'Thy hour is near! come, Mary-Belle> And join our mourDiul throng."—. N 6 ^ 276 BERTRAND AND MARY-BELLE. — .'f And didst thou then nine damsels see ? Did blood their bosoms stain ? Oh Mary-Belle, now list to me. While I thy dream explain. *' These damsels once to me were dear. As once to me wert thou j My wife was each a single year. And thou has been so now. " I loved them once, I loved no more. And I no more love thee j Nine wives have dyed my brand with gore. And thou the tenth must be !"- — He said, and. in his victim's side,. Straight plung'd his cruel glaive -, Down Mary sank, yet ere she died Three piercing shrieks she gave. The first implored her sire so old , The next her God addrest ; The last, it named her brother bold,. The one she loved the best. BERTRAND AND MARY-BELLE. 277 Young Oswald heard the fearful noise. As near the vale he strayed j •—*' Hark ! hark ! I hear my sister's voice. Who shrieks to me for aid l"— Full swift he sought the fatal place. Whence came the dying groan j And there with sad and gloomy face Sir Bertrand stood alone. — '^ Oh, Bertrand ! wherefore here so late ? Where is my sister, say ?" — -— " Secure within my castle-gate She dreams the night away." — — i^* Then why does red thy weapon stain^ Which erst was pure and bright ?" — — " How should it not be red ? I've slain A turtle-dove to-night," — — " That turtle-dove my mother-bore : That dove was good and true ; That dove to me was dear, antisore Shalt thou its murder inic !"— 278 BERTRAND AND MARY-BELLE. Then Oswald with avenging zeal Fierce on the villain rush'd. While steel replied to clashin., steel. And blood in torrents gush'd. But guilt enfeebled Bertrand's sword^ His heart received a wound. And sinking low, his bos m poured Its life-streams on the ground. Then searched the brother through the wood, Then searched he through the vale, And found at length all bathed in blood Sweet Mary cold and pale. Low in the grave sad Oswald laid The corse with pious care, ' And o'er her tomb was duly said Full many a pious prayer.' But Bertrand's limbs, of life bereft,. Within the fatal wood Unhalluw'd and untomb'd were lefr To be the vulture's food. BERTRAND AND MARY-BELLE. 279 And Angels mourn'd for Mary's fate, And sang her parting knell. While Fiends caught Bertrand's dying breath. And bore his soul to Hell. FIMLS. THE LORD OF FALKENSTELN, A BALLAD. — ** Vows, which Men have broke ; In nuniber more than ever woman spoke." Midsummer NighVs Dr&a?n, THE LORD OF FALKENSTEIN, It was the Lord of Falkenstein, He met a lass of form divine ; Loose flowed her locks, and robes of white. And sorrow dimmed her eyes so bright. — " And whither go'st thou, lovely maid ?"— • The Lord of Falkenstein, he said ; ** To yonder castle come with me, And there my Love and Lady be." — *' And wherefore mourn'st thou, lovely maid ?' The Lord of Falkenstein, he said ; " Oh tell me whence thy sorrows flow. And let me sooth thy bosom's woe."— 284 THE LORD OF FALKENSTEIN. — *' To go with thee. Sir Knight, whose name I know not, could but cause my shame 5 Nor may'st thou wipe away the tear. Which streams for one most false, most dear !"- — " I am the Lord of Falkenstein ; Yon haughty castle-towers are mine. Like purest gold which gaily gleam, And glitter in the morning beam ?"— — " Art thou the Lord of Falkenstein ? And are yon towers so haughty thine ? Yon castle- towers, which gaily gleam. And glitter in the morning beam ? *' A boon, a boon, Sir Knight, of thee I crave upon my bended knee j Behold my grief with pitying eye. And spare young Rupert, doom'd to die !"— — " Now hush, fair girl ! an hapless maid Was by his perjured arts betrayed. And soon abandoned — long she sighed. And then in fond distraction died." — * THE LORD OF FALKENSTEIN. 285 — « So left her Rupert ? so did he Leave one, who loved him better ; Me ! So died the damsel ? — so will I Of grief expire, if Rupert die !"— • — " There stands a tower in Falkenstein, Whose walls thy perjured love confine -, There doth he now in fetters stay. And shall until his dying day."— — " Stands there a tower in Falkenstein, Whose walls my well bclov'd confine ? ph ! let me thither haste to cheat My Rupert in his prison drear. " My piercing shrieks shall reach his cell } My groans and sighs my truth shall tell ) And when at leagth he breathes no more, I'll die his prison-gate before!" — The tower then went she round and round— — *' Art here, my love, in fetters bound ? Oh ! speak one word, my Rupert dear, And tell me, if my voice you hear ?"— • 286 THE LORD OF FALKENSTEIN. Then went she round and round the tower ' — " Cold blows the wind, fast falls the shower ! Loud howls the storm, it chills my heart j More chill it they, our loves who part 1" — The Lord of Falkenstein, who heard The faithful damsel's plaintive word, Unlock'd, in pity, Rupert's chain. And gave him to her arms again. - -^ Receive thy lover, constant maid 1" The Lord of Falkenstein, he said ; '' Yet must he leave these lands of mine. Nor evermore see Falkenstein." — ^ — *' Now thanks ! now thanks, thou gallant Lord ! May fame thy mercy long record. Blessings repay this gracious deed. And every wish of thine succeed ! " May joys unmixed thy steps attend. While far from hence our course we bend^, And in some lonely forest's gloom. The renmant of our days consimie! THE LORD Oy *"ALKENSTEIN. 287 *' There many a tear shall Rupert pour j There long his sins of youth deplore j Shall weep, and pray, and fast, and pine. And bless the Lord of Falkenstein 1" — FINIS. SIR GUY, THE SEEKER ; A LEGENDARY TALE. INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE EARL GREY. "^-^ \o son POccasione, a pochi nota. Dictro uel capo ogni capel ni'e tolto, Ondc in Tan s'aiFatica un. se gli avvii^nc, Ch' io I'abbia trapassato, o' s'lo iri volto. — ■ — Dimmi; chi e' colei, che toco viene \ — •— '' E' Penitcnza ! e pero, nota e intencje, Chi non sa prcnder me, costei ritiene/' — Machiatfl. VOL. L SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. Like those in the head of a man just dead Are his eyes, and his beard's like snow 5 But when here he cam--, his glance was a flame. And his locks seemed the plumes of the crow. Since then are o'er forty summers and more 5 "i et he still near the castle remains. And pines for a sight of ihat lady bright. Who wears the wizards chai.is. Nor sun nor snow from the ruins to go Can force that aged wight j And still the pile, hall, chapel, aiul aisle. He searches day and night : O 2 192 SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. But find can he neV.r the winding stair. Which he past that beauty to see, Whom spells enthrall in the haunted hall, Where none but once may be. That once regret will not let h:m forget !— *Twas night, and pelting thowcirs Did patter and splash, when the Mghtning's flash Showed Dunstanbur^h's grey towers. Raised high on a mound that castle frowned In ruined pagean-trie j And whereto the north did rocks jut forth. Its towers huns: o'er the 6ea. Proud they stood, and darkened the flood ; For the cliffs were so rugged and steep. Had a plummet been dropt from their summit, unstopped That plummet had reached the deep. Nor flower there grew ; nor tree e'er drew Its nurture from th^l ground. Save a lonely yew, whose branches threw Their baleful shade around. »IR GUY, THE SEEKER. 2J3 Loud wa- the roar on that =oun ling shore j Yet still could the Kn ght discern, Louder than all, the swell and the fall Of the bellowing Rumble Churn I With strange turmoil did it bubble and boil. And echo fronj place to place j So strong was Us dA-^h, and so hig-i did it splashy That it washed the castle's bass : The spray, as it broke, appeared like smoke From a sea-volcano pouring j And still did it rumble, an 1 grumble, and tumble, Rioting ! raging ! roaring ! Up the hill Sir Guy made his courser fly. And hoped, from the wind and the rain That He there should find some refuge kind. But he sought it long in vain : For fast and hard each portal was barred. And against his efforts proof; Till at length he e«pied a porch spread wide The shelter of its roof. 294 ^IR GUY, TH£ SEBJCER,. " — " Gramercy, St. George!" quoth glad Sir- Guy, And sought the porch with speed ; And fast to the yew, which near it grew,. He bound his Barbary steed. And safety found on that sheltered ground From the sky's increasing gloom. From his br.ow he took his casque, and he shook The rain off, that burthened its plume. Then long he .itood in mournful mood With listless sullen air. Propped on his lance, and with indolent glance Watched the red lightning's glare j And sadly listened to the shower. On the clattering roof that fell j And counted twice the lonely hour. Tolled by some distant bell. But scarce that bell could midnight tell. When louder roared the thunder, And the bolt so red whizzed by his head. And burst the gates asunder. SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. And lo ! through the dark a glimmering gpark He espied of lurid-blue 3 Onward it came, and a form all flame Soon struck his wondering view ! *T\va8 an ancient man of visage wan. Gigantic was his height j And his breast below there was leen to How A beard of grixzled white ; And flames o'er-spread his hairless head, . And down his beard they streamed j And in his hand a radiant wand Of burning iron gleamed. Of darkest grain, with flowing train, A wond'rous robe he wore, "With many a charm to work man's harm In fire embroidered o'er : And this robe was bound his waist around With a triple chain red hot ! — And still came nigher that phantom of fire j, Till he reached the seL same spo t, o 4 295 i96 SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. Where stood Sir Guy, while his hair bristled high. And his breath he scarce could draw j And he crofvt his breast, for I wot, he guest, Twas Bt-lzebub's self that he saw ! And full on the Knight that ghastly wight Fixt his green and glassy eyes j And he clanked his chain, and he howled with pain. Ere his words were heard to rise. — " Sir Knight, Sir Knight ! if your heart be right, And your nerves be firm and true, Sir Knight, Sir Knight ! a Beauty bright In durance waits for you. " But Sir Knight, Sir Knight ! If you ever knew fright. That Dame forbear to view ; Or Sir Knight, Sir Knight ! that you feasted your sightj While you live, you'll sorely rue !"— •— " That mortal ne*er drew vital air. Who witnessed fear in me : Come what come will, come good come ill. Lead on ! Ill follow thee !"— 297 And now they go both high and low, Abt>ve and under ground, i^nd in and out, and about and about. And round, and round, and lound 1 The storm is hushti, -^ idl^'ts them hear The [lowlet'^i boding screech. As now thrc ugh many a pas5=age drear A winding stair they reach. With beckoning hand, which flamed like a brand. Still on the Wizaid led ; And well couid Sir Guy hear a sob and a sigh. As up the first flight he sped I While the second he pyf t with footsteps fast, He heard.a death-bell toll ! While he climbed the third, a whisper he heard,, — •• God's mercy on thy soul 1'*^ — And now at the top the wanderers stop A brazen gate before Of massive make 5 and a living snake Was the bolt, which held the door. 298 In many a fold round the staple 'twas rolled y With venom its jaws ran o'er ; And that juice of hell, where-ever it fell. To a cinder burned the floor. When the monster beheld Sir Guy, he swelled With fury, and threw out his sting; Sparks flashed from each eye, and he teared him oh high. And prepared on the warrior to spring j But the wizard's hand extended his wand^ And the reptile drooped hi.s crest. Yet strove to bite in impotent spite The ground, which gave him rest ! And now the gate is heard to grate. On its hinges turning slow ; Till on either side t^e valves yawn wide. And in the wanderers go. 'Twas a s})acious hall, whose sides were all With sable hangings dight^ And whose echoirfg floor was diamonded o'er With marble black and white ; SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. 299^ And of marble black as the Ravsn's back A hundred steeds stood round j And of marble white by each a knight Lay sleeping on the ground ; And a hundred shafts of laboured bronze The fretted roof uj.held ; And the ponderous gloom of that vaulted rooni A hundred lights dispelled ; And a dead man's arm by a magic charm Each glimmering taper bore. And where it was lopt, still dropt and dropt Thick gouts of clotted gore. Where ends the room, doth a chr}'stal tomb Its towering front uphold ; And on each hand two skeletons stand. Which belonged to two giants of old : That on the right holds a faulchion bright^ That on the left a horn ,• And crowns of jet with jewels beset Their eyeless skulls adorn : 300 SIR GUY, THE SEEKER* And both those grim colossal kings With fingers long and lean Point tow'rds the tomb, within whose womb A captive Dame is seen. A form more fair than that prisoner's, ne*er Since the days of Eve was known ; Every glance, that Hew from her eyes of blue,;. Was worth an Emperor's throne, And one sweet kiss from her roseate lips Would have melted a bosom of stone. Soon as Sir Guy had met her eye. Knelt low that captive maid j And her lips of love seemed fast to move. But he heard not what she said. Then her hands did she join in suppliant eign. Her hands more white than snow; And like dews that streak the rose's cheek. Her tears began to flow. The warrior felt his stout heart melr, When he saw those fountains run : SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. 301 — "" Oh ! what can I do," he cried, '* for you ? What mortal can do, shill be done !"i— Then out and speaks the wizard} Holiow his acteiits fall ! — ** Was never man, since the world began. Could burst that chrystil wall : " For the hand, which raised its magic frame, Had oft cla.-ped Satan's own ; And the lid bear- a name. Young Knight the 5ame Is stamped on Satan's throne ; *' At its maker's birth long trembled the earth ; The skies dropt showers of gore 3 And she, who to light gave the wonderous wight, Had died seven years before ; " And at Satan's right hand while keeping his stand. The foulest Fiend of fire Shrunk back with awe, when the babe fee saw. For it shocked its very sire ! 802 SIR GUY, THE SEEKER* "■ But hark. Sir Knight ! and riddle aright The riddle I'll riddle to thee : Thou'lt learn a way without delay To set yon damsel free, " See'st yonder sword, with jewels rare Its dudgeon crusted o'ej ? See'st yonder horn of ivory fair ? *Twas Merlin's horn of yore ! ** That horn to sound, or sword to draw. Now, youth, your choice explain ; But that which you chuse, beware how you lose. For you never will find it again : " And that once lost, all hopes are crost, Which now you fondly form j And that once gone, the sun ne'er shone A sadder wight to warm j *' But such keen woe, as never can know Oblivion's balmy power. With fixed despair your soul will share^ Till comes your dying hour. SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. 303 ** Your choice now make for yon Beauty's sakcj To burst her boncU endeavour; But that which you chusc, beware how you lose; Once lost, 'tis lost forc^ter !"-— in pensive mood awhile now stood Sir Guy, and gazed around j Now he turned his sight to the left, to the right, Now he fixed it on the ground. Now the faulchion's blaze attracted his gaze j On the hilt his fingers lay j But he heard fear cry,— f** you're wrong, Sir Guy !"— And he snatched his hand away ! Now his steps he addrest tow'rds the North and the West; Now he turned tow'rds the East and the South : Till with desperate thought the horn he caught. And prest it to his mouth. Hark ! the blast is a blast so strong and so shrill. That the vaults like thunder ring ; And each marble horse stamps the floor with force. And from sleep the warriors spring 1 304 SIR GUV, THE SEEKER. And frightful stares each stoney eye. As now with ponderous tread They rush on Sir Guy, poising on high Their spears to strike him dead. At this strange attack full swift sprang back, I wot, the^lartlcd Knight !. Away he t'tew the horn, and drew His faulcbiua kttu and bright. But soon, as the horn his gra«p forsook, Was heard a cry of grief j It peemed the ytll of a soul inheil Made desperate ot relief L And straight each light was, extinguished quite. Save the flame so lurid blue On the Wizard's brow, (whose flashings now Assumed a bloody hue,) And those sparksof fire, which grief and ire From his glaring eye-balls drew ! And he stamped in rage, and he laughed in scorn. While in thundering tone he roaredj 30.5 '* Now shame on the coward who sounded a horn. When he might have unsheathed a sword'."— He £ald, and' from his mouth there came A vapour blue and dank. Whose poisonous breath seemed the kiss of death. For the Warrior senseless sank. Morning breaks ! again he wakes j Lo ! in the porch he lies. And still in his heart he feels the dart. Which shot from the captive's eyes. From the ground he springs ! as if he had wings. The ruin he wanders o'er. And with prying look each cranny and nook Hib anxious eyes explore : But find can he ne*er the winding stair. Which he climbed that Dame to see. Whom spells enthrall in the haunted hall, Where none but once may be. 306 srk GUY, THE SEEKER. The earliest 'raiy df dawning day LehoMs his search begun J The evening star ascend her car. Nor yet. his search i6 d6ne : Whence the n-eigh'Bours allthe Knight now call By '* Guy, the SeekerV* name ; For never he ki ows one hour's repose From his wish to find the Dame 3 But still he seek?, and aye he seeks. And seeks, and seeks in vain ; And still he repeats to all he meets, — '^ Could I find the sword a'gdin'.^^^'* Which words he follows with a groan. As if his heart would break j And oh ! that groan has so strange a tone. It makes all hearers quake ! The villagers round know well its sound. And when they hear it poured, — " Hark ! hark !'* they cry j " the Seeker Guy Groans for the Wizam's sword."— 2 SIR GUY, THE SEEKER. 307 Twice twenty springs on their fragrant wings For his wound hive brought no balm 3 For still he's found. . . . But hark ! what sound Disturbs the midnight calm ? Good peasants, te^l, why rings that knell ? — " "Tis the Seeker-Guy's we toll : " His rare is run ; his search is done." God's mercy on his soul ! EXD OF Tin; riKST VOLUME. fWlNTED iiV D. N. SHUSY, BEKWICK. STREET. K UNIVERSITY OP ILUN0I8-URIANA llllllllilillilliii 3 0112 049094227 k m ..X^"