The lady smiled sadly at Margaret's vehemence, but sighed the next
moment, while she told her young friend how little she knew the world
she was about to live in, since she testified so much surprise at
finding it full of villainy.

"But by what means," she added, "could you, maiden, become possessed
of the secret views of a man so cautious as Lord Dalgarno--as villains
in general are?"

"Permit me to be silent on that subject," said the maiden; "I could
not tell you without betraying others--let it suffice that my tidings
are as certain as the means by which I acquired them are secret and
sure. But I must not tell them even to you."

"You are too bold, Margaret," said the lady, "to traffic in such
matters at your early age. It is not only dangerous, but even
unbecoming and unmaidenly."

"I knew you would say that also," said Margaret, with more meekness
and patience than she usually showed on receiving reproof; "but, God
knows, my heart acquits me of every other feeling save that of the
wish to assist this most innocent and betrayed man.--I contrived to
send him warning of his friend's falsehood;--alas! my care has only
hastened his utter ruin, unless speedy aid be found. He charged his
false friend with treachery, and drew on him in the Park, and is now
liable to the fatal penalty due for breach of privilege of the king's
palace."

"This is indeed an extraordinary tale," said Hermione; "is Lord
Glenvarloch then in prison?"

"No, madam, thank God, but in the Sanctuary at Whitefriars--it is
matter of doubt whether it will protect him in such a case--they speak
of a warrant from the Lord Chief Justice--A gentleman of the temple
has been arrested, and is in trouble for having assisted him in his
flight.--Even his taking temporary refuge in that base place, though
from extreme necessity, will be used to the further defaming him. All
this I know, and yet I cannot rescue him--cannot rescue him save by
your means."

"By my means, maiden?" said the lady--"you are beside yourself!--What
means can I possess in this secluded situation, of assisting this
unfortunate nobleman?"

"You have means," said Margaret, eagerly; "you have those means,
unless I mistake greatly, which can do anything--can do everything, in
this city, in this world--you have wealth, and the command of a small
portion of it will enable me to extricate him from his present danger.
He will be enabled and directed how to make his escape--and I--" she
paused.

"Will accompany him, doubtless, and reap the fruits of your sage
exertions in his behalf?" said the Lady Hermione, ironically.

"May heaven forgive you the unjust thought, lady," answered Margaret.
"I will never see him more--but I shall have saved him, and the
thought will make me happy."

"A cold conclusion to so bold and warm a flame," said the lady, with a
smile which seemed to intimate incredulity.

"It is, however, the only one which I expect, madam--I could almost
say the only one which I wish--I am sure I will use no efforts to
bring about any other; if I am bold in his cause, I am timorous enough
in my own. During our only interview I was unable to speak a word to
him. He knows not the sound of my voice--and all that I have risked,
and must yet risk, I am doing for one, who, were he asked the
question, would say he has long since forgotten that he ever saw,
spoke to, or sat beside, a creature of so little signification as I
am."

"This is a strange and unreasonable indulgence of a passion equally
fanciful and dangerous," said Lady Hermione. "You will _not_ assist
me, then?" said Margaret; "have good-day, then, madam--my secret, I
trust, is safe in such honourable keeping."

"Tarry yet a little," said the lady, "and tell me what resource you
have to assist this youth, if you were supplied with money to put it
in motion."

"It is superfluous to ask me the question, madam," answered Margaret,
"unless you purpose to assist me; and, if you do so purpose, it is
still superfluous. You could not understand the means I must use, and
time is too brief to explain."

"But have you in reality such means?" said the lady.

"I have, with the command of a moderate sum," answered Margaret
Ramsay, "the power of baffling all his enemies--of eluding the passion
of the irritated king--the colder but more determined displeasure of
the prince--the vindictive spirit of Buckingham, so hastily directed
against whomsoever crosses the path of his ambition--the cold
concentrated malice of Lord Dalgarno--all, I can baffle them all!"

"But is this to be done without your own personal risk, Margaret?"
replied the lady; "for, be your purpose what it will, you are not to
peril your own reputation or person, in the romantic attempt of
serving another; and I, maiden, am answerable to your godfather,--to
your benefactor, and my own,--not to aid you in any dangerous or
unworthy enterprise."

"Depend upon my word,--my oath,--dearest lady," replied the
supplicant, "that I will act by the agency of others, and do not
myself design to mingle in any enterprise in which my appearance might
be either perilous or unwomanly."

"I know not what to do," said the Lady Hermione; "it is perhaps
incautious and inconsiderate in me to aid so wild a project; yet the
end seems honourable, if the means be sure--what is the penalty if he
fall into their power?"

"Alas, alas! the loss of his right hand!" replied Margaret, her voice
almost stifled with sobs.

"Are the laws of England so cruel? Then there is mercy in heaven
alone," said the lady, "since, even in this free land, men are wolves
to each other.--Compose yourself, Margaret, and tell me what money is
necessary to secure Lord Glenvarloch's escape."

"Two hundred pieces," replied Margaret; "I would speak to you of
restoring them--and I must one day have the power--only that I know--
that is, I think--your ladyship is indifferent on that score."

"Not a word more of it," said the lady; "call Monna Paula hither."




CHAPTER XX


  Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus,
  Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat.
  False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed--
  Repented and reproach'd, and then believed once more.
                                  _The New World._

By the time that Margaret returned with Monna Paula, the Lady Hermione
was rising from the table at which she had been engaged in writing
something on a small slip of paper, which she gave to her attendant.

"Monna Paula," she said, "carry this paper to Roberts the cash-keeper;
let them give you the money mentioned in the note, and bring it hither
presently."

Monna Paula left the room, and her mistress proceeded.

"I do not know," she said, "Margaret, if I have done, and am doing,
well in this affair. My life has been one of strange seclusion, and I
am totally unacquainted with the practical ways of this world--an
ignorance which I know cannot be remedied by mere reading.--I fear I
am doing wrong to you, and perhaps to the laws of the country which
affords me refuge, by thus indulging you; and yet there is something
in my heart which cannot resist your entreaties."

"O, listen to it--listen to it, dear, generous lady!" said Margaret,
throwing herself on her knees and grasping those of her benefactress
and looking in that attitude like a beautiful mortal in the act of
supplicating her tutelary angel; "the laws of men are but the
injunctions of mortality, but what the heart prompts is the echo of
the voice from heaven within us."

"Rise, rise, maiden," said Hermione; "you affect me more than I
thought I could have been moved by aught that should approach me. Rise
and tell me whence it comes, that, in so short a time, your thoughts,
your looks, your speech, and even your slightest actions, are changed
from those of a capricious and fanciful girl, to all this energy and
impassioned eloquence of word and action?"

"I am sure I know not, dearest lady," said Margaret, looking down;
"but I suppose that, when I was a trifler, I was only thinking of
trifles. What I now reflect is deep and serious, and I am thankful if
my speech and manner bear reasonable proportion to my thoughts."

"It must be so," said the lady; "yet the change seems a rapid and
strange one. It seems to be as if a childish girl had at once shot up
into deep-thinking and impassioned woman, ready to make exertions
alike, and sacrifices, with all that vain devotion to a favourite
object of affection, which is often so basely rewarded."

The Lady Hermione sighed bitterly, and Monna Paula entered ere the
conversation proceeded farther. She spoke to her mistress in the
foreign language in which they frequently conversed, but which was
unknown to Margaret.

"We must have patience for a time," said the lady to her visitor; "the
cash-keeper is abroad on some business, but he is expected home in the
course of half an hour."

Margaret wrung her hands in vexation and impatience.

"Minutes are precious," continued the lady; "that I am well aware of;
and we will at least suffer none of them to escape us. Monna Paula
shall remain below and transact our business, the very instant that
Roberts returns home."

She spoke to her attendant accordingly, who again left the room.

"You are very kind, madam--very good," said the poor little Margaret,
while the anxious trembling of her lip and of her hand showed all that
sickening agitation of the heart which arises from hope deferred.

"Be patient, Margaret, and collect yourself," said the lady; "you may,
you must, have much to do to carry through this your bold purpose--
reserve your spirits, which you may need so much--be patient--it is
the only remedy against the evils of life."

"Yes, madam," said Margaret, wiping her eyes, and endeavouring in vain
to suppress the natural impatience of her temper,--"I have heard so--
very often indeed; and I dare say I have myself, heaven forgive me,
said so to people in perplexity and affliction; but it was before I
had suffered perplexity and vexation myself, and I am sure I will
never preach patience to any human being again, now that I know how
much the medicine goes against the stomach."

"You will think better of it, maiden," said the Lady Hermione; "I
also, when I first felt distress, thought they did me wrong who spoke
to me of patience; but my sorrows have been repeated and continued
till I have been taught to cling to it as the best, and--religious
duties excepted, of which, indeed, patience forms a part--the only
alleviation which life can afford them."

Margaret, who neither wanted sense nor feeling, wiped her tears
hastily, and asked her patroness's forgiveness for her petulance.

"I might have thought"--she said, "I ought to have reflected, that
even from the manner of your life, madam, it is plain you must have
suffered sorrow; and yet, God knows, the patience which I have ever
seen you display, well entitles you to recommend your own example to
others."

The lady was silent for a moment, and then replied--

"Margaret, I am about to repose a high confidence in you. You are no
longer a child, but a thinking and a feeling woman. You have told me
as much of your secret as you dared--I will let you know as much of
mine as I may venture to tell. You will ask me, perhaps, why, at a
moment when your own mind is agitated, I should force upon you the
consideration of my sorrows? and I answer, that I cannot withstand the
impulse which now induces me to do so. Perhaps from having witnessed,
for the first time these three years, the natural effects of human
passion, my own sorrows have been awakened, and are for the moment too
big for my own bosom--perhaps I may hope that you, who seem driving
full sail on the very rock on which I was wrecked for ever, will take
warning by the tale I have to tell. Enough, if you are willing to
listen, I am willing to tell you who the melancholy inhabitant of the
Foljambe apartments really is, and why she resides here. It will
serve, at least, to while away the time until Monna Paula shall bring
us the reply from Roberts."

At any other moment of her life, Margaret Ramsay would have heard with
undivided interest a communication so flattering in itself, and
referring to a subject upon which the general curiosity had been so
strongly excited. And even at this agitating moment, although she
ceased not to listen with an anxious ear and throbbing heart for the
sound of Monna Paula's returning footsteps, she nevertheless, as
gratitude and policy, as well as a portion of curiosity dictated,
composed herself, in appearance at least, to the strictest attention
to the Lady Hermione, and thanked her with humility for the high
confidence she was pleased to repose in her. The Lady Hermione, with
the same calmness which always attended her speech and actions, thus
recounted her story to her young friend:

"My father," she said, "was a merchant, but he was of a city whose
merchants are princes. I am the daughter of a noble house in Genoa,
whose name stood as high in honour and in antiquity, as any inscribed
in the Golden Register of that famous aristocracy.

"My mother was a noble Scottish woman. She was descended--do not
start--and not remotely descended, of the house of Glenvarloch--no
wonder that I was easily led to take concern in the misfortunes of
this young lord. He is my near relation, and my mother, who was more
than sufficiently proud of her descent, early taught me to take an
interest in the name. My maternal grandfather, a cadet of that house
of Glenvarloch, had followed the fortunes of an unhappy fugitive,
Francis Earl of Bothwell, who, after showing his miseries in many a
foreign court, at length settled in Spain upon a miserable pension,
which he earned by conforming to the Catholic faith. Ralph Olifaunt,
my grandfather, separated from him in disgust, and settled at
Barcelona, where, by the friendship of the governor, his heresy, as it
was termed, was connived at. My father, in the course of his commerce,
resided more at Barcelona than in his native country, though at times
he visited Genoa.

"It was at Barcelona that he became acquainted with my mother, loved
her, and married her; they differed in faith, but they agreed in
affection. I was their only child. In public I conformed to the
docterins and ceremonial of the Church of Rome; but my mother, by whom
these were regarded with horror, privately trained me up in those of
the reformed religion; and my father, either indifferent in the
matter, or unwilling to distress the woman whom he loved, overlooked
or connived at my secretly joining in her devotions.

"But when, unhappily, my father was attacked, while yet in the prime
of life, by a slow wasting disease, which he felt to be incurable, he
foresaw the hazard to which his widow and orphan might be exposed,
after he was no more, in a country so bigoted to Catholicism as Spain.
He made it his business, during the two last years of his life, to
realize and remit to England a large part of his fortune, which, by
the faith and honour of his correspondent, the excellent man under
whose roof I now reside, was employed to great advantage. Had my
father lived to complete his purpose, by withdrawing his whole fortune
from commerce, he himself would have accompanied us to England, and
would have beheld us settled in peace and honour before his death. But
heaven had ordained it otherwise. He died, leaving several sums
engaged in the hands of his Spanish debtors; and, in particular, he
had made a large and extensive consignment to a certain wealthy
society of merchants at Madrid, who showed no willingness after his
death to account for the proceeds. Would to God we had left these
covetous and wicked men in possession of their booty, for such they
seemed to hold the property of their deceased correspondent and
friend! We had enough for comfort, and even splendour, already secured
in England; but friends exclaimed upon the folly of permitting these
unprincipled men to plunder us of our rightful property. The sum
itself was large, and the claim having been made, my mother thought
that my father's memory was interested in its being enforced,
especially as the defences set up for the mercantile society went, in
some degree, to impeach the fairness of his transactions.

"We went therefore to Madrid. I was then, my Margaret, about your age,
young and thoughtless, as you have hitherto been--We went, I say, to
Madrid, to solicit the protection of the Court and of the king,
without which we were told it would be in vain to expect justice
against an opulent and powerful association.

"Our residence at the Spanish metropolis drew on from weeks to months.
For my part, my natural sorrow for a kind, though not a fond father,
having abated, I cared not if the lawsuit had detained us at Madrid
for ever. My mother permitted herself and me rather more liberty than
we had been accustomed to. She found relations among the Scottish and
Irish officers, many of whom held a high rank in the Spanish armies;
their wives and daughters became our friends and companions, and I had
perpetual occasion to exercise my mother's native language, which I
had learned from my infancy. By degrees, as my mother's spirits were
low, and her health indifferent, she was induced, by her partial
fondness for me, to suffer me to mingle occasionally in society which
she herself did not frequent, under the guardianship of such ladies as
she imagined she could trust, and particularly under the care of the
lady of a general officer, whose weakness or falsehood was the
original cause of my misfortunes. I was as gay, Margaret, and
thoughtless--I again repeat it--as you were but lately, and my
attention, like yours, became suddenly riveted to one object, and to
one set of feelings.

"The person by whom they were excited was young, noble, handsome,
accomplished, a soldier, and a Briton. So far our cases are nearly
parallel; but, may heaven forbid that the parallel should become
complete! This man, so noble, so fairly formed, so gifted, and so
brave--this villain, for that, Margaret, was his fittest name, spoke
of love to me, and I listened---Could I suspect his sincerity? If he
was wealthy, noble, and long-descended, I also was a noble and an
opulent heiress. It is true, that he neither knew the extent of my
father's wealth, nor did I communicate to him (I do not even remember
if I myself knew it at the time) the important circumstance, that the
greater part of that wealth was beyond the grasp of arbitrary power,
and not subject to the precarious award of arbitrary judges. My lover
might think, perhaps, as my mother was desirous the world at large
should believe, that almost our whole fortune depended on the
precarious suit which we had come to Madrid to prosecute--a belief
which she had countenanced out of policy, being well aware that a
knowledge of my father's having remitted such a large part of his
fortune to England, would in no shape aid the recovery of further sums
in the Spanish courts. Yet, with no more extensive views of my fortune
than were possessed by the public, I believe that he, of whom I am
speaking, was at first sincere in his pretensions. He had himself
interest sufficient to have obtained a decision in our favour in the
courts, and my fortune, reckoning only what was in Spain, would then
have been no inconsiderable sum. To be brief, whatever might be his
motives or temptation for so far committing himself, he applied to my
mother for my hand, with my consent and approval. My mother's judgment
had become weaker, but her passions had become more irritable, during
her increasing illness.

"You have heard of the bitterness of the ancient Scottish feuds, of
which it may be said, in the language of Scripture, that the fathers
eat sour grapes, and the teeth of the children are set on edge.
Unhappily--I should say _happily_, considering what this man has now
shown himself to be--some such strain of bitterness had divided his
house from my mother's, and she had succeeded to the inheritance of
hatred. When he asked her for my hand, she was no longer able to
command her passions--she raked up every injury which the rival
families had inflicted upon each other during a bloody feud of two
centuries--heaped him with epithets of scorn, and rejected his
proposal of alliance, as if it had come from the basest of mankind.

"My lover retired in passion; and I remained to weep and murmur
against fortune, and--I will confess my fault--against my affectionate
parent. I had been educated with different feelings, and the
traditions of the feuds and quarrels of my mother's family in
Scotland, which we're to her monuments and chronicles, seemed to me as
insignificant and unmeaning as the actions and fantasies of Don
Quixote; and I blamed my mother bitterly for sacrificing my happiness
to an empty dream of family dignity.

"While I was in this humour, my lover sought a renewal of our
intercourse. We met repeatedly in the house of the lady whom I have
mentioned, and who, in levity, or in the spirit of intrigue,
countenanced our secret correspondence. At length we were secretly
married--so far did my blinded passion hurry me. My lover had secured
the assistance of a clergyman of the English church. Monna Paula, who
had been my attendant from infancy, was one witness of our union. Let
me do the faithful creature justice--She conjured me to suspend my
purpose till my mother's death should permit us to celebrate our
marriage openly; but the entreaties of my lover, and my own wayward
passion, prevailed over her remonstrances. The lady I have spoken of
was another witness, but whether she was in full possession of my
bridegroom's secret, I had never the means to learn. But the shelter
of her name and roof afforded us the means of frequently meeting, and
the love of my husband seemed as sincere and as unbounded as my own.

"He was eager, he said, to gratify his pride, by introducing me to one
or two of his noble English friends. This could not be done at Lady D-
--'s; but by his command, which I was now entitled to consider as my
law, I contrived twice to visit him at his own hotel, accompanied only
by Monna Paula. There was a very small party, of two ladies and two
gentlemen. There was music, mirth, and dancing. I had heard of the
frankness of the English nation, but I could not help thinking it
bordered on license during these entertainments, and in the course of
the collation which followed; but I imputed my scruples to my
inexperience, and would not doubt the propriety of what was approved
by my husband.

"I was soon summoned to other scenes: My poor mother's disease drew to
a conclusion--Happy I am that it took place before she discovered what
would have cut her to the soul.

"In Spain you may have heard how the Catholic priests, and
particularly the monks, besiege the beds of the dying, to obtain
bequests for the good of the church. I have said that my mother's
temper was irritated by disease, and her judgment impaired in
proportion. She gathered spirits and force from the resentment which
the priests around her bed excited by their importunity, and the
boldness of the stern sect of reformers, to which she had secretly
adhered, seemed to animate her dying tongue. She avowed the religion
she had so long concealed; renounced all hope and aid which did not
come by and through its dictates; rejected with contempt the
ceremonial of the Romish church; loaded the astonished priests with
reproaches for their greediness and hypocrisy, and commanded them to
leave her house. They went in bitterness and rage, but it was to
return with the inquisitorial power, its warrants, and its officers;
and they found only the cold corpse left of her, on whom they had
hoped to work their vengeance. As I was soon discovered to have shared
my mother's heresy, I was dragged from her dead body, imprisoned in a
solitary cloister, and treated with severity, which the Abbess assured
me was due to the looseness of my life, as well as my spiritual
errors. I avowed my marriage, to justify the situation in which I
found myself--I implored the assistance of the Superior to communicate
my situation to my husband. She smiled coldly at the proposal, and
told me the church had provided a better spouse for me; advised me to
secure myself of divine grace hereafter, and deserve milder treatment
here, by presently taking the veil. In order to convince me that I had
no other resource, she showed me a royal decree, by which all my
estate was hypothecated to the convent of Saint Magdalen, and became
their complete property upon my death, or my taking the vows. As I
was, both from religious principle, and affectionate attachment to my
husband, absolutely immovable in my rejection of the veil, I believe--
may heaven forgive me if I wrong her--that the Abbess was desirous to
make sure of my spoils, by hastening the former event.

"It was a small and a poor convent, and situated among the mountains
of Guadarrama. Some of the sisters were the daughters of neighbouring
Hidalgoes, as poor as they were proud and ignorant; others were women
immured there on account of their vicious conduct. The Superior
herself was of a high family, to which she owed her situation; but she
was said to have disgraced her connexions by her conduct during youth,
and now, in advanced age, covetousness and the love of power, a spirit
too of severity and cruelty, had succeeded to the thirst after
licentious pleasure. I suffered much under this woman--and still her
dark, glassy eye, her tall, shrouded form, and her rigid features,
haunt my slumbers.

"I was not destined to be a mother. I was very ill, and my recovery
was long doubtful. The most violent remedies were applied, if remedies
they indeed were. My health was restored at length, against my own
expectation and that of all around me. But, when I first again beheld
the reflection of my own face, I thought it was the visage of a ghost.
I was wont to be flattered by all, but particularly by my husband, for
the fineness of my complexion--it was now totally gone, and, what is
more extraordinary, it has never returned. I have observed that the
few who now see me, look upon me as a bloodless phantom--Such has been
the abiding effect of the treatment to which I was subjected. May God
forgive those who were the agents of it!--I thank Heaven I can say so
with as sincere a wish, as that with which I pray for forgiveness of
my own sins. They now relented somewhat towards me--moved perhaps to
compassion by my singular appearance, which bore witness to my
sufferings; or afraid that the matter might attract attention during a
visitation of the bishop, which was approaching. One day, as I was
walking in the convent-garden, to which I had been lately admitted, a
miserable old Moorish slave, who was kept to cultivate the little
spot, muttered as I passed him, but still keeping his wrinkled face
and decrepit form in the same angle with the earth--'There is Heart's
Ease near the postern.'

"I knew something of the symbolical language of flowers, once carried
to such perfection among the Moriscoes of Spain; but if I had been
ignorant of it, the captive would soon have caught at any hint which
seemed to promise liberty. With all the haste consistent with the
utmost circumspection--for I might be observed by the Abbess or some
of the sisters from the window--I hastened to the postern. It was
closely barred as usual, but when I coughed slightly, I was answered
from the other side--and, O heaven! it was my husband's voice which
said, 'Lose not a minute here at present, but be on this spot when the
vesper bell has tolled.'

"I retired in an ecstasy of joy. I was not entitled or permitted to
assist at vespers, but was accustomed to be confined to my cell while
the nuns were in the choir. Since my recovery, they had discontinued
locking the door; though the utmost severity was denounced against me
if I left these precincts. But, let the penalty be what it would, I
hastened to dare it.--No sooner had the last toll of the vesper bell
ceased to sound, than I stole from my chamber, reached the garden
unobserved, hurried to the postern, beheld it open with rapture, and
in the next moment was in my husband's arms. He had with him another
cavalier of noble mien--both were masked and armed. Their horses, with
one saddled for my use, stood in a thicket hard by, with two other
masked horsemen, who seemed to be servants. In less than two minutes
we were mounted, and rode off as fast as we could through rough and
devious roads, in which one of the domestics appeared to act as guide.

"The hurried pace at which we rode, and the anxiety of the moment,
kept me silent, and prevented my expressing my surprise or my joy save
in a few broken words. It also served as an apology for my husband's
silence. At length we stopped at a solitary hut--the cavaliers
dismounted, and I was assisted from my saddle, not by M----M----my
husband, I would say, who seemed busied about his horse, but by the
stranger.

"'Go into the hut,' said my husband, 'change your dress with the speed
of lightning--you will find one to _assist_ you--we must forward
instantly when you have shifted your apparel.'

"I entered the hut, and was received in the arms of the faithful Monna
Paula, who had waited my arrival for many hours, half distracted with
fear and anxiety. With her assistance I speedily tore off the detested
garments of the convent, and exchanged them for a travelling suit,
made after the English fashion. I observed that Monna Paula was in a
similar dress. I had but just huddled on my change of attire, when we
were hastily summoned to mount. A horse, I found, was provided for
Monna Paula, and we resumed our route. On the way, my convent-garb,
which had been wrapped hastily together around a stone, was thrown
into a lake, along the verge of which we were then passing. The two
cavaliers rode together in front, my attendant and I followed, and the
servants brought up the rear. Monna Paula, as we rode on, repeatedly
entreated me to be silent upon the road, as our lives depended on it.
I was easily reconciled to be passive, for, the first fever of spirits
which attended the sense of liberation and of gratified affection
having passed away, I felt as it were dizzy with the rapid motion; and
my utmost exertion was necessary to keep my place on the saddle, until
we suddenly (it was now very dark) saw a strong light before us.

"My husband reined up his horse, and gave a signal by a low whistle
twice repeated, which was answered from a distance. The whole party
then halted under the boughs of a large cork-tree, and my husband,
drawing himself close to my side, said, in a voice which I then
thought was only embarrassed by fear for my safety,--'We must now
part. Those to whom I commit you are contrabandists, who only know you
as English-women, but who, for a high bribe, have undertaken to escort
you through the passes of the Pyrenees as far as Saint Jean de Luz.'

"'And do you not go with us?' I exclaimed with emphasis, though in a
whisper.

"'It is impossible,' he said, 'and would ruin all--See that you speak
in English in these people's hearing, and give not the least sign of
understanding what they say in Spanish--your life depends on it; for,
though they live in opposition to, and evasion of, the laws of Spain,
they would tremble at the idea of violating those of the church--I see
them coming--farewell--farewell.'

"The last words were hastily uttered-I endeavoured to detain him yet a
moment by my feeble grasp on his cloak.

"'You will meet me, then, I trust, at Saint Jean de Luz?'

"'Yes, yes,' he answered hastily, 'at Saint Jean de Luz you will meet
your protector.'

"He then extricated his cloak from my grasp, and was lost in the
darkness. His companion approached--kissed my hand, which in the agony
of the moment I was scarce sensible of, and followed my husband,
attended by one of the domestics."

The tears of Hermione here flowed so fast as to threaten the
interruption of her narrative. When she resumed it, it was with a kind
of apology to Margaret.

"Every circumstance," she said, "occurring in those moments, when I
still enjoyed a delusive idea of happiness, is deeply imprinted in my
remembrance, which, respecting all that has since happened, is waste
and unvaried as an Arabian desert. But I have no right to inflict on
you, Margaret, agitated as you are with your own anxieties, the
unavailing details of my useless recollections."

Margaret's eyes were full of tears--it was impossible it could be
otherwise, considering that the tale was told by her suffering
benefactress, and resembled, in some respects, her own situation; and
yet she must not be severely blamed, if, while eagerly pressing her
patroness to continue her narrative, her eye involuntarily sought the
door, as if to chide the delay of Monna Paula.

The Lady Hermione saw and forgave these conflicting emotions; and she,
too, must be pardoned, if, in her turn, the minute detail of her
narrative showed, that, in the discharge of feelings so long locked in
her own bosom, she rather forgot those which were personal to her
auditor, and by which it must be supposed Margaret's mind was
principally occupied, if not entirely engrossed.

"I told you, I think, that one domestic followed the gentlemen," thus
the lady continued her story, "the other remained with us for the
purpose, as it seemed, of introducing us to two persons whom M--, I
say, whom my husband's signal had brought to the spot. A word or two
of explanation passed between them and the servant, in a sort of
_patois_, which I did not understand; and one of the strangers taking
hold of my bridle, the other of Monna Paula's, they led us towards the
light, which I have already said was the signal of our halting. I
touched Monna Paula, and was sensible that she trembled very much,
which surprised me, because I knew her character to be so strong and
bold as to border upon the masculine.

"When we reached the fire, the gipsy figures of those who surrounded
it, with their swarthy features, large Sombrero hats, girdles stuck
full of pistols and poniards, and all the other apparatus of a roving
and perilous life, would have terrified me at another moment. But then
I only felt the agony of having parted from my husband almost in the
very moment of my rescue. The females of the gang--for there were four
or five women amongst these contraband traders--received us with a
sort of rude courtesy. They were, in dress and manners, not extremely
different from the men with whom they associated--were almost as hardy
and adventurous, carried arms like them, and were, as we learned from
passing circumstances, scarce less experienced in the use of them.

"It was impossible not to fear these wild people; yet they gave us no
reason to complain of them, but used us on all occasions with a kind
of clumsy courtesy, accommodating themselves to our wants and our
weakness during the journey, even while we heard them grumbling to
each other against our effeminacy,--like some rude carrier, who, in
charge of a package of valuable and fragile ware, takes every
precaution for its preservation, while he curses the unwonted trouble
which it occasions him. Once or twice, when they were disappointed in
their contraband traffic, lost some goods in a rencontre with the
Spanish officers of the revenue, and were finally pursued by a
military force, their murmurs assumed a more alarming tone, in the
terrified ears of my attendant and myself, when, without daring to
seem to understand them, we heard them curse the insular heretics, on
whose account God, Saint James, and Our Lady of the Pillar, had
blighted their hopes of profit. These are dreadful recollections,
Margaret."

"Why, then, dearest lady," answered Margaret, "will you thus dwell on
them?"

"It is only," said the Lady Hermione, "because I linger like a
criminal on the scaffold, and would fain protract the time that must
inevitably bring on the final catastrophe. Yes, dearest Margaret, I
rest and dwell on the events of that journey, marked as it was by
fatigue and danger, though the road lay through the wildest and most
desolate deserts and mountains, and though our companions, both men
and women, were fierce and lawless themselves, and exposed to the most
merciless retaliation from those with whom they were constantly
engaged--yet would I rather dwell on these hazardous events than tell
that which awaited me at Saint Jean de Luz."

"But you arrived there in safety?" said Margaret.

"Yes, maiden," replied the Lady Hermione; "and were guided by the
chief of our outlawed band to the house which had been assigned for
reception, with the same punctilious accuracy with which he would have
delivered a bale of uncustomed goods to a correspondent. I was told a
gentleman had expected me for two days--I rushed into the apartment,
and, when I expected to embrace my husband--I found myself in the arms
of his friend!"

"The villain!" exclaimed Margaret, whose anxiety had, in spite of
herself, been a moment suspended by the narrative of the lady.

"Yes," replied Hermione, calmly, though her voice somewhat faltered,
"it is the name that best--that well befits him. He, Margaret, for
whom I had sacrificed all--whose love and whose memory were dearer to
me than my freedom, when I was in the convent--than my life, when I
was on my perilous journey--had taken his measures to shake me off,
and transfer me, as a privileged wanton, to the protection of his
libertine friend. At first the stranger laughed at my tears and my
agony, as the hysterical passion of a deluded and overreached wanton,
or the wily affection of a courtezan. My claim of marriage he laughed
at, assuring me he knew it was a mere farce required by me, and
submitted to by his friend, to save some reserve of delicacy; and
expressed his surprise that I should consider in any other light a
ceremony which could be valid neither in Spain nor England, and
insultingly offered to remove my scruples, by renewing such a union
with me himself. My exclamations brought Monna Paula to my aid--she
was not, indeed, far distant, for she had expected some such scene."

"Good heaven!" said Margaret, "was she a confidant of your base
husband?"

"No," answered Hermione, "do her not that injustice. It was her
persevering inquiries that discovered the place of my confinement--it
was she who gave the information to my husband, and who remarked even
then that the news was so much more interesting to his friend than to
him, that she suspected, from an early period, it was the purpose of
the villain to shake me off. On the journey, her suspicions were
confirmed. She had heard him remark to his companion, with a cold
sarcastic sneer, the total change which my prison and my illness had
made on my complexion; and she had heard the other reply, that the
defect might be cured by a touch of Spanish red. This, and other
circumstances, having prepared her for such treachery, Monna Paula now
entered, completely possessed of herself, and prepared to support me.
Her calm representations went farther with the stranger than the
expressions of my despair. If he did not entirely believe our tale, he
at least acted the part of a man of honour, who would not intrude
himself on defenceless females, whatever was their character; desisted
from persecuting us with his presence; and not only directed Monna
Paula how we should journey to Paris, but furnished her with money for
the purpose of our journey. From the capital I wrote to Master Heriot,
my father's most trusted correspondent; he came instantly to Paris on
receiving the letter; and--But here comes Monna Paula, with more than
the sum you desired. Take it, my dearest maiden--serve this youth if
you will. But, O Margaret, look for no gratitude in return!"

The Lady Hermione took the bag of gold from her attendant, and gave it
to her young friend, who threw herself into her arms, kissed her on
both the pale cheeks, over which the sorrows so newly awakened by her
narrative had drawn many tears, then sprung up, wiped her own
overflowing eyes, and left the Foljambe apartments with a hasty and
resolved step.




CHAPTER XXI


  Rove not from pole to pole-the man lives here
  Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer;
  And where, in either sense, the cockney-put
  May, if he pleases, get confounded cut.
       _On the sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber._

We are under the necessity of transporting our readers to the
habitation of Benjamin Suddlechop, the husband of the active and
efficient Dame Ursula, and who also, in his own person, discharged
more offices than one. For, besides trimming locks and beards, and
turning whiskers upward into the martial and swaggering curl, or
downward into the drooping form which became mustaches of civil
policy; besides also occasionally letting blood, either by cupping or
by the lancet, extracting a stump, and performing other actions of
petty pharmacy, very nearly as well as his neighbour Raredrench, the
apothecary: he could, on occasion, draw a cup of beer as well as a
tooth, tap a hogshead as well as a vein, and wash, with a draught of
good ale, the mustaches which his art had just trimmed. But he carried
on these trades apart from each other.

His barber's shop projected its long and mysterious pole into Fleet
Street, painted party-coloured-wise, to represent the ribbons with
which, in elder times, that ensign was garnished. In the window were
seen rows of teeth displayed upon strings like rosaries--cups with a
red rag at the bottom, to resemble blood, an intimation that patients
might be bled, cupped, or blistered, with the assistance of
"sufficient advice;" while the more profitable, but less honourable
operations upon the hair of the head and beard, were briefly and
gravely announced. Within was the well-worn leather chair for
customers, the guitar, then called a ghittern or cittern, with which a
customer might amuse himself till his predecessor was dismissed from
under Benjamin's hands, and which, therefore, often flayed the ears of
the patient metaphorically, while his chin sustained from the razor
literal scarification. All, therefore, in this department, spoke the
chirurgeon-barber, or the barber-chirurgeon.

But there was a little back-room, used as a private tap-room, which
had a separate entrance by a dark and crooked alley, which
communicated with Fleet Street, after a circuitous passage through
several by-lanes and courts. This retired temple of Bacchus had also a
connexion with Benjamin's more public shop by a long and narrow
entrance, conducting to the secret premises in which a few old topers
used to take their morning draught, and a few gill-sippers their
modicum of strong waters, in a bashful way, after having entered the
barber's shop under pretence of being shaved. Besides, this obscure
tap-room gave a separate admission to the apartments of Dame Ursley,
which she was believed to make use of in the course of her
multifarious practice, both to let herself secretly out, and to admit
clients and employers who cared not to be seen to visit her in public.
Accordingly, after the hour of noon, by which time the modest and
timid whetters, who were Benjamin's best customers, had each had his
draught, or his thimbleful, the business of the tap was in a manner
ended, and the charge of attending the back-door passed from one of
the barber's apprentices to the little mulatto girl, the dingy Iris of
Dame Suddlechop. Then came mystery thick upon mystery; muffled
gallants, and masked females, in disguises of different fashions, were
seen to glide through the intricate mazes of the alley; and even the
low tap on the door, which frequently demanded the attention of the
little Creole, had in it something that expressed secrecy and fear of
discovery.

It was the evening of the same day when Margaret had held the long
conference with the Lady Hermione, that Dame Suddlechop had directed
her little portress to "keep the door fast as a miser's purse-strings;
and, as she valued her saffron skin, to let in none but---" the name
she added in a whisper, and accompanied it with a nod. The little
domestic blinked intelligence, went to her post, and in brief time
thereafter admitted and ushered into the presence of the dame, that
very city-gallant whose clothes sat awkwardly upon him, and who had
behaved so doughtily in the fray which befell at Nigel's first visit
to Beaujeu's ordinary. The mulatto introduced him--"Missis, fine young
gentleman, all over gold and velvet "--then muttered to herself as she
shut the door, "fine young gentleman, he!--apprentice to him who makes
the tick-tick."

It was indeed--we are sorry to say it, and trust our readers will
sympathize with the interest we take in the matter--it was indeed
honest Jin Vin, who had been so far left to his own devices, and
abandoned by his better angel, as occasionally to travesty himself in
this fashion, and to visit, in the dress of a gallant of the day,
those places of pleasure and dissipation, in which it would have been
everlasting discredit to him to have been seen in his real character
and condition; that is, had it been possible for him in his proper
shape to have gained admission. There was now a deep gloom on his
brow, his rich habit was hastily put on, and buttoned awry; his belt
buckled in a most disorderly fashion, so that his sword stuck outwards
from his side, instead of hanging by it with graceful negligence;
while his poniard, though fairly hatched and gilded, stuck in his
girdle like a butcher's steel in the fold of his blue apron. Persons
of fashion had, by the way, the advantage formerly of being better
distinguished from the vulgar than at present; for, what the ancient
farthingale and more modern hoop were to court ladies, the sword was
to the gentleman; an article of dress, which only rendered those
ridiculous who assumed it for the nonce, without being in the habit of
wearing it. Vincent's rapier got between his legs, and, as he stumbled
over it, he exclaimed--"Zounds! 'tis the second time it has served me
thus--I believe the damned trinket knows I am no true gentleman, and
does it of set purpose."

"Come, come, mine honest Jin Vin--come, my good boy," said the dame,
in a soothing tone, "never mind these trankums--a frank and hearty
London 'prentice is worth all the gallants of the inns of court."

"I was a frank and hearty London 'prentice before I knew you, Dame
Suddlechop," said Vincent; "what your advice has made me, you may find
a name for; since, fore George! I am ashamed to think about it
myself."

"A-well-a-day," quoth the dame, "and is it even so with thee?--nay,
then, I know but one cure;" and with that, going to a little corner
cupboard of carved wainscoat, she opened it by the assistance of a
key, which, with half-a-dozen besides, hung in a silver chain at her
girdle, and produced a long flask of thin glass cased with wicker,
bringing forth at the same time two Flemish rummer glasses, with long
stalks and capacious wombs. She filled the one brimful for her guest,
and the other more modestly to about two-thirds of its capacity, for
her own use, repeating, as the rich cordial trickled forth in a smooth
oily stream--"Right Rosa Solis, as ever washed mulligrubs out of a
moody brain!"

But, though Jin Vin tossed off his glass without scruple, while the
lady sippped hers more moderately, it did not appear to produce the
expected amendment upon his humour. On the contrary, as he threw
himself into the great leathern chair, in which Dame Ursley was wont
to solace herself of an evening, he declared himself "the most
miserable dog within the sound of Bow-bell."

"And why should you be so idle as to think yourself so, silly boy?"
said Dame Suddlechop; "but 'tis always thus--fools and children never
know when they are well. Why, there is not one that walks in St.
Paul's, whether in flat cap, or hat and feather, that has so many kind
glances from the wenches as you, when ye swagger along Fleet Street
with your bat under your arm, and your cap set aside upon your head.
Thou knowest well, that, from Mrs. Deputy's self down to the waist-
coateers in the alley, all of them are twiring and peeping betwixt
their fingers when you pass; and yet you call yourself a miserable
dog! and I must tell you all this over and over again, as if I were
whistling the chimes of London to a pettish child, in order to bring
the pretty baby into good-humour!"

The flattery of Dame Ursula seemed to have the fate of her cordial--it
was swallowed, indeed, by the party to whom she presented it, and that
with some degree of relish, but it did not operate as a sedative on
the disturbed state of the youth's mind. He laughed for an instant,
half in scorn, and half in gratified vanity, but cast a sullen look on
Dame Ursley as he replied to her last words,

"You do treat me like a child indeed, when you sing over and over to
me a cuckoo song that I care not a copper-filing for."

"Aha!" said Dame Ursley; "that is to say, you care not if you please
all, unless you please one--You are a true lover, I warrant, and care
not for all the city, from here to Whitechapel, so you could write
yourself first in your pretty Peg-a-Ramsay's good-will. Well, well,
take patience, man, and be guided by me, for I will be the hoop will
bind you together at last."

"It is time you were so," said Jenkin, "for hitherto you have rather
been the wedge to separate us."

Dame Suddlechop had by this time finished her cordial--it was not the
first she had taken that day; and, though a woman of strong brain, and
cautious at least, if not abstemious, in her potations, it may
nevertheless be supposed that her patience was not improved by the
regimen which she observed.

"Why, thou ungracious and ingrate knave," said Dame Ursley, "have not
I done every thing to put thee in thy mistress's good graces? She
loves gentry, the proud Scottish minx, as a Welshman loves cheese, and
has her father's descent from that Duke of Daldevil, or whatsoever she
calls him, as close in her heart as gold in a miser's chest, though
she as seldom shows it--and none she will think of, or have, but a
gentleman--and a gentleman I have made of thee, Jin Vin, the devil
cannot deny that."

"You have made a fool of me," said poor Jenkin, looking at the sleeve
of his jacket.

"Never the worse gentleman for that," said Dame Ursley, laughing.

"And what is worse," said he, turning his back to her suddenly, and
writhing in his chair, "you have made a rogue of me."

"Never the worse gentleman for that neither," said Dame Ursley, in the
same tone; "let a man bear his folly gaily and his knavery stoutly,
and let me see if gravity or honesty will look him in the face now-a-
days. Tut, man, it was only in the time of King Arthur or King Lud,
that a gentleman was held to blemish his scutcheon by a leap over the
line of reason or honesty--It is the bold look, the ready hand, the
fine clothes, the brisk oath, and the wild brain, that makes the
gallant now-a-days."

"I know what you have made me," said Jin Vin; "since I have given up
skittles and trap-ball for tennis and bowls, good English ale for thin
Bordeaux and sour Rhenish, roast-beef and pudding for woodcocks and
kickshaws--my bat for a sword, my cap for a beaver, my forsooth for a
modish oath, my Christmas-box for a dice-box, my religion for the
devil's matins, and mine honest name for--Woman, I could brain thee,
when I think whose advice has guided me in all this!"

"Whose advice, then? whose advice, then? Speak out, thou poor, petty
cloak-brusher, and say who advised thee!" retorted Dame Ursley,
flushed and indignant--"Marry come up, my paltry companion--say by
whose advice you have made a gamester of yourself, and a thief
besides, as your words would bear--The Lord deliver us from evil!" And
here Dame Ursley devoutly crossed herself.

"Hark ye, Dame Ursley Suddlechop," said Jenkin, starting up, his dark
eyes flashing with anger; "remember I am none of your husband--and, if
I were, you would do well not to forget whose threshold was swept when
they last rode the Skimmington [Footnote: A species of triumphal
procession in honour of female supremacy, when it rose to such a
height as to attract the attention of the neighbourhood. It is
described at full length in Hudibras. (Part II. Canto II.) As the
procession passed on, those who attended it in an official capacity
were wont to sweep the threshold of the houses in which Fame affirmed
the mistresses to exercise paramount authority, which was given and
received as a hint that their inmates might, in their turn, be made
the subject of a similar ovation. The Skimmington, which in some
degree resembled the proceedings of Mumbo Jumbo in an African village,
has been long discontinued in England, apparently because female rule
has become either milder or less frequent than among our ancestors.]
upon such another scolding jade as yourself."

"I hope to see you ride up Holborn next," said Dame Ursley, provoked
out of all her holiday and sugar-plum expressions, "with a nosegay at
your breast, and a parson at your elbow!"

"That may well be," answered Jin Vin, bitterly, "if I walk by your
counsels as I have begun by them; but, before that day comes, you
shall know that Jin Vin has the brisk boys of Fleet Street still at
his wink.--Yes, you jade, you shall be carted for bawd and conjurer,
double-dyed in grain, and bing off to Bridewell, with every brass
basin betwixt the Bar and Paul's beating before you, as if the devil
were banging them with his beef-hook."

Dame Ursley coloured like scarlet, seized upon the half-emptied flask
of cordial, and seemed, by her first gesture, about to hurl it at the
head of her adversary; but suddenly, and as if by a strong internal
effort, she checked her outrageous resentment, and, putting the bottle
to its more legitimate use, filled, with wonderful composure, the two
glasses, and, taking up one of them, said, with a smile, which better
became her comely and jovial countenance than the fury by which it was
animated the moment before--

"Here is to thee, Jin Vin, my lad, in all loving kindness, whatever
spite thou bearest to me, that have always been a mother to thee."

Jenkin's English good-nature could not resist this forcible appeal; he
took up the other glass, and lovingly pledged the dame in her cup of
reconciliation, and proceeded to make a kind of grumbling apology for
his own violence--

"For you know," he said, "it was you persuaded me to get these fine
things, and go to that godless ordinary, and ruffle it with the best,
and bring you home all the news; and you said, I, that was the cock of
the ward, would soon be the cock of the ordinary, and would win ten
times as much at gleek and primero, as I used to do at put and beggar-
my-neighbour--and turn up doublets with the dice, as busily as I was
wont to trowl down the ninepins in the skittle-ground--and then you
said I should bring you such news out of the ordinary as should make
us all, when used as you knew how to use it--and now you see what is
to come of it all!"

"'Tis all true thou sayest, lad," said the dame; "but thou must have
patience. Rome was not built in a day--you cannot become used to your
court-suit in a month's time, any more than when you changed your long
coat for a doublet and hose; and in gaming you must expect to lose as
well as gain--'tis the sitting gamester sweeps the board."

"The board has swept me, I know," replied Jin Vin, "and that pretty
clean out.--I would that were the worst; but I owe for all this
finery, and settling-day is coming on, and my master will find my
accompt worse than it should be by a score of pieces. My old father
will be called in to make them good; and I--may save the hangman a
labour and do the job myself, or go the Virginia voyage."

"Do not speak so loud, my dear boy," said Dame Ursley; "but tell me
why you borrow not from a friend to make up your arrear. You could
lend him as much when his settling-day came round."

"No, no--I have had enough of that work," said Vincent. "Tunstall
would lend me the money, poor fellow, an he had it; but his gentle,
beggarly kindred, plunder him of all, and keep him as bare as a birch
at Christmas. No--my fortune may be spelt in four letters, and these
read, RUIN."

"Now hush, you simple craven," said the dame; "did you never hear,
that when the need is highest the help is nighest? We may find aid for
you yet, and sooner than you are aware of. I am sure I would never
have advised you to such a course, but only you had set heart and eye
on pretty Mistress Marget, and less would not serve you--and what
could I do but advise you to cast your city-slough, and try your luck
where folks find fortune?"

"Ay, ay--I remember your counsel well," said Jenkin; "I was to be
introduced to her by you when I was perfect in my gallantries, and as
rich as the king; and then she was to be surprised to find I was poor
Jin Vin, that used to watch, from matin to curfew, for one glance of
her eye; and now, instead of that, she has set her soul on this
Scottish sparrow-hawk of a lord that won my last tester, and be cursed
to him; and so I am bankrupt in love, fortune, and character, before I
am out of my time, and all along of you, Mother Midnight."