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THE NECROMANCER;
OK, TBI
MYSTERIES OF THE COURT
or
HENRY THE EIGHTH.
BY GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS.
JUTHOR OF THE "MYSTERIES OF THE COURT OF LONDON," "ROM
FORSTER," "CAROLINE OF BRUNSWICK," "KENNETH," "THE
PARRICIDE ; OR YOUTH'S CAREER OF CRIME," "COURT *
OF NAPLES," "MARY PRICE," ETC., ETC.
HUNTED FROM THE ADVANCED SHEETS.
JPbiU&clpIjta:
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306 CHESTNUT 8TREET.


460089 tRtfN3
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t
THE NECROMANCER
OR, THE MYSTERIES OF THE
COURT OF HENRY THE EIGHTH.
BY GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS.
PROLOGUE.
Ocr narrative opens in the year 1510.
It was nigh'—a cold, clear, beautiful night
in the month of March. From the deep blue
heaven the moon, ravishingly bright as an orb
of silver, looked down on the sleeping earth
and the tranquil sea—while countless stars,
spangling the celestial canopy, seemed angel-
eyes sending forth looks of hope for the deso-
late, love for the forlorn, and consolation for
the sorrowful.
The pure effulgence brought forth all the
prominent features of the land into strong re-
lief, and overlaid the sea with a sheet of living
lustre. On lofty eminences did old frowning
castles look grey; and on slopes, or in valleys,
the dingy brick buildings of towns and villa-
ges seemed white in the argentine flood.
On the land the busy hum of mankind was
hushed in sleep; and on the ocean there was
a mystic silence broken only by the mellow
lisp of the gentle ripples dissolving upon the
shore.
Through a range of lofty windows the cold
white beams of moon and stars penetrated
into a vast Gothic hall; and as those rays
rested upon the shafts of many pillars, they
seemed like long straight transparent linea of
ire reaching slantwise across the spacious
apartment. That hall was hung with suits of
armour, implements of war, and weapons of
the chase; and above them were suspended
the banners of battle—the decaying trophies
of deeds whose heroes slept in the deep vaults
beneath, and whose arms were rustling with-
in that ancient hall.
The moon shone with so full a power
through the windows as to make every object
distinct and clear as if it were day-light, save
In the ;orners and behind the pillars, whither
those ce-like shafts of light could not pene-
trate. Tt was a grand, a solemn, and a strange
thing to contemplate the interior of this great
hall, with its range of high narrow arched
windows—its double row of pillars supporting
a vaulted ceiling producing a cathedral effect—
the pavement of black and white marble in
diamond-like arrangement—and the warlik*
embellishments of mouldering banners and
rusting armour that covered the walls. In
such a place and in the deep midnight hour,
sHence itself seemed more solemn, mora
awful, than elsewhere—a silence on which
neither voice nor foot could scarcely dare
intrude.
And yet both voices and footsteps were now
wakening the echoes that long, long had
slumbered undisturbed within that Gothic hall.
Yes, but genlly, very gently, were the voices
speaking and the feet treading: for it was im-
possible that those who were now advancing
there, could do otherwise than feel the solem-
nity of the scene, the silence, and the hour.
Who were they that whispered in subdued
hushed voices, and advanced with slow and
even hesitating steps! One was a man who
appeared to he some four and twenty years
of age, and the elegance of whose apparel
matched well with the high order of his mas-
culine beauty. His hair was dark as jet, clus-
tering in rich natural curls aboul a head of the
most perfect classic shape- while the light of
no ordinary intellect and the power of no
common mind flashed in the remarkable bril-
liancy of his fine dark eyes. His apparel
consisted of a purple velvet doublet—black
silk hose fitting tight upon the limbs—cavalier
boots of Spanish leather but of buskin shape
-—a short cloak, of the same material as the
doublet, worn over the left snoulder—and a
dark velvet cap with a long drooping sable


3
THE NECROMANCER.
'flume. Such was the attire that aet off the
tall, slender, but well knit and graceful person
of this individual to the fullest advantage.
His companion wan a young girl of about
eighteen, and of the most exquisite beauty.
Myriads of dark brown ringlets fell in a hype-
rion-iike shower upon shoulders the admirable
slope of which enhanced the beauty of a fig-
ure cast in a fuultless mould and endowed
with every grace. Her eyes, at once lustrous
and languishing, were of that deep blue which
was as clear and transparent us the heaven
whence the moonlight now poured; while be-
tween the parting of the well-cut rosy lips
•bone teeth as white as pearls. She too was
apparelled with mingled elegance and rich-
ness; and indeed, as this noble-looking, inte-
resting pair advanced slowly through the
moonlit hall,—she hanging upon his arm and
gazing up into his fine countenance with all
a .young maiden's clinging tenderness and in-
tense devotion—it was fair to argue that they
were of rank and birth, as it was ajso natural
to conclude that they were lovers. For upon
the lady's nmd no marriage ring appeared
amidst the )ev Is which gemmed her taper fin-
gers; and the: 3 was too unmistakeable an air of
candour and innocence about her to warrant the
belief tor a single moment that she was liound
to her companion by any dishonorable tie. No
—notwithstanding (he immensity of her love,
'twas of virgin chastity, and no sentiment of a
gross contexture marred the immaculate purity
of her soul.
Through the hall did the young cavalier and
his beauteous companion proceed, their foot-
steps raising the dust collected upon the pave-
ment and which settled upon the polUhed
boots of Vie former and the ermine bordered
velvet robe of the latter. The cold atmos-
phere of the place seemed to be put in motion
by the visitors who were now passing through
it; for the flags suspended to the walls slowly
trembled and waved above the rustling armour,
and then drooped into perfect stillness again.
"Do you feel cold, dearest V asked the
cavalier in that manly melody of voice which
was so sweet to her ears and so ravishing to
her senses.
"I think not of the coldness, nor the solem-
nity, nor the chill silence of the place, so long
as I am with you," was the answer which she
gave in soft fluid accents, as she still gazed up
nto his countenance with an expression of love
M> intense that it proved the immensity of the
power which that man exercised over her
trustful devoted heart,
"This is the home of my ancestors, beloved
Clara," he continued, in that same deep melo-
dy of voice, and with a look as if the whole
fire of an illimitable love shone out of his
magnificent eyes. "Their ashes repose in the
vaults beneath where we are treading: their
armour hangs upon these walls! And you
are not afraid my Clara, to venture hither
with me at this solemn hour—in this stealthy
manner—unattended and alone—as if we our-
selves were spirits of the departed, instead
of"
"Oh! speak not thus," interrupted the
beauteous Clara with a chiding gesture; and
now a gleam of anxiety—almost of sudden ter-
ror—glittered in her loving deep blue eyes.
"Well, weil, I will not repeat so strange a
comparison/' her lover hastened to reply: and
as he strained her closer to him and pressed
his lips to her pure polished forehead, the ca-
ressing tenderness of his manner was far more
potent than even words to soothe her.
"Oh ! my worshipped idol, what happiness
ineffable exists in your love!" she murmured
in a low and scarcely audible voice, as one who
gives utterance to the dearest secret of her
heart; and in that moment it was evident she
forgot alike the place and the hour in the all-
absorbing nature of her feelings.
This manifestation of her sonPs illimitable
tenderness seemed suddenly to touch a strange ,
chord in her lover's heart; and an expression
very much like that of a mortal agony swept
over his features. And at this very moment
was it that Clara raised her eyes and caught
that anguished soul-tortured look just as it
was vanishing from the countenance it for the
swift brief instant convulsed so fearfully. The
effect upon her was rapid as the blasting light-
ning upon the tree which it strikes with its
zig-zag tongue of fire. A maddening mis-,
giving fastened upon her soul; she shivered
with a violent tremor in the very agony of her
apprehension, and would have dropped down
abruptly on the dust-coveted pavement had
not her lover at the moment encircled her
beautiful shape with his arms.
"Clara—dearest Clara," he said, with a
strange and even wild agitation; "what has
alarmed you thus?"
"I know not—I dare not—no, no, I cannot
tell you," she gasped forth in faltering ac-
cents; and at the same time she endeavoured
to overcome her feelings and fling off as it
were that vague indefinite sensation of uneasi-
ness which had seized upon her heart; but
she could not—it appeared as if a blight had
fallen with cruel suddenness upon that heart's
happiness!
"Oh! do not, do not give way thus to idle
and unfounded terrors," said her companion,
straining her so forcibly, so fervently to his
breast, that it seemed as if he almost sought
to subdue her form's quivering by the very
violence of his embrace, because mistrusting
the power of his words' tenderi" is to lull it,
"Oh! pardon me, pardon mi this weak-
ness !" said Clara, still in a murmuring falter-
ing tone; and as she gazed up with those
large blue eyes, in whose liquid beauty' the
deep blue of heaven had seemed to settle, she.
met the strange wild look which her lovct
was at the instant fixing upon her, and which


10
THE NECROMANCER.
pel the vague terrors of darkness; and Clara's
lover led her forward once more, closing the
door behind them. It shut with the same
sharp clicking noise that had marked its open-
ing; and as Clara mechanically looked hack
■he could observe neither latch nor key-hole.
Then her glances being rapidly swept around,
she perceived that she was in a room of mo-
derate dimensions, but perfectly square, and
with the windows so high up that it was im-
possible to look out even though mounted on
a chair for the purpose. There were two win-
dows on each of the four sides of the room;
■nd it was consequently evident that the
apartment itself was in some detached tower
wherewith the narrow passage thus threaded
alone communicated. For there was no other
door in the room, and therefore no visible
means of egress besides that one.
We have not however altogether finished
our description of this apartment, which indeed
was of peculiar aspect. The walls all around,
up as high as the window-ledges, were covered
with carved oak panels—or what in later times
would have been called wainscotting. But on
that side of the room which immediately faced
the door there were six small squares painted
black, marked with a bold red outline, and the
whole filling up the place of one of the oaken
panels. They were numbered; and their ar-
rangement was in this wise;—
I
in
v
ii
IV
VI
On each of the first tour black squares there
was a name with a date, as follows:—
1. Biakca Lahdiki . . . 1390.
2. Maroarit Duhhavin. . 1407.
3. Ailins di St. Louis. . 1463.
4. Dolorosa Cortiz. . . 1500.
These inscriptions evidently were not painted;
and it was difficult to discern their exact na-
ture. But they appeared to be formed of
letters and numerals of glass, let into fitting
places cut completely through the black squares
in order to receive them, and shining as if with
the glare of a powerful lamp burning behind.
Bucb At least was the appearance which the
inscriptions had—looking like letters of flame—
njt lambent and oscillating, but burning stead-
ily and uniformly like fixed fire.
It must be observed that the two last black
panels had not inscriptions upon them—merely
the figures V and VI respectively, but which
teemed to denote that they were not destined
to remain for ever different from the rest, but
that they would some day or another have in-
scriptions also. The furniture in this room
consisted of a table and chairs of massive oak,
so as to match the wainscot of the walls. A
velvet carpet covered the floor; and so far from
the apartment bearing any appearance of the
ravages of time, it formed a remarkable excep-
tion in this respect from the other portions of
the edifice through which Clara had been led.
Not a particle of dust was to be seen upon any
of the furniture; the velvet floor-cloth looked
as if it had only been recently brushed; and
the entire aspect of the room denoted care and
attention.
Clara had experienced a sudden thrill of
alarm on beholding that door with the inv,. Me
bolt, close so abruptly in the manner alreaily
described; and a sense of captivity instanta-
neously fastened upon her mind. Thence
sprang a wilder feeling of terror than she had
as yet experienced; and this was heightened
on beholding those names shining upon the
wall and looking as if they had bean traced
with a pen of fire. Full of misgivings and i
suspicions, which she could neither control nor .
conceal, Clara flung her looks upon her lover'
and a still more violent tremor seized upon
her as she felt his large black eyes flashing inU .
her very heart with a lightning power!
Bui the next moment his looks changed-™
so suddenly indeed as to leave a doubt whethei
his glance had really flashed with the expres-
bioii she had just imagined; and becoming all
love, ail softness, all tenderness again, he gazad .
upon her with that deep impassioned fond-
ness, that adoring earnestness, which had ever
as yet characterized his love and called foruV
a kindred worship from her own soul.
"Dearest, dearest Clara," he said; "why
for a moment does the shade of doubt cross
your angelic features? why does the tremor of;
suspicion pass over your frame? Have you
no longer any trust in me? do you imagine,
that I am capable of working you a mischief .
or leading you into danger? Much less—.
Oh! much less am I capable of breathing a,
single syllable to shock the purity of your soul,
or mar the innocence of that love which flows;
like an ethereal essence from your virgin
heart!" ,
"I know—I know—that not for worlds
would you harm a hair of my head,'' said.
Clara, as she suffered him to lead her to a seat.
"But those names—apparently written in fir■\
—and the effect of which is so ominous, so
terrible"
»Calm and tranquillize yourself, dearest
dearest Clara," her lover hastened to observe;
as placing himself in another chair by heir
side, he pressed her hand between both his
own and gazed upon her with all that deep,
unalloyed, and impassioned tenderness which;
found so genuine a reflection in her looks and
in her heart. "The meaning of those names
I will explain presently, and you will then
chide yourself for this momentary alarm."
"But why are they thus traced in charao
ters of fire?" asked Clsra, with another side-,
long glance of apprehension flung towards those,
ominous panels.


THE NECROMANCER.
111
"It is in appearance only—a strange whim
)f one of my ancestors—the condition, indeed,
upon which I hold the estates—the tenure of
my titles and fortunes."
"Ah! pardon me, then, this painful curiosity
which has made tne perhaps unkind and mis-
trustful !—pardon me, pardon me, I say !"—
and the beauteous Clara, feeling in her heart's
natural generosity and frankness, that she had
wounded her lover's feelings, suddenly slipped
from her chair and fell upon her knees at his
feet.
"Oh! then you do love me—love me pas-
sionately, adoringly V he cried, in a voice of
such strange exultation and intoxicated wild-
ness of triumph, that again would his manner
have struck her as singular to a degree, had
not her own feelings been at the moment so
profoundly absorbed in regret and self-reproach
at having mistrusted him. "Yes—you love
me—you love me," he cried, " my own wor-
shipped Clara!"—and he raised her,or rather
snatched her up from her suppliant posture,
strained her to his breast, and then deposited
her with a sudden and delicate gentleness in
the chair.
"Then you forgive me?" she said, her
cheeks suffused with the blushes which the
ardour of his caresses had conjured up.
"Oh! forgive you—what have I to forgive?"
he exclaimed: "and how could you possibly
offend me? No, no : not for an instant could
I experience resentment against you! Be-
sides, it is so natural for you to pass through
the ordeal of many strange and varied feelings
under such circumstances as the present! To
issue forth by stealth from your father's house
at such an hour—to ride with me for such a
distance and at such a pace"
"Heavens, what a pace t" echoed Clara,
her look suddenly expressing the astonishment
which accompanied the circumstance thus
brought back to her mind.
"Aye," said her lover, " mine are no ordi-
nary steeds :"—and she fancied for a moment
that his eyes had a wicked and sneering
glance; hut if it were so it was transitory as a
passing shadow—and with a deepening ten-
derness of look and manner he said, " Yes,
dearest, you have indeed had enough to agitate
and bewilder you this night. But you know
how necessary it was to pass through this
strange ordeal: you are aware that my ances.
tor, the founder of my family, decreed that
every one inheriting his name should receive
in this room the solemn pledge and plight of
love from the lips of her whom he proposed
to lead unto the altar."
"How strange the whim'" observed Clara,
shuddering with a vague presentiment of evil
as she spoke: but the next instant her hand
was pressed to her lover's lips—and as she
gazed upon the proud and inueed glorious
Ueauty of his countenance, her heart grew
warm and gushing again with the tenderesl
emotions of love and hope and confidence.
"Yes—it is indeed a strange whim, my
beloved Clara," he replied; "but not the less
needful to he fulfilled by every descendant of'
that half-crazed ancestor of mine! Loving
each other as we do—with the holiest bond,
of affection so indissolubly uniting our heart■
—and with your sire's permission that out
nuptials shall take place ten days hence—it,
was scarcely indelicate for me to implore aml
beseech that you would steal forth to-night,
journey with me hither to my own ancestral
hall, and accompany me alone to this apart-
ment where our solemn vows must be ex-
changed. For in the immensity of that love
which binds us to each other, consists not.
only the security which you must experience,
in my company, but also the pride which 1'
feel in being your protector and the guardian
of your honour. But not long need we tarry,
here! Let our vows be spoken—our troth be.
plighted—and then we will away back to
London again!" ;,
"But this ancient castle of your's, my
beloved one," said Clara, suddenly inspired
by a strange and mystic sentiment of curiosity,;
—" where is it situated? how far from Loar.'
don? Surely we must have come many,
many miles in that hour's ride ?—and me.
thought that we dashed through a river—but it
was so momentary that I immediately after-
wards fancied I must have been deceived
Besides, the skirt of my robe was dry as 1.
dismounted, and the steed too dripped not."
"No—it was but fancy on your part, dearest
Clara," returned her lover. "As for the
castle, it is not so very far from the metropolis
But when we are united and I can call
thee by the endeared and endearing name of
wife, we will come hither in the broad day-(
light and explore the ruined home of tnir.e
ancestors."
"Oh! yes," exclaimed Clara joyfully ;—'
"when it is day-light I shall be so fond of'
examining all those warlike weapons and'
suits of armour in, the great hall Mow—the'-
portraits too in the gallery which we threaded*'
—and all the curiosities of the ancient fortalire
But surely the moon is now waning?"
she suddenly exclaimed, as it struck her that'
the argentine flood which had hitherto ren-
dered the interior of the apartment as distinct'
as in the day-light had grown somewhat
obscured.
"Yes—it is time we should be gone, dear'
Clara," responded her lover. "Come, let us-
plight those solemn vows for the record of
which we have come hither. And first—Oh!
first, dearest Clara—worshipped aneel of
beauty—first let me declare unto thee, by
that Power to which I am devoted, and with
as much solemn sincerity as there is truth and
justice in that Power—that I am thine—
460089


12
THE NECROMANCER.
r
wholly and solely thine, in love, and tender-
ness, and devotion!"
While thus speaking, he sank at her feet
am) bent his head over the hand which he
SeW in his grasp and which he pressed with
t sort of wild ardour to his lips, as if in the
trbrium of ecstatic passion, when he had thus
ecorded his solemn oath.
"O my beloved one," exclaimed the fond,
confiding, beauteous girl, as her head swam
with a sort of pleasurable dizziness—and the
very air, instead of being cold in the moon-
light, seemed to burn with the impassioned
and glowing language that her companion's
Hps had sent forth: "O my beloved one!
accept the unspeakable thanks of an affection-
ate and loving heart for that vow of thine!
And this vow 1 re-echo and give back again—
I cull heaven to witness that nothing can ever
mar—no, nor ever exceed this love of mine!
And I am thine—wholly and solely thine—
in all tenderness and devotion!"
"Oh! now it is for me to proclaim my
thanks," cried ber lover, gazing up into her
countenance with looks that poured a flood
of inconceivable rapture into her heart. "But
tell me once more that you are mine!"
"Yes—thine, thine for ever!" she mur-
mured, the warm blood mantling with height-
ened hue upon her cheeks.
■ Mine'." exclaimed her lover, with an
•xultation as if his voice were the pasan of
victory. "Mine you say ?—mine for ever—
body and soul V
"Yea," returned Clara, in the heartfelt
fullness of her love: "thine for ever—body
and soul!"
Scarcely had the fond and truthful girl
given utterance to this fearful vow, when her
lover sprang from his knees and started up to
his feet with the wildest abruptness.
With a faint shriek, and with a marble
whiteness suddenly chasing away the bloom
from her cheeks, she glanced up at his coun-
tenance. But, heavens! what a change had
all in a moment been worked there !—for
triumph and despair, joy and agony, were
ineffably mingled in those features which
seemed of a fearful beauty now, like the face
of a fallen angel!
But in that self-same moment—quick as
the eye can wink—a blackness fell down upon
the scene, like a heavy pall covering every
window with its dread cere-cloth. And then,
fr>m the midst of that pitchy blackness, came
ery after cry—and shriek after shriek resound-
ed wild and piercing, from the extremes!
agony of a female heart, ind thrilling through
that room as it they would rend and crack
the very walls! ,
For nearly a minute did that Egyptian
darkness and those appalling shrieks endure;
then, in a moment the pitchy cloud vanished
—and all was still!
Again was the apartment flooded wit a the
silver light, brilliant and cold: and the lover
stood alone there, in the midst of that efful-
gence. But his wildly glowing eyes—hie
lipa blanched and quivering—the panting
breath—and the dark unearthly thoughts that
sat like a Cain-brand upon his brow—these
were a sufficient indication of the strong agony
that convulsed the soul within!
But on what object did his eyes glare in
such fierce intentness, through which a fren-
zied exultation also penetrated? Upon the
fifth black square upon the wall: for on it the
following inscription was now traced in letters
of living fire, like the rest :—
Claia Mixitiii 1510.
So that the inscriptions upon the five
squares might now be recorded thus ;—
1. Biaica Landixi . .
2. Marsaiit Dchhatiw
3. Ailiii bi St. Louis
4. Dolorosa Cortiz .
5. Claia Mainzrs . .
1390.
1407.
1463.
1500.
1510.
And now, then, there was but one black
square left without its tracery of fiery name
and date!
But not alone that fifth black square was
the fearful man now watching. Beneath the
panel in which those six squares were set, did
a small trap door—not half-a-dozen inches
broad or high—suddenly open; and the arm
of a skeleton was thrust forth. Between tl.e
fleabJesa fore-finger and thumb something glit-
tering was held; and the cavalier seized it
engerly. It was a ring of plain gold, enamel-
led in black, and with a name round it. This
the fearful man hastily attached to a chain
which he wore concealed in his breast, and on
which there were already four rings—the one
he had just received, making the fifth.
The skeleton arm was withdrawn as ab-
ruptly as it was thrust forth; the little trap-
door was closed again—and the cavalier
slowly quitted the apartment where these
scenes of a wild and terrible mystery had
taken place.
But who is this man that his destiny seems
linked with such transcending horrors ?—wha*
meant those fiery inscriptions upon the wall,
and those rings which he wore secured beneath
the folds of his doublet?


THE NECROMANCER.
CHAPTER I
MUSIIiOltl.
Few of our readers will require to be told
that the Isle of Wight is situated on the
southern coast of England, separated only from
the main land of Hampshire by a narrow
channel called the Solent Sea. The average
width of this channel is between three and
four miles, so that the isle and the mainland
are in sight of each other. Between the two
is the famous anchorage for shipping known
as Spithead: but in the time of which we are
writing—namely, the reign of Henry VIII—
it was a rare occurrence to behold any war-
ships moored there.
For the most part the Isle of Wight presents
a wall of precipitous cliffs or steep slopes to
the sea on every side; and in some places the
natural ramparts of the lozenge-shaped isle
rise to an elevation of five or six hundred feet
.
There is much grandeur in those eminences
overlooking the se<; while all the interior of
the insular tract .1 characterized by the most
beautiful scenery; and the mildness of the
climate causes myrtles, laurels, geraniums,
and various kinds of delicate evergreens to
flourish throughout the winter
Brading Haven is situated on the north-
eastern point of the island,—the town from
which it takes its name being at no great dis-
tance from another equnlly well known—we
mean St. Helens. At high water the haven
is a beautiful lake covering an extent of a
thousand acres; but at low water it presents
to the view naught but a surface of sand tra-
versed by the river Yar. Still at the present
day the lands about the haven are well
wooded; but at the period of which we are
writing all that part of the island had the
appearance of a forest, the little towns of
Brading and St. Helens being embowered as
it were by giant oaks which spread their ver-
dure down to the very edge of the haven.
On the rising coast that ascends from
Brading Haven, stood a large house—or in-
deed mansion—consisting of dingy red brick
supported and as it were interwoven by a
massive timber frame-work. It was an ancient
building, with many straggling offices and out-
Souses in 'he rear, and standing on an emi-
nence where the trees had been cleared away
to afford room for a shrubbery and lawn is
front, an orchard on one side,—an immense
kitchen garden on the other, and a large field
behind. It commanded a splendid view of
the sea, overlooking the entire lange of forest
that stretched upon all the proclivities around.
This house was the property and residence
of an old knight named Sir Lewis Sinclair.
He was a widower, devotedly attached to hunt-
ing, good living, and the bottle, to all of which
perhaps he accorded a greater share of his love
than to his beautiful daughter Musidora. She
was an only child; her mother had died in
her infancy ;—and when she grew up the chief
care of the household devolved upon herself.
Sir Lewis Sinclair had reached the good
ripe age of sixty-two at the time when we
thus introduce him to our readers, and which
was in the year 1516. He belonged to an
ancient and honourable family, some of whose
more distant members were ennobled; although
the scions of the particular branch from which
he himself sprung, had never risen beyond the
plain rank of commoner, until Sir Lewis by
siding with the cause of Henry VII against
Richard III, at the battle of Bosworth Field,
received the distinction of Knight-Banneret,
of which he was not a little proud. Edmund
Dudley, one of the principal and most infa-
mous Ministers of Henry VII, was a relation
of Sir Lewis Sinclair's, and had procured for
the knight a sinecure post as Ranger of the
Forests in the Isle of Wight: but when Henry
VIII came to the throne, he not only put
Dudley to death, but to the best of his power
cancelled every appointment which that indi-
vidual had made. Thus, when advanced in
years, Sir Lewis Sinclair lost the Rangership
of the forests, and in losing that was deprived
of the principal source of revenue remaining
to him. For what with having equipped a
truop at his own expense to fight agsinst
Richard III, and what with a life of unbridled
extravagance, prolusion, and improvidence, be
bad so hampered his hereditary possessions
that when the income of the Rangership sud-
denly ceased, he found that it was absolutely
necessary to curtail his expenses. He bail
therefore then dismissed the greater number
of his retainers; so that for five or six year*
previous to the date at which this chapter


THE NECR
OMANCER.
opens, himself, Musidora, two female and two
male dependants had been the only occupants
of the spacious mansion.
And now let us endeavour to describe the
old knighi's daughter—if language can indeed
be made to assume any form that shall do
justice to the superb beauty of Musidora
Sinclair.
At the time when we thus present her to
our readers she was in her twenty-first year.
Without being too tall for grace and elegance,
she was nevertheless of a noble stature; and
without losing its fine feminine qualities, her
beauty was of a most commanding and exalted
order. Though pale as an image of statuary
marble, it was no dead inanimate pallor that
thus formed her complexion: nor was there
aught of sickliness or ill-health in her appear-
ance. Her's was the grandeur of a proud
classic beauty uniting all the fullness and
polish of the chiselled alabaster with the soft-
ness of nature. No mark of time—no ravage
of care—no trace of disease, marred the unsul-
lied purity of the high expansive brow; and
though no roseate tint was ever seen to settle
—scarcely even to wander—upon the marble
fairness of the cheeks, yet were they of a
wholesome living white, firm as flesh should
k/e, and of damask softness. Her features had
Ihe exquisite regularity of the Grecian profile
—the lofty forehead, the nose perfectly straight,
the shirt-arched upper lip with its slightly
haughty wreathing, and the small delicately-
rounded chin. Her countenance was an oval,
and with its superb features possessed all the
glorious dignity of the proud Norman type,
just sufficiently attempered with a smile—but
coldly brilliant—to prove that there was no
undue pride nor overbearing arrogance in
Mjsidora's nature.
Her raven hair, parted exactly in the middle
of her head, was thus divided as it were by a
delicati line of ivory whiteness into two masses
which lay smooth and glossy as velvet above
the temples, and then gradually broke, not
exactly into tresses, but into accumulated
clusters of the thickest and most luxuriant
redundancy. Thus did it flow—that dark,
dark hair—like a sable cloud upon the superb
shoulders, enhancing the marble fairness of
the countenance, and making the ivory neck
stand out as it were in dazzling relief against
that ebon background. Thus, too, did the
polish, the animation, and the stainless trans-
parency of Musidora's complexion strike the
beholder all the more brilliantly in contrast
with the cloud-like darkness of her hair. And
yet this hair, so magnificent in its luxuriance
and so silken in its softness, was not of a dull
dead blackness: but it shone with the purpiy
metallic lustre which glows upon the raven's
wing or which forms the rich gloss of velvet.
Her brows wete nobly arched and distinctly
though not severely pencilled : but these ebon
lines, with the eyes of glorious eastern dark-
ness so thickly fringed with long lashes slighty
curling, suited well that Grecian countenance
so proudly beautiful. And what eyea were
they through which Musidora's soul looked
forth,—that soul which it seemed impossible
to read in the unfathomable depths of those
large lustrous orbs! There was a kind of
weird mystery in their glance—not a restless
flashing—no, but rather a steadiness of gaze—
a look which stole strangely upon the heart
of the beholder a* the time and haunted him
long, long afterwards.
We have said that Musidora's lips were
formed to suit her Grecian profile: we should
add that in their hue, with the rich blood
crimsoning them, they were of a vivid scarlet;
and in their dewy moisture they seemed like
wet coral. When closed, they bespoke a
certain energy of character: but when those
bright lips parted, they revealed a set of teeth
so brilliant that the purity of ivory was out-
shone, and the delicate transparency of pearl
could beat be likened to their exquisite enamel.
As the predominant expression of Musidora's
countenance was the half-unconscious dignity
of stillness, bordering upon the settled placidity
of a queenly coldness,—so did a certain majesty
of air blend with the grace of her attitudes and
the elegance of all her movements. Each ges-
ture had its own peculiar charm; and though
never impulsive and quick, but always slow
even to an appearance of measured deliberation,
yet w as there no striving after effect—no stu-
died calculation on her part, either to appear
singular or to please in her own particular
manner. With that imperial air of her's was
mingled a sufficiency of softness and gentle-
ness to render her agreeable and even amiable;
so that her's was not a beauty which chilled
the heart with its frozen grandeur—-for if coldly
proud, it was also proudly radiant. The
Olympian loveliness of Juno, the cold chastity
of Diana, the high intelligence of Minerva,and
the gracefulness of Venus,—all seemed to be
combined in the aspect of Musidora. And
indeed no form of a rarer symmetry did Grc*
cian chisel ever shape in marble: never did
sculptured effigy of beauty breathe with on
ideal dignity and grace more exquisite than
the combined reality which characterized Musi-
dora's person. Her classic shape blended in.
admirable unison the lithe symmetry of maiden
youthfulness with the mature developementa
of perfect womanhood; the fine slope of the
shoulders, the noble contours of the bust, the
rounded fullness of the arms, the sylphid slen-
derness of the waist, and the faultless model-
ling of the feet and ankles, these details of
beauty, aided bye statuesque elegance of gait,
constituted the perfection of Musidora's form.
But what was the disposition—what were
the mental and moral attributes, of this splen-
did creature? It was impossible tj contem-
plate her countenance witbou* reading the
noblest traits of intellect anu of mind in every


THE NELR
OMANCER. IS
*feature. Could that high and polished forehead
De the scat of aught save the diadem of genius 1
—could those well-cut lips fail to express the
power of self-control and inward discipline
through the medium of a strong indomitable
will?—was not all the noble pride of woman's
•eif-reliance displayed in the thin arched nos-
trils? And yet all unfeminine expression of
the countenance was absorbed in the silver
radiance of that beauty which shone upon
every lineament. But if her intellect were
thus powerful and her character thus ener-
getic, what can we say of the feelings of her
heart? Ah! now we are at fault. We have
already hinted that her soul was unfathom-
able: for her eyes betrayed not the inward
emotions as woman's eyes are wont to do-
nor did she ever seem to feel that quickening
of the pulse, nor to experience that flush upon
the cheeks which in her sex bespeak the
vibration of the heart's chords to every vary-
ing passion and sentiment. Whatever thoughts,
or secrets, or elnotions harboured in her bosom,
no visible trace thereof was ever revealed by
her countenance. The^mountains of Iceland
may be volcanoes internally ; but their outward
surface is ice—yet not dull, dead, and inani-
mate, but with the sunlight shining upon its
whiteness and illuminating jts very coldness.
Was it so with Musidora ?—did the queenly,
chill quiescence of her manner conceal the
tumult of fervid feelings within 1—or was it
that the youthful freshness of her heart had
faded altogether ere Time had swept over it
his frozen wings?
We cannot say: we must repeat what we
have already hinted, that her soul was unfa-
thomable. And yet it had not always been
no. In her childhood she was a merry, joyous,
laughing thing—never with any particular
ruddiness of countenance, but still with a
roseate bloom upon her cheeks; and when she
merged into the period of girlhood, she was
still ever smiling, gay, and happy—and still
was there a delicate tinge of the carnation
visible beneath the transparent purity of her
complexion. In her infancy was it that she
had lost her mother, whom therefore she
never knew, and whose departure from this
world could not have left any melancholy sha-
dow suddenly to rise up and darken Musidora's
soul, or to remain in abeyance for years and
then fall as it were with the virulence of a
blight upon her heart. How was it, then,
that at the age of seventeen her manner un-
derwent so abrupt an alteration that it seemed
as if her very nature had been changed? And
mark! this alteration was not worked gradu-
ally as if by the insidiously stealing inroad of
a cankering care: but it was accomplished all
'n a moment—in a single day! She had
retired to her chamber at night with sunny
smiles upon her lip, roseate hues upon her
cheeks, and brightness dancing in her glorious
•ve■; and when she descended to the breakfast
table in the morning, her checks were marble,
her look was cold as ice, and her very nature
seemed to have turned from the warmth of
glowing youthfulness into the freezing insen-
sibility of a glacier. Her father questioned
her: but she seemed astonished at the idea
that any change had taken place in her de*
meanour at all: and as Sir Lewis Sinclair was
not a man to trouble himself much on such
points, he took no further notice of the matter,
— soon getting accustomed to his daughter'■
altered nature, and apparently ceasing to re-
member that she had ever been otherwise.
It was at the age of seventeen, we stated,
when this remarkable change took place in
Musidora. She was now nearly one-and-
twenty. Three years and a half had therefore
elapsed since the spell—for such indeed it
seemed—had fallen upon her. During this
interval no alteration, either for better or worse,
had occurred; so that if she recovered none of
the sunny joyousness of her girlhood, she gave
no farther indication of any concealed unhap-
piness. Generous-hearted ar.d charitable—
full of benevolence in respect to the poor—-
kind, tolerant, and forbearing towards the
household-menials—dutiful and attentive to
her father—bearing herself with a dignified
and lady-like courtesy towards his mule friends,
and with an easy hospitable politeness towards
female visitors,—Musidora was not only ad-
mired and esteemed, but also loved by all who
knew her. Many of her own sex proffered
their tenderest friendship and sought her con-
fidence: but while she received all these
advances with gratitude, she declined them
in a manner that could not possibly give any
offence. Indeed, the dignified urbanity of
her manner, though so graceful in its courtesy,
had just enough of a polished reserve to ren-
der familiarity impossible on her part, and even
to arrest the growth of intimacy. There seemed
to be a line up to which persons might advance
in their acquaintance and intercourse with'
Musidora, but beyond which it was impossible
to proceed, and the attempt to overstep which
would have amounted to rudeness.
Musidora was therefore n beautiful mystery
—the lovely incarnation of an enigma. As a
matter of course, conjecture had been rife
amongst all who knew her relative to the
change that had so suddenly come over her
when at the age of seventeen, and which had
now lasted for three years and a half. Some
fancied that it must have been a disappointed
love; but others declared that this was impos-
sible, inasmuch as she had never been known
to love at all. Though many a high-born,'
wealthy, and handsome cavalier had sued for
Musidora's hand, even from the time she was
in the girlhood of fifteen, yet all had been
refused; and if she had really fixed her affec-
tions on any one of them, there could have
been no hindrance to the match—no stern
decree of separation to blight her Mission and


IS
THE NECROMANCER.
wither her hopes. Indeed, it was positively
declared that Musidora had never known the
melting influence of the tender feeling—that
her soul was inaccessible to the sun-light of
love—and that her heart was a sepulchre of
ice whence none had-ever rolled the stone to
-»ntcr and sit in it an angel.
Some conjectured that an evil enchantment
bad thrown a spell upon her: but others ridi-
culed such an idea, so motiveless nnd aimless.
Some imagined that a sudden discovery of her
father's embarrassed finances had produced
upon her an effect from which she had not
recovered: but others insisted that her sire's
true position had been previously well known
to her, inasmuch as the loss of the Rangership
and the consequent reduction of his establish-
ment had taken place a couple of years before
that wondrous change in Musidora's nature.
Besides, it was urged that she was a damsel
of too high an order of intellect and too strong
a mind, to be thus influenced by even the
falling fortunes of her family.
Then what was the origin of the almost
marital alteration alluded to? Ah! none
could tell: it defied all conjecture. And yet,
where speculation was most rife amongst gos-
sips and scandal-mongers, no word was ever
whispered against Musidora's virtue: the breath
of calumny never dared attempt to sully the
purity of her name. That as a woman she
was chaste even to a passionless iciness of
heart, was the generally received opinion;
and that she could have possibly committed a
crime of any other nature, and which might
have frozen her innermost feelings with the
eternal chill of horror, was not for an instant
to be imagined.
Beautiful mystery—splendid enigma ! what
was the secret of thine heart?—of the many
conjectures rife concerning thee, which was
the true one? We know not. There were
a few—but these were a very few indeed—
who declared their belief that her bosom che-
rished no particular secret at all, but that the
extraordinary change which had so abruptly
turned the warm and gushing springs of her
girlish happiness into the brilliant petrifaction
of the glacier, was to be ascribed to some men-
tal phenomenon of which she herself was
unconscious, and which would perhaps perplex
the deepest metaphysician to penetrate or
explain. One thing was very certain—that
if her heart really did cherish some secret in
its unfathomable depths, no visible trace of
feeling, passion, sentiment, or suffering, upon
her calmly splendid and proudly beautiful
countenance, ever betrayed it.
CHAPTER II.
PEHCT RITBBI
It was in the afternoon of a warm and
sunny day, at the close of April, 1516, that
Musidora was walking alone in the orcharil
adjoining the house. The trees had put forth
the rich emerald garb of spring—the haven
was full with the rippling glittering water—
and the forest-music, made by the voices of
myriad birds, filled the cloudless air with a
sweet strain of harmony.
Musidora was handsomely hut by no meant
gaily dressed. Her apparel was elegant and'
tasteful in fashion, and of good material with-
out being rich or costly. The tmddice of
black velvet was cut square in the neck, the
edge having embroidery of lace half an inch
wide; and the stomacher was also elaborately
embroidered. Demi-sleeves, hanging rather
loose and leaving the arm bare down from the
elbow, were slashed, divided, and joined, ac-
cording to the fashion of the time, and pro-
duced a picturesque effect. The skirt of Mu-
sidora's dress was of a brown stuff, embroidered
all round the hem, which was cut in Vandyke■,
each having a -kind of little tajsel at the
point; so that as it were from the midst of
these the long narrow feet and the well-turned
ankles glanced forth as the damsel slowly pur-
sued her walk. She wore no cap, having
merely strolled out for an airing within the en-
closure of the grounds, and not for the ,,ar-
pose of taking a formal promenade; but a
short scarf of figured silk was thrown loosely
over her head to protect it from the heat of
the sun, and the fringed ends of which fell
like lappets upon either shoulder.
To pretend to tell what was occupying Mu-
sidora's thoughts at that moment were impos-
sible; for though now completely alone, and
free to give way to any reflections which
might rise uppermost in her imagination, yet
was her mien as still, as quiescent, and as coldly
emotionless as it always was when in the
presence of others. But whatever her reverie
might be, it was speedily interrupted by the
presence of a young horseman who suddenly
appeared in the road which, skirting the or-
chard, led up to the house. As the mounted
visitor gracefully raised his cap, Musidora
waved her hand with a friendly welcome—a
more friendly welcome indeed than any other
being of her acquaintance would have re-
ceived; for this was her cousin, Percy Rivers,
secretary to Sir William Wbodville, the cap-
tain or governor of the Isle of Wight.
Riding round to the stables, Percy gave his
splendid steed to the keeping of the groom,
and then hastened into the orchard to join
Musidora. He was a tall handsome young
man. of about four and twenty—of slender
shape but well-knit litbo. -and possessing' at


rHE NECR
OMANCER. 11
much strength as gracefulness. His dark
brown hair fell in rich wavy curls from be-
neath a black velvet cap which he wore a
little on one side of his Well-formed head; and
in his fine blue eyes might be read all the gen-
erous feelings and chivalrous sentiments of an
elevated soul. Hia doublet, fitting close, dis-
played the fine symmetry of his shape; the
eleeves were slashed with pieces of different
colours let in, as were the upper parts of his
long trunk-hose. This continuous vestment,
uniting bieeches and stockings, was worn
quite loose over the hips, and then set close
to the lower limbs all down, thus delineating
their fine Apollo-like modelling. His ruffles
end worked collar, as well as a glimpse of the
embroidered shirt caught through an opening
in front of his doublet, showed that he took
some little pains with hia toilet; while the
rapier by his side indicated that he was of
gentle birth.
Such was Percy Rivers—a nephew of Sir
Lewis Sinclair, and consequently (as above
staled) Mu-idora's cousin. He was an or-
phan , hut by the excellence of his character
and his intellectual accomplishments, he had
for some time held the important office of
Civil Secretary to Sir William Woodville.
This functionary, however, being a very old
man end full of infirmities, left the entire ad-
ministration of the Island's affairs to Percy
Rivers, who therefore wielded a large amount
of virtual power.
Having spent all their lives in the Island,
Percy and Musidora had known each other
from their earliest infancy, and as they grew
up. not only did common rumour declare that
they were destined for each other, but common
opinion added that their personal attractions
and high mental qualities pointed out the fit-
ness of such a union. Such indeed also was
Percy's hope; for when he was old enough
to experience the sentiment of love—to feel
its warmth and to understand its meaning—
be perceived that his heart was devoted to his
beautiful cousin. But she entertained no such
tender feeling toward■ him. She esteemed
him as a friend—liked him as a relative—and
was more f(miliar with him than with any
other soul in existence, because they had been
playmates in childhood; but as for love—the
passion which had quickened in Percy's breast
drew no responsive vibration from Musidora's
heart! To this sad truth Percy had not been
long in openng his eyes; and therefore he
had never in words made known his love to
her. Friends, neighbours, and acquaintances
at last saw that there was to be no match in
this quarter; and then the sudden change
which had come upon the damsel's nature, as
before descrilied, made not only them, but
likewise her cousin Percy himself, believe that
her heart had turned to ice. The young man
haj continued to lie as constant a visitor as
his official duties would permit at Sinclair
House; and at least three or four times a-week
would he mount bis horse, when the business
of the morning was over, and .gallop across
from Carisbrook Castle to Brading Haven.
For Carisbrook was the residence of the Gov-
ernor, Sir William Woodville; and the dis-
tance between that celebrated fortress and Sin-
clair House was but ten miles.
Musidora, as already stated, liked her
cousin Percy Rivers as well as she seemed ca-
pable of liking any body. But she liked him,
not only because they were relative* or because
they had known each other so long and had
been playmates in earlier years—but because
her cousin was in every way a fine and noble
character—frank-hearted, generous, and hon-
ourable to a degree—brave, and skilled in all
manly exercises—endowed with a rare intelli-
gence—and having neither the frivolities not
the vices which characterized the well-born
young men of those times. But more than
all this, she liked him because she had reao.
the state of his heart—she knew that ha
loved her—she compassionated him for that
hopeless affection—she admired his delicacy
in not having breathed it to her ears—and she
was aware that he had never fixed his eyes on
any other woman, but remained unmarried
through a sort of romantic fidelity to this deep,
earnest, hut unrequited love of his!
"Good day, lny fair cousin, " said Percy, " as
he sped across the orchard to join Musidora.
'• I do not wonder that you should be enjoy-
ing the beauty of the weather, for methinki
that never did nature seem more charming."
"And you, who have a mind tn appreciate
all its beauties, must enjoy them doubly when
escaping from the cabinet of Sir William
Woodville V and as Musidora thus spoke in l
voice which was ineffably musical in its tone,
but without much variety of accent, the ani-
mation of her countenance brightened into a
smile of welcome as she extended her hand
to her cousin.
He pressed it quickly as if afraid to trust
himself with that beauteous snowy hand in
his clasp, but instantaneously offered her hia
arm, which she took at once; and they crossed
the orchard togeihcr.
"Musidora," said Percy, now breaking si
lence with some little embarrassment in his
manner and hesitation in his speech, '• I am
glad I have thus found you alone. I wanted
an opportunity to speak confidentially and
privately with you."
The damsel raised her eyes with a alow
look of mingled astonishment and inquiry to
the countenance of her cousin, who thus be-
gan to address her with so much unwonted
mystery; but she said nothing. It seemed as
if she could well wait until he chose to ex-
plain himself.
"I know you will forgive me for venturing
to broach so delicate, and indeed so disagree-
able a topic," he continued, i.tei anotbei


18
fHE NECROMANCER.
pause; and now she gazed at him with a
steadier look, as if resolved to penetrate his
meaning at once, although she seemed to ex-
perience no earthly emotion of either curiosi-
ty or suspense—a little astonishment perhaps,
hut no indication that she cared very much
about having it gratified. "It is relative to
your father—my revered uncle—that I would
now speak," added Percy after another
pause.
'• I am sorry to say," remarked Musidora,
her voice now modulated to mournful accents,
"that my poor father's health seems to be
suffering. Unable to entertain a houseful of
guests as was once his custom as well as his
pride, the sense of loneliness gains day by
day upon htm; and he has no longer the
same inducements to ride forth to the chase
or pursue the sports of the field."
"This gradual settling down into more
quiet habits," rejoined Percy, "was naturally
to be expected from the breaking up of his
large establishment of hunters, hounds,
grooms, and falconers; but as this event took
place nearly six years ago, the poignancy of
the regret attending it must have long since
been blunted. I fear me, Musidora, that it is
not the remembrance of his studs and his
packs that now preys on your father's mind—
no, nor even what he considered at the time
to be the shame and disgrace of having to give
them all up. But may 1 proceed in my re-
marks without the risk of offending you?"
"Hjw can I possibly take offence where
none is intended ?" asked Musidora, with a
sort of chiding look, as much as to reprove
him for having even suspected her to be capa-
ble of such injustice. "Indeed, I know what
,you would say, Percy," she continued, in the
steady flowing music of her silver voice.
"You no doubt conceive that my father has
immediate and present causes for annoyance,
and 1 tear that your surmise is but too correct."
"This is precisely what I desired to
know," continued Percy :" for the truth is, my
dear cousin—and the sooner I explain myself
the more at ease shall I feel—I have this day
received the handsome present of five hundred
pounds sterling from Sir William Woodville;
and if there were possibly a way of inducing
my uncle to accept the use of it"
"Percy, you possess a noble heart," inter-
rupted Musidora, throwing upon him a look
of graiitude from her large dark haunting
eyes; " but you know full well that my father
is in his own way as proud as he is improvi-
dent."
"But you, Musidora," urged the young
man,—" could you not by some means force
him to accept this sum which is no use to me,
and which may remove some little difficulty
from my uncle's path V
"I appreciate all the generosity of this pro-
posal on your part," said Musidora; "but I
am sure you will pardon me for declining it;"
—and while her nostrils dilated and her lip
curled with a just perceptible expression of
hauteur, it was at the same tune counter-
balanced by the look of gratitude which she
again threw upon Percy from the depths of her
fine dark eyes.
For an instant Rivers felt hurt, because he
had endeavoured to carry out a generous in-
tent in as delicate a manner as he possibly
could. Besides being so nearly related to the
old knight, he could see no harm in a proffer
so ingenuous and well-meant. But too chiv-
alrous and ton magnanimous to experience lor
many moments this sudden pique, he exclaim-
ed in his usual frank-hearted manner, "I see
full well that it is of no use to talk to a lady
on matters of business; so I will reserve the
point to mention to my uncle at a fitting time
and opportunity.""
But while he was thus speaking. Sir Lewie
Sinclair himself entered the orchard. He was
a tall fine-looking old man, who must bave
been full six feet high ere the weight of years,
troubles, and infirmities had bowed his hack.
But still his stoop was not very great; and by
the aid of a stick he walked with great firm-
ness and celerity when his sixty-two winter*
were taken into consideration. He was par-
ticularly neat in his apparel, which was that
of the country-squire of those times—consisting
of a doublet of grey stuff, slashed with black
velvet—buff trunk hose—and high boots, very
much resembling the hessians of later times.
He wore a cap of very small dimensions, and
with a black plume fastened by a mother-of-
pearl clasp on the right side. His countenance
was composed of the hard and somewhat
weather-beaten features of a mnn who had de-
voted his lite to the sports of the field: but
there was wanting in his aspect the bluff gen-
uine frankness which usually characterizes the
hardy votory of the chase. For in the twinkle
of his small grey eyes there was a certain sel-
fishness which could not fail to strike the near
observer. And this indeed was the character
of Sir Lewis Sinclair. He thought only of
himself—he lived only for himself; and if he
did indeed possess that pride with regard to
money-matters to which Musidora had alluded,
it arose from no genuine excellence of principle,
hut from a foolish vanity which strives to con-
ceal the poverty of the purse as if it were a
disgrace or indeed a crime.
But on this occasion there was a more than
usual cunning sprightliness in the old knight's
looks, and a more than his wonted egotistical
complacency in his manner, as he approached
his daughter and his nephew. Shaking the
latter by the hand, and then taking his arm—
Musidora still leaning on the other—Sir Lewis
observed, "I did not know you were here,
Percy. Wanting to speak to 'Dora, I learnt
that she was in the orchard and came to join
her, little suspecting that she had already a
companion. But no matter. What I havt


fHE NECROMANCER.
19
to any to her may be uttered in your presence,
Percy; and so you may both prepare to listen
with attention."
Young Rivers gazed with curiosity and in-
terest upon the old gentleman's countenance;
but M usidora, without the slightest display of
emotion, said calmly," I can tell by your man-
ner, dear father, that it is something regarding
myself; and more than that, I think i can
connect it with the letter which arrived yes-
terday."
"Egad! the girl's a witch," exclaimed Sir
Lewis with a chuckle which had something
fore d and anxious in its mirth. "But you
don't mean to say ihflt you have read that
letter V he abruptly asked, no longer able to
conceal the sudden apprehension which his
daughter's words had excited in his mind.
* Your correspondence is sacred, father,"
she answered, a sudden light of indignation
flashing from ber eyes; -'and even if 1 had
found your letter lying open in my path, and
no Human eye upon me to mark my actions, I
■qui:Id not violate its sanctity."
"Well, well, girl, I did not mean to anger
you," said the old knight, evidently satisfied
by this assurance. "But how on earth came
you to conjecture that any idea which I have
been revolving in my mind for the last four-
and-twenty hours, was connected with you?"
"From the simple fact that I beheld you
more than usually pre-occupied from the mo-
ment that letter came," responded Musidora
calmly; "while your eyes were frequently
thrown upon me, as if I entered deeply into
your thoughts. Then too, you asked me with
a strange significancy this morning how I
should like to pay London and its environs a
visit:—and when I gave you my response
you drew forth your letter and read it all over
again."
'• See how she puts two and two together,
Percy—and how dexterously she arrive■ at
a conclusion," ejaculated Sir Lewis Sinclair.
"Well then, she is right too in her inference:
it is about herself I wish to speak. The fact
is, this letter,"—and as he thus spoke Sir
Lewis drew the epistlo from the |iocket of his
trunk-hose, just displayed it. but without open-
ing it, and then returned it to his pocket
again,—" is from my noble relative, the Earl
of Grantham, who has sent me a very pressing
invitation for Musidora to pay him and his
noble Countess a visit at their villa at Green-
wich, which, as you perhaps both well know,
is a sweet spot on the banks of the Thames,
some four or five miles from London."
"And am I to accept this invitation ?" asked
Musidora, with perhaps the least, least ex-
pression of curiosity in the fluid tones of her
voice.
"Well, I have been thinking over it until
now," responded her father. "I never come
to a hasty or rash conclusion: and so I took
twenty-four hiurs to deliberate upon the sub-
ject ; and my decision is that you will do well,
'Dora, to accept this invitation. It may lead
to resulta which"
But here Sir Lewis suddenly checked him>
aeif, and gave a short cough so as not to appear
to have purposely broken in upon his own
words.
"Do you mean, uncle," asked Percy, who
looked chagrined and annoyed, " that this in-
vitation on the Earl's part is with a view of
effecting a complete reconcilement between
yourself and him? for if J mistake nut, very
many years have elapsed since you were on
friendly terms with each other."
"Well, I suppose you are right," returned
Sir Lewis; "it is but prudent that such re-
conciliation should take place. However,"
he added, aa if desirous to cut short the con-
versation, "you will follow my wishes, 'Dora,
and accept this invitation?"
"Since it is your pleasure, my dear father,"
was her reply,"! can have no objection to
make:"—but it was impossible to glean from
her passionless manner whether she were
really pleased or otherwise at the arrangement
so abruptly proposed to her and so speedily
settled.
Certain however it is that her cousin, the
handsome. Percy, was very far from relishing
the idea. Though hopeless was his love, and
though confined as well as it possibly could lie
within his own breast, yet was it to him a so-
lace and a comfort to be able to enjoy the
pleasure of Musidora's society during his
leisure hours; and he had taught himself to
be contented—nay, even happy, with the
privilege of beholding her often—conversing
with ber—drinking in the placid and even-
flowing melody of her voice—and accompany-
ing her in her walks. Now he was to lose all
this, at least for a season; and the thought
flung upon his spirits a damp which he could
not immediately shake off. But speedily re-
collecting that it was unworthy of him to ex-
hibit anything savouring of discontent in
Musidora's presence, he assumed a forced
gaiety as he continued walking up and down
the orchard with his splendid cousin leaning
upon one arm and his selfish old uncle hanging
on the other. At length Musidora remarked
that she felt tired and should return into the
house. Sir Lewis thereupon fisde Percy
escort her in-doors, observing "that h« no
doubt renuired some refreshment after his
ride."
Tho two cousins accordingly entered the
mansion; and Sir Lewis remained alone in
the orchard. The truth is that he had thus
staid behind in order to give free vent to the
joy he experienced at having so easily carried
what he had at first expected would prove a
very difficult point. This was to persuade hi)
daughter to accept the invitation to pass a few
weeks with Lord and Lady Grantham at
Greenwich; and if he had kept tho letter


20 , THE NECROMANCER.
twenty-four hours ere he broached the subject,
but in the meantime had beaten about the bush
by a leading question or two, it was because
he had hesitated to communicate the invitation
to Musidora for fear she should excuse herself.
His astonishment was therefore only equalled
by his joy, when he found that she thus yielded
so ready an obedience In his wishes.
It was to give free vent to this joy that the
eld knight remained behind in the orchard; and
getting out of sight of the house, in the shade
of a cluster of trees close by the road which
separated the orchard from the forest, he
tubbed his hands, chuckled, laughed, and al-
most danced with delight, as he thus yielded
to the gilded thoughts that swept through
his imagination. Then, as if to assure him-
self that there was indeed a chance of behold-
ing the realization of the ambitious hope which
thus inspired him, he again drew forth Lord
Grantham's letter and carefully perused its
content.".
These were to the following effect;—
"Grantham Villa, by Greenwich.
"This 27th of April, 1516.
"Dear *!»n istiinid Cousin,
"For some years past an estrangement bns
existed like a gulf between your branch of the
family and mine; and yet I scarcely know the
cause. And forasmuch as that cause must be
so slight, since I have ceased to remember it,
let it no longer have existence. Accept then
the hand of friendship which by these presents
I proffer unto you.
"And now, since I have taken up my pen
to write, I will enter upon certain matters
which I herewith submit for your consideration.
I am well aware that the King in consequence
of your relationship to the late Minister Dud-
ley, has deprived you of an honourable post
yielding a sufficient revenue; and I have heard
with sorrow that this circumstance has much
impoverished your means and broken your for-
tunes. Perhaps you are aware that for the
very self-same reason—r» ;.ely, my kinship
with the late Minister Dudley—King Henry
has for some years exiled me from Court and
shorn me of my pensions, commanding the
Countess and myself to live at this villa of
our's under peril of his farther displeasure.
"Now you my dear cousin, will agree with
me that if there be. any means of reconciling
the King unto us, and inducing him to take us
into high favour, such means should be adopt-
ed. Those means, I think, are within our
reach; or at all events, the experiment may he
made without harm or dishonour.
"Listen. The King has of late frequently
visited his Royal Palace at Greenwich, seeking
in disgust to separate himself as much as
possible from his so-called wife, Catherine of
Arragon. Now it is notorious that this mar-
riage of his Highness the King with Catherine
of Arragon, is no marriage at all; and that the
King means to divorce her so soon as he shall
have found a damsel, beautiful, well-mannered,
elegant, and accomplished enough to become
his wile in Catherine's stead. For on this oc-
casion I am credibly assured that his Grace the
King is resolved to choose himself a bride from
amongst his female subjects, so that a daughter
of England may share with him England's
throne!
"Now, my esteemed cousin, knowing that
your daughter Musidora is endowed with every
charm, elegance and grace calculated to en-
snare the heart and enchant the fancy of our
young King—and as it would be most honour-
able as well as most advantageous to all
branches of our family that the Lady Musidora
should if possible be elevated to the queenly
rank—I pray you, esteemed cousin, if it seem
good to you on reading this letter, to permit
Musidora to come and pass a few weeks or
months, as circumstances may decide, with the
Countess and myself. We will be unto her
most loving, tender, and affectionate; and,
while so arranging matters that she shall have
every chance of attracting the King's notice,
we will watch most scrupulously over her, so
that whatever may arise in respect to herself
and the King shall only be of the most honour-
able character. To this the Countess and
I solemnly pledge ourselves; and your daugh-
ter's own prudence and delicacy will serve as
an additional guarantee and safeguard for her
virtue.
"Should this proposition meet your appro-
val, it would be as well for all purposes that
Musidora should not be previously informed
of the part which it is anticipated she may
have to play; inasmuch as by shocking her
modesty, the result would be to prejudice her
against me and the Countess.
"Your very affectionate and
faithful cousin,
"GRANTHAM.
"Ride, ride—haste, haste—
until these be delivered to the good Sir Lew-
is Sinclair,
Knight-Banneret."
Such was the precious epistle which Sir
Lewis Sinclair had received from his noble
relative, and which he now perused for the
fiftieth time in order to buoy up his spirits
with the golden prospect it held forth. Hav-
ing devoured the letter with as much avidity
as if it were only the first time that he read it,
he carefully folded it up and consigned it (us
he thought) to the pocket in his trunk-hose.
But he merely thrust it into one of the slashed
plaits, so that on withdrawing bis hand it fell
out and dropped upon the ground.
Unconscious of the accident which had thus
occurred, Sir Lewis Sinclair jauntily retraced
his way through the orchard into the house,
where he rejoined Musidora and Percy Rivera
in a parlour opening upon the lawn in front.
Meantime, scarcely had he thus entered the
mansion, when an individual who had been


THE NECROMANCER.
21
watching all the proceedings in the orchard for
the last hour, darted out of his hiding-place in
the forest—clambered over the fence—and pos-
sessed himself of the letter which the knight
had left lying upon the grass. Then, spring-
ing lightly back again over the railings, the
intruder plunged once more into the depths of
the forest.
CHAPTER III.
THE COUSINS.
•
Is the meantime let us see what had been
taking place between Percy Rivers and Mu-
sidiira during the half-hour that they were
alone together in the parlour, until rejoined by
Sir Lewis Sinclair.
Immediately upon entering that room,
the damsel took up a silver hand-bell which
stood upon the table, and was about to ring it,
when Percy, anticipating her intentions, hasti-
ly said. " If, fair cousin, you are about to sum-
mon the domestic to serve me up refreshments,
I require them not."
We should here observe that the dinner-
hour at the period of which we are writing
was between twelve and one o'clock, even for
the highest grades of society; and therefore
that repast had already been partaken of alike
by Musidoia and her father at Sinclair House,
and by Percy Rivers at Carisbrook Castle.
"And yet," said Musidora, in reply to the
young gentleman's remark in declining the
offered refreshment, "you have had a good
ride since the mid-day meal; and it is now
verging towards five o'clock," she added,
glancing at an old-fashioned but very hand-
some clepsydra, or water-clock, which stood
upon the projecting marble of the huge chim-
nej piece. But Percy only shook his head
with a gesture bordering on impatience, such
as the knight's daughter had never seen him
display before. Then he walked towards the
open window, and gazed forth upon the mag-
nificent prospect formed by the waving forest
that went sloping down the proclivity to the
very brink of the haven-^-tho full estuary it-
self, shining like a lake of quicksilver—the
opposite shore, likewise fringed with verdure—
and then the open sea, which stretched beyond
far as the eye could reach. For two or three
minutes did Percy Rivers seem to be absorbed
in the contemplation of the beautiful scenery
before him; but as Musidora slowly approach-
ed that same open window, the first look
which she bent upon her cousin showed that he
was in reality gazing upon vacancy, and that
his thoughts were engrossed by a subject of
even a painful character. Nor was she at a
loss to divine what this subject was; and
therefore as she continued to gaze in her own
peculiar manner upon the young man, tin
wreathing of her lip changed just perceptibly
enough to show that she not merely under-
stood him but likewise pitied him.
"You do not seem pleased with this pro-
posed visit of mine to our noble connexion!
on the banks of the Thames I" she said, with
that serene seriousness which almost inva-
riably characterized the fluid evenness of her
silver voice. -
Percy started, and turned towards his fair
cousin with a look expressive of ineffable
feelings; for this was the first time thai
ever a syllable had fallen from her lips which
in any way seemed to allude, or could lie even
construed into an allusion, to the more tliun
ordinary interest which he cherished in the
depths of his soul towards her. For an in-
stant—bu'. only for an instant—a scintilla-
tion of hope Hashed up in his mind; for it
struck him that if she thus noticed that he
experienced any special feeling relative to
her projected visit, she herself was disposed
to pay some deference to that feeling. Be-
sides, how easy is it for the heart which
loves devotedly, to catch at the slightest
gleam that suddenly breaks in with the sem-
blance of hope upon its long-endured darkness
of despair? And so it was for the moment
with Percy Rivers. But when he thus turned
abruptly toward his cousin, and beheld her
unmoved, icily serene as ever, and with noth-
ing in her deep unfathomable eyes to tell
even of that sentiment of compassion which
she in reality experienced lor him, and the
evidence of which too had disappeared from
her finely arching lip—that scintillation of
hope died as suddenly as it had flashed up,
and it was only by a strong effort that Percy
was enabled to subdue the feelings which had
thus passed through the ordeal of such sud-
den excitement and equally abrupt revul-
sion.
"You ask me, Musidora," he said, now
casting down his eyes and speaking in a low
and somewhat tremulous voice, "whether
I am pleased with this proposed visit of
yours to Lord and Lady Grantham . and
I know you well enough to be aware that
in making such an observation, you give me
leave to speak my mind—and in speaking my
mind, you wish me to do it frankly. Is it not
so?"
"Assuredly," was the damsel's response.
"Then listen, Musidora," continued Percy
Rivers, speaking now with the manly earnest-
ness and decision of a true frank-hearted'
friend. "Lord and Lady Grantham are but
remote connexions of our branch of' the fami-
ly; and there are consequently no near ties of
kinship to inspire them with so sudden an «(•,
fection for you. From some circumstances
with which I am unacquainted, they have long
been estranged from your lather: and yuu
2


THE N E C R
0 M A N C E R.
they have never seen at all. Whence, then,
can have arisen this desire on their part to
have you to visit them V
"Do you helieve it impossible," asked Mu-
sidora, " that in their old oge they may expe-
rience regret for 'he coldness and slight with
which for years past they have treated my
father, and that they now seek to afford repa-
ration in as graceful and delicate a manner as
they can?"
"Do you youraelf leally believe in the in-
terpretation which you have thus so charitably
given to their conduct ?"—and as Percy Rivers
put this question, he looked earnestly and
even fixedly upon Musidora.
"It was but a speculation on my part," she
replied, steadily meeting that gaze, and with
an expression of cold, chaste, immaculate
candour upon her countenance. "Where
my subject is involved in doubt and therefore
admits of two interpretations, a good and a
bad—I always prefer to adopt the former.
But invthe present case, what sinister motive
car. Lord and Lady Grantham possibly have
in sending me this invitation?"
'• I know not—and yet I can scarcely bring
myself to believe that their object is a purely
disinterested one!"—and Percy gazed again
apon Musidora as if there were some idea
hovering in his mind, but to which he scarcely
dared give utterance.
"Speak with candour," she said, perceiving
that there was thus something behind. "You
know very well that I shall not take offence."
"Lord and Lady Grantham," resumed Per-
cy, still speaking unreservedly, though avail-
ing himself of his fair cousin's permission
to open his mind frankly,—" aro old and
childless. They have no daughters to prove
an attraction to the gay, the youthful, and
the high-born; and their gilded saloons are
most likely neglected, if not positively desert-
ed, by the brilliant danglers in the train of
beauty and fashion. Is it not possible, then,
that Lord and Lady Grantham, having heard
of your beauty, your intelligence, your accom-
plishments —Ah! Musidora, you know that
I speak not thus to flatter! having heard,
I say, that you—their hitherto neglected and
ignored relative—are thus richly endowed by
nature and by heaven, is it not possible, I ask,
that they should seek to have you with them,
to make you the object of attraction at their
festivals, their banquets, their dances, and
their music-parties?"
"If I thought that such was indeed their
object," said Musidora, a haughty and indeed
half-scornful smile slowly appearing upon her
splendid countenance, "I would not leave my
father's home to visit these noble relatives of
our's. But you had not finished your obser-
vations?" she added, her features relapsing
into their wonted fathomless expression.
"That your father should wish you to ac-
cept this invitation, is natural enough," con-
tinued Percy. "He hopes that amongst the
brilliant throngs of cavaliers, gallants, and
nobles, to whom you will be introduced, and
who will surround you with their homage,
there may perhaps one be found—a fortunate
one "and here the young man's voice
trembled—" who may woo and win you."
"Ah !" ejaculated Musidora, suddenly dis-
playing more excitement than her cousin had
ever yet observed since the spell-like change
came over her three years and a half back—
and her eyes flashed forth a strange lightning.
but almost instantaneously resuming her most
icy manner, she said coldly, " Whatever mo-
tives may influence others, I am my own
mistress and can act for myself."
"I fear, Musidora," her cousin hastened to
observe, « that you fancy I have not altogether
dealt candidly with you? Perhaps you sup-
pose that because I, in the selfishness of my
own heart—in the egotism of my own feelings
—wish that you should stay, I am capable oi
having recourse to a base unworthy sophistry
in order to disgust you with the very idea ot
this visit! And now the conversation has
taken a turn which compels me to speak upon
a subject which I have ever so scrupulously
avoided until now—this day—this hour! Yei
—it is true—perfectly true," he continued, in
a voice of gathering excitement and with looks
full of mingled admiration and mournfulness,
"that I do deplore the thought of your ab-
sence: but I am not base enougn—no, noi
selfish enough, to have recourse to cowa.ru
subterfuges to induce you to remain at home.
Ah! Musidora, whatever sentiment I hav»
felt tor you, has been of the purest, holiest
nature: and you, who for some years past
have read—as I know you have—the secret
of my heart, can tell me now whether a single
deed, or word, or look of mine can be brought
in accusation against me? Never, never have
I until this moment permitted myself to weary
or grieve you with the lament of mine own
unavailing affection. Impute not then the
slightest shade of lurking selfishness to me .
for if you knew as I do what love is—aye,
and what the hopelessness of love is—you
would understand how the only solace is to
be found in the consciousness of its purity
and its fidelity!"
"Enough—peace—no more!" said the
young damsel, quivering for an instant—but
only for a single instant—with the emotion
~which Percy's words had excited in her soul,
whatever that emotion might be: but as this
quivering was so transitory as to leave a doubt
when it was passed whether it had taken place
at all—and as no flush nor glow tinted even
for a moment the pure marble of her complex-
ion—he thought that his eyes must have
deceived him and that no visible trace of feel-
ing had in reality disturbed the coldly brilliant
| surface of her beauty.
J "Pardon me—I will say no more," he


THE NECROMANCER.
23
murmured in a low deep voice: then with an
impulsive feeling which he could not control,
ho grasped her hand, exclaiming, " For years
t have struggled against this manifestation of
weakness into which I have now been be-
trayed! TeH me—tell me—will you forgive
me—can you pardon me?"
"You have not offended me," returned
Musidora, now smiling with an encouraging
brightness, "But it is for you to pardon me
-—inasmuch as my words or my manner may
have seemed to question ere now the sincerity
of your motives in arguing against this pro-
mised visit. Percy Rivers," she added, with
a slightly deepening earnestness, " if I did not
know you to be every thing that is honourable,
noble-minded, trut.iful, and frank-hearted, you
would not be s, frequent a visitor at this
house—no, not even on the strength of the
kinship existing between us—and much less
should we have conversed with such ease, I
might almost say familiarity, as we have
done to-day. Therefore, believe me when I
assure you that I do not suspect the genuine
sincerity of your motives in condemning my
acceptance of Lord Grantham's invitation.
Your conjectures may even be true as to the
selfishness which dictated that invitation on
the Earl's part, and the hopes which have
inspired my father in wishing me to accept it
.
But you know little of me,"—and once more
did a strange light flash in her splendid dark
eyes as she spoke,—" if you think that 1 my-
self am actuated by the frivolous idea of
shining in a patrician circle or the ambitious
hope of forming a proud alliance—or rather,
1 should say, you know me too well toimagine
for a single moment that such are my motives
in accepting this invitation."
And as Musidora thus spoke, she gradually
drew herself up to the full of her noble height,
unconsciously enhancing the Juno-like carriage
of her splendid head, her arching neck so
grandly white, and her bust so superbly
modelled—while her lip slowly wreathed with
a sovereign hauteur, and her very air was such
that it almost seemed as if any one thus gazing
upon her queenly form dilating as it were in
its goddess-like beauty, must fall down at her
feet, crying, « Pardon, pardon!"
Percy Rivers gazed upon her with an admi-
ration which he could not subdue, but which
was nevertheless attempered by a respect
amounting almost to awe: for he saw indeed
full well that she was as elevated above the
frivolities and vanities of her sex as the Alpine
floweret, cradled amidst eternal snows, shines
in its cold purity apart from the specimens
of floral gaudiness in the vales below. Yes—
this much could he understand concerning
Musidora—this much did he see: but when
she had observed that he knew her too well
to mistake her motives, a sigh—a scarcely per-
ceptible and scarcely audible sigh—escaped
him; for he could not but think within his own
breast that so far from knowing her well, he
had not for more than three years past been
enabled to comprehend her at all!
The entrance of Sir Lewis Sinclair pu an
end to the topic of the cousins' discourse, even
if it had not reached a crisis that without the
old knight's interruption at all would have
caused it to be turned at once into another
channel. And now Sir Lewis, ordering in
wine, began to quaff brimming goblets to sus-
tain the excellent spirits which his adventurous
hopes had excited; and while thus indulging
in copious libations, he sketched out the plan
which he had formed for Musidora's journey
to Greenwic/l, He had calculated that she
would not require more than three days to
make her preparations, and that therefore on
the fourth morning she would be ready to set
off, attended by one tire-woman and the
groom. He had likewise estimated that she
would take three days more to reach the
metropolitan suburb of Greenwich—the dis-
tance being about seventy-five miles, and the
journey to be performed on horseback.
To all the arrangements which her father
methodically laid down, Musidora gave a
dutiful assent in her own quiet emotionless
way; and the old knight continued to drink
goblet after goblet in tolerably quick succession,
until supper was served up at about eight
o'clock. Percy Rivers remained to partake
of the meal; but when it was over, and he rose
to retire, be said in a voice the tremulousness
of which he could not subdue as he spoke
aside to Musidora, " If you will permit me,
I shall call on each of the three days which
are to elapse previous to your departure?"
The damsel gave her consent; and Percy,
mounting his horse which was in readiness,
galloped off on his way back to Carisbrook
Castle.
It was not till Sir Lewis Sinclair ascended
to his own bed-room that he missed Lord
Grantham's letter; and as his brain was now
somewhat clouded with the effects of the wine
he had drunk, he could not for the life of him
remember where he had last taken out the
letter from his pocket. So he went to bed in
a painful kind of bewilderment; and when he
awoke in the morning, after a sound sleep,
the first idea which presented itself to his
mind was that of the lost letter. While per-
forming his toilet, he recollected how he had
drawn forth and perused that letier in the or-
chard: but the longer he reflected upon this
incident the more convinced was he that ho
had safely consigned the missive to his pocket
again. Nevertheless, the moment he was at-
tired in his morning riding-suit, he hastened
to the orchard to look for the letter: but it
was no where to be found. Re-entering the
house, he questioned his servants; and they
one and all denied having seen it. Indeed,
it would not have much mattered if they had
considering their inability to read.


24
THE NECROMANCER.
Fearful that after all it might have* fallen
into Musidora's hands, it was with a certain
degree of trepidation and guilty shrinking
which he had never experienced before in re-
spect to his daughter, that the old knight en-
tered the parlour where the morning repast
was spread. But as Musidora arose from her
seat according to custom, and advanced to em-
brace her sire, he felt tolerably assured by the
first glance which he threw upon her counte-
nance, that his alarm was unfounded. Not
that he, although her father, could pretend to
probe the secrets of her heart any more than
the rest of the world: but still, when he
found that there was not the slightest cloud
hanging upon her brow, nor even the faiiftest
expression of chiding or reproach in her look
—but that the cold brilliancy of her smile
shone upon her countenance with its wonted
welcome for him—he was justified in the be-
lief that she had not found the letter. Even
if she had, he thought within himself, she
would not violate its contents but would bring
it straight to him.
Making up his mind, therefore, that the let-
ter was lost in one of the thousand ways in
which papers do sometimes disappear, without
turning up again to the detriment or injury
of any body, Sir Lewis Sinclair soon ceased
to trouble himself any more upon the point:
. but during the three days which elapsed ere
his daughter set out upon her journey he gave I
every proof of having regained much of the
good spirits of former times. Indeed, the old
gentleman buoyed himself up with the most
extravagant hopes; that there were moments
when he could scarcely avoid imparting them
to Musidora and enjoining her to do her best to
bring about their realization.
Percy Rivers passed nearly the whole of
each of the three days at Sinclair House; but
he maintained so rigidly a guard over his feel-
ings as to prevent the repetition of aught sa-
vouring of that weakness which he had dis-
played in Musidora's presence, as already re-
lated.
At length, when the third evening came,
he had to say farewell to his beauteous cousin
—for it was arranged that she should take her
departure at an early hour on the following
morning. Full evident was it now that Percy
Rivers, despite all his efforts to maintain a be-
coming fortitude, was shaken to the very
depths of his manly nature; and as he gazed
upon that splendid being who shone in what
might be termed all the glacial glory of her
charms, and as he thought within himself that
she loved him not—that she never could be
hit—but that she might love elsewhere and
become another's—he felt for a moment as if
he could have fallen at her feet and implored
her for the love of heaven to have mercy upon
him! But she herself, as if reading all that
was passing in his mind, gave him her hand
with a cordiality more than usually warm ;—
and at the same time from out the mystic
depths of her dark dream-like eyes she threw
upon him a look which seemed to remind hin»
of his duty as a man.
"Farewell, dear cousin," he said, feeling
grateful—deeply grateful—that she should
have thus, though in her own strange manner,
reminded him of the due necessity of control-
ling his emotions.
"May all possible happiness attend you !"—
then availing himself of the opportunity af
forded by her accompanying him into the hall,
he said in a rapid but excited whisper, " Mu-
sidora, as your cousin, I may say to you what
I am about to speak—and that is, if at any
time or under any circumstances you require
the aid* the defence, or the counsel of a sincere
and devoted friend, fail not—Oh ! fail not to
summon me! Were it at the ends uf the
earth, 1 should speed as if for life and death,
in obedience to your command!"
« I know how well-meant is your profler,"
rejoined Musidora; "and my gratitude is
proportionate."
They then parted—Percy Rivers flinging
himself upon his steed and galloping madly
away by the side of the orchard and through
the forest, as if anxious to outstrip a presenti-
ment of evil which pertinaciously pursued and
haunted him.
Early on the following morning Musidora
I took leave of her sire. He accompanied her
down to the sea-shore near St. Helen's, where
she embarked on board the ferry-boat, attended
by a tire-woman (or lady's-maid), and by a
faithful old groom who had been in the family
for many years. The boat—or rather huge
clumsy barge—received on board the three
horses for the travellers' service, Musidora's
wardrobe being contained in a large portman-
teau made to strap on to the groom's saddle.
And now, when the moment came for bid-
ding her father farewell, Musidora gave evi-
dence of greater emotion than for a long, long
time she had displayed. Those who had
believed that her heart was ice in respect to
love, had never imagined that it was inacces-
sibly frozen against filial sympathies : and they
were right. For the damsel wept—and
assuredly these were no frozen tears that
trickled down her marble cheeks; but they
were warm from a heart that experienced all
affectionate solicitude on behalf of the author
of her being. The old knight wept also—hut
they were tears of joy which he shed in the
almost childish delight conjured up in his soul
by the brilliant hopes he entertained relative
to Musidora's destiny.
The barge was pushed away from the shore
—the fresh breeze of morning filled the belly,
ing sail—and Sir Lewis Sinclair remained on
the beach, until he could no longer catch the
waving of Musidora's handkerchief. He then
mounted his horse and galloped up the steep
tr his now lonely dwelling—while his daugli-


THE NECROMANCER.
25
ter, nested in the boat, watched the receding
•hore of the isle of her birth with eyes no
longer dimmed with tears. For a calm cold
serenity of countenance had full soon suc-
ceeded the emotions she betrayed at the
instant when imprinting the parting kiss upon
her father's cheek.
CHAPTER IV.
GUiNTHAM VILLA.
Ai the period of which we tire writing
Greenwich was not united to London by tho
unl.roken range of buildings which cover all
that portion of the right bank of the Thames
at the present day. Indeed Deptford, now
forming so considerable a portion of that range,
was only just beginning to be called into ex-
istence, Henry VIII having at that very time
founded the Dockyard. Such buildings as
there were between London and Greenwich
wore far less of a business-like aspect than
those of the existing age ; but many noblemen
had beautiful villas along the shore of the noble
river, especially in the neighbourhood of Green-
wich itself, where a royal palace then stood.
The site of this regal dwelling, known as
"Greenwich House," was that where now
stands the Hospital of world-wide fame. It
wis by no means a large nor imposing edifice;
ifct looking upon the river on one side, and
having the spacious park immediately con-
tiguous in the rear, it was an agreeable dwell-
ing enough in the summer time. Henry VIII
was frequently there in the early part of his
reign ; and on those occasions all the satellites
of the Court hastened to take up their abodes
in the neighbourhood—so that villas and man-
sions, either to purchase or hire, in the Green-
wich district, were much in request; and a
series of gaieties, in the form of balls, masques,
pageants, music-parties, and garden fetes,
were sustained for the Court's diversion.
The Earl of Grantham's letter to Sir Lewis
Sinclair relative to Henry VIII. and Catherine
of Arragon, was substantially correct. Cathe-
rine, when espoused by Henry, was the widow
of his elder brother; and as he was young at
the time, it was always believed to be a match
into which be was forced by an inhuman po-
licy on the part of his advisers, rather than by
Iiis own inclinations. Certain it is that he
was altogether wearied of his alliance—that
he had declared it to be null—and that he had
more than once proclaimed his intention of
marrying again so soon as he should encounter
a lady whose beauty and accomplishments
might seem deserving of his hand.
The house inhabited by the Earl of Grant-
ham had naught resembling the lightness of
architecture and the general cheerfulness of
upect which the imagination 13 wont to asso-
ciate with the term "villa." It was in reality
a large, straggling, irregularly-built mansion—
of stone in some parts, of brickwork in otnera
—and having indeed a sort of castellated ap-
pearance. It was situated about a mile and a
half above Greenwich, and therefore so much
nearer to London. Standing back about a
hundred yards from the Thames, it had a
flower-garden and then a stone terrace reach-
ing completely down to the river's edge ; and
behind it had spacious gardens, shrubberies
and pleasure-grounds, extending to a distance
of nearly half a mile. Though not rich—bis
resources having been much crippled by the
loss of the pensions which he was so anxious
to recover, no matter by what means—the
Earl of Grantham was well enough off to live
comfortably, if not handsomely; and as there
were merely himself and the Countess to
attend upon, there was no necessity to keep
many servants. Seven or eight menials ac-
cordingly formed his household ; and a gloomy,
monotonous, dreary life they led—for as it
was well known that his lordship was in com-
plete disgrace with the King and dared not
show himself at Court, few were the acquaint-
ances and fewer sti!l the real friends who ever
cheered him or the Countess with their pre-
sence. No wonder, then, that the Earl and
his lady should have put their heads together
and set their wits to work in order to devise
some means to regain the royal favour. At
length they hit upon the notable project with
which the reader is already acquainted; for
by some means or another they had heard a
most dazzling account of Musidora's remarKa-
ble beauty. They had been told of the impe-
rial dignity of her air mingled with femimne
gracefulness of manner—of her commanding
beauty of person and her high mental accom-
plishments: and knowing the King's taste
well, they had felt persuaded that the charm-
ing daughter of Sir Lewis Sinclair was in
every way qualified to attract the royal notice
and win the royal heart!
A few words more relative to the Earl and
Countess—and we will resume the thread of
our story. His lordship was a little, thin,
miserable-looking man, so far as his physical
appearance was concerned: but every line of
his wrinkled countenance denoted the craft
and astuteness of the politician—while every
flexion of the body, every gesture, and every
movement indicated the polished courtier.
While his eyes evinced the restless cunning
of the diplomatist, his language sounded so
mellifluous and bland as to appear incapable
of veiling deceit: but it did not require any
very considerable amount of penetration to
read his true character in bis looks—namely,
that of an ambitious, intriguing, unprincipled
time-server. The Countess was a suitable
match for such a lord. Thin, hatchet-faced,
bustling and restless—with sharp quick eyes,
and a remarkable habit of taking up people's


26
THE NECROMANCER
words and finishing their sentences for them
—she seemed to possess all the essential apti-
tudes for intrigue in every one of its phases;
while a certain affability of manner—an inge-
nious way of conveying compliments without
appearing to mean them—and a great facility
in discovering a person's weak points and dish-
ing-up her flatteries accordingly,—all these
constituted an attractiveness well-calculated
to throw people off their guard and induce
them to place reliance on her as a very kind-
hearted, agreeable, unpretending woman. If
we add that the Earl was about sixty years
of age, and the Countess four years his junior
—and that they both dressed in a style of
great elegance, as if indeed they had never
lost their position at Court—our sketches of
the noble pair will be as complete as it is at
present necessary to render them. Indeed, all
other traits or peculiarities belonging to the
character of either, must be left to develop
themselves in their actions and words, which
will perhaps constitute the best mirror wherein
to regard them.
It was in the evening of the third day of
her journey,—and as the white mistiness fol-
lowing the sunset spread its gauzy veil over
the fair scenery in the neighbourhood of the
river,—that Musidora, attended by the old
groom and the young tire-woman, arrived at
Grantham Villa. As an especial compliment,
the Earl and Countess came forth to welcome
her at the front door; and' as the former as-
sisted her to alight from her steed, the latter
received her in her *irms. Then, on being
conducted to a spacious saloon where the blaze
of chandeliers altogether neutralized the som-
bre aspect produced by the massive furniture
and the tapestry hangings, Musidora at once
became the object of much real interest and a
vast amount of affected tenderness on the
part of the selfish designing pair. But joyous
though rapid were the glances of self-gratula-
tory intelligence which the Earl and Countess
exchanged, as ocular demonstration now proved
that the reports which they had heard of Mu-
sidora's great beauty were far from exaggera-
ted. For as they contemplated our heroine,—
clad as she was in her riding costume, which
fitting close to her shape, developed the sym-
metrical grace as well as the fine contour of
her form,—with a cloud of raven hair flowing
over her shoulders in massive velvety undula-
tions,—with the serene though glacial dignity
upon her brew, and that gleam of a fading
smile which imparted its coid animation to
the lower half of her countenance,—in a
word, as they beheld her in the full glory of
her youthful yet commanding beauty, they
could not help thinking how utterly impossible
it was for rumour to have exaggerated her
personal charms in any sense!
An elegant supper was served up; and
Musidora found herself the object of the ten-
derest and most delicate attentions—as they
appeared to be—no ne part of her noble rela-
tives. Both ar a ' *-dy endowed with instincts
which even e«>» ed the artificialities of the
highest breeding and with that sense of obli-
gation which every guest experience* for the
hospitality of the entertainers, Musidora strove
to render herself as agreeable as she could ; and
without unbending from that queenly reserve
which was mingled with so much groce—and
without as it were manifesting any thaw of
that frozen serenity which, though so indicative
of a passionless nature was at the same time
so consonant with the superb brilliancy of her
beauty—she soon convinced the Earl and
Countess that in manner, bearing, and conver-
sation, she was calculated to shine with a daz-
zling transcendency,
When the hour for retiring arr.ved, Lady
Grantham conducted Musidora to the bed-
chamber which was prepared for her recep-
tion. It had been hastily fitted up in the
most elegant and cheerful style,—no expense
having been spared in thus modernizing its
aspect and appointments: for as a matter of
calculation the wily Earl and Countess bad
resolved that nothing should damp the spirits
of the young dfjnsel in whom such exalted
hopes were now centered. Upon an elegant
toilet-table appeared two caskets, which Lady
Grantham proceeded to open. One contained
a magnificent set of diamonds—the other a set
of pearls of the finest and most brilliant de-
scription.
"As your nearest female relative," said the
Countess, with winning tone and kind look,
"you will permit me, my dear Musidora, to
offer you these trifling tributes of my esteem
and affection. Deeply do I deplore the unto-
ward circumstances which have hitherto kept
me unacquainted with so charming, beautiful,
and intelligent a relation as I now find in you;
but it is useless to regret the past. We are
at length acquainted with each other; and as
I was already prepared to love you well, I now
feel that I can experience towards you all the
tenderness of a mother. Indeed, it is as a
daughter that Lord Grantham and myself
wish to regard you; and therefore, whatever
we may choose to do for you, must not wound
your pride—no, nor even make you feel that
you are placed under the slightest obligation
towards us."
Having thus spoken, and without waiting
to afford the young lady any' opportunity for
a reply, the Countess hastily kissed her cheek
and hurried from the apartment. There was
for a moment a half-scornful, half-disdainful
wreathing of Musidnra's classic lips as she
flung a look upon the two caskets, which,
lying open upon the toilet-table, displayed
their brilliant contents to her view; then,
without even experiencing sufficient curiosity
to induce her to inspect those dazzling gems
more closfly—much less inspired by the least
sentiment of vanity to beho'd the effect which


THE NECROMANCER.
27
would be produced by placing those pearls
upon her brow or those diamonds upon her
hair—she carelessly shut the lids of the caskets
and turned away with as much frozen indif-
ference as if their contents were mere worth-
less dross.
Immediately afterwards, Annetta, her young
tire-woman, entered to assist in Musidora's
night-toilet; and as her mistress was thought-
ful and silent, the abigail ventured not to
intrude upon her with any remarks cf her
own. She was soon dismissed for the night:
and Musidora then remained alone, to reflect
npon the characters of her noble relatives so
far as she had as yet been enabled to read
them, and also to ponder upon what their
real ulterior motives could be in having invited
her to stay with them.
CHAPTER V
TUK VF.5ERABLE WAXII E II EH.
Thi first dawn of morning was peeping
with dim uncertain light from the purple
portals o' the east—and night, with her black
waving pennons, was but slowly passing away
id the wesnrc horizon—when an oltl man
crept forth from a sort of arbour or summer-
house on the extreme boundary of Lord Gran-
tham's pleasure-grounds.
This old man, who was evidently bent down
as much by the weight of afflictions as by that
of years, had something so venerable and at
ttie same time so woe-begone in his aspect,
that an observer would almost have forgotten
to notice the mendicant condition of his appa-
rel in the contemplation of bis lineaments and
looks. All attention would, at least on the
first survey, have been absorbed in the mourn-
ful—indeed the profoundly melancholy—ex-
pression of that countenance which, though
covered with wrinkles, had nothing disagree-
able nor repulsive in its mien, but on the
contrary beamed with a benevolence which
implied how undeserved were the sufferings
which the poor old man endured. He had
a long white beard which gave that venerable
look to the features so deeply marked with the
lines of despair; and leaning upon a stick to
support his tottering limbs as he stole forth
from the summer-house, he had the appearance
cf one of those wandering anchorites or hoary
pilgrims who formed a class belonging to an
earlier and more Catholic age.
But, as we have hinted, his apparel was in
a sad dilapidated condition; indeed they were
the veritable rags of beggary which hung upon
him—shreds and tatters but ill adapted to pro-
tect his form from the cold air which charac-
terises the nights of Spring. Yet in that open
summer-house, so slightly built, had the old
man spent the past night. A houseless wan-
derer, there had he crept to shelter himself
against tLi mist, the damp, and the chill,—
while he snatched a few hours of troubled
repose. At that period the severest penalties
were in existence against beggars, mendicants,
and vagrants: it was a grievous crime to be
houseless; and if frequently convicted of being
thus friendless, homeless, and utterly pauper-
ized, death upon the scaffold was the punish-
ment. To the risk of these contingent horrors
and barbaric atrocities the old man was not
blind; and therefore it was with fear and
trembling that he had scaled the low palisade
and entered Lord Grantham's grounds to sleep
in the arbour, or summer-house alluded to.
His fears pursued him in his dreams ami
caused him to awake at the moment the
earliest streak of dawn glimmered in the orient
sky. Creeping forth, therefore, in the stealthy
manner described, he dragged himself pain-
fully over the railings, and descended into the
open field which lay beyond the Earl's plea-
sure grounds.
At this moment—just as the old man had
scrambled over the palisade—a tail figure,
enveloped in a cloak, suddenly appeared
round the angle formed by the dark waving
evergreens of the shrubbery; and thus did
the old man and the cloaked stranger find
themselves abruptly and unexpectedly wilLin
half a dozen yards of each other.
The stranger was tall, slender, and re-
markably handsome; but with a proud
haughty countenance, and a sinistei expres-
sion in the dark eyes and on the curling lip.
He was dressed in rich but sombre apparel;
and his arms, crossed over his breast, retained
the Spanish cloak closely around him.
"Ah! is it you?" he ejaculated with »
sudden start, as he at once recognised the old
man.
"Villain !—my daughter V exclaimed the
latter; for the recognition was mutual and
instantaneous. "Give me back my daugh-
ter !—where is she ?—what has become of
her?"—and in a manner half-entreating and
half-menacing the bereaved father sprang for-
ward and clung to the stranger's cloak.
For a few instants the latter gazed down
upon the old man with a wild and inexplica-
ble expression, as if inclined to pity but haw
ing another reason to triumph.—as if not
knowing whether to repel the venerable sup-
pliant with contempt, or sooth him with some
specious representation. But altogether there
was something inhuman, unnatural, diabolic
in the expression of the stranger's counte-
nance. Darkly handsome, with proud haughty
outlines, it had now a look so sinister and
wicked that it made that stranger seem as if
he possessed some mysterious and prescrip-
tive right to trample on all ordinary feelings
and spurn all common sympathies.
"My daughter, I say—my daughter! By
the great God who hears me now, I adjurs
/


28
THE NECROMANCER.
you to give me back my daughter!"—and
the old man, as he gave utterance to these
rjuaculations with passionate vehemence,
grasped the stranger's cloak with a tenacity
which seemed to imply a resolve on his part
that they should not separate until he had re-
ceived satisfaction.
"Your daughter, old man?" at length
spoke the stranger, his brows contracting, and
his eyes fixing themselves with so sardonic a
gaze upon the aged one's countenance, that
there was now something more than wicked,
but positively infernal, in the dark and terri-
ble beauty of his features; "I know nothing
of your daughter! Wherefore should you ap-
ply to me? But stav! I see that you are
steeped in poverty, and circumstances must
have altered with you greatly. Here—take
this purse!"
Thus speaking, the stranger suddenly
opened his cloak and extended a purse, evi-
dently well filled with yellow coin, to the old
man.
"Monster—villain!" ejaculated the be-
reaved father, indignantly pushing back the
proffered purse with one hand while he clung
to the stranger's mantle with the other.
"Having deprived me of my daughter, would
you now seek to render me an accomplice in
her shame? No, no!—never, never, by means
of gold shall you purchase from my lips an as-
sent to my child's disgrace. Give me then
my daughter, I say! I will receive her back
to my aims, polluted though she may be"
"Dotard!" interrupted the stranger, in his
•lern deep voice, which sounded as ominous
a* appeared the light that shone with a sort
of mystic unhallowed luridness in his dark,
dark eyes: " what know I of your daughter?"
—then breaking away from the old man,
he tossed the purse upon the ground, and
began to move off slowly with scornful un-
concern.
"No, no—we do not part thus !" ejaculated
the bereaved father. "Ruined—mendicant—
houseless—-starving beggar that I am, there
must nevertheless be law and justice for me!"
—and in mingled rage and desperation, which
gave vigour to his enfeebled frame and agility
to his limbs, he seized upon the departing
stranger again.
"Beware how you provoke me !" said the
latter in a voice so sombre and with a look so
diabolic that the old man felt an unknown
terror strike into his heart, as if with the shud-
dering, withering conviction that he sought to
contend against some one possessed of powers
of no ordinary description.
A dizziness seized upon his brain—a faint-
ness came over him—and the wretched old
man sank back insensible upon the grass that
was damp with the glittering dew.
With the first glimmer of that morning's
dawn had Musidora opened her eyes in the
chamber wheie she had passed the night; and
all sense of fatigue arising from her journey
having passed away, she at once rose from her
couch. Annetta, who knew her young mis-
tress's habit of rising at the peep of day, was
in attendance; and the simple but elegant
morning-toilet was soon performed.
Arrayed in a white robe, with the masses
of her raven hair rolling in heavy waves upon
her shoulders, and even flowing partially down
her back, she looked grandly handsome and
elegantly graceful, as she issued forth into the
gardens to imbibe the freshness of the morn-
ing air. Threading the pleasure-grounds in
the silence and dreamy mistiness of that hour
when nature begins to awaken to the life of a
new-born day, and while industry is likewise
arousing itself from slumber, while indolence
still remains cradled in oblivion upon downy
pillows,—at that hour when the rose begins
to expand its modest beauty, and tulips and
peonies too display their pompous gaud to the
rising sun,—Musidora, even in the matchless
perfection of her beauty, seemed to derive
additional charms from the scene and the hour.
There was something spirit-like in her pre-
sence amidst the flowers while the dew was
still upon them, and with the slant beams of
the sun setting forth her form with a dazzling
brilliancy in the whiteness of her raiment and
the marble fairness of her complexion, and
making the raven darkness of her hair shine
as with a glory.
Threading her way, we repeat, through the
garden, Musidora presently reached the pali-
sade forming the boundary at the end of the
pleasure-grounds But scarcely had she
reached that spot, when her eyes, sweeping
around to embrace the entire landscape that
stretched in its emerald verdancy before
her, suddenly settled upon the form of un
aged man stretched upon the grass, and
either dead or at least deprived of conscious-
ness.
Without an instant's hesitation did Musi-
dora climb over the palisade, by the assistance
of a stunted tree—for the fence was scarcely
breast-high: and the next instant she was
bending over the object of her compassion-
ate interest. She at once saw that life was
not extinct: she raised him partially up—
but his head fell back—and though a low
gasping moan indicated returning conscious-
ness, yet was it evident that nature would
require some restorative to stimulate its resus-
citating energies.
Musidora cast a bewildered look around
her. What was she to do? how was she to
act? She could not leave the poor old man
to lie any longer upon the damp grass; for
his clothes—if indeed the rags that wrapped
him deserved the denomination—were already
saturated ; and yet she could do nothing with-
out assistance.
In this moment of uncertainty she heard
footsteps approaching' and glancing in the


THE NECROMANCER. 29
direction whence they came, she beheld a
handsomely-dressed man, of medium sta-
ture, somewhat stoutly hut not ungracefully
formed, and whose age might be three or four
years under thirty. He had light hair, blue
eyes, and hut a small quantity of beard and
whisker. There was something noble and
dignified as well as courteous and high-bred
.'n his appearance; and altogether his air
was that of a personage of rank and impor-
tance.
"Lady," ha exclaimed, quickening his
pace, '• what has occurred? and in what of-
fice of angel-ministering are you engaged V
'• From that enclosure," replied Musidora,
indicating with a gesture the Earl of Grant-
ham's grounds, " did I behold this poor old
man stretched lifeless upon the ground. I
fear that he must have been in this deplorable
condition some while; for his clothing, al-
ready pitiable enough, is saturated with damp,
and his limbs seem rigid."
"And you, lady—faithful to woman's an-
gel-mission," said the courtly personage, re-
garding Musidora with a respectful admira-
tion, but still with an earnestness which she
could not help noticing, "have been seeking
to recover him 1 In this good work I must
have a hand. What shall we do?"
"Assist the venerable' sufli-rer into the
house," rejoined Musidora, glancing towards
the villa. "It is the Earl of Grantham's
"Yes—I know my Lord of Grantham
well," remarked the damsel's new acquaint-
at ce. "But see! the oh! man is recovering
Perhaps he may do so sufficiently to walk
be tween us while we support him into the
vi la."
While thus speaking, the courtly person-
age assisted the old man to rise up; and as
hi i senses slowly returned, he seemed be-
w Idered on opening his eyes, to find himself
the object of such solicitude on the part of so
be auteous a lady and so noble-looking an in-
di /idual. But they both addressed him in
cheering and encouraging terms; and the be-
reived father felt the kindness of their lan-
gi age and their manner sink down as an ano-
d} ne into his heart. Musidora herself was
e\idently somewhat prepossessed in favour of
her unknown courtly companion; for from
thi depths of her dark eyes she threw upon
htTi a look which seemed to say that she felt
on the old man's behalf the kindness of this
benevolent attention—especially as it was
shown by one evidently moving in a sphere
where contact with rags and beggary was
by no means likely to be of common occur-
rence.
Between them did they support the be-
reaved father toward the house—leading him
along the road skirting the pleasure grounds,
till they reached the front door, where two or
three of Lord Grantham's menials at once
made their appearance in answer to the ring
at the bell. Profound.was their astonishmen
on beholding the scene which thus met theii
eyes on opening that door; deeply respectful
too was the salutation, or rather the low obei-
sance, which they made to Musidora's courtly
companion, whose person was evidently
known to them;—and her first suspicion, that
he must he an individual of some very high /
rank, was thus immediately confirmed.
Perceiving that he was interested in the old
man thus so strangely but benevolently con-
ducted thither, the domestics at once hustled
about to afford the invalid such attentions as
he required; and leading the way into the
nearest apartment, they placed the aged suf-
ferer upon a sort of ottoman or sofa—while
one of them hastened to procure wine where-
with to resuscitate his strength.
In the midst of these proceedings the Earl
and Countess of Grantham entered the apart-
ment; and while the nobleman at once sank
upon his knees in the presence of Musidora's
courtly companion, Lady Grantham made a
low obeisance indicative of the profoundest
reverence.
"My Liege—my Lord—my Sovereign,"
said the Earl; « welcome to the dwelling of
one of your Grace's hi mblest though most
devoted servants!"
Then Musidora knew that it was the King
whom accident had thus made ljer partner in
the benevolent work of Mat memorable morn-
ing; and with a graceful dignity did she also
express her reverence and her loyalty in a low
curtsey.
"Rise, my lord," i.aid Henry VIII, extend-
ing his hand to the Earl of Grantham.
"Circumstances of an auspicious nature have
brought me within your walls; and the same
benign influence shall therefore make us
friends. The past is forgotten. Rise, my
lord, I say; it is your King who commands
you!"
But ere the Earl availed himself of this
permission, or rather before he obeyed the
royal mandate, he took the monarch's hand
and respectfully drew it to his hps : then rising
from his knees, he hastened to place a chair
for the King, remaining standing by his side
with that attitude of profound deference
which not only as a couttier but also as an
astute politician he knew so well how to as-
sume.
"You have to thank this young lady, who
is as good as she is beautiful," said Henry,
bending his looks upon Musidora, " for the inci-
dent which has produced the present reconci-
liation. But listen," continued the King in a
tone of authority: "It suits my purpose that
this reconcilement shall remain secret for the
present. Your lordship has potent enemies at
Court—enemies to you, but friends of mine,
and whom I choose not to alienate from me
bv any precipitate deed on my part. It shall


30
THE NECROMANCER.
be my study to change their feeling towards
your lordship, and convert their animosity into
a favourable sentiment. Then, this being
done, the reconciliation which has ere now
taken place in private shall be renewed in
public; and again shall your lordship occupy
some post of honour about the person of your
Sovereign. Relative, then, to inv presence
here this morning, and every incident con-
cerning it, the strictest secrecy must be main-
tained: and you will take care, my lord, that
your menials babble not elsewhere respecting
the occurrence."
"In every respect shall your Highness's
commands be attended to," answerrd the Earl,
an enthusiastic joy mingling with the expres-
sion of profound deference which he had
assumed.
"And you, Countess of Grantham," said
the King, turning towards the Earl's wife and
proffering her his hand, "shall again shortly
mingle amongst the titled dames who throng
in the circle of England's Court."
The Countess, also, with joy beaming in
her looks, reverently touched the monarch's
fingers with her lips, and gave utterance to a
few appropriate words of gratitude.
"And now tell me," resumed Henry, once
more bending his eyes upon Musidora, who
stood surveying the scene with that calmness
and serenity of self-possession which seemed
to constitute her nature—" tell me who is this
angel of beauty and of benevolence whom I
found engaged in so noble a work, and in
which work I feel so proud to have become a
sharer V
"She of whom your Highness in pleased
to speak so graciously," answered the Earl of
Grantham, "is the daughter of one who for
some years past has pined in wretchedness
and affliction beneath the weight of your royal
displeasure."
"Then, by my sceptre!" exclaimed the
King, speaking with warmth, " that displea-
sure is at once appeased—nay more, changed
into favour and friendship towards the father,
whoever he may be, for the daughter's sake.
Lady," he continued, now addressing himself
direct to our heroine, "what may be your
sire's name?"
"Sir Lewis Sinclair, my liege," answered
Musidora,—" a gentleman of an honourable
family, and who earned his distinction ot
Knight-Banneret on the field of Bosworth,
when fighting in the cause of your Grace's
august futher."
"The name is well-known to me," said the
King; "and if harshness has been done to-
wards your parent, beautiful damsel, the blame
must rather be laid to the door of my counsel-
lors than charged directly against myself.
However, full reparation shall be made to Sir
Lewis Sinclair for whatsoever he may have
suffered. Was he not Ranger of the forest-
lands in the Isle of Wight'"
"He wan, my liege," responded Musidora,
her splendid countenance now expressing a
certain degree of interest which enhanced the
brilliancy of her smile, though still leaving the
alabaster purity of her complexion untinted by
aught resembling a roseate flush.
"In all these matters shall amends be ms.de,"
said the King; but be immediately added as a
thought seemed to strike him, " In your corre-
spondence with Sir Lewis Sinclair, young lady
—for I can full well understand that your
filial affection will prompt you to acquaint
him at once with the withdrawal of his Sove-
reign's displeasure—you will charge him to
keep the secret in his own breast until such
time as I may give my permission for it to be
openly proclaimed."
"Your royal commands shall be my law,"
said Musidora. "But permit me to add that
a daughter's fervid gratitude is proffered to
your Highness for all your generous assuran-
ces ;"—and as Musidora thus spoke, the ani-
mation so coldly brilliant, and resembling the
unsullied purity of moonlight upon the glacial
radiance of her beauty, was enhanced still
more.
"I claim no thanks," rejoined the King,
taking her hand in his own and pressing it
warmly; then turning towards the old man,
who was lying a mute but wondering observer
of all that had just taken place, the monarch
said, " Who are you? and how came you
reduced to this lamentable position ?—for there
is something in your looks which speaks elo-
quently and unmistakably of better days."
"Ah! great King," replied the old man,
tears trickling down his furrowed cheeks, " I
have indeed suffered deeply, deeply! But the
kindness—the benevolence, which I have now
experienced from this angel-lady here, and
from your gracious Highness"
The old man stopped short, ineffable emo-
tions choking farther utterance ; and he would
have thrown himself from the sofa at the feet
of the King, had not the monarch himself bade
him remain where he was, nor strain his
exhausted strength by over exertion.
« His Grace inquires who you are, and how
you became thus reduced in the world," said
Musidora, addressing the old man in the most
soothing tones of her silver voice.
"I once was prosperous and rich," replied
the aged sufferer, when his feelings were
somewhat composed; "and I was happy too
in the possession of a daughter whose beauty
was such as only to be outshone by your's,
young lady—but whose goodness alas .
that I, her loving father, should have to say
so—was not equal to her beauty! She yielded
to the honied words of a villain, and abandoned
me in my old age. Affliction came not alone
—for, Oh ! misfortune is wonderfully prolific;
and'no sooner had this first calamity stricken
me, when a thousand others entered my house
like a desolating army, sweeping away wtalth,


THE -NECROMANCER, i
31
possessions—all—all—oven to tl.e very lied
from under me! Oh ! sad, sad indeed is my
fate! But H( aven be thanked, it .s not I who
have brought dishonour on a once respected
name—and sadder, sadder still, I fear me, is
the fate of my lost daughter—the beguiled
and guilty Clara Manners!"
With a movement resembling a sudden
start—but so quick and transitory as to be
ecarcely perceptible, even if it occurred at all
—did Musidora Hing a strange inexplicable
look from the lustrous depths M her unfathom-
able eyes upon the countenance nf the old
man; and then, taking his hand, she said in
a more subdued tone than was her wont,
"¥ou shall not speak of your sufferings now.
Another time—when your strength is restored
—you shall unburthen your heart to the ears
of friendly sympathizers."
"Yes—another time," said the King, who
was earnestly watching Musidora's counten-
ance while she spoke; as if he had perceived
or fancied he had perceived that sudden but
evanescent display nf emotion on her part.
"I must bid you all farewell now; but this
evening, at nine o'clock, I shall come, unat-
tended and alone—in the strictest privacy—
to hear more of this poor old man's history
and see what can be done to serve him."
Having thus spoken, the King took a hur-
ried leave of the Granthams and Musidora,
and quitted the house.
Our heroine remained standing near the
sofa on which the aged sufferer lay—gazing
upon him with a look as much expressive nf
mournful compassion as any look of her's could
ever express aught bordering upon a definite
sentiment; while the Earl and Countess, the
moment the King's back was turned, ex-
changed glances of joyous triumph and satis-
faction.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SUFFER.
Pi'xctcal to the appointment which he
himself had. made for nine o'clock in the
evening, King Henry VIII. arrived, unat-
tended and alone, at Grantham Villa. He
was enveloped in a cloak, and evidently was
studious to shroud his visit with as much
secrecy as possible.
Great preparations had nevertheless been
made for his reception. The principal saloon
was a blaze of light; and the supper table
was resplendent with plate, glass, and porce-
lain. The Earl and Countess of Grantham
were apparelled in the most elegant manner:
and if there were any drawback to their joy
and exultation at the royal visit, it was in the
circumstance that Musidora had not decorated
herself either with the diamonds or pearls
that had been presented to her on the prevbus
evening. Any sentiment, however, »f annoy-
ance which the noble couple experienced on
this account, was rather one of mortification
to perceive that their splendid gifts should
have been thus slighted, than of disappoint-
ment at the effect of Musidora's charms on
the present occasion. Indeed, as they gazer*
upon her while, with a serene but cold dig?
nity, she saluted the monarch on his en-
trance, the Earl and Countess could not help
feeling that her's was indeed a loveliness
which needed no brilliancy of ornament to
enhance it.
She wore a dress of white brocaded satin,
the body of which fitted close to her well
developed shape, while the ample skirt seemed
to flow around her from the waist downwards
in heavy waves of silver. The raven masses
of her hair hung in cloud-like redundancy
upon the beautifully sloping shoulders, and
down the back even to the slender waist. In
brilliant contrast to that thick natural veil
thus floating behind her, shone the dazzling
purity of her complexion, with no insipid
whiteness, but in all the polish and ammation
of glowing life itself. Yes—glowing, but not
with a blush—no, nor even with roseate tint,
—but glowing as that marble statue might
have been supposed to glow, when warming
with Pygmalion's ardent gaze, it gradually
expanded into being.
For all ornament, a single white rose—
placed upoc the shining masses of Musidora's
hair—indeed appeared the most appropriate,
and of the only kind that was at all necessary.
For the natural gloss which rested like a glory
upon that dark hair outshone the effect which
even a queenly crown might have produced:
nor could the richest gems have shed around
her a brighter halo than that with which she
was invested by the lustre of her own tran-
scending beauty.
The King had seen her in the morning in
the simple robe of white which she had worn:
he beheld her now clad in white again—but
of a rich and costly material. And yet, if in
the morning her toilet was altogether plain
and simple, it was now characterised by a not
less tasteful blending of chaste elegance and
virginal splendour. That he was struck by
the brilliancy of her appearance, which dazzled
with a beauty of whose power she herself
seemed altogether unconscious, was evident
from the gaze of respectful admiration that he
fixed upon her. It was the homage which an
impassioned nature seemed irresistibly led to
pay to such transcending charms, and which,
though manifested with mingled earnestness
and enthusiasm, was still so attempered by
delicate courtesy and profound respect, that it
was impossible for any woman to take offence
at such a tribute offered to her beauty.
The Earl and Countess exchanged vivid
glances, significant with satisfaction, at the
s


THE NECROMANCER.
eftcci which Musidora's appearance produced
upon ihe susceptible heart of the King; and
they no longer regrelted that she had passed
over the diamonds and the pearls in the details
of her evening toilet. On the contrary, they
now felt convinced that her's was a stylo of
beauty of so superior an order and also in-
vested with a charm so peculiarly its own, as
to he entirely independent of all the appliances
to which even the most lovely women are ac-
customed to resort in order to assist the effect
of nature with that of art.
The table was laid for four: and soon after
the King's arrival the repast was served up.
Handing Musidora to a seat at the board, the
monarch as a matter of course placed himself
next to her, and at once made her the object
of the most marked, continuous, yet delicate
attentions. These she accepted with the
mingled dignity and grace which were alike
the characteristics of her beauty and her man-
ners. She did not however seem flattered by
his attentions; nor from the mien and bearing
could it be discovered that she even noticed
that they were in any way more pointed or
more significant than those which every lady
expects, and is indeed accustomed to receive,
from any well-bred gentleman whom chance
m»y render her companion at table. Her
noble relatives began to be at a loss to com-
prehend her. That the King was already
smitten with her beauty, they were well con-
vinced. Indeed, this much they had seen in
the morning; and the admiration which now
shone forth in every look which he flung upon
Musidora confirmed that opinion beyond the
possibility of mistake. But was she uncon-
scious of this impression which she had made
upon him !—or if not unconscious, was she
indifferent to the effect thus produced by the
power of her charms ?—or again, if not indif-
ferent, was it that she was playing a part
with admirable tact and the most exquisite
finesse? Such were the questions which
both the Earl and Countess asked themselves
as they sat at table, but to which they could
not find any positive solution. Musidorn's
manner was unexceptionably lady-like, calmly
dignified, and courteously graceful: hut neither
by look or word had she as yet shown either
that she felt flattered by Henry's attentions,
or that the complimentary language which hi.
addressed to her afforded her the slightest
pleasure. She smiled—she conversed with
gaiety—<he sustained her part in the conver-
sation, and did all that a well-bred lady ought
to have done to make the time pass agreeably
for the royal guest of her relatives: but over
all she did, or said, or looked, there was still
that cold but brilliant polish as if every thing
connected with her shone but in the grand
brightness of a glacier!
"And so," observed the King, when the
more ubstantial portion of the repast was re-
moved, and a choice dessert accompanied with
i variety of exquisite wines was placed upon
the table,—" and so, fair lady, you have been
but a few hours as it were in this neighbour-
hood—or I might say, within tho atmosphers
of the (Jourt V
"As I informed your Grace ere now," ai>
swered Musidora, "I arrived here only last
evening."
"But once arrived, it is your intent," he
continued, "to remain for some time in a
neighbourhood which, appearing to me so
much brighter by your presence, would be-
come proportionately darkened by your ab-
sence?"
"Your Grace is pleased thus to address me
in the complimentary language of the day,"
answered Musidora, as if now for the first tims
noticing his flatteries.
"No—by Heaven!" exclaimed Henry," 1
was perfectly serious in what I said :"—and
somewhat warmed by the wine which he had
drunk, he was emboldened to fix upon Musi-
dora a meaning look, but in which however
there was nothing disrespectful.
"Your Highness," she observed, "has the
peculiar privilege, by virtue of your sovereign
rank, of giving utterance to whatsoever may
suit your royal whim and pleasure at the mo-
ment :"—and if it were not precisely in a tone
of rebuke that Musidora thus spoke, it was
nevertheless with a maidenly dignity which
had all the effect of a remonstrance when
coming from one whose appearance was so
queen-like and whose nature seemed to be so
incomparably above the reach of all common-
place flatteries.
*' Whatever my privileges as a Sovereign
may he," rejoined Henry, with a slight bow,
as if to show that he understood the rebuke
but nevertheless would not take offence at il,
"I invariably lay them aside when in the
presence of those rare specimens of the fair
sex whom nature evidently intended to be the
queens of the earth; for who indeed can be
the world's virtual rulers save those who gov-
ern proud man by the magic influence they
exercise over his heart?"
"Your Grace acts only in accordance with
the true principle of chivalry," said Musidora,
not for a moment appearing to take the King's
compliment exclusively unto herself, "in setting
an example of courtly attention and magnani-
mous deference, so far as prudence may
warrant, to the sympathies of the weaker sex."
There was' a slight pau?e, of which the
Earl of Grantham now availed himself to of-
fer a remark in answer to a quetlion which
the King had ere now put to Musidora.
"Your Grace," said the nobleman, in his
bland courtier-like tones, addressed my fair
young relative a short while back concerning
the probable length of her sojourn beneath my
roof. 1 can take it upon myself to respond on
her account, that she is not shackled by any
paternal injunction on that head; and it will


THE NECROMANCER.
33
most assuredly be the constant study of the
Countess and myself to"
"To make the time pass as agreeably to
her as possible," added her ladyship, finishing
her husband's sentence for him.
"So that she may prolong the visit which
has commenced in such an auspicious manner
for us/' continued the Earl; *> J mean aus~
picious, my liege, inasmuch as it has been the
means of restoring us to the light of our Sove-
reign's royal favour."
"And as Musidora is now visiting the
neighbourhood of the metropolis for the first
time," observed the Countess, again taking
up the thread of her husband's remarks, "she
is anxious to inspect all that is worth seeing
in your Highness's fair capital. Moreover,
she. shall have an opportunity of beholding
such gaieties and pastimes as are in vogue
amongst the aristocracy and fashion; and as
all this cannot be accomplished in a few days
—scarcely in a few weeks—it is more than
probable that our sweet young relative's visit
will extend to some months."
"So much depends," observed Musidora, in
a gently corrective tone, "upon the way in
which my beloved father supports my absence
—also upon the tidings I receive concerning
his health; for were I to hear any unfavoura-
ble account, I should at once speed back with
the least possible delay to my native home."
"I thank you most sincerely for this speech,
fair damsel," said the King; "Itecause you
have now made me comprehend upon what
conditions your visit to your noble relatives
here may be prolonged. To-morrow, my
lord," he added, turning towards the Earl of
Grantham, "you and I will have some private
discourse together respecting the best mode of
ensuring Sir Lewis Sinclair's comfort, pros-
perity, and happiness. As for the worthy
knight's health," continued the monarch, now
again reverting his looks upon Musidora, " if
you think that it is at all precarious, or that it
would be benefitted by the constant attention
of some eminent physician, I will in the
course of the coming week send a most skil-
ful doctor to take up his abode at Sinclair
House—so that not merely may his profes-
sional knowledge be rendered available for the
knight's behoof, but his companionship also I
prove agreeable."
"Your Grace," said Musidora, in a voice
that was somewhat tinged with seriousness,
while at the same time she bent upon him an
earnest searching look from the depths of her
superb dark eyes,—" has already conferred so
many favours upon me during the few hours
that I have had the honour of becoming
known to your Highness—I mean since first
we met this morning—that I am utterly un-
able to find adequate terms wherein to express
my gratitude. Your Highness has restored
unto your royal favour not only my relatives
here, but likewise my father, who is absent;
you have also promised, sire, to do many
things for them all—and within the last few
minutes your Grace has furthermore mani-
fested a generous spirit towards my faihet
Pardon me, great King, if I must observe thai
I fear to accept, even on my sire's account;
too much at your hands—because of the ut-
ter impossibility of ever repaying the smallest
part of this immense obligation. Indeed,
your Highness must know that I have
naught but words wherewith to express my
thanks."
As Musidora thus spoke—the sdver fluency
of her voice being slightly marked by so-
lemnity of tone and accompanied with a per
ceptible seriousness of look—the King gazed
upon her with an air of the deepest interest,
mingled with the most respectful admiration
The Earl and Countess felt annoyed ; for they(
feared lest Musidora, by this address, would
throw a damp upon the ardour of the mo.
narch. and make him look upon her either ai
a cold passionless prude, or else as a wily
tactician somewhat overacting her part. Yet,
as she proceeded in her speech, and the old
courtier and his wife Iteheld nature's own dia-
dem of candour seated upon her brow, and
the most genuine sincerity characterizing—or
at least appearing to characterize—her looks,
her words, her mien—in fine, breathing as it
were through her entire being—they scarcely
knew what to think; and when she had
ceased speaking their eyes settled with mis.
giving and suspense upon the King, to see
how he would take the damsel's proceeding.
For in terms as plain as so delicately-worded a
speech could possibly be, it. seemed as if
Musidora meant him to understand that if he
had any ulterior object in heaping favours
upon the heads of her relatives, that object
would not be gained.
1 have listened to you, fair lady," said the
King, assuming a manner as gaily courteous
as it seemed frank and open-hearted, " with
the utmost attention—not so much because 1
recognized any need on your part to deliver
yourself of that speech, but because I could
sit in silence for ever to drink in the music of
your voice and listen to that language which
sounds like the silver flow of a stream chaste-
ly pellucid and coldly crystal! As for obliga'
tion, Musidora," added the King, with a gra-
cious smile, " who ever heard of a Sovereign
conferring marks of his pleasure upon his sub-
jects and expecting aught in return save their
allegiance and good faith? But observe !—
this last allusion of mine if meant for your
father and your noble relatives here. I spoke
not of you, fair damsel, as my subject—be-
cause 1 have already this evening told you that
il is chivalrous and proper for man to acknowl-
edge woman's empire—and faithful to my *vn
precept, I profrss my allegiance to you/"
"Your Grace is in every way determined
that I shall remain indebted to your courtcouf


34
0 M A N C E R.
THE NECR
gallantry as well as your royal favour:"—and
again did Musidora's smile and manner seem
to indicate that she only regarded the mon-
arch's words as the passing compliment of the
moment, to which neither her dignity nor her
modesty-—no, nor yet her intelligence, would
for an instant permit her to attach an} other
meaning.
"Since you are determined," resumed the
King, with a gaj laugh, - tc regard every
thing I propose in the light of a favour, per-
haps I ought not to make the suggestion
which I am about to offer. And yet on the
other hand, it were most discourteous not to
do so. Indeed, I was about to observe, lieau-
liful Musidora, that since your sojourn with
your noble relatives will allow of ample time
for you to visit all places that are worth seeing
within a reasonable circuit, I may perhaps be
allowed to furnish you with the proper pass-
ports to obtain admission to my royal palaces
of the Tower, St. James, and Windsor. The
Earl and Countess will escort you thither; and
in each and all will a lady of your good
taste and fine intelligence behold much to ex-
cite admiration and interest."
« Again do I thank your Grace for this prof-
fered kindness," said Musidora, " and which I
gratefully accept. But pardon me if I remind
your Highness that you this morning testified
some degree of interest on behalf of that poor
old man"
"Aye !" ejaculated the King, with a slight
appearance of impatience in his manner—as if
he would have^much rather continued dis-
coursing with Musidora than have allowed
aught to interrupt the present scene; but in-
stantaneously subduing any such feeling of
vexation, if such it were that he indeed felt,
he said, "And how fares the old man V
« Seeing how profoundly he had won your
Grace's sympathy," the Earl of Grantham
now hastened to observe, with his courtier-
like Manliness of tone and manner, " I ordered
that he should be treated with all possible at-
tention. Accordingly he has been comforta-
bly lodged—suitable raiment has been provid-
ed for his use—and I believe that he is now
in a more tranquil, if not a happier frame of
mind, than he has been for a long time
past. Because it is evident that he has suffer-
ed much"
"Well," interrupted the King, turning
Bomewhat abruptly towards Musidora—"and
has he yet told you the tale of his sufferings V
"Ere taking your departure this morning,
aire," ■eturned Musidora, "you intimated
your royal pleasure to hear this evening that
tale from the lips of the poor old man. What-
ever curiosity, then, I may have experienced
on the subject, I have controlled until now—
not choosing to torture the venerable sufferer
too much, nor allow his heart's wounds to be
opened too often, by a needless repetition of
his history. Now therefore, if vour Grace be
agreeable, the old man can be introduced;
and we will hear the narative of his misfor-
tunes?"
"Be it so," said the King.
Thereupon the Earl of Grantham rang ■
silver hand-bell which stood close by him; and
01 a lacquey answering the summons, he
desired that old Master Manners—for so wn
the bereaved father called—might be intro-
duced to the saloon. This command wa»
speedily obeyed; and in a few minutes the
venerable man, leaning upon his stick, made
his appearance. On perceiving the King, he
sank down upon his knees and poured forth
his gratitude for the generous kindness shown
him in the morning; but Henry hastily com-
pelled him to rise and bade him sit down,
while Musidora handed him a cup of wine.
Tears trickled down the furrowed cheeks
of old Manners as he fouud himself the object
of so liiany and such delicate attentions; but
having quaffed the generous wine, he felt
cheered; and in compliance with the request
now made him, he proceeded to unfold the
narrative of his afflictions in the following
terms.
CHAPTER VII.
THS BISTOIIT OT CLARA MA5XERS.
"Until within the last few years there
was not in all London a mercantile warehouse
enjoying a higher repute than that which was
known by the sign of the Gulden Fleece sus-
pended over the door. My father, who was
for many, many years Alderman of the ward
of Cheap, and who was thrice Lord Mayor
of London, founded that establishment; and
when he died he left it to me, his only son. I
was so wedded to habits of business that I
thought but little of the serene comforts and
tranquil pleasures of domestic life; and it was
not indeed till verging towards the age of
forty that I began seriously to think of mar-
riage. Then, scarcely had 1 formed the wish
to find a suitable companion to become the
sharer of my fortune and the partaker of my
prosperity, when accident threw me in the
way of the beautiful widow of a brave office!
who had fallen when gloriously fighting the
battles of his country. She was poor, but
amiable and virtuous as she was beautiful.
After a short courtship we were married ; and
a proud as well as a happy day was it for ine
when I bore my bride home. Our happiness
continued without alloy, while my commercial
prosperity increased. I had ships of my own
trading in the Levant; and my warehouse
was stored with all the choicest produce of
tht East. Nobles and titled dames were
wont to visit my establishment to inspect the
brilliant assortment of precious stones, shawls,


THE NECROMANCER.
33
»ilks, brocades, and cosdy stuffs which were
amongst the numerous imports that formed
the basis of my transactions. Some of those
ladies had been previously acquainted with
my wife, and their friendship was not discon-
tinued because she had married a trader-—for
they all knew that I was one of those rich
merchants whose spirit of enterprise conferred
immense benefits upon the country. We
were therefore caressed and courted by many
of the nobility; and we not only visited at
their mansions, but also received them at our
own house in return.
"Three years after our marriage, our hap-
piness was augmented by the birth of a daugh-
ter, on whom the name of Clara was bestowed.
In this being was centred all the fondest
parental love, alike on my part and on that
of my wife. Clara grew up beautiful and
affectionate; we had no other children,—and
I need scarcely say how indescribably dear she
was to us. My wife, who was a clever and
elegant as well as beautiful woman, took a
delight in training the mind of her daughter;
and thus at the age of fifteen, when her edu-
cation was finished, Clara was as intelligent,
accomplished, and well-bred as any damsel
belonging to even the highest grades of society.
Thus was it that from her mother she not
fcnly inherited all the beauties of person and
acquired all the graces of mind, hut likewise
derived the elegances of manner; and any
stranger who had seen my beloved Clara,
would have fancied that she was the daughter
of some titled personage instead of a City
merchant.
"But it was at this very period of which I
am speaking, and when just about to enter as
it were upon life, that Clara lost that excellent
and affectionate mother who had reared her so
carefully and so tenderly. Yes, my wife was
snatched away from me by an epidemic mala-
dy; and so great was my grief that had it not
been necessary to live for the sake of my
child, I do not think I could have borne up
against the loss. Clara felt the shock as
acutely as myself; for though so young, yet she
had alike intelligence and feeling enough to
be aware that she had lost her dearest and
best friend. Yes—for no matter how earnest
and how deep may he a father's love for his
daughter—no matter how proudly he may re-
gard her, how fondly he may cherish her—it
is after all the mother who is best calculated
to guide her on as she enters upon the great
pathways of life, and point out a myriad dan-
gers which the more hasty and superficial
glance of the father cannot descry, or with
which his different experience renders him al-
together unacquainted.
"We mingled our tears together; and as
time passed on, the keen sense of our affliction
was mitigated and its poignancy mellowed
down, as is ever the case even where the lost
we is most deeply valued. Two years elapsed;
and at the end of that interval 1 considered it
expedient to introduce my daughter into so-
ciety. She at once became the admiration of
all who formed her acquaintance; and in a
very short space she had several suitors for her
hand. But eighteen months and upwards
passed away, without any indication being af-
forded that her afli'ctions were engaged. We
visited not only the circles of our civic friends,
but likewise the mansions of the nobility ; and
although Clara had several eligible proposals
made to her by suitors in both spheres, yet
did her heart remain untouched, and she as-
sured me that she had determined never to
bestow her hand where her affections were
not also engaged. I applauded her resolve—
admired her prudence—and was indeed so
well convinced that any attachment she might
sooner or later form, would be in every way
worthy of her good sense, her virtue, and her
position, that I bade her consider her mairi-
monial destiny to be entirely in her own
hands; as any choice she might make would
he certain to meet my approval.
"Shortly after this conversation, and when
Clara was within a few months of nineteen,
we received an invitation to an autumnal festi-
val given in the spacious pleasure-grounds of
Lady Wilbraham, who had been intimate
with my wife. Never shall I forget that
evening! Not that I thought at the time it
was destined to become so memorable as to
have even its slightest incidents impressed upon
my brain as if seared there with red-hot iron:
but the circumstances lo which it ted has thus
caused all its minutest details to be so indelibly
written on my mind. I recollect, then, that
as the sun was setting behind the trees, at the
close of a splendid September day, I entered
the immense garden where the festival was to
take place, with Clara leaning on my arm.
A brilliant company had already arrived; and
the walks, avenues, arbours, and recesses
were gloriously lighted with rows of lamps
hanging in festoons; and being of different
colours, they resembled wreaihs of flowers
shining with a living light. Scarcely had we
arrived when, as usual, I noticed that Clara at
once became the object of general admiration;
and 1 experienced all the father's pride at the
homage which was thus paid to my beautiful
daughter. Presently, however, there was a
moment when we were left alone together. I
remember well how it occurred: it was be-
cause some masque or pageant was suddenly
introduced upon a stage, and all the guests at
once sped in that direction. Clara and I re-
mained near a fountain formed by the water
playing through the mouths of wild animals
beautifully sculptured. By the aid of the
myriad lamps suspended in all directions, the
scene was as light as day. On a sort of trel-
lis-work over the basin some beautiful roses
were twining; and Clara, as she surveyed the
fount, directed mv attention to the charming


THE NECR
0 M A N C E R.
flowers. That very moment a figure swept
by us—stepped into the basin—then climbed
up on the marble effigies with as much grace-
ful ease as lightness—gathered the most deli-
cious flower—and leaping back again, present-
ed it to Clara.
"All this was the work of a few moments,
and, indeed, took place with a startling rapid-
ity ;hat produced an amazement from which
my daughter had not recovered when the
stranger, with the rose in one hand and his
plumed cap in the other, was gracefully sa-
luting her. A glance was sufficient to show
that he was a tall, slender, symmetrically-
made cavalier—elegantly dressed—and per-
haps of the most perfect masculine beauty
that ever distinguished the human counte-
nance. He was dark; and his hair was black
«s night. His eyes shone like lustrous jet—
and his look, though slightly tinged with hau-
teur, seemed full qf a chivalrous generosity.
Indeed he appeared just the cavalier who was
likely to perform a deed of such gallant cour-
tesy as the one which he had that moment
accomplished; for be it observed that he had
plunged knee-deep in the water in order to
reach the overhanging flower. Clara ex-
pressed her thanks in a becoming manner as
she accepted the rose; and our new acquaint-
ance walked by her side as we slowly pro-
ceeded through the garden.
"In the course of the conversation he gave
ua to understand that he was Lord Danvers,
the only surviving scion of a family which
had once been the most considerable in the
country, and was descended from one of
the Norman Barons who had accompanied
William the Conqueror on his invasion. It
appeared that he had been much abroad; he
had travelled in many foreign lands—and his
mind being stored with all he had seen or
heard, his conversation was not merely agree-
able and instructive, but also of the most fasci-
nating description. Indeed, such was the
impression which he made alike upon Clara
and myself, that hours slipped by as we walk-
ed in the brilliantly lighted avenues listening
to the discourse of Lionel Danvers. Yes—
hours thus passed; for it was scarcely nine
o'clock on that memorable evening when the
incident at the fountain made us acquainted;
and when midnight was proclaimed by the
cry of the watchman in the road adjoining
the gardens, Clara and I were still walking
with Danvers—still drinking in his lively de-
scriptions, pathetic tales, or brilliant anecdotes
connected with his foreign travel. Those
three hours had glided away as if they had
scarcely been more than a few minutes. Some-
times sitting in the arbours—sometimes walk-
ing to and fro—had we thus traversed a space
of three hours with an inconceivable rapidity.
"The splendid saloons of the hostess were
thrown open for supper; and thither did we
repair. Danvers now offered my daughter
his arm; and f, as a matter of course, sur
rendered her to his temporary care, with
drawing to another port of the room accord,
ing to the prescribed custom which forbidi
a father to monopolize his daughter when
in society. Infinitely pleased with my new
acquaintance, I accosted Lady Wilbraham
to ascertain from her something more con-
cerning him.—' Is he not a splendid young
man V she immediately exclaimed ; and being
an elderly lady she might be allowed to pass
her opinion upon him. 'I do not know,' she
continued, * that ever I beheld an Englishman
of such perfect masculine beauty before. He
has the true Norman type of features, with
the Saxon slenderness and symmetry. The
elegance of his manner is that of a Spanish
cavalier, like whom, indeed, he wears that
short cloak of his so gracefully ever his left
shoulder. Indeed, there is not a single gal-
lant here to-night who wears his apparel with
an equal gracefulness and ease. Then, would
you not think that all the impassioned soul
of the Italian glowed in those fine dark eyes
of his 1 And again, are not Grecian thoughts
seated upon his noble brow—thoughts fervid
with classic tV.t. and irresistibly reminding
one of poetry, ai..! t*. Ipture, and all the arts
belonging to that work .renowned clime V
"I observed in answer to this eulogy, that
I really did not think it vas too highly drawn;
and I declared how fusci lated both myself and
Clara had been with his conversation for the
last three hours. Thetei pon my noble host-
ess, drawing me still farther apart from the
gay company, said in a nvrre subdued voice,
and also with a sudden mystcriousness of
manner, ' He belongs to a sti.mge family; or,
rather, as I believe, he is the l4st scion of his
race.'—I here observed that Lord Danvers
had just now told me as much.—* I thought
so,' continued Lady Wilbraham. 'From all
I have learnt, it is more than a century and a
half since the family ceased to reside habitu-
ally in this country.' The Lord Danvers of
that day (his Christian name, 1 have heard,
was Walter) went abroad and seldom if ever
came back again. His descendants have fol-
lowed his example, living almost entirely upon
the Continent—I do not exactly know where
—but sometimes, though seldom, revisiting
England. This present Lord Danvers,'—
and she glanced towards the handsome young
nobleman who was now seated next to Clara
at the supper-table—* seems to be true to the
family type, fulfilling the traditions of his an-
cestors and living habitually abroad.'
"' But the family estates, castles, and man-
sions V said I: 'for I suppose that these Dan-
vers must have possessed, even if they do
not still hold, lands and dwellings in this
country?'—'Yes,' continued Lady Wilbra-
ham, in farther explanation, 'I believe that
Lord Danvers has no less than three man*
aions in different .parts of the kingdom, wiiil


THE NECR
OMANCER. 37
estates belonging to each. Indeed, so far as
1 have ever heard any thing concerning this
family, I believe that since Lord Walter Dan-
vers. removed altogether from England a
hundred and fifty or sixty years ago, the
holders of the title have only returned into
this country at different times for the mere
purpose of visiting their estates and receiving
the revenues from the agent in Lombard
Street to whom all. monies are paid by the
stewards managing the property.'—I then
asked where these castles atid estates were
situated: for I know not how it was, but
I already felt a deep interest in Lionel Dan-
gers, and perhaps was struck with a pre-
sentiment that the acquaintance just formed
between him and my daughter would ripen
- into a more tender feeling.—' I do not exactly
know where his estates are situated.' returned
Lady Wilbraham. 'But stop! now that 1
'bethink me, I recollect he has a castle situated
iin the Isle of Wight—at that point where
certain pieces of isolated rock stand out into
the sea and are known by the name of the
Needles. But where his other ancestral man-
sions are, I cannot recollect at this moment—
even indeed if I ever knew. However, that
• he is immensely rich, I am certain—and so
generous too! When I first became ac-
quainted with him—that was about three or
four years ago, when he was quite a youth,
and he had just come over to this country, as
he told me, to take possession of his estates in
consequence of his father's death—he insisted
upon making me the almoner of his charily to
the poor of his neighbourhood; and I forget
how much gold he placed in my hands—but a
very large sum.' 4 And how came your lady-
ship to lie acquainted with him V I asked,
impelled I know not by what irresistible sen-
timent of cuiiosity to put these questions.—
• I was acquainted with his father,' was the
response; 'and therefore, of course when the
son presented himself at my house, I gave
him a cordial welcome. Indeed, who could
do otherwise towards a young nobleman, so
elegant and so accomplished 7 Ah! Master
Manners,' she added, 'it will be a happy day
for you should he become captivated by your
Clara and propose to make her Lady Danvers!'
—• And yet your ladyship says that there is
something mysterious connected with his
family V I observed: 'and for my part, I
detest every thing savouring of mystery.'
"To this observation Lady Wilbraham
replied in the following manner:—' I did not
tell you that there was anything mysterious
connected with him; or at all events I did not
mean you to receive that impression. What
I did intend you to understand, was that
some century and a half, or perhaps two cen-
turies ago, there was some mysterious occur-
rence, I know not what, that induced Lord
Walter Danvers, this young man's far back
nicestor, to leave England and remove to the
ft
Continent, where he fixed his abode. All his
successors have followed his example in ab-
juring this country, and I suppose the present
Lord Danvers yonder will do the same. But
habit runs in families; and it is natural we
should prefer the clime wherein we are
brought up. So it has doubtless been with
all the descendants of Lord Walter Danvers':
and we may thence conclude that Lord
Lionel, now seated by your daughter's side,
has inherited the traditionary taste ot his
family.'
"Having thus spoken, Lady Wilbrahaiii
quitted me to attend to some of her guests in
another part of the. room ; and I joined a group
of noblemen and gentlemen with whom I was
acquainted. Presently I felt a gentle tap on
the shoulder, and turning round beheld nly
daughter Clara leaning on Lord Danvers' arm
She had come to remind me that it was grow-
ing very late ; and I accordingly intimated rrfy
readiness to conduct her home. Lord Danvers
insisted upon accompanying us; and the horses
being ordered, we took leave of our kind hos't-
ess, mounted our steeds, and rode away. His
lordship saw us safe to our own door, arid
requested permission to call upon some future
occasion. This was of course granted; and
he took his departure.
"I need not dwell at any length upon thif
part of my narrative. You are all prepared tc
hear that Lionel Danvers became the lover of
my daughter; and to him were her rr-ost
enthusiastic affections given. She loved him
as perhaps never woman loved before—and
methought that he idoljzcd her in return. Nor
can I wonder for a moment that Clara should
thus have loved, him: for it is impossible to
conceive a being of the male sex more fitled
by nature to win and secure the ardent attach-
ment of a young, beautiful, confiding, and
unsuspicious girl. I have already spoken of
his great personol beauty ; and in that respect I
must repent that he was the most faultless—I
will even say the most perfect specimen of ihe
male creation. Had a sculptor taken him as a
model, the statue chiselled therefrom woufd
have represented the finest Apollo that human
genius ever conceived as the personification
of a god-like beauty. And yet there were
times when it struck me for a moment—but
only for a moment on each occasion—that *a
strange and mystic light flashed from his eyes,
and that his lips curled with an expression
which did me harm to observe, yet leaving me
unable to define what the exact impression
was that it left upon my mind. Besides, those
instants when it thus struck me that I beheld
the wild gleaming of the eye and the sinister
curling of the lip were so transitory, so eva-
nescent—and his countenance so immediately
recovered its wonted expression of frank uf-
banity and generous open-heartedness flgain—f-
that 1 felt as it were bewildered, and thought
it must have been mere fancy on my pati


38 THE NECR
OMANCER,
Then I would go back to my counting-house
■ml plunge deep into business, in order to
escape from the impression so disagreeably
made upon me. Bet it would sometimes
haunt me for hours; and I would see those
eyes before me flashing dread lightnings, and
Hint lip wreathing with the mocking scorn of
a fiend—so that to such a morbid state did
!my fancy grow that I would conjure up the
handsome countenance of the young noble-
man, dwell upon it in my solitude, ind thus
sontemplate it till my disordered brain gave it
the aspect of that fearful beauty which we
, may suppose to be characteristic of a fallen
, angel.
"Oh! how I used to reason with myself
against these dreadful visions: but I could not
always master them. Though strong was
my mind, and I may say sterling my common
, sense—though business-habits too had made
• me essentially a practical man and not a
. dreamer, a reasoner and- not a visionary—yet
, did I find that the impression thus made upon
me by Danvers' look and smile, grew more
powerful than myself. It haunted me like a
; remorse—it followed me like a presentiment
, of evil. As time wore on, and I beheld my
: daughter becoming, if possible, each day more
and more infatuated with Danvers, I grew
alarmed, and resolved to make farther inquiries
concerning him. I called upon several persons
of rank whom he had named as his acquaint-
ances; and everything I heard from their lips
, Was satisfactory beyond a possibility of doubt.
; He was represented as immensely rich—as a
young nobleman of unimpeachable honour—
; and in every way calculated to constitute a
, most eligible, indeed desirable alliance for my
i daughter. I then felt angry—nay more, deeply
indignant with myself for having yielded, as I
; thought, to such ridiculous misgivings. But
I was rejoiced to reflect that even when most
cruelly haunted thereby, I had always studi-
ously and successfully concealed the circum-
. atance from my daughter. Moreover, when,
in brighter moods and in hours of re-established
, confidence, I surveyed that noble-looking ele-
gant young man, endowed with every superb
quality alike of person and of mind—when I
examined the expression of his countenance
with the most earnest attention and beheld
nothing but lofty frankness and an elevated
chivalry breathing forth from every lineament
,—I not merely cursed what I deemed my folly
. in giving way to monomaniac notions, but
.even felt that I was mean and despicable to a
.degree to offer that splendid young noble even
;the tacit insult of groundless suspicion!
i, "Thus was it that perhaps for days I would
surmount my misgivings and behold the pro-
gress of my daughter's love with unfeigned
joy. But all in a moment—it might be at the
very instant that my spirits were most elevu-
ilea, my contentment most complete, my satis-
faction most decisive—the wild unearthly light
would flash forth from Danvers' eyes, and that
mocking wicked smile of utter sardonism would
curl his haughty lip! Then as I gazed again,
it was all gone—the eyes shining with natural
lustre, the lip wearing a smile of honest frank-
ness and devoted love, as he turned his looks
upon Clara. I would pass my hands before
my face as if to dispel a mist gathering there
—or I would sw.eepthat hand rapidly athwart
my eyes to banish the film which I fancied
must have made me see as if through a glass
darkly ; then would I gaze upon Danvers, say-
ing to myself, 'No, it is impossible! That
countenance, so noble in its perfect beauty,
could not serve as a means to express a dia-
bolic mockery, or reflect in its frank and candid
lineaments the malice-mirth of a fiend!'
"Still, however, in these suspicious moods,
did I seek additional evidence to satisfy myself
that Danvers was all he represented himself
to be. I even visited the clerks at the House
of I<ords, to inquire whether there were such
a peerage, and if so, who was its present pos-
sessor. Again I found that all was correct.
There was not only such a peerage; but it
was now held by Lionel Danvers, who had
within the last two or three years produced the
necessary certificates not only of his father's
death, but also to prove his own identity as
the legitimate cla mant of the said peerage.
J then asked for a personal description of this
Lionel Danvers, and found that it was the
same as that of my daughter's suitor. Vgaiu
did I return home bewildered—indeed almost
dismayed—by the unaccountable presentiment
which filled my mind. But another interval
of confidence and satisfaction ensued, till in
some flitting transitory moment the sinister
phenomenon occurred again—the unearthly
flashing of the eye and the diabolic curling of
the lip! My suspicions all blazing up again,
like combustibles exploding furiously in my
mind, I sought an opportumty to question him
relative to his castles and estates. This I did
in the most delicate manner possible, and not
as if I had really any doubts or misgivings
hovering in my mind. Nor did be appear to
think that I touched upon the subject from any
other motive than a passing co/tosity; and
with all thai frankness of manner which was
wont to characterize him, he said, " 1 possess
a mansion with a considerable estate attached
thereto, in the county of Essex, at no great
distance from the ancient town of Chelmsford.
I have another mansion—or I might almost
denominate it a castle—with a much larger
estate than the Essex domain, in Cumberland.
But the ancestral castle—the feudal dwelling-
place of mine ancestors—is that which towers
aloft upon the rocky eminences forming the
south-western point of the Isle of Wight.
This ancient fortalice has long, long been
untenanted, and is gradually yielding to the
ravages of time; for however great might have
lieen its advantages as a place of residence fin


THE NECROMANCER.
39
powerful feudal chiefs in the troublous ages
which have passed, it is by no means suited
for a family-dwelling at this period of refine-
ment and civilization. But my mansions in
Essex and in Cumberland are occupied by
domestics who maintain those establishments
in fitting order and in constant readiness to
receive their owner or his friends. As for the
revenues arising from my estates,' added Lord
Danvers, in a careless manner, 'the venerable
Master Landini, the eminent goldsmith of
Lombard Street, could give you a pretty fa-
vourable account on that head/
"There the conversation ended; and when
I was again alone I bitterly, bitterly reproach-
ed myself for having even ventured to ques-
tion the young nobleman relative to his es-
tates. For all suspicion was again banished
from my mind; and when I contrasted the no-
ble frankness with which he had at once giv-
en me the explanations I sought, with the
doubting humour which had made me thus
■eek them, I could not help thinking that
there was something mean, contemptible, and
paltry in my conduct. I even feared he might
fancy that I was naught but an abject, selfish
tnoney-maker, having no ideas more lofty than
those connected with lucre; and. in a word,
that I had been questioning him for the sake
tf discovering the amount of riches which he
possessed and of which my daughter was to
become the sharer. I therefore did indeed
feel more little, more abject, in my own esti-
mation than I can well describe: and 1 vowed
that never, never again would I permit suspi-
cions so injurious to an honourable man to ob-
tain an entry into my mind,
r "But it was easy to make such resolves,
and far more difficult to adhere to them; for
who can undertake to exercise a despotic sway
over his volition? Two or three weeks pass-
ed; and again, on some particular occasion,
was my heart smitten as with an avenging
blight on beholding that lurid lightning flash-
ing from Danvers' large black eyes, and a
smile which seemed worthy of Lucifer waver-
ing upon his lip. O God! how indescribably
wicked was his look for that moment—but on-
ly for a moment!—and then it was frank,
generous, and serene as ever. I turned away
—for there was a dizziness in my brain, and
I feared lest my countenance should serve as
an index to the dread emotions that were now
re-nwakened in my breast. I went forth into
the streets to seek the fresh air; and whom
ahould I run against in this mood but Master
Landini, the eminent goldsmith of Lombard
Street? We were known to each other, hav-
ing occasionally had some business transac-
tions; and we accordingly stopped and spoke.
He at once began *o spea'i of Lord Danvers,
laying that he understood his lordship was en-
gaged to my daughter, and congratulating me
en the brilliar t alliance which she would thus
form.—' You are fully able to judge,' said he,
'of the moral and intellectual qualifications of
him whom you have accepted as your son-in
law; and I believe there is not a lady in the-
land who would not admit that his lordship is
the handsomest and most fascinating cavalier
that ever shone in the brilliant ciicles of no-
bility and fashion. As for his wealth,' added'
Master Landini,' I can answer for him on thai
head. The revenues arising from his Englist
estates are immense; and I know that he haa
possessions in France, in Spain, and in Italy.'
—' Yes,' I observed,' I have understood that
Lord Danvers is immensely rich.'—' From my
experience in those matters,' continued Lan.
dini, flliavc no hesitation in declaring that
Lionel Danvers must be the richest nobleman
in Europe. My father was agent and banker
to his lordship's grandfather, as I myself have:
been agent and banker to his lordship's father,
and am now continued in the same capacity
towards his lordship himself. For more than
a century, then, has that agency been enjoyed
by the firm of Landini; and you will there-
fore readily believe, Master Manners, that I
can speak with confidence when giving you-
this information relative to the immense pros-
perity and indeed increasing wealth of the no-,
ble house of Danvers. Once more then do I
congratulate you on the splendid alliance
which your daughter is about to form.'
"1thanked the eminent goldsmith for his
kindness, and we parted. Slowly did I re-
turn to my counting-house, pondering upon
all I had heard. Master Landini, though na-
turalized in England, and, indeed, an Engv
lishman by education and habit, was sprung
from an Italian family who had acquired con-
siderable repute and great riches as merchants
at Genoa. It was his father who had first
come over to settle in England, and had
opened the banking establishment in Lom-
bard Street. The present proprietor of that,
establishment, and with whom I had just been
conversing, was a man well stricken in yeffi*
—known to I* enormously rich—of unim-
peachable integrity—and universally respect-
ed, although supposed to be somewhat misery
in his habits. At all events, he was a man
on whose slightest word implicit reliance was
to be placed; and, therefore, it was impossi-
ble, after all he had just told me, to entertain
the faintest doubt as to the brilliant position
of Lord Danvers. Again, therefore, was I,
indignant—even enraged—at what I was
constrained to look upon aa my intense-
folly in conjuring up phantoms to haunt
me and actually allowing my thoughts to
weave themselves into scourges wherewith to
lash myself!
"Several months had by this time passed
away since the memorable evening which
first introduced Lord Danvers to Clara and
me. He had been a daily visiter at my
house; in due course he had proposed foi
Clara's hand, and was accepted. I have already


40 THE NEC R
0 M A N C E R.
■aid she loved him passionately—devotedly
—fondly. Her whole soul was wrapped up
in him; he was all in all to her—and so in-
tricately had love thus interwoven the threads
of her destiny with his own, that her very
existence might now be said to depend upon
his look, his word, his smile. And he in re-
turn had all the appearance of experiencing
a kindred attachment. Indeed, that he loved
her is beyond all doubt; and I must confess
that when I call to mind all the many proofs
he gave of that earnest love—the delicacy of
the attentions which he paid to Clara—and
the-honourable manner in which he conducted
his suit, t am bewildered and astounded when
I think of the catastrophe.
"And to this am I now bringing my narra-
tive. It was in the month of September,
1509, that Lionel Danvers first became ac-
quainted with Clara and me; it was in the
month of March, 1510, that 1 was besought
to allow the day to be fixed for the nuptials.
I did so—and scarcely had the assent gone
forth from my lips when I felt as if a secret
voice whispered a solemn warning in my soul
bidding me beware. But, good heavens' of
what was I to beware? in what direction did
this mystic warning point? Again was I
confused — bewildered — almost maddened.
There was a presentiment in my mind that
bade me break off this contemplated match at
once—some secret influence appeared to urge
me to separate Clara for ever from her lover.
But why ?—was he not in every way eligi-
ble T—had I not satisfied myself with even
more than strict paternal solicitude, on every
point regarding his social position—his pro-
perty—even to his identity with the veritable
Lionel Danvers, the rightful possessor of the
peerage and estates belonging to that family?
What more could I do? indeed, what more
could I want? Did it not seem as if I should
experience a deep gratitude to heaven for
having --epared s> brilliant a destiny for my
Deloved -*eughter, ,'ather than thus allow my
morbid mind and diseased fancy to suggest
misgivings and suspicions which, so far from
having any foundation, I actually could not
define to myself? It was thus I reasoned;
and yet I was neither perfectly consoled nor
altogether reassured.
"The bridal day was now approaching: and
great preparations had been made for the cere-
mony. A select number of friends was invi-
ted to be present at the nuptials, after the
celebration of which it was arranged that the
young couple were to repair to the estate in
Essex where the honey-moon was to be
passed. But as all these details were dis-
cussed in my presence, and as every additional
step was taken which seemed to ratify as it
were the progress of my daughter's destiny,
I giew more and more uneasy in my mind.
Nevertheless, by dint of a powerful effort—
tr rather of a continuous series of effo- ts that
were as painful as they were powerful—I
veiled all that was passing within me. T»
show misgiving, and to suffv my presentient
suspicions to appear, would alike to insult
the noble Danvers and to throw a damp upon
my daughter's happiness. Such were my re-
flections—and I felt that in the absence of
anything like a reason for my misgivings, ',
had no right to offer an outrage to the feelings
of the former, or do aught to mar the happi-
ness of the latter. Besides, had I not prom-
ised to allow Clara to be the arbitress of her
own matrimonial destiny ?—had I not pro-
fessed my complete reliance upon her pru-
dence?—how, then, could I now interfere to
bieak off this match without appearing in the
light of a capricious tyrant! And lastly, war
it not evident that Clara herself was disturbed .
by none of those misgivings which haunted
me? She never caught that flitting saruonism
of expression on her lover's countenance
which had struck me so forcibly and which
haunted me so cruelly? Then was it not
imagination—pure imagination—on my part?
Heavens! how arduously I strove to think
»o!
"It now wanted but ten days to that fixej
for the bridal; and I took an opportumty when
alone with Clara to ask her if she wete
perfectly happy at the change in which she
was about to embark. I conjured her to exa-
mine deep into her soul, and satisfy herself
that she was consulting her best sense of feli-
city in bestowing her hand upon Lord Danvsrs,
This discourse 1 held to her in a manner which
suffered her not to perceive that I myself en-
tertained the slightest presentiment of evil—-
much less of regret—in connexion with the
subject; and throwing herself into my arms,
she thanked me fur all the fond paternal affec-
tion I had lavished upon her from her infancy
upward, as well as for this last proof of a father's
solicitude on my part. But she assured me,
with even an exultant joy and an enthusiasm
alike of language and of looks, that her happi-
ness was all concentrated in her love for Dan-
vers; and that confident as she was in the
strength and sincerity of her own love fur
him, so sure was she of his fervid and genu-
ine love for her! What more could I sny?
I saw her radiant—I saw her enthusiastic, in
the confidence of a love that was reciprocaied;;
and I felt my own spirits rise—my suspicious
grow dim—and the presentiment of approach-
ing evil losing its power. Indeed, I was al-,
most satisfied that I hud been the dupe of a
fancy at times fevered by an over-anxiety
on account of one so inestimably dear to me.
This, in a word, now seemed to be the ex-
planation of all those vague misgivings and
evil forebodings which had arisen in my mind.
"It was in the afternoon part of the day that
this conversation between me and Clara lock
place; and soon afterwards Danvers called at
usual. He remained to a later hour than wst


THE NECROMANCER.
41
tiin wont; and I subsequently remembered
well that on taking leave of Clara at about
ten o'clock that evening, he flung upon her a
look of mysterious significancy. I did not
however appear t'i notice it, being well aware
that lovers have their own little secrets which
evrn parents may not penetrate; and more-
over I was in a happier mood than I of late
had known, and was not at the time laliocring
under the influence of prcsentient misgiving.
Indeed, the conversation with Clara that day
had restored me to serenity and inspired me
with confidence. Embracing my daughter, I
ascended to my bed chamber, and slept pro-
foundly. But on descending «t the usual
hour in the morning, 1 found that Clara had
disappeared. Heavens! what a blow was
this to me! All my former suspicions seemed
justified in a moment. But I scarcely had time
for thought; indeed thought itself was too
agonizing to be endured. What had become
of my daughter' Her bed had not been slept
in during the past night. It was therefore to
be inferred that she had stolen forth soon after
the household had retired in the evening. I
flew to Lord Oanvers' lodgings: he likewise
had been absent all night. Wild with despair.
1 despatched mounted messengers in all di-
rections to search for the fugitives; but every-
thing proved of no avail. A terrible illness
•sized upon me; and for weeks I raved in
the fever of delirium. When I returned to
consciousness and was enabled to leave my
couch, I found that misfortune had not come
alone, but that a perfect hailstorm of calam-
ities had vented its rage upon my fated head.
Two of my most richly-freighted ships had
been wrecked on the Goodwin Sands; and
• third had been captured by Algerine pi-
rates in the Mediterranean. But what to
me was now the loss of wealth, since she to
whom alone I should have bequeathed it was
gone? No tidings had been heard of my
daughter! When able to drag myself over
the threshold of my house, I called upon
Landini, who had already heard of the circum-
stance and offered me his sincerest sym-
pathies. But while so addressing me, he
■hook his head in a mysterious manner, mur-
muring, 'It is sad—most sad—that Lionel
Danvers should thus emulate the dark treach-
ery of his grandsire V
"I did not ask the meaning of those words.
I was too much absorbed in my own grief at
the time to entertain thought or care for the
concerns of others. But subsequently I re-
membered that remark which fell from Landi-
ngs lips; and calling on him again, I remind-
ed him of it, and sought an explanation. But
tie avoided the subject; an * I therefore know
not the particular circumstances to which he
may have alluded.
"With regard to my own unhappy history,
a few more words will suffice to complete it.
'- have already stated that a storm of calami-
ties assailed me; I may now add that the vio-
lence of the tempest was overpowering. Ruin
entered my house with the remorseless fury
of a ravaging army; and my possessions were
swept away, leaving me as poor as I had ones
been rich—as wretched as I had once seen
prosperous. The friends who were w?nt to
gather round me and partake of my hospitali-
ty, were now no longer to be seen' rheir
backs were turned upon me—and if I sought
them at their own houses, they found a myri-
ad pretexts to avoid an interview with the
bankrupt merchant. Master Landini proffer-
ed me assistance, and afforded it with readi-
ness; though reputed to be avaricious and
money-loving, he opened his purse-strings to
me. Lady Wilbraham also, at whose house I
first met Danvers, gave me her sincerest sym-
pathy, and forced a sum of gold upon me.
She died recently; and in her I lost a kind
and generous friend. Six years have now
elapsed since the unfortunate Clara's disap-
pearance; and not once have I heard of her.
Not the slightest clue have I obtained to dis-
cover her fate: I know not even whether she
be alive or dead! Neither have I lieen able
to glean any tidings of Lionel Danvers, who
during this interval has appeared not again in
London. Nor has even his agent Landini re-
ceived any tidings from liim—or if he has, he
reveals them not.
"I have wandered everywhere in search of
my lost daughter. I have visited Danvers'
Castle in the Isle of Wight—I have journey-
ed into Essex many times—many times also
have I travelled into Cumberland to visit the
treacherous lord's estates, and prosecute my in-
quiries there—but all in vain! Rapidly sink-
ing lower and lower in the slough of misery,
and not daring to intrude again upon the gen-
erosity of Landini. I have for some time past
been enduring the cruellest privations, and
have at length fallen into the coinpletest des-
titution.
"Last evening my wandering footsteps
brought me into this neighbourhood. I passed
the night in the summer-house at the bottom
of these grounds. Creeping stealthily forth at
an early hour this morning, whom should I
suddenly encounter but Lionel Danvers? I
demanded of him my daughter! I scarcely
know now what I said; but I believe that I
alike entreated and menaced. He regarded
me no longer with a fleeting and dubious
sardonism; it was with a look of such unmis-
takable wickedness and so full of a diabolic
expression, that it sent a train of dread unut-
terable thoughts through my mind! Indeed,
it struck me that he must be a* attaining less
or something more than man, though wearing
the most perfect of human shapes: for at that
moment, when he stood with all the tremen
dous power of his awful looks fixed upon me,
it seemed as if he were a being having the
privilege to trample upon every holv tie and


*2 THE NECROMANCER.
to laugh in scorn at the laws of God and the
statutes of man. I remember too that he toss-
ed me his purse; bu t not for worlds would I
have accepted aught ut his hands, although on
the brink of starvation at the time. My brain
was on fire—mv heart was rent with lancina-
ting tortures—and I recollect that 1 clung to
him in desperation. But there was a power
in his looks which overwhelmed me: my sen.
ses fled—and when I awoke to consciousness
again, it was to find myself the object of the
most generous solicitude on the part of those
to whom I now renew the fervid expression
of my gratitude,"
'And as the old man gave utterance to these
last words, he bent his tearful eyes upon Ma-
•idora and the King.
CHAPTER VIH.
THE ROTAL PROMISES.
'Fraught with romantic wildness, pathos,
■nd interest, as was the narrative of the ruined
merchant, yet were it difficult to gather from
the countenances of the listeners the feelings
it excited in their breasts.
The Earl and Countess of Grantham had
at the outset assumed each a look as if they
were prepared to pay the profoundest attention
to the old man's story. This, however, they
lid not from any curiosity to hear it, nor from
■ny real sentiment of sympathy towards him-
self; but because they fancied that the King
experienced considerable interest in him, and
with true parasitical prudence the wily old
couple gave themselves the air of being swayed
by the same feelings that influenced royalty.
But as in the course of the narrative they
observed that his Majesty grew abstracted,
and even at times had a pre-occupied air, as
if his thoughts were travelling quite in another
direction,—the Earl and his wife conceived
that the great length of the tale proved tire-
some to the King; and they therefore thought
it right to yawn and even manifest impatience.
At times they remarked that the King, throw-
ing himself back in his seat and folding his
arms, appeared to be listening with real and
earnest attention; but the penetration of the
astute old couple enabled them to observe that
the monarch was in reality surveying Musidora
with scrutinizing looks, which were not alto-
gether those of admiration, but had in them a
searching keenness that strove to dive into the
innermost recesses of her soul.
But impossible indeed was it for human
regards to plunge into thoi*e unfathomable
depths. For there sat Musidora—her eyea
fixed upon the old man's countenance and
evidently listening with the profoundest atten-
tion to every syllable of his strange and wildly
romantic narrative; but of the extent to which
her feelings might [>e moved or the mystic
chords which vibrated in her heart lie touched,.
it were impossible to say. True was it thut.
the half-vanishing gleam of a smile which was.
wont to sit upon her countenance, had now
disappeared altogether; and a solemn serious,
nessof look uniting with a perfect stillness of
altitude, gave her the air of a splendid status
chiselled from Parian marble. It might tie—
and indeed it seemed—that she was so pro-
foundly absorbed in the deep mystic iitterert
of the ruined merchant's history, that she had.
no thought for anything beside while he con-
tinued speaking. At all events, certain was
it that she did not once notice those earnest
scrutinizing looks which the King fixed upon
her—much less the occasional remarks of
impatience made by her noble relatives. j
As for old Manners himself,—fancying that
Musidora was the most profoundly interested
—or, at any rate, perceiving that she was the
most attentive of his listeners—he addressed
himself almost exclusively to her; and though,
no changing colour upon the cheeks, no move-;
ment of the lips, much less any ejaculation:
from the tongue, afforded an index of tl.a
degree of interest she might really feel in his'
narrative, yet as he beheld her large dark lus.
trous eyes fixed steadfastly upon him the whola
time, it was natural for him to suppose that,
the recital of his misfortunes and his wrong■
enthralled, not merely the deepest attention
but likewise the most generous sympathies of
that young damsel who bad already shown,
herself so kind-hearted towards him.
But for more than a minute after the old
man had brought his narrative to a close—and
during the brief interval of profound sileno*'
which followed the last words to which he
had given utterance—Musidora still remained,
motionless and statue-like in her chair—still,
kept her countenance turned towards the iie.
reaved father—still also retained her looks,
fixed upon his venerable features. It seemed
as if the impression made by his tale continu-,
ed to enthral every sense and hold captive
every faculty—as the soul remains for a brief,
space under the empire of a religious awe in-
spired by a solemn strain of music, even after
the grand swell of the cathedral-organ has
died away.
"Fair lady, what think you of the old,
man's tale ?" asked the King, leaning forward
from bis chair and gently touching Musidora'*
arm. ,
She gave a slight and barely terceptibls.
start, while for a moment—and only a single,
moment—a strange light flashed from he<
eyes and as weird-like an expression swept
over her features. But the next instant sho
turned upon the King that countenance from
which all traces of unusual emotion had van-,
ished as quickly as they had sprung up, even
if they were at all any thing more than the
effect of so abruptly changing her position ana


THE NECROMANCER.
43
bringing her features as it were into a new
light.
"There can be," she said, with the wonteJ
fluid evenness of her silvery voice, " but one
opinion as to the painful narrative we have just
heard. It strikes deep at every sympathy find-
ing a habitation in the human heart; and I
for one," she added, rising from her seat,
"proffer the venerable sufferer my sincerest
condolence."
Thus speaking, she approached the ruined
merchant who likewise rose as she thus accost-
ed him: but beckoning with her snowy hand
for him to retain his place, she said in a voice
that was now unmistakably tremulous and full
of emotion, " Poor bereaved old man ! may
God Almighty give you strength to support
your heavy afflictions! But as for your
wrongs, it is not for short-sighted humanity to
grasp heaven's lightnings and invoke its thun-
der to deal vengeance upon the head of him
who has so deeply, deeply injured you!"
"Ah! dearest Ir.dy," said the old man, tak-
ing her proffered hand and respectfully raising
it to his lips: ** your words are full of solace—
but, alas! as a moral lesson, they are ineffec-
tive. Your sympathy pours like a balm upon
the still bleeding wounds cf my lacerated
heart: but you bid me lay aside all thought of
vengeance—and that is impossible! O la-
dy! young, beautiful, and good as you ire,
you never can have known—and God send
you never may know—an anguish half
so poignant as that which I have felt for six
years past.and which tortures me now! It is
only a .parent who can appreciate all this ago-
ny of agonies that teems within me and craves
the volcanic vent of deadly vengeance. Great
King!" continued the old man, now painfully
excited; and springing past Musidora, he
threw himself at Henry's feet—" I beseech
your Grace to see that justice is done me.
The villain who has deprived me of my daugh-
ter is a subject of your Highness: he has cas-
tles, and estates, and great wealth in this
kingdom, over which (jod has set you to reign.
Perhaps the threat of confiscation, if promul-
gated by your Grace's royal authority, would
induce the proud Lord Dan vers to do justice
to a poor old man? Oh! intercede on my
behalf, excellent young lady !" added the ru-
ined merchant, turning his head partly round
so as to look appealingly up into Musidora's
countenance: "intercede, I beseech you, that
the cruel, pitiless Danvers"
But he suddenly stopped short: for that
countenance—always of marble fairness—was
now, if possible, more deadly pale still—indeed
pale even unto ghastliness; while so strange
and ineffable a look was now plainly visible
upon her exquisitely chiselled features, on
which it lingered for a few moments, that there
was this time no doubt as to the possibility of
Musidora being sometimes moved by what was
passing within her bosom.
"Yes, I will join my intercession with:
yours," she said, hastily recovering herself,
but with a strong perceptible effort and even
with a slight shudder passing through her
frame; "I do unite my prayers with yours—,
if the intercession will do any good at all,"
she added in a voice of ice and with a manner
that suddenly became cold and emotionless as
the look of a marble statue.
At the same instant she tranquilly resumed,
her seat, while the old man continued to gaze
upon her in mingled doubt, sorrow, apd amaze-,
ment, as if he feared that he tiad given her
some offence, but knew not how he could pos-
sibly have done so. A pause of nearly a mm-,
ute now ensued in the conversation. ,
"About the purse which Lord Danvers
flung to you this morning I" at length said,
the Earl of Grantham, perceiving that there,
was some little awkward constraint or embar-
rassment at this juncture on the part of hi»#
guests; and though he could not exactly un-
derstand how it had arisen, he nevertheless
thought that the best plan was to set the dis-
course flowing again by suggesting some topi".
"I took it not. No—not for worlds would
I receive it!" exclaimed old Manners
"Where it was thrown on the grass, there did
it lie." \
"I marked it not when I beheld you stretch-
ed senseless in the field." said Musidora, ad.
dressing the observation to the old tnan and
speaking in her usual tone and with her,
wonted manner, while the coldly brilliant smde
of affability came back to her countenance.
"Douhitess some passer-by has picked it
up." said the King, "and as a matter of
course self-appropriated the treasure. And.
now, with regard to the request you have made i
me, worthy Master Manners, and in w hich en-^
treaty the lovely Musidora has united her own
prayer,—I can only say that any thing which,
as a King I may reasonably and properly do,
shall be done. But though experiencing all,
possible sympathy with your misfortune, I.
dare not go to the extremes which you have
suggested. What! threaten to confiscate a
powerful noble's castles, because, forsooth, he
has broken his word in respect to marriage,
with a young damsel—and even of that we
have no sufficient evidence."
"Evidence ?—too much, great King !" cried*
Manners, clasping his hands despairingly.
"If Lord Danvers had intended to prove faithr
ful to his promise and make my Clara his hon-
ourable wife, of what need to bear her away
for the purpose!—and if he did espouse her,
wherefore keep her thus secluded from all in-
tercourse with her only surviving parent *
No, my liege—Danvers was forsworn—was
perjured—and Clara was beguiled—betrayed {
No marriage has hallowed the love—the fatal
love which she entertained for him!"
"Look you, old man," said the King; « I
am inclined to believe that what ycur own
S


14 THE NECR
OMANCER.
(cars suggest must have been the case; and
deeply sympathizing with you, as I have ere
how said, I will cause secret but searching in-
quiries to be made respecting your lost daugh-
ter, and also concerning the whereabouts of
this Lord Danvers. If these researches prove
successful, I will order Danvers to appear before
me; and privately and secretly will 1 counsel
him to do you complete justice by espousing
your daughter, if she be alive—or at all events,
of giving you some account concerning her.
This will I do, Master Manners: and in the
meantime you must observe strict secrecy rel-
ative to your success in enlisting your Sove-
reign's sympathy in your favour. I know not
this Danvers—I have never seen him: but he
appears to be a strange personage, from all
you have been saying; and should he learn
that inquiries are set afoot regarding htm, he
■night speed away from England at once and
return to his Continental home, wherever it
may be. As for your present condition, poor
old man! it shall be your Sovereign's care to
provide you against want in your old age.
Here, take this purse—return to London to-
morrow—and name some place where any per-
son whom I may send to make known my
farther plans for your welfare, can be sure to
meet with you."
"Kind, generous, noble-hearted prince!"
exclaimed the old man, once more throwing
himself upon his knees at the monarch's feet,
and reverently kissing the hand which was
extending to him a well-filled purse. "Thanks
to your royaj bounty, I shall at least be se-
cured against poverty for the remainder of my
days! This purse is heavy—the gold it con-
tains will suffice for all my wants during the
erief space I may yet linger in this world of
sorrow"
"Nay, but I am resolved to dc more for
you, old man," exclaimed the King; "and
to-morrow I will appoint some trusty person
lb meet you in London for the purpose of car-
rying Jut my designs. Name some place of
appointment for five of the clock to-morrow
afternoon. Or I will settle this point for thee!
Be 'he meeting-place the Temple Gardens—
jind I shall so well describe your person to the
individual I may send, that there shall be no
error on his part as to the facility of recogniz-
ing you."
The ruined merchant, with tears trickling
down his furrowed cheeks, reiterated his
thanks to the monarch for these instances
of kindness ; and slowly rising from his knees,
he turned towards Musidora, saying, " With
the earliest beams of the morning sun shall I
be on my road back to London. Perhaps,
beautiful damsel, 1 may never see you again:
but morning and evening will a prayer go up
from the doptha of my heart to the throne of
the Eternal, imploring that Heaven's choicest
Messing! may descend upon the head of the
Jr t ... .
young maiden who took compassion upon the
poor helpless old man!"
Musidora extended her hand to him, and
he pressed it to his lips. He then turned
towards the Earl and Countess of Grantham,
to whom he poured forth his gratitude for
the generous hospitality he had received
beneath their roof; and having observed
"that, with their permission, he would tres-
pass upon their goodness for an asylum till
the morrow," the poor old man passed out
of tho room.
It being now close upon midnight, Henry
rose to depart. The Earl of Grantham offered
to accompany his Grace to Greenwich House,
as the way was lonely and the distance was a
mile and a half. But the King, significantly
tapping the handle of his rapier, declared that
he experienced no fear so long as he had the
companionship of his faithful Sheffield blade,
while at the same time he courteously acknow-
ledged the Earl's proposal.
"Beautiful Musidora!" continued the mo-
narch as he turned towards our heroine;
and taking her hand, he held it between both
his own,—" write to your father to-morrow—
say what you will to make him happy—but
enjoin him to observe strict secrecy for the
present relative to his restoration t» the royal
favour. All that concerns the poor ruined
merchant, too, shall be my care; because," he
added with a significant look and a tender
tone, " I see that you experience a deep sym-
pathy in his behalf. But may 1, if the press-
ing affairs of public business permit,(enew my
visit to Grantham Villa to-morrow evening,
with t.e certainty that the lovely Musidora
will join her noble relatives in giving me a
cordial welcome?"
"After all the benefits so generously volun-
teered by your Highness," began Musidora,
"it would be ungrateful in me——"
"Ah! do not address me as your Sove-
reign," interrupted the King, pressing the
hand which he still retained in his own, but
which was now instantaneously withdrawn
the moment that pressure was felt—-while the
damsel's lip suddenly gave a haughty curl and
her eye Dashed the quick transitory look of
woman's stately pride: so that Henry, with
deprecating glance and increasing tenderness
of tone, hastened to observe, Ah 1 take no
offence from word, or deed, or look of mine—
because he who courts your smiles is not the
one willingly to provoke your displeasure.
And henceforth," he added, "speak to me—
regard ine—think of me, not as your Sove-
reign—but as your friend!"
Having given utterance to these last words
in a somewhat excited—or we might almost
say impassioned tone, the King hurriedly bad*
farewell to the Earl and Countess of Grantham
and took his departure.
• t


THE NECROMANCER.
45
CHAPTER IX.
THE TWO HOnSEMEN.
Wi have already intimated that the bank
»f the Thames between Greenwich and Lon-
don was dotted with noI,lemen's villas, the
grounds attached to which extended several
hundred yards—in some instances even to n
distance of about half-a-mile. At the back
of all these villas, and skirting the end of the
grounds, ran a winding road that led into
Greenwich. On one side were the railings,
hedges, or boundary-walls belonging to the
villa-gardens; and on the opposite side of the
road Was a long line of trees, the overhanging
branches of which formed a grateful shade for
the lounger in the midst of a summer-day's
heat, but rendered the pathway gloomy enough
by night.
It was close upon midnight when two horse-
men turned out of the Blackheath Road into
this bye-path which we have just been descri-
bing. In the clear and beautiful moonlight it
might have been observed that there was
something suspicious not only in the move-
ments, but also in the demeanour and dress
of these men. One was between forty and
fifty years of age—tall, but awkwardly built—
led had a partial stoop which gave him a most
uncouth appearance on horseback. His coun-
tenance bore all the unmistakable marks of
inveterate dissipation, which were equally
discernible in his toilet—for his garments were
covered with stains of wine and grease, prov-
ing him to be a frequenter of low taverns and
eating-houses. He had a heavy broadsword
by his side, pistols in his holsters, and a dagger
in his belt; moreover, by a string fastened to
one of the buttons of his doublet hung a black
silk mask, which he could put on at a moment's
warning, and which was so elastic with whale-
bone that it would keep fast upon the coun-
tenance when once assumed.
The companion of this individual was much
younger—indeed, not above five-and-twenty.
He was tolerably good-looking, but was also
of very dissipated appearance. There was
however nothing so ignoble in his looks—
nothing so thoroughly vile and degraded in
his general aspect, as in that of his companion ,
but his face had a wild kind of expression of
mingled recklessness and care—a look of sor-
row and regret drowned in the full tide of
vice. His raiment had seen as much service
as that of his comrade, and likewise bore evi-
dence of an acquaintance with the tavern and
the low eating-house. Armed also was he to
the teeth, in the same manner as his friend;
nor was the black mask wanting to complete
the similitude of this portion of the portraiture.
Both were mounted on tolerably good
steeds, which were not however their own,
out had been let *o them for a special purpose
and on a special consideration, the nature of
which will very soon transpire.
"No luck as yet, friend Welford," said the
younger individual in a tone of petulanee and
disappointment, after a ten minutes' interval
of silence, during which they had ridden some
way down the bye-road at the back of the
villa-gardens.
"You are too impatient, my dear St. Louis,"
was the response given by the senior. *' This
is your characteristic in everything—always
precipitate and premature, whether in throw-
ing a die before you have secured it in your
finger in such a way as to make it come up
what number you choose—or in calling for
your tavern bill before you have convinced
yourself that the coast is clear enough for you
to slip off while the waiter has gone to fetch it."
"Well, well, you are perhaps more truth-
ful than complimentary in your allusions,"
replied St . Louis. "But I fancy that I never
should have been reduced to such straits as to
want to secure a die, conceal a trump card in
my sleeve, or bilk the waiter of a slap-hang
shop at all, unless I had been so kindly and
generously helped by you to run through the
handsome fortune which I had left me by my
uncle."
"I never in my life knew such unpardona-
ble ingratitude," exclaimed Welford, with ■
sort of ironical amazement. "Did I not at-
tach myself most lovingly unto you at the
moment your worthy uncle died, leaving you
I without a relation or friend in the whole world
to take care of you—and leaving you likewise
that fortune to which you have alluded, and
which did require such special taking care
of? Why, young sir, may I never handle
pestle and mortar again, if you were not the
most inexperienced, foolish, unlearned, and
insipid young gentleman, when first I knew
you four years ago, that ever found himself
his own master when he ought still to have
been in swaddling clothes!"
"And I, thinking you were a respectable
apothecary and leech," replied St.Louis, "was
foul enough to put implicit confidence in you.
You came to feel my pulse when I was ill,
and you staid to thrust your hand into my
purse long after I was well." .
"You ungrateful young rapscallion," ex-
claimed Welford, in a sort of good-humoured
bantering, or rather ironical jocularity of tone;
"you are indebted to me for all the really
valuable and practical part of the education
you possess! From a monk you learnt La-
tin ; and being descended from French parents,
there is no great merit to you in being able
to speak the French tongue. Well then, La-
tin and French—with just enough geography
to make you know that Europe is in the
world and England is in Europe—combined
with a sufficiency of arithmetic to add up
your housekeeper's bills and see that they
were right,—and this was the sum of all your


46
THE NECROMANCER.
qualifications when first I fell in with you.
How on earth could you expect to get through
the world with such a handful of knowledge
os that 1 And mark, I pray you, in compari-
son, the pleasing nature, infinite variety, and
truly practical value of the education you re-
ceived from ine. Why, no young nobleman
with a tutor ever went through a more com-
plete finish! Did I not introduce you to the
finest set of dare-devils in all London, who
taught you to drink like a fish, quarrel like a
bully, and swear like a trooper? Did I not
initiate you in ail the sublime mysteries of the
cock-pit, ths tennis-court, and the gaming-ta-
ble? Did I not show you the true exem-
plary manner of thrashing a watchman with-
in an inch of his life, and shifting shop-signs
in such an improved style as to throw all
London into confusion,—so that the man whe
went to bed a barber rose up in the morning
to find himself a grocer—at least so far as the
substitution of gilt sugar-loaves for the parti-
coloured pole was concerned? Did I not,
in a word, lead you into the very best soci-
ety"
"Blacklegs, sharpers, bullies, and counter-
feits," interjected St. Louis, in a tone of min-
gled recklessness and sorrow.
"Well, arid where could you look for bet-
ter society ?" continued his elderly compan-
ion; or with whom could you have more
agreeably spent your money! But when that
money was all spent—and, egad! I never
yet heard that gold was intended for any other
purpose—who was it that still kept you by
the hand and showed you how to live hand-
somely upon nothing? Who taught you how
to chant a horse, secure a die, always cut a
trump-card, and chouse at tennis? Who in-
itiated you into the mysteries of bilking ta-
verns, getting into debt, feeing Imilifls and
the city marshal's men, and doing every
thing againit the law in defiance of the law?
If you ask who in fact was the learned pro-
fessor that finished your education, every
echo must answer that it was the erudite and
accomplished Benjamin Welford, Licentiate
in Medicine, Apothecary, and Dispenser of
Drugs—in other words, your humble ser-
vant."
"Yes, I have indeed to thank you for com-
pleting my education," observed St. Louis,
with accents of mingled bitterness and devil-
me-care recklessness. "You found me in-
experienced enough, Heaven knows! and
receiving me into your school, you have ren-
dered me so proficient that I am. prepared to
take the highest degrees as swindler, blackleg,
cheat, and scoundrel. But now—as if it were
necessary to cap them all—you are about to
make me a highwayman I"
"Egad! it is not I exactly, but necessity,"
exclaimed Benjamin Welford. "Things are
so very slack now in those spheres where we
have recently been accustomed to shine—and
moreover, to speak randidly, we are better
known than trusted at cock-pit and tennis-
court. As for taverns and ordinaries, I verilv
believe there is not one in the good city ol
London which hath escaped our presence.
Even the lowest ale-houses have received out
favours and do not seem anxious for a re-
newal of them. Accordingly, it was my
advice that we should take to the road, as
other high-spirited gentlemen have done
before. Indeed, inasmuch as my doctor's
shop is so infested by duns that it was im-
possible to hold out there any longer, neces-
sity ordained that I should go upen the high-
way. Consequently as the pupil accompanies
the master and the lieutenant goes with the
captain, so are you side by side with me this
night."
"And if our rainblings prove ineffectual,"
observed St. Louis, "how are we to manage:
You know that in leaving that casket as a
pledge with the horse-dealer, it was my last
earthly possession, so to speak, from which I
thus parted. You know also the value I
attach thereto, and the thought of which alone
seems like some better influence penetrating
through the dense mist of vices, rascalities,
debaucheries, and scoundrelisms whereby I am
enveloped."
"Oh ! perdition upon your sentimentalism,"
interrupted Welford impatiently. "The cas-
ket is pretty enough as a trinket, and the
legend attached to it is romantic enough as a
story. But as for any real value belonging
to it, beyond that of some four pounds sterling
or so, which is about the price of these two
hacks"
"Now mark me, friend Welford!" inter-
rupted St. Louis, speaking in a resolute tone
and with peremptory manner: *• that casket
I will have back again, either by fair or foul
means. If we find gold in a traveller's pocket,
well and good : we shall take home the horses
—pay for the hire thereof—and gel back the
casket. But if on the other hand luck should
not befriend us, and we are compelled to return
into London with naught in our pockets, I
give you due warning that I will blow out thq
old horse-dealer's brains with one of his own
pistols which he has lent us, unless he gives
me up my casket."
"One would take you for some supersti
tious maudlin fool," observed Welford con-
temptuously, "unless they happened to know
that yoq were in reality a dicer, gamester,
chaunter, tavern-bilker, and blackleg—soon
I hope, to be a practised highway-robbel
also."
"Aye—and the sooner the better too,"
rejoined St. Louis emphatically: "or elM
there will be murder done in the morning al
Deadman's Place, when I go to demand back
my casket! You may think what you like
of me and my love for that trinket. Indeed,
I dc not mind confessing that I do feel «


THE NECROMANCER.
47
certain superstitious awe connected therewith.
A. mission was entrusted to me by my late
uncle—a task was enjoined me as the con-
dition on which he left me his fortune; and
even amidst the most uproarious scenes of
debauchery, has a still small voice appeared to
whisper in my ear like conscience speaking
from the depth of my souI, reminding me of that
mission and that task! Yes—and even when
reeling beneath the maddening influence of
fiery alcohol—or when stupified with the va-
pours of a debauch that was over—though all
other ideas were either whirling in confu-
sion or in cloudy indistinctness, yet has-that
one recollection been ever definite, palpa-
ble, bright, and steady in my brain, like a fixed
star always shining in the midst of a heaven
where at one time the moonbeams play fitfully
and vibratingly, and at another the clouds
form an opaque veil. Now then, my friend—
for so I call you rather from habit than from
taste—you understand me in my superstitious
affection and solemn reverence for that casket
and its contents?"
"A portrait and a few scarcely legible
pages of writing!" ejaculated Welford, con-
temptuously.
"Aye, to be sure!" rejoined St. Louis,
with a sort of fierce earnestness; "and why
should these not be the objects of such a feel-
ing on my part? I tell you, sir," he contin-
ued in an excited tone, *' that the mission con-
nected with those articles should have been
regarded as of a sanctity sufficient to keep me
virtuous, and ought now at all events to be
potent enough to recall me from this desperate
and depraved career in which I have embark-
ed. That casket haunts me as it were like a
remorse—though I myself am innocent of
anything connected with its sad legend!'
i "St. Louis," observed Welford, "I am
ashamed to hear you talk thus. You are in a
strange mood to-night! For a long, long time
you have not thus given way to your silly
feelings; and it is particularly inopportune,
now that perchance all your presence of mind
may be needed and your conrage put to the
test at any moment. It is traly astonishing
how an old casket, containing the portrait of a
girl who certainly is pretty enough, and a few
papers recording the most trashy old woman's
gossip that ever I read, should have turned
your brain thus."
** Silence—no more of this!" ejaculated
St . Louis with unmistakeable ferocity. "If you
desire that we should remain friends—such
friends as circumstances have made us—you
will do well to avoid that topic—unless indeed
you can approach it without the use of a ban-
tering tone and ironical manner."
« Well, we will be friends again, then,"
■aid Welford, now adr^ting a conciliatory po-
licy; for it did not suit his purpose to quarrel
with the young man, whom however he could
not help teasing and worrying at times—part-
ly to gratify a disposition naturally bad, and
partly as one of the means by which he main-
tained his influence over him.
And lest this last observation may appear
paradoxical, let it be remarked that to enact
the bully occasionally, was to assert a power
which remained dominant so long as it waa
not absolutely disputed; and if it were not
disputed, it was not that St. J/Oui» was a
coward, but because his ruined fortunes and
frequent violation if the laws hud placed him
in a complete state of dependauce on his
more experienced, more cool-headed, and also
more unprincipled preceptor in vice.
While the preceding conversation was tak-
ing place, the two horsemen had advanced;
a considerable distance along the lane; and
during the interval of silence which followed
Welford's last remark, they stopped to allow
their horses to drink at a pond by the side of
the road. For this purpose they dismounted,
holding the bridles while the animals walked
a little way into the water. There was a gap.
in the line of trees at this point; and tlx
moon shone down upon that part of the rof*d
without obstruction—for it was a night of
unrivalled splendour, and, except in the shade,
almost as bright as day.
While the horses were drinking, the sounds
of advancing footsteps suddenly reached tho
ears of the two men; and they nudged each
other with a significant intimation that the
moment was probably now at hand when they
were to make their first experience in the.
capacity of highwaymen. Almost immedi-
ately, from the deep shade thrown by the
trees a little farther on, did the tall figure of a
man on foot emerge into the sphere of silver
moonlight, and the two desperadoes at once
saw by the plume that waved from his cap
and the rapier by his side, as well as by his
lofty bearing, that he was a personage of
rank and consequence. i
"Good night, sir traveller," exclaimed Wei.
ford, who had already slipped one of his pistol*
from the holster, while St. Louis had don*
precisely the same thing and at the same
moment. i
"Good night to you," answered the stranger,
in a tone the hauteur of which had something
sullen in it, while the manner in which he-
pursued his way without doing more that
just deigning to cast a single glance upon the
dismounted horsemen, showed that he did not
choose to tarry for any further converse.
Until this moment Welford and St. Louis
had averted their countenances in such a
manner that the stranger could not possibly
obtain a full view of them even if he had
cared to regard them. But now, quick as
thought, did they slip on their black masks;
and precipitating themselves upon him, seized
hold of his arms—each presenting a heavy
pistol at the same moment, and demanding toe
instantaneous surrender of his purse. - • • .


48
THE NECROMANCER.
"Ah, villains!" he said in an under-tone,
and with a marvellous degree of coolness; then
disengaging himself from their grasp with a
*udden jerk,—which must indeed have been
singularly managed to shake off those two
strong men and make them even reel for a
moment backward,—he drew his rapier from
its sheath.
"Take this then !" said Welford doggedly;
and he fired his pistol point-blank at the stran-
ger, whom the bullet however did not touch.
"Then this will do it!" exclaimed St.
Louis; and the words were accompanied with
• Hash and a report.
"Fools that ye are !" said the stranger, still
remaining unscathed by the second shot, though
also fired within a couple of yards of his head.
"Miserable wretches!"—and he spoke in a
tone of the coldest and most ineffable contempt,
as without the least excitement he easily par-
ried by means of his light rapier the furious
blows which the two men at once levelled at
him with their heavy broadswords.
"Get another barker," cried Welford ; " or
both ! I'll keep him employed :"—and he re-
doubled the fury of his attack upon the
stranger.
But the next moment—just as St. Louis
bad turned away to reach the other pistols
from the holsters—the stranger, with perhaps
a slight display of some additional effort, made
the blade of his rapier twine as it were snakc-
Irke about Welford's broadsword, which was
in an instant torn from his grasp and sent
whirling over the fence against which the
stranger stood. The discomfited desperado
sprang backwards with the instinctive impulse
to save the life that was now placed all in a
moment at the stranger's mercy ; but this indi-
vidual did not seem to think it worth while to
follow up his advantage—although had he
chosen he might at once have pierced Welford
through and through.
But the few instants' suspension of hostili-
ties which thus ensued was promptly broken
by St. Louis, who now returned to the attack,
discharging first one pistol at the stranger and
then the other with scarcely a moment's inter-
val; and still that personage stood unhurt
before them, a smile of the most withering
contempt, or rather of blighting scorn, upon
his darkly handsome countenance,—while his
tall, well-knit, and admirably shaped form,
instead of being drawn up to the full of its
commanding height, had assumed an attitude
of listless ease and indolent indifference, as if
he cared not whether the attack were renewed
>r not, and .at all events did not choose to fol-
low up his own advantages against men whom
be appeared to consider too despicable for
chastisement.
"By heavens, that look—that terrible smile
of diabolic scorn !" exclaimed St. Louis, now
■targeting backward, and dropping the two
pill jls from his hands as well as the broad-
sword, which he had retained naked under
his arm while holding the other weapons in
his grasp.
"Ah! who are you 1" cried the stranger,
now suddenly appearing to be interested and
even excited, at the few words that had just
been uttered—he who had hitherto remained
so indifferent to the attack of pistol and of
sword!
"Nay, tell me first who you are?" cried
St. Louis, seeming to be maddened with some
thought that had sprung up in his mind.
"But I know who you are—I can guess full
well! You are a descendant of a fearful
race—and there is now an hereditary hatred
on the part of my family against yours! It
is a death-struggle, then, between us!"
Having given utterance to these words
with the wildest excitement of manner and a
frenzied vehemence of tone, St. Louis snatch-
ed up his broadsword, which lay shining at
his feet like the fragment of a spent light-
ning-shaft in the silver moonlight; and appa-
rently armed with the courage of a madden- ,
ing fury, he sprang upon the stranger. Their
weapons clashed—but only once! For, quick
as the eye could wink, the broadsword was
whirled from the young man's grasp and sent
whistling through the air; and at the same
instant that it fell with a splashing noise, into
the pond, did the stranger grasp St. Louis'
arm—force him down upon his knees—and
tear the black mask from his face; then,
seizing the young man's head with his two
hands, he made him upturn his countenance
so that the moonlight should fall full upon it.
"Ah! you are a St. Louis," said the stran-
ger, in one swift brief moment making the-
recognition. •
"And you are a Danvers!" returned the,
young man, as he slowly rose from his knees
and gazed with a mingling of mysierinus awe
and profound hate upon the proudly handsome
countenance of the nobleman.
CHAPTER X.
THE PIlOFOSlLg
At the point where we broke off the pro-
ceeding chapter, the scene in the bye-road had
all in a moment become one of those specta-
cles, so full of dramatic effect, wherein a
strange solemnity is mingled with a wild ro-
mance. The two most prominent figures of
the group at that instant were Lord Danvers
and St. Louis—while Welford, having retreat-
ed a few paces back towards the spot where
the horses were standing on the verge of the
pond, was gazing through his mask with
blended interest and amazement upon the
countenance of the nobleman. For Welford
was acquainted with all the reasona which St.


THE NEUR
0 M A N C E R. 4S
Louis hud for proclaiming himself an heredi-
tary hater of the Danvers family; and there
teemed to be a kind of superstitious singulari-
ty in the coincidence of Lord Danvers' sudden
appearance at the very time when the conver-
sation had been turning on the cause of that
traditionary hatred. Nor less was Welford
struck with an unknown terror at the seem-
ingly preternatural escape of Danvers from the
pistol-bullets, as well as the ease wherewith
he repelled the attacks made upon him and
worsted his assailants. Indeed, it appeared as
if he bore a charmed life; and the reckless,
hardened spirit of the finished ruffian was
smitten with a species of superstitious awe.
A similar kind of feeling was it that had
seized upon St. Louis, when having slowly
risen from his knees again after his recogni-
tion by Danvers, he stood gazing in mingled
consternation and irresolution upon that
haughty noble's countenance.
"Is it thus," asked Danvers, at length
breaking the solemn silence, and now speak-
ing with an expression of blighting scorn upon
his darkly handsome countenance,—" is it
thus a wretched outlaw who liea in wait to
plunder the passer-by, dares to assume the
dignified position of an avowed foe to the scion
of a proud and mighty race?"
"I know not by what means your lordship
has escaped death on this occasion ;" replied
St. Louis: "but if at any future time we
should meet on equal terms, rest assured I
■hall not hesitate to renew the conflict!"
"Equal terms?" echoed Lionel Danvers,
with that sardonic wreathing of the lips which
gave him the wicked look of a fallen angel;
"do you mean that you are to be armed with
loaded pistols and heavy broadsword, while I
am but to wield a poor thin rapier? But
enough of this exchange of angry words and
looks! Wherefore seek to make an enemy
of one whom you doubUess never saw before,
but -who nevertheless would rather befriend
than injure you .'"
"If I never saw you before, my lord," re-
plied St. Louis, still in bitter accents,"you
will perhaps confess that 1 have good reason
to be acquainted with the name you bear?'
"I am no stranger to the incident unto
wk*jh you allude," replied Danvers: "but
I am not responsible for a father's transgres-
sion."
"How knew you, my lord," demanded the
young man, suddenly struck by the strange-
ness of the incident to which he was about to
allude —'* how knew you that my name was
8t. Louis'!—how, by the examination of my
features, did you trace the resemblance to that
family to which I belong?"
"Is it so many years then," asked Dan-
vers, with a peculiar smile, "since your
uncle died? Methinks that 'tis but three
summers since the old man was seated in
front of his dwelling, beneath the rose-covcred
portico, enjoying the warmth of the sun
shine?"
"Ah ! then your lordship saw him at that
time?" observed St. Louis.
"Yes—and even in his old age." returned
Danvers, "did he retain that well-preserved
facial outline which, once seen, is not easily
forgotten. You have a proof indeed that it
was not forgotten by me, since I have just
recognized its living counterpart in you* pro-
file. But tell me in return, how came jou at
once to recognize me—since, as I believe, you
never beheld me before?"
"No, my lord—it is the first time you and
I have ever met," answered St. Louis,—" at
least to my knowledge. But I have heard
and likewise read so perfect a description of
your father, that I could not fail to recognize
in you, my lord, a descendant of the haughty
house of Danvers. Indeed, were I not aware
that your lordship's father is no more—and
even if he were alive, the snows of many,
many winters would be upon his brow—I
should fancy that I beheld him now before
me. For he who ruined the fond confiding
Arline fifty-three long years ago, and whose
portraiture is so well preserved not only in
written description but also by the oral tra-
ditions which have reached my ears,—must
at that time have been in appearance such
as your lordship is now. Yes—the stature—
the shape—the style of countenance—the
eyes—the hair,—but chief of all that strange,
wild, scornful look which was upon your
lordship's features at the mument I recog-
nized you ere now,—these are all the same!
And in sooth, it was that look which served
I as it were in a moment as a spark to light
up a whole train of smouldering memories-
memories of what I had read and what I had
heard concerning your sire!"
Enough of this long parley—at least
upon the present topic," said Danvers, curtly.
"Your appearance does not proclaim easi-
ness of circumstances: and your manner of
introduction to me this night, necessarily
leads me to infer that distress has made you
alike desperate and unscrupulous as to the
means of replenishing your purse. Is it not
so?"
"Your lordship has but asserted what it
were useless on my part to contradict," re-
plied St. Louis, " because all appearances are
against me."
"What if I were to offer to serve you?"
said Danvers, fixing his daik eyes keenly upon
the young man, as if to ascertain how the
proposition would be met.
"I thought my case ere now," answered St.
Louis, "so very dcsperate, that had Satan
himself tendered me his assistance I should
have accepted it without being over nice as to
the terms. But a St. Louis to receive assist-
ance from a Danvers!—no, no—it may not
be !"—and he shook his head gloomily.


THE NECROMANCER.
"Do not lie a fool, friend and companion
of mine !" now interjected Welford, stepping
"orward and thus officiously thrusting his coun-
sel upon St. Louis. "it his lordship shows
such good feeling towards "ou under all cir-
cumstances, it would be the Height of churl-
ishness as well as madness m. your part to
reject his good offices. What? we have as-
sailed his lordship with murderous weapons—
and verily it was not our fault if they took not
fatal effict:—then you plainly and flatly in-
form his lordship that you entertain a family
hatred for him, and that you mear to seek an-
other opportunity to take his life! But all
these grave causes of offence does this gene-
rous nobleman forget and forgive;—and
doubtless with the anxiety to make such
atonement as he may unto you for the wrong
inflicted by his father on your ancestress, he
proffers you his friendship. This, to my
thinking, is carrying out the good Christian
maxim of doing good for evil."
"Cease, reprobate!" exclaimed St. Louis,
now turning with savage suddenness upon his
comrade. "Though heaven knows that I of
late years have had little enough to do with
religion in any shape, yet does it make my
blood run cold to hear a wretch like you bring-
ing his tongue to the quoting of Scripture."
"And yet altogether, Master St. Louis,"
said Lord Danvers, "your friend there has
given you very excellent advice, and has put
the matter in its most tangible form. You'
have proclaimed to me your hatred—and I in
return offer you my friendship. If your de-
ceased uncle instilled malignant feelings into
your soul, it is for you to exhibit the moral
courage and magnanimity sufficient to subdue
them. Even if you had no personal interest
to serve, such a hatred as this which you have
professed against me were vile, unnatural, and
dastard to a degree: but since your own wel-
fare has positively become interested in the
matter, by the proposal I have made, you will
not exhibit your good sense as a man of the
world by refusing it."
"And recollect," Welford hastened to whis-
per in his friend's ear, " that we have not the
smallest coin bearing King Harry's face."
St. Louis shook his head ominously.
"And you must have the wherewith," ad-
ded Welford, still in a low but persuasive
whisper, " to redeem your casket from the old
horse-dealer in Deadman's Place."
St. Louis was now evidently moved. All
the difficulties, embarrassments, and even hor-
rors, of his desperate condition rose up vividly
in his mind. He had already entered upon a
career which might speedily terminate at the
gallows; and he shuddered at the thought.
There—before him—stood a nobleman, im-
mensely rich, and who with every appearance
of a generosity as singular as it was magnani-
mous, had pn ffered his friendship. Should
lie aceej t it! Yes: but the oath he had
sworn to his deceased uncle, vowing an in>
placable hatred to the house of Danvers 1
Well, hut had he not done his best to take the
life of him whom chance had thus thrown in
his way ?—and was he not defeated in a man-
ner but too well calculated to prove how iu-
comparably superior Danvers was as a swords-
man !—and did it not even seem as if heaven
itself had interposed to shield the nobleman'i
life against the pistol-balls?
"What is it that your lordship proposed to
do for me?" asked St. Louis, his tone and
manner alike showing how bis resolution now
wavered.
"Were you to accept my proffers with be-
coming cordiality," replied Danvers, seeming
to unbend strangely from his wonted hauteur,
*' I should perhaps be found capable of doing
much for you—far more than you can possi-
bly imagine."
"It will be rank staring madness for you to
hold out against such generosity," whispered
the doctor, still more earnestly than before.
"Only conceive the advantages of plenty of
money—good clothes"
"Well, my lord," St. Louis abruptly ex-
claimed, his countenance all in a moment
brightening up with the resolve to which he
had come,—" here is an end of hatred; and
from henceforth shall I tutor my feelings to
enter upon the career of friendship. Pardon
me, my lord, if I have been somewhat laggard
and hesitating in accepting this proposal."
"Enough of apologies," exclaimed Dan-
vers, a peculiar smile, like that of sardonic tri-
umph, for a moment—a single moment, ap-
pearing upon his strikingly handsome counte-
nance, and then the next instant leaving it
full of a warm, generous, and frank-hearted
expression again. "Rest assured, St. Louis,"
he hastened to observe, as he saw that tin
young man's features darkened slightly again,
"that I am not merely anxious and willing,
but also able to serve you. Tell me, how-
ever, do you write a good, clear, clerkly
hand?"
"Without vanity, my lord, I can declare
myself a good penman," answered St. Louis,
the momentary cloud passing away from his
features even as quickly as the peculiar smile
on Danvers' lip which had conjured it up.''
"Good! you are an able penman, then r'
exclaimed the nobleman. "And now say-^-
is your name offensively known in high quar-
ters !—that is, have you by any indiscretida
rendered yourself the subject of outlawry Or
proclamation?"
"No, my lord," replied St. Louis. « In rha
city of London my name smells not over
sweet amongst tradesmen and tavern-keep-
ers"
"But it has never been positively stigma-
tized in a court of justice?" asked Danvers.
« Never, my lord," was the response. "But
wherefore these questions?"


THE NECROMANCER.
61
"Because there is a post of honour now
vacant at the Court," answered the nobleman, j
"and which post is in the gift of a worthy
friend of mine"
"A post at Court V exclaimed Welford, in
such a sudden paroxysm of joy that he tore
off his mask and tossed it up in ihe air.
* Only conceive, my worthy friend, a post at
Court? It will be the making of you! Down
upon your knees and breathe forth your grati-
tude to his lordship! But pray, when you are
a great man, don't forget your excellent tutor,
guide, and comrade, Dr. Benjamin Welford,
Licentiate in Medicine, Apothecary and Dis-
penser of Drugs?"
"Ah! is that your style and title?" asked
Danvers, now fixing his keen dark eyes with
a sort of suddenly inspired interest upon St.
Louis's worthless comrade.
"Yes—at your lordship's service,'' replied
Welford, " and if, having done the best for St.
Louis here, your lordship would only extend
your generosity towards me"
"Judging by your years, Master Welford,"
interrupted the nobleman, " it is most likely
you who have corrupted this unfortunate young
man. But as he is to be unfortunate no longer,
it shall be my care to remove you from too
close a neighbourhood unto him. Therefore
if you really wish me to serve you also, make
apeedy preparations to repair to some distant
pari of the kingdom, where I will ensure you
a maintenance."
"Is your lordship serious?" exclaimed Wel-
ford, his ignoble countenance beaming with a
sort of lurid satisfaction. "For I do not
think that your lordship would jest with a poor
reduced gentleman like me?"
"I never jest," answered Danvers, in a se-
vere tone, and with a haughty louk. "Where
do you live, sir?"
"I have a tenement—such as it is—in the
Old Bailey, my lord," replied Welford; "but
I dare not return thither just at present, inas-
much as the calls of tradesmen and tavern-
keepers are so numerous that they disturb my
slumbers."
"Enough! we will see to all that," said
Lionel Danvers: then turning towards St.
j.ouis, he asked, "Are you contented with
these arrangements which I am new shadow-
ing forth ?—will you accept a post of honour,
emolument, and trust about the person of the
King ?—and are you willing that I should do
omething for your friend here, in order that
ye may henceforth be separated?"
"Ah ! my lord," returned St. Louis, « how
can I ever sufficiently express my gratitude for
all these demonstrations of kindness? I am
**ady to curse my own folly in having are now
uesitated for a moment to accept your lord-
ship's friendship -"
"And of all that we will think no more,"
interrupted Danvers. " Here—take this purse,"
he continued, producing one that was heavily
filled: "you can give a portion of the gold to
your companion^ so that he may hesitate not
to return home to his residence 'n the Old
Bailey. But you, St. Louis, will to-morrow
purchase suitable raiment—apparel yeurself
handsomely—and go boldly to yon palace
where the King now holds his Court"
"To Greenwich House, my lord I" asked
St. Louis, his heart fluttering with such joyous
feelings that he had not experienced for many
and many a day.
"Yes—to Greenwich House," replied
Danvers; "and you will present yourself to
Sir Edward Poynings, the Comptroller of the
Royal Establishment. Tell the worthy knight
you are he whom Lord Danvers recommends
for the post of Private Secretary to his High-
ness the King. This post is at the moment
vacant; and you shall obtain it."
"Oh! my lord!" cried St. Louis, now
bursting into tears, " if any one had told me
an hour back that it was possible for my life
to experience such a change, I should have
thought that the assertion was a mere mock-
ery. Indeed, ail that is now occurring seems
so marvellous—so full of romance—that I can
scarcely believe my own senses. It must be
a dream—a brilliant dream—from which there
will be the awakening of a bitter disappoint-
ment!"
"It is true—all true," said Danvers. "For
my part I am incapable of deceiving you," he
added in a tone of easy assurance.
"And the gold in your hands," whispered
Welford. It is no dream that I am to have a
share."
"My lord, I have not words to thank you,"
murmured St. Louis, his voice tremulous with
emotions. "From this hour do I enter upon
a new existence! You have saved me from
perdition ;"—and taking the hand of Lionel
Danvers, he pressed it to his lips, moistening
it with his tears.
"Of your past life you need say to Sir Ed-
ward Poynings nothing depreciatory," re-
marked the nobleman. "I shall see him
early in the morning, and will speak suffi-
ciently in your behalf, so that without com-
promising my own truthfulness, I may dispose
him favourably towards you. The way will,
therefore, be prepared ;- and again I tell you
that the vacant post shall be yours. As for
you, Master Welford," continued Danvers,
turning towards the apothecary, "you may
expect a visit from me to-morrow at about
mid-day, when I shall develop the plan which
I may have devised on your account. At all
events, hold yourself in readiness to quit Lon-
don at the shortest notice; for I repeat it is my
intention to despatch you to some distance.
And now good night."
Having thus spoken. Lord Danvers turned
quickly away; and a bend in the lane speed
ily concealed him from the view of the two
individuals who stood gazing after him as if


52
THE NECROMANCER.
•till in a state of uncertainty whether they
were not the sport of an hallucination as
pleasing as it was visionary.
CHAPTER XI.
dzadmak's place.
Londox, at the time of which we are wri-
ting, was liut a small town in comparison with
the London of the present day. A reference to
the maps of that period will show that Corn-
hill was an open space; the districts of White-
chapel ana Hounsditch, now so densely po-
pulated, nere chiefly gardens and grounds
shaded by immense trees; and the laundresses
of the city used to dry their linen in Moor-
fields. Finshury consisted of pasturelands
where cattle grazed; and where Finshury
Square is now laid out, there were three
windmills. Goswell Street was a hy-lane, so
lonely that it was unsale for travellers to
journey there after nightfall; and Islington
Church stood at a distance, with a few houses
about it, the whole group forming a pictur-
esque little village. St. Giles's—a name with
which is associated every idea of squalor, de-
moralization, and misery—was a hamlet as
detached as Islington; the Strand was an
avenue of palatial mansions with splendid
gardens; and St. Martin's Lane was a shady
walk lined with trees.
On the Surrey side of the River Thames,
the borough of Southwark consisted of but a
dozen streets—St. Olave's (now called Tooloy
Street) being the principal. Rotherhithe and
Bermondscy were detached villages; Wal-
worth was also an isolated hamlet; and the
chronicles of that day speak pompously of the
"independent and important market-town of
Lambeth, the residence of the Primate."
Bankside was a noted place for infamous
houses and the lowest dens of corruption, as
well as for liear-gardens and amphitheatres for
bull-baiting. Despite, however, the ill-repute
of that neighbourhood, it was the site of an
episcopal palace, the Bishop of Winchester
having his dwelling there.
This rapid glance at the metropolis in the
time of Henry VIII will he sufficient to show
those who are familiar with it now-a-days,
how very different it was from its present
magnitude. The discrepancy was quite as
great in reference to its general aspect. With
the exception of a very few good thoroughfares j
—such as the Strand, Aldersgate, Chcapside, I
Holborn, etc., the streets were for the most j
part as had as the wretched bye-lanes, vile
alleys, and low courts belonging to the poorest
neighbourhood of the present day. Unpaved,
the streets were full of holes, and littered with
rubbish, rendering locomotion alike difficult
and disagreeable even in the broad day-light,
but making it actually perilous in the night-
time when these wretched thoroughfares were
involved in total darkness. Narrow and crook-
ed; with grrat overhanging gables, they were
gloomy enough when the sun shone bright in
the heavens; but when plunged into obscurity,
they constituted a maze of dangers which it
was a perfect venture to encounter. The
dwellings themselves were, generally speaking,
of a proportionately wretched description, con-
sisting chiefly of plaster and timber, thatched
on the roof, and having eoch story overhang
ing that immediately beneath it—so that if
two opposite houses were six yards apart from
threshold to threshold, there would be scarcely
two yards interval between attic and attic
Be it observed that while in many parts of the
country—especially in the Isle of Wight—
substantial brick buildings had for some time
been in vogue, yet in the metropolis nine out
of every ten houses consisted of the trumpery
and combustible materials above named; so
that it can be no wonder if London were so
often ravaged by conflagrations, consuming
thousands of houses ere their rage was spent.
Nor, on looking at the wretchedness of the
streets—their narrowness—the density with
which the population was packed—the accu-
mulations of filth and garbage of all kinds—
the deficiency of water—and the absence of
anything like proper ventilation,—can we be
astonished if pestilence should have been as
frequent and as insatiate a visitoi as confla-
gration.
Fixing the special attention of the reader
for the present on the Borough of Southwark,
we must o'nserve that it had been from a very
early period a refuge for all kinds of depraved,
infamous, and dangerous characters. It was
this circumstance, which indeed constituted a
growing evil, that induced Edward HI to place
Southwark under the jurisdiction of the cor-
poration of London; but while in that and
succeeding reigns some feeble efforts were
made to purge the Borough of the shoals of
bad characters swarming there, one particular
spot remained invested with all the privileges
of a " sanctuary." This was known as Dead-
man's place, and lay between St. Oluve's
Street and the river, just where Mill Lune is
at the present day. Picture to yourself a
little nest of the narrowest streets, the closest
courts, and alleys so confined that scarcely two
people could walk abreast, and where haudt
might be shaken easily from opposite windows
—abounding in the most offensive odours, or
rather having an atmosphere appearing to
hang like a black plague-mist over the spot,
—and the reader may form an idea of what
that sanctuary was which bore the dreadful
name of Deadman's Place.
How it had become a sanctuary no one
could exactly tell; for there was assuredly no
written charter extant, guaranteeing it such
privileges. But -yrtain was it that never diti


THE NECROMANCER.
the constables or any law-authorities venture
to make an irruption into Dead man's Place in
pursuit of an offender, cases of high treason
being alone excepted. If even ■ murderer
were chased by the officials of the law, the mo-
ment he stepped across the boundary of ,SL
Olave's 'Street into Deadman's Place, he was
safe: the constables would stop short as if a
wall of adamant had suddenly sprung up be-
tween them and the object of their pursuit .'
It may therefore he easily imagined that the
Sanctuary was ever crowded with the very
worst characters, and that in its confined state
it could not always find room for the numbers
seeking refuge there. Thus, often were the
redundant refugees compelled to pass the night
in the open air,—that night which under such
circumstances they rendered terrible by their
uproarious shouts, bacchanalian songs, and
uncouth noises.
To continue our tale. It was about two
o'clock in the morning, as Welford and Si.
Louis rode along St. Olave's Street and turned
into Deadman's Place. Here they were com-
pelled by the narrowness of the thoroughfare
to proceed one in advance of the other; and
in a few minutes they stopped at the dark-
mouthed entrance to a stable-yard attached to
• house which stood completely upon the bank
of the river. On Welford making a certain
■ignal, a light presently appeared; and from a
building at the end of the yard an ill-looking
fellow came forth with a lantern to receive the
horses, from which the two riders now dis-
mounted.
"Well, what luck ?" he asked, in a growl-
ing tone, as if he had just been disturbed from
his slumbers in the hay-loft.
"Oh! tolerably good," exclaimed Welford,
"At all events you need not put so sullen a
face on it; for we shall perhaps find an odd
coin for you. Where is the old man?"
"In-dooro: and I don't think he is gone to
bed yet—for there has been a terrible fight in
the Sanctuary, and he as ward's-man was
called nut to exercise authority."
"Well, but all is quiet now?" observed
Welford.
"O yes," answered the man: "it was on-
ly one of those drunken riots that are frequent
enough here. But do you want to see the
old man at this hour? It's past two, and I
should think you would both be glad to take a
little rest
"What say you, friend of mine?" asked
Welford. turning to St. Louis; "shall we
stretch ourselves in the hay-loft for three or
four hours—or go over to the Old Bailey, and
then come back again at breakfast time?"
"No—I will see the old man at once," re-
plied St. Louis, sternly. "Come, let us seek
Dim."
Welford accordingly led the way down the
(table-yard, in the same direction whither the
■nan had already conducted the horses. He
knocked with his fist at a little low door in-
the aide wall, which was opened in a few min-
utes by an old man, upwards of sixty, and
whose aspect was of a very vile and sinister
nature. He had hut a few garments, negli-
gently huddled on, and which showed that h■
was preparing lor rest when thus disturbed by
his two visitors. At first he was evidently in-
clined to demand savagely why he was thus
intruded on; but so soon as he distinguished
the countenances of Welford and St. Louis,
by the light which he carried in his band, he
assumed a more amiable aspect.
"Ah! is it you come back?" he said.
"Walk in, walk in."
"Old Dunhaven," observed Welford, with
a course laugh, "only bids us thus courteously
to enter, because he smells the gold in our
pockets."
"Ah, gold?" ejaculated the horse-dealer,
greedily. "Well, I am glad to hear that yon
have experienced such good luck."
"Good luck indeed!" ejaculated Welford,
as he followed Dunhaven into a little close
dirty room, of which two or three clumsy
stools, an equally uncouth table, and a hard
pallet stretched upon a long chest, or trunk,
in one corner, constituted the furniture. The
ceiling was so low that a tall man would have
touched it with his head; and the atmosphere
was perfectly stifling. This was the old burse-
dealer's own chamber. He was unmarried
and childless, and had neither kith nor kin to
bear him company; so he dwelt all alone in
this room, the remainder of his house being
occupied by lodgers—these consisting, as •
matter of course, of some of the desperate
characters taking refuge in the Sanctuary.
We may here seize the opportunity to ob-
serve that Dunhaven, being the oldest inha-
bitant in Deadman'a Place, and also reputed
to be the wealthiest (his ostensible trade
being that of horse-dealer) was invested with
the authority of "ward's-man," or governor
as it were of this colony of society's most des-
perate outcasts. Not that his authority was
either conferred or organized by the law; it
was merely accorded to him by the sutTrages
of the householders in the Sanctuary; and he
exercised it in pursuance of a code of laws
which might be termed the Constitution of
the Sanctuary's government. In exercising
this authority and carrying out these laws, ho
was sure to lie efficiently backed by the other
householders, all of whom recognized the ne-
cessity of having something like a penal code
amongst them. The punishments which this
code inflicted, were necessarily of a limited
character, consisting 'of fines, in money or li-
quor—a good ducking in the Thames, which
flowed handy—or expulsion from the Sanctu-
ary,—this last bring only inflicted lor I he most
serious oftencs. But it can lie easily under-
stood how a sentence of expulsion might ia
reality become one of dtuth ,- for to expel a


'tp4
THE NECROMANCER.
criminal was as a matter of course to throw him
into the hands of justice outside the circle of
'the Sanctuary; and through those hands he
was pretty sure to pass to the scaffold.
We may now pursue the thread of our nar-
rative without the necessity of farther inter-
ruptions. On introducing Welford and St.
Louis into his own room, Dunhaven placed
the light upon the table; and producing a
'dottle of spirits, he offered his two visiters a
dram. This Welford accepted; but St. Louis
declined—a circumstance which made the old
horse-dealer regard him with an earnest atten-
tion mingled with amazement.
«Ah! you may well look at our young
'Iriend in that manner," said Welford. "A
complete change seems to have come over
'him within the last two hours—in fact, since
a little adventure"
"Silence!" ejaculated St. Louis, turning
sharply round upon his companiont "You
surely are not going to let your tongue bab-
ble in the usual style about this occurrence,
at all events?"
, "Well, well—it shall be a secret then,"
(aid the doctor, somewhat sullenly.
"Ah! where arc your swords?" suddenly
exclaimed Dunhaven. "Ye have the sheaths
hanging to your sides; but the weapons are
gone. What can this mean? Surely, surely,
if you murdered some traveller for his purse,
you have not lieen foolish enough to leave
those weapons behind you? For there is no
knowing how they may be recognized and
'lead to your capture—that is to say, unless
you mean to remain in the Sanctuary all the
rest of your lives?"
"Make yourself perfectly easy on this
■core," interrupted St. Louis, almost sternly.
"No murder has been done—nor, indeed,
robbery, for that matter."
"No—Danvers was generous enough with
bis gold," exclaimed Welford, with a coarse
chuckle; and he bestowed a sly vulgar wink
apon his companion.
"Danvers!" echoed the old horse-dealer,
with a sudden start.
"Silence, fool," interjected St. Louis, turn-
ing sharp round upon the doctor, and seizing
him fiercely by the doublet. "You have al-
ready remarked that a change has recently
come over me—and you spoke truly: for it is
such a change as releases me from the thral-
dom in which you have so long kept me.
Therefore understand ine well—if you dare
Tenture to breathe another word concerning
all that has taken place to-night, I will make
you bitterly repent it!"
"Come, hands off, St. Louis!" said Wel-
ford, suddenly. "I did not mean to blab—but
merely let slip the name by accident."
"And that name 7" cried old Dunhaven,
with intense eagerness; "was it not Dan-
rera?"
"No matter," answered St. Louis, shortly.
"Yea, yes—but it does matter," said the
horse-dealer, evidently labouring under con-
siderable excitement. 4* It is not a common
name; and of the noble race that bore it for
centuries, not a soul remains alive."
"You are wrong, old man," exclaimed
Welford, forgetting St. Louis' last injunction
and menace; "for it was Lord Danvers whom
we saw to-night."
"No, no—impossible, impossible!" cried
Dunhaven, trembling all over with the excite-
ment of a strange terror mingled with amazed
incredulity.
"But why do you speak thus positively ?'*
asked St. Louis, struck by the peculiarity of
the old man's tone and look.
"Because," he answered, fixing his small
grey eyes with an ominous significancy upon
the young man, " Lionel Danvers, the last of
his race, ceased to exist two years ago!"
"Describe him—describe him !" exclaimed
St. Louis.
"When last I saw him, rerurned Dunha-
ven,—" that was two years ago—he seemed
about eight-and-twenty years of age—tall,
slender, of wondrous personal beauty—hair
dark as jet—eyes Hashing strange wild fires—
and a look at times of such ineffable scorn'aa
if a diabolic malice curled his lips."
*' By heaven, 'tis the same !" cried St. Lou
is, now no longer thinking it necessary tr
guard the secret—or rather, perhaps, not paus-
ing to think upon the point at all.
"Yes—the very same that we saw to-
night!" added Welford. "But assuredly it
was no ghost—for he wielded his rapier in ■
most swordsmanlike manner"
"What is this I hear?" cried Dunhaven,
his aged form quivering perceptibly from head to
foot and his whole countenance convulsed with
horror. "You say that you have this night
encountered such a man as he whom I have
described, and bearing the name of Danvers?"
"Aye, verily it is so," Welford hastened to
respond; "and by the token that he sent my
broadsword over into aji enclosed ground, and
dashed the one wielded by St. Louis to ihn
bottom of a pond."
"Tell me—tell me," interrupted the old
man, his nervous agitation increasing,—an.l
he caught hold of St. Louis' arm as he spoke,
—" tell me, my young friend—for you are not
accustomed to speak at random—besides, yon
have a solemn demeanour at this hour and will
adhere to the truth—tell me, I say, is all this
substantially correct V
"Accurate to the very letter as you are a
livjng man!" returned St. Louis, almost con-
founded with what was now taking place.
"But it is for you to explain yourself. What
mean you," he demanded impatiently, "by
the averment that Lord Danvers is no more—
that he ceased to exist two years back ?—since
in living flesh and blood have wc encountered
him within the last few hours!"


THE NECROMANCER. 55
\
'Dunhavcn did not immediately answer the
question; but stepping back he raised his hand
to his brow as if to steady his thoughts and
commune with himself. Both Welford and
ISt. Louis gazed with earnest curiosity upon
bim, both alike wondering whether he were
in his right senses, and if so, under what
strange mistake he could be labouring to de-
clare that an individual whom they had en-
countered so very recently, had ceased for two
years past to be in the land of the living.
"You, St. Louis," said Dunhaven, slowly
amusing himself from his reverie, and fixing a
look of deep meaning upon the young man's
countenance,—" you are interested in the fate
of the family of Danvers!"
"How know you this, old man ?" demanded
St. Louis quickly. "1 suppose your chatter-
ing tongue again," he added, turning sharply
round upon Welford, "has revealed those
family secrets which in a friendly mood of
confidence I entrusted to you?"
"No, no—I declare that I never thought it
of sufficient importance to trouble my head
about," exclaimed Welford.
"Ah! then, I comprehend it!" ejaculated
St. Louis: and reverting his looks menacingly
upon Dunhaven, he said, "You have violated
the sanctity of that casket which 1 deposited
in your hands 1—you have read the papers
which it contains?"
"There is no denying it," answered the
horse-dealer. "But do not strike!" he ex-
claimed, as St Louis raised his hand to inflict
a blow; " touch me not—and I will tell you a
strange, a wondrous secret!"
"Well, for thy secret then!" demanded
St . Louis, restraining his auger. "But why
did you open my casket ? —how dared you
break the wax fastening the paper that con-
tained it?"
"One word of explanation," answered
Dunhaven, eager to exculpate himself through
fear of harsh treatment: for there was some-
thing terribly wrathful and determined in St.
Louis' looks. "I trusted you and your com-
panion here with horses and pistols for your
night's enterprise; and you left me in pledge
a casket of sandal-wood inlaid with gold.
When you were gone I rather repented of
the arrangement,—fearing that, after all, the
settings of the casket might be only of polished
brass. This suspicion seemed to be confirmed
by the fact that you had insisted on having
it enveloped in paper and sealed in your
presence. I felt assured I was duped, and
-that I should never see horses nor pistols
again."
"Well, well," interrupted St . Louis im-
patiently, "to make a long story short, you
tore open the envelope and examined the
casket?"
"I did so, and satisfied myself that it was
good jewellers' gold, such as would be bought
in Lombard Street. But in so examining tha
casket, the lid flew open"
"Yes—you must have touched the secret
spring,".remarked St . Louis, somewhat molli-
fied by the old man's explanation, which cer-
tainly absolved him from any deliberate trea-
chery respecting the casket. "Well yoq
found the papers V
"And I read them," replied Dunnaven,
"Ah! you know not what fearful sensation
of interest was excited within me when I
beheld the portrait of a lovely female, set
in the lid of the casket, with that inscrip-
tion beneath,—' Arline de St. Louu, Victim
of Lord Humphrey Danvers, in the year
1463.'"
"But why, why," demanded St . Louis, now
greatly agitated, "should you have expe-
rienced such a feeling V Did you know the
unfortunate Arline? No—for you must have
been but a mere boy at the time"
"I knew her not—I never heard of her
before," replied Dunhaven: then in a solemn
tone he added, "But I was smitten with
a feeling of the deepest interest, because 1
know of another sad and mournful history,
in which a lovely damsel was the heroine,
and a scion of the house of Danvers tha
hero!" (
"Indeed! a case resembling this of Ar-
line J" asked St . Louis, eagerly.
"Yes—the exact parallel," returned Dun-
haven. "In a word, it was an ancestrcsa
of mine—the lovely Margaret—the fairest
maid of Cumberland—and it was in the year
1407—Oh! the dale has heen religiously
preserved—that she became the victim of
Lord Ranulph Danvers!"
"Then perhaps you also.worthy Dunhaven,"
interposed Welford, with a coarse attempt to
give the conversation a jocular turn, "have
cherished an hereditary hatred against the
house of Danvers!"
"Aye—a mortal hatred!" answered the
old man, evidently feeling deeply the words
that he uttered. "Would you like a proof
of this hatred of mine?" be abruptly de-
manded with a diabolic look. "Well, you
shall have it! It will reveal the secret to
which I ere now alluded; and will also ex-
plain wherefore I so positively announced
that Lord Lionel Danvers, the last of his
race, ceased to exist two years ago. Follow
i,
me.
Thus speaking, the old man took up the
candle from the table, and opening the door,
led the way along a narrow passage, Welford
and St. Louis following close behind. In a
few moments he paused at a door which he
unfastened with some difficulty; for the bolts
which closed it were fixed with rust in their
sockets. At length however it yielded; and
Dunhaven passed on into a small room,
withrut any window, totally denuded of fur-


56 THE NECROMANCER.
niture, and the walls of which were green
■nd mildewed with the damp. Both Welford
and St. Louis cast their eyes around; and
beholding nothing in the room, they simulta-
neously fixed their looks inquiringly upon the
old" man.
Do you feel nothing!" he asked, with a
look maliciously significant.
"The boards quivering under my feet!"
cried St. Louis, at the moment experiencing
what he thus described; and instantaneously
suspecting some treachery, he bounded back
to the threshold, where indeed Welford had
halted at the first.
"Pear nothing," said Dunhaven, placing
himself close against the wall, so as to leave
the middle of the room quite clear. "Now
observe !"—and as he thus spoke he pressed
his hand against an iron knob in the wall
where he thus leant.
The effect was instantaneous. The whole
flooring in the middle of the room seemed to
give way quickly as the eye can wink,—half
of it disappearing downward and half of it
tilting upward. In a word, it was a trap-door
■bout a yard and a half square, fixed upon an
■xle, so that by touching a spring the bolts
which held it tight in its place were drawn
back, and by the semi-revolution of the axle,
the trap suddenly took a veriical instead of a
horizontal position—thus forming a chasm the
mouth of which the axle intersected.
St. Louis could not repress a quick start, while
Welford gave vent to an ejaculation of alarm,
■t this sudden opening of the floor; but imme-
diately perceiving what it was, they turned
their looks upon old Dunhaven for further
explanations.
"Hush !" he said, raising his finger to com-
mand silence : and they listened accordingly.
The dull eddying sounds of flowing water
met their ears; and knowing how closely the
house was situated upon tfie bank of the
Thames—recollecting moreover that it had an
overhanging out-building—they instantane-
ously understood that it must be the river
itself which was rolling beneath. St. Louis
shuddered ; and Welford, bold though he were
in all desperate ventures, drew still farther
back even from the threshold.
« And now what would you have us to
gather from this revelation of the murderous
mysierv of your house !" asked St. Louis,
more than half suspecting what the reply
w. uld be.
"I pwards of two years ago," responded
Dunhaven, in a deep voice and with sombre
look,—« in the middle of a dark night—when
neither moon nor siar shone upon the face of
heaven, but the wild March winds were raving
and moaning and sighing as if bearing cn
their wings the cries of murder sent up from
dead men's graves—on that night, I say,
Lionel Uanvers, lured hither no matter how,
was precipitated down the abyss, which sud-
denly opened beneath his feet, and plunged
into the tide beneath! The river was swollen
at the time—the current rushed onward will,
a strength bidding defiance to the power and
the skill of the strongest swimmer. Think
you, then, it was without good ground and
sufficient cause I ere now affirmed that Lord
Danvers had ceased to exist V
St. Louis advanced towards the edge of the
chasm—took the candle from Dnnhaven's
hand—and held it over the opening, while he
endeavoured to plunge his looks into the gulf.
But it was an inky darkness that prevailed
within—a darkness which no eyes might pene-
trate. Shaking his head dubiously, St. Louis .
handed back the candle to the old man ; then,
as (he marvellous manner in which Danvers
had ere now escaped unhurt from the four
pistol-shots flashed to his mind, he. said, " Of .
a surety that man must bear a charmed life '."
*• Yes—if it indeed 1* he whom, as you de-
clare, you have seen this night," responded
Dunhaven.
While thus speaking, he touched the spring,
and the revolving trap-door at once resumed
its place, a sharp metallic sound iudieaiing
that the bolts which retained it in a fixed posi-
tion level with the floor, had shot back into
their sockets. Then, with a species of super-
stitious awe hanging like an oppressive cloud;
upon their minds, did both St. Louis and Wel-
ford accompany the old horse-dealer back to -
his own room, on reaching which he was
beginning to renew the conversation on the
same topic, when all in a moment a loud
knocking was heard at the door leading into
the stable-yard. With a low-inuttered impre-
cation, Dunhaven hastened to answer the
summons; and the moment he opened the
outer door, a female voice exclaimed, " For
heaven's sake, come directly, good Master
Dunhaven, to the Gailttws Tavern .* for some
new comers are brawling and fighting at a
terrific rate, and blood will be shed ere long."
"Well, well—go back to your master, young
woman," replied Dunhaven, "and tell him
that 1 will be over there in a minute or two."
"Yes—pray do: for your authority alone
will restore order."
"I will come in a minute," answered Dun-
haven : and he then shut the door impatiently
"More work for you to-night," observed .
Welford. "But I wonder you are not afraid ,,
of thiusting yourself into these commotions 1
A man of your years, and somewhat ricketty
on your lego"
"Ah, well! I am compelled to put up with
it," returned Dun ha van with a sigh "If it ,
were not that my little authority hern makes
my person as it were sacred, 1 should not bo
able to live in this dreadful place a single night
in safely."
"Then why cocC'nue here at all?" de-
manded Welford. "Vhat a thrice-soddened
old fo ,1 you must be


THE NECROMANCER
5?
- Mind you; own business," interrupted
Dunhaven sternly: then approaching his lied,
he drew the pallet off the trunk whereupon it
was stretched, and opening the immense hox,
which was filled with a most miscellaneous
assortmeDt of articles—such as plate, fire-arms,
•words, daggers, and garments—he drew forth
an object enveloped in a piece of paper.
St. Louis, on receiving it from his hands,
hastily satisfied himself that it was his much-
prized casket; and he proceeded to secure it
■bout his person. He then produced the purse
which he had received from Danvers, and
whence he took two pieces of gold. These
he presented to the old horse-dealer, who
clutched the coin with a glittering eagerness
in the eyes and an avidity of look that showed
how deeply was the love of lucre implanted in
his tainted soul.
"Now let us depart," exclaimed St. Louis.
"Yes—and leave the ward's-man here to
go and attend to his duties at the Gallvws,"
observed Welford—immediately adding with
a coarse laugh, ". Perchance he will some day
awing to one."
"No— rest assured that shall lie Mr fate!"
retorted the old man, in a tone of fierce resent-
ment: then as Welford with a continuation
of his rough laugh opened the outer door,
Ounhaven caught St. Louis by the arm and
whispered hastily, "You and I must meet
■gain! We have much to talk about. Will
you come to-morrow by yourself?"
"No—not to-morrow ; but as soon as conve-
nient," answered St. Louis. "But rest as-
sured that I will come!"
He then quitted the house; and rejoining
Welford who was waiting outside the door,
Ihey hastened away from the Sanctuary of
Deadman's Place.
CHAPTER XII.
TBI COMPTROLLER OF THE ROTAL HOUSE-
HOLD.
It was about eleven o'clock on the follow-
ing morning that St. Louis, handsomely
dressed, lauded from a boat at Greenwich, and
bent his steps towards the side-entrance of the
palace.
A considerable change had taken place in
his appearance, not merely on account of the
improved character of his wardrobe, but also
in his looks—the flush of confidence was upon
his countenance—and a certain polished air
of gentility had succeeded that wild reck-
lessness which was wont to mark his de-
meanour.
Ascending the steps of the side-door, St.
Lou:» entered a marble hall, where several of
the Court lacqueys and menials were loung-
ing. Accosting one of them, St . Louis in-
quired whether he could obtain an interview
with Sir Edward Poynings, the Comptroller
of the Royal Household; and a response was
at once given in the affirmative. St. Louis
was thereupon conducted up a staircase to a
handsome apartment, where a fine, tall, good-
looking man, splendidly dressed, and whose
age might have been about forty, was seated
at a table covered with bills, receipts, and ac-
count-books. This was Sir Edward Poyn-
ings; and upon St. Louis being introduced
into his presence, he at once received him with,
a most encouraging courtesy and bade him be
seated.
"My name is Gerald St. Louis," said the
young man; "and I venture to intrude my-
self upon your notice, having heard that his
Highness our most gracious King is in need
of a confidential secretary."
"You are ha whom Lord Danvers has al-
ready spoken of to me V observed Sir Ed-
ward Poynings, inquiringly.
"I have the honour to be acquainted with
that nobleman," answered St. Louis; "and
it was at his suggestion that I have become
emboldened to solicit the vacant situation."
« Lord Danvers is an intimate friend of
mine," observed the Comptroller; "and on
all occasions should I prove most anxious
to oblige him. He has been with me this
morning, and has specially recommended you
to my notice as n young man every way
adapted to fill this important and trustworthy
post about the person of his Highness. By
your name I conceive you to be of French
extraction?"
"My parents, may it please you, sir, were
French," responded St. Louis; "but I may
truthfully style myself an Englishman, inas-
much as I was born in the suburbs of Lon-
don, and my Christian name, as you perceive,
is English."
"But you doubtless speak the French lan-
guage ?" asked Sir Edward.
"As well as the English tongue," answered
St. Louis.
"That qualification is an indispensable one
for an aspirant to the post of Royal Secre-
tary," observed the Comptroller; "inasmuch
as the greater portion of our State papers
and diplomatic communications, as well as
the correspondence which the King main-
tains with foreign potentates, are couched in
the Gallic tongue. And now, relative to your
penmanship, Lord Danvers assured me that
you could wiite a fluent, plain, and clerkly
hand?"
"Permit me, sir, to give you a specimen,"
St. Louis exclaimed; and drawing his :hair
close to the table, he wrote a few' lines jpon
a piece of paper.
"This is most scholarly and excellent,"
remarked Sir Edward, as he examined the
specimen of the candidate's |ienmanship. "I
have received at least a hundred applications


68
THE NECROMANCER.
for this vacant post, which I may affirm to he
within my gift, inasmuch aa his Highness,
who deigns to place great confidence in me,
his humble servant, has commnnded that I
should find him a fit and proper person to
serve as his private secretary with as short a
delay as possible. Out of the host of applica-
tions whereof f have just spoken, I have an far
entertained ten or a dozen that I have kept them
specially in view, so that their relative merits
being compared, the best qualified of the
nbmber might he finally selected. But your
personal qualifications. Master St. Louis, rise
superior to those of all the others—especially
when so well backed with the favour and
countenance of the noble Lord Danvers.
Will you, however, be grateful and recog-
nizant if I induct you into this important
situation V—and as Sir Edward Poynings
put the question his countenance assumed a
certain mysterious significance which at once
•truck St. Louis.
"I will testify my gratitude to the utmost
of my power," he answered. "Indeed, you
have hut to indicate the manner whereby
I may demonstrate my feelings of thank-
fulness, and the test will show that I am
sincere."
"I have no doubt of it," rejoined Sir
Edward, emphatically. "You are all well
aware," he continued in a lower and more
confidential tone, and still with a certain
significance in his looks, " that those who are
attached to Courts, while performing their
public duties, are also justified in forwarding
their private interests? I presume you are
not merely acquainted with this fact, but are
prepared to act accordingly."
St. Louis was for a moment embarrassed
how to reply He fancied that Sir Edward
Poynings was merely putting the question to
him in order to try his trustworthiness and
integrity: yet when he looked inte» the
Comptroller's countenance he beheld that pe-
culiar significancy of look which seemed to
corroborate the idea that there was really
something behind. He accordingly observed
in a guarded manner, " It is you, sir, who are
placing me in this honourable position about
the person of the King: and recognizing you
as my patron, I shall ever obey whatever com-
mands you may issue, or follow whatever ad-
vice you may choose to give me."
"Answered with true courtier-like diplo-
macy!" exclaimed Sir Edward, laughing;
then, as his countenance instantaneously grew
serious again, he observed, " Master St. Louis,
you and I must understand each other before
I confirm you in your appointment and pre-
sent you to the King. You speak fairly
enough now, and your promises look sin-
cere: but thus it is always with a can-
didate for office. What guarantee have I
that when once installed about the person
of the King, you will not toss all ideas cf
gratitude to the winds, and so fur from follow-
ing my jdvice, run exactly crouter to my
wishes?"
"What guarantee can I give you, sir?"
asked St. Louis, "as a prnof of my good
faith?"
"What guarantee V repeated the Comp-
troller in a musing tone. '• I know not ex
actly. And yet it is necessaiy that I should
have some security of the soit; because from
the moment your appointment receives the
royal sanction you become independent of
me, holding your post at the pleasure of
the King and of none other. You may be-
come a favourite with bis Highness: it ii
possible—it is even likely—considering tht
trust-worthy and confidential office that yo■
will fill. Your opinion may have weight witt
his Highness: you may be enabled to exer-
cise some degree of influence in many rep
pects. Now let us understand each other ■
once, St. Louis," added Sir Edward Poyn
ings, fixing his eyes full upon the cnunte
nance of the young man. "The power wbieS
I have shadowed out is what I will not sm
entrusted to any one!"
St. Louis now comprehended altogether th*
meaning of Sir Edward Poynings. He saw
that this personage was resolved to fill up the.
vacant post with some creature of his own—
or, at all events, with an individual who would
hold himself entirely at his disposal. But the
fortunes of St. Louis were otherwise too des-
perate not to render him willing to make any
sacrifice rather than allow the present oppor-
tunity of re-establishing them to slip through
his fingers. Of little consequence was it to
him how completely he might become bound
hand and foot to Sir Edward Poynings, so
long as he obtained a post of honour and'
emolument about the person of the King.
Nevertheless, while thus making up his mind
to accept any terms and subscribe to any con-
ditions in order to secure the place, St. Louis
could not help feeling galled by the reflection
that Lord Danvers had most probably been all
along aware that some such peculiar terms and
conditions would be insisted upon, and that he
had therefore recommended him (St. Louis)
rather as a tool to serve Sir Edward's purpo-
ses than from the purely generous motive'
which had at first appeared to influence him.'
Veiling however the disagreeable feeling:
which these reflections excited, and resolving
to play his cards with the courtier-like diplo-
macy which Sir Edward Poynings had already
jocularly commended, St. Louis proceeded to
observe " that he had no personal interests of'
a selfish character to minister unto; that ha
was anxious to push his way in the world
and that he placed himself wholly and entire-
ly at the disposal of Sir Edward Poynings."
"But you must do more than trial," said.


THE NECROMANCER.
the Comptroller, bending upon him an earnest
look; "you must not merely place yourself at
my disposal, but also in my power!"
"I am prepared to do so," responded St.
Louis. "Have I not already said that what-
ever proof of my sincerity you demand shall
be cheerfully accorded V
"You speak like a man—aye, and like a
man of the world too," observed Sir Edward.
"Methinks that you will push your way well
at Court, and in time be enabled to command
he adhesion, the services, and the fidelities of
others as I am now securing your^s unto my-
self. But to the point. You must place
yourself, I say, in my |>ower—you must be as
it were, at my mercyN: and your office, your
honour—nay, your very life, must be in my
hands!"
"My life?" exclaimed St. Louis, startled
by the terrific import of the conditions thus
chalked out, and which so far transcended
any thing he had preconceived.
"Yes—your life!" repeated Sir Edward
Poynings, looking him resolutely and even
sternly in the face. "If I ask too much, there
is an end of our conference, and no harm is
done."
"Well then," cried St. Louis," since it is
but a guarantee and a test of sincerity you
require, and as I never mean by any infidelity
or ingratitude on my part to make the forfeit,
I may as well place my lift, honour, and eve-
ry thing in your hands. But how is this to
be done?"
• "It is easdy arranged," rejoined Sir Ed-
ward. "Commit some act which at once pla-
ces you in my power. For instance, take a
clip of paper—write an acknowledgement for
certain monies—sign the name of Lionel Dan-
gers thereto"
j "What! forge the name of Lord Dan-
vers?" ejaculated St. Louis, irresistibly struck
by the idea that all this must be a preconcert-
ed conspiracy to ruin him, and that Danvers
himself was a party to it.
"And why not?" demanded Sir Edward
coldly. "Think you that I wish to ensnare
:you for any other purpose than that which I
have named? ft is preposterous I What in-
l terest can I have in accomplishing your ruin?
But it seems us if we did not yet quite under-
stand each other—or rather that you have not
altogether understood me. I will therefore
i speak more plainly than I have been doing;
and there shall be no possibility of mistaking
my language. What, then, are the I acts?
Here is a particular situation, of emolument
• and honour, which is virtually in my gift.
But inasmuch as it suits me to place a sworn
adherent and friend of my own in that office, I
choose to take adequate guarantees that my
trust shall not he abused, and that he in whom
I hope to find a staunch ally may not become
, converted by selfish considerations into a rival
er an enemv."
While Sir Edward Poynings was thus can-
didly, frankly, and explicitly detailing his;
views and motives, Gerald St. Louis had
leisure to recover from the alarm into which;
the proposed forgery had plunged him; and a,
few moments' reflection convinced him that,
the exact truth was a■ the Comptroller now.,
explained it. For if Lord Danvers wished lav?
destroy him, could he not have taken his life',
on the preceding night ?—could he not have,
thrust him through and through with hist
rapier?—would he have given him a purse of,
gold instead of taking measures to hand hini
over to the grasp of justice? Such were the;
questions which St. Louia hastily revolved in:
his mind; and the remit of his deliberations,
was to abandon himself entirely to the new cur-,
rent of events on which his destiny seemed to
have cast him. . \
"You will admit, sir," he observed when,
the Comptroller had done speaking, " that to,
propose a forgery to an honest and well-inten-
tioned man such as I,"—and he blushed not)
as he thus vaunted an integrity from which he
had been so long estranged,—" is but too well.,
calculated to startle and dismay. But consid-r
ering it more calmly, I can now only regard,
the suggestion as a legitimate guarantee which^
you have a right, under circumstances, to dr-4
mand. Therefore I have no longer any hesi-t
tation in acceding to your conditions." .;
Thereupon Gerald took up the pen .nice
more, and drew out a document to the follow-
ing effect;—
"This 9th day of May, 1516. .;
"By these presents, I acknowledge myself
bound to pay unto Master Gerald St. Louis,
the sum of one hundred pounds sterling, on,
his demand or to his order. ,
"As witness my hand,
"Dasvihb j
"To be paid at the counting house of ,
Master Landini, Goldsmith, Lombard St."
"•In some such form as this. I presume T",
said Gerald St. Louis, interrogatively, when he,
had drawn up the note of hand. „
"Nothing can be more clerkly in penman-,
ship or more business-like in draft," exclaimed^
Sir Edward. "Now endorse it, as an ac-
knowledgement that you have received the,
amount specified."
"There !" said the young man, us he signed;
his name at the back of the forged bill; but
it was not altogether without a secret mis-
giving that he did so. i
However, this sentiment of mingling doubt-
and apprehension speedily vanished, when Sir;
Edward Poynings. having locked up the forged-,
bill in an iron casket which stood upon the,
table, said, " Now come with me, and I wilt,
introduce you to the King, so that your au»
pointuient may be ratified at once."
The animation of joy lighted up St. Louis'
countenance, which had gtown serious and
moody-looking during the latter portion of the,


THE NECROMANCER.
above colloquy; and with a fluttering heart he
Mlovred Sir Ed.vard Poynings from the room.
They descended the staircase ; and the moment
Ihey reached the marble hall below, all the
lacqueys and menials lounging idly there, at
once formed themselves into two lines leading
up to a pair of folding doors at the extremity
of that hall. Then these two ranks of Court
dependants made a low obeisance as the Comp-
troller passed between them, closely followed
by Gerald St. Louis. The folding doors flew
open; and Sir Edward Poynings led on into
a spacious apartment where a guard of Buf-
fo tiers, or Royal Yeomen, were stationed.
Several officers commanding this corps, and
clad in their magnificent uniforms, were play-
ing with dice at a table in a bay-window look-
ing towards the Park; but the moment the
Comptroller made his appearance they rose
out of respect, while the guard saluted with
their halberds.
Passing onward, Sir Edward Poynings led
Gerald St. Louis through another apartment,
where a number of splendidly-dressed pages
and equeries were lounging about. Thence
they traversed two more rooms, also crowded
tfith Court officials; and at length they paused
in an ante-chamber, where two or three Lords-
in-waiting were seated. Having ascertained
that the King wai in the Council-room, Sir
Edward Poynirsr: passed on once more, St.
Louis closely following; and now, as a pair
rf gilded folding-doors fell back, the young
man was conducted into the presence of the
King.
His Majesty was seated in a large arm-
jhair, raised upon a dais approached by three
or four steps; and at a table in front were
placed several of the great Officers of Slate.
There was Warham, Archbishop of Canter-
bury and Lord High Chancellor of the King-
dom, dressed in his pontifical robes, with the
mitre upon his head and the crozier in his
hand. Next to him sate Lord Herbert, the
Chamberlain—an old man with a venerable
countenance and having the unmistakable evi-
dences of wisdom in every line that marked
his brow. On his right hand was the Earl of
( Shrewsbury, Lord High Steward ; and next to
^him was Sir Thomas Lovel, Constable of the
Tower. Opposite were placed Sir Henry
Marney, Sir Thomas Darcy, Sir Henry Wyat,
and Doctor Ruthal. There also wero the
Earl of Surrey, Lord High Treasurer; and
the Bishop of Winchester, Lord Privy Seal.
These were the members of the Council of
State, with whom the King was tn delibera-
tion at the moment when Sir Edward Poyn-
ings, who was himself a member also,
introduced Gerald St. Louis,
i The young man experienced a sensation of
awe on finding himself in the presence of the
King and this august conclave; but he made
• low and most respectful salutation, and then
remained standing near the dooi, while the
Comptroller of the Household accosted hia
Highness and said a few words in a subdued
tone. Henry VIII now beckoned St. Lnuia
to approach, and proceeded to question him
relative to his abilities and qualifications. The
young man answered in a way which proved
altogether satisfactory; and the appointment
was at once ratified.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE aoLOSMlTH Of LOMBARD STRUT.
It has already been stated that Master Lan-
dini was one of the richest goldsmith-hankers
of Lombard Street; and we may now observe
that the largest as well as the handsomest
house in that street belonged to him. He waa
an old man—had long been a widower—and
having no children of his own, had adopted a
nephew of the same name, and whom he des-
tined to be the inheritor of his colossal wealth.
This nephew, whose Christian name waa
Marco—abbreviated into the English Mark—
was a man of about six-and-thirty—as devoted
to business as his uncle, and, as his friends
were »/ont to say of him, too completely wed-
ded to the delights of money-making to think
of wedding a bride.
In a large but ill-lighted counting-house, on
the ground-floor, the nephew Mark Landini
and two clerks might be seen seated at desks,
poring over correspondence from almost all the
civilized parts of the world, as well as from the
principal trading towns in England. There
was no display of jewellery in the windows;
on the contrary, a range of massive iron bars
not only protected but likewise darkened each
casement. But on a counter inside were dis-
played the most costly as well as the most
beautiful specimens of jewellery; and on ano-
ther part of the same counter there was a
number of wooden bowls containing an infinite
variety of coins belonging to the mintage of
almost every European country—for the busi-
ness of money-changing was in those times
connected with that of bullion-dealing and
hanking. At the end of the counting-house a
door opened into a private office, where Mas-
ter Landini himself might likewise have been
seen profoundly engrossed in the perusal of a
mass of correspondence.
It was about two o'clock, on the same day
of which we have been writing in the last
chapter, when Lord Danvers entered the
banking-house. Mark Landini, thrusting his
pen behind his ear, hastened round from his
desk to receive the nobleman, to whom he
made a profound salutation; and officiously
opening the door leading into the inner office,
he said, " Uncle, our kind patron, the Lord
Lionel Danvers."
The nobleman passed into the office, where


THE NECROMANCER.
the elder Landini rose from his chair to wel-
come him—while Mark, shutting the door,
went back to his desk in the counting-house.
"You have received your correspondence
from abroad •" said Lord Danvera interroga-
tively, as he carelessly took a seat.
« I have, my lord: a courier arrived this
morning. I have letters from my correspond-
ents in Paris, Madrid, Genoa, and Venice."
"And they contain reports relative to my
stewards and intendants?" asked Danvers.
u All, my lord," returned Landini; "and
every one most favourable, as usual. Accord-
ing to your lordship's order, remittances have
been made of the various sums in my conti-
nental agents' hands, belonging to your lord-
ship. I have not yet added up the amount
of the bills of exchange," he continued, point-
ing to a pile of such commercial papers; "but
the sum total of these several remittances must
be enormous. What your lordship will do
with the money I am at a loss to conceive:
but perhaps your lordship will allow me to
think of some means of disposing of it to the
best advantage. For, assuredly, your lordship
has already more estates in different parts of
the world than any other nobleman that ever
lived."
"Possibly," remarked Danvers, with an air
of the most perfect indifference. "I dare say
you can recommend some eligible employ-
ment for the money; and you must see about
it. Has any one called to ask concerning me
this morning?"
"Yes, my lord," answered Landini, in a
hesitating manner, as if not exactly liking to
give an affirmative response, and yet fearing
to return a negative. "There has been a per-
son—But it's of no great consequence—I gave
him an answer"
"Well, but who was he?" asked Danvers.
"An old man, my lord—I fear he is half-
crazed; he tells some strange wild tale"
« I presume you mean an individual by the
name of Manners," said the nobleman; "the
same who has called here on previous occa-
sions, as you told me yesterday!"
"Well, I think it is the same, my lord,"
answered Landini, evidently fearful of saying
any thing that might give the least offence to
his immensely rich client.
'' And so he has called again this morn-
ing?" said Danvers. half carelessly and half
with a faint show of interest. "I thought that
he would; I saw him the night before last.
Did he tell you that he had seen me?"
"He did, my lord," answered Landini. "I
offered him money; but he declared that
heaven had sent him a friend."
"Did he mention whom?"
"He did not, my lord."
"But I suppose he gave you some particu-
.ars of out interview ?" said Danvers inquir-
ingly-
"Yea—he said something, nw lord," return-
ed the old goldsmith; "but being very, very
busy at the time, I did not pay much atten-
tion."
"Well, no matter," remarked Danvers care-
lessly. "The fact is, worthy Master Landini,
that old man believes I spirited away his
daughter. It was nothing of the kind. For
certain reasons she and I separated, with the
mutual agreement that we were never to meet
again; and she—worthless creature that she
was !—fled the same night with a rival. This
is the whole history of the matter:"—and as
Lord Danvers gave utterance to these last
words, a strange and almost fearful expres-
sion swept, or indeed flashed over his counte-
nance, disappearing with lightning suddenness,
and leaving it the next moment with that
careless indifferent look which it had worn
just before.
"Shall I add up these amounts, my lord?"
asked old Landini, in a confused muttering
tone; for he had caught that strange and mystic
look which passed, fleet as a whirlwind over
a lake, athwart the features of the nobleman;
but not choosing to appear to have observed
it, he affected to be very busy with the papers
that Iny before him.
"No, no-—not now," replied Danvers. "I
do not care to trouble myself about money-
matters at this moment. By the by, my good
friend Sir Edward Poyningsis anxious to pur-
chase an estate in Kent; the sum is consider-
able—at least for him—but I have agreed to
lend it to him. He wili most probably call on
you this afternoon with the draft I have given
him for the amount."
"Prompt attention shall be paid thereto, my
lord," answered Landini. "Han your lord-
ship any farther commands?"
"While I think of it," resumed Danvers,
"I must observe that some one has been de-
frauding Sir Edward with a forged draft pur-
porting to be signed by me and drawn upon
you"
"A forgery, my lord !" ejaculated Landini
"We must set the officers of justice to work
"No such thing," interrupted Danvers. "I
know something of the culprit and do not
wish to persecute him. Besides, it is only for
a poor paltry hundred pounds"
"Ah, my lord! how generous, how noble-
hearted you are !" exclaimed the old banker
who knew how to play the sycophant almost
as well as a courtier.
"No, no," returned Danvers; "there is lit-
tle generosity in suffering a poor wretch like
this to escape the scaffold. Indeed, I should
not have mentioned it at all, only Sir Ed
ward Poynings insists upon presenting the do-
cument here for form's sake, so that you si
once may brand it as a forgery."
"And impound it my lord ?" asked Lan-
dini.
"No—give it back to Sir Edward Poyn-


62
THE NECROMANCER.
ings," replied Danvers; "and let him do with
it as lie thinks fit."
"Ah! I understand," ejaculated the an-
cient goldsmith. "You and Sir Edward
jiave arranged it all between you! You mean
to take the hill to the culprit, display it to his
eyes with the word forgery written on it in
red ink, and then tear it up before his fare in
the hope that it will serve as a salutary warn-
ing for the future. Is it not so, my lord?"
"It may be just as you say, worthy Lan-
dini," responded Danvers, smiling. "How-
ever, you will do as I have enjoined you in
this matter; and see that the thing is not
talked about."
"Not a syllable of the transaction shall
transpire from this establishment," said Lan-
dini.
"Good," observed Danvers; then rising
from his seat, he said, "And you are sure
that old Manners did not tell you any thing
else of any consequence? He did not hint
who his generous friend might be?"
"He did not, my lord. He said it was a
solemn secret . He asked if your lordship had
been hithet; and I of course said that you
had—that you had returned within the last
few days from the continent"
"And I presume he was most anxious to
ascertain where I was to be found, and all
about me?" said Danvers.
"Precisely so, my lord. I answered that
you were staying with some friend in the
neighbourhood of London; but that I neither
knew with whom nor where—as your lord-
ship had come over quite in a private manner,
with no retinue, but merely on a business
visit."
"And what said he then ?" asked Danvers.
"But little more, my lord: for, as I have
ere now observed, I was so busy at the mo-
ment, that even if I had experienced the live-
liest interest in the visit and its object, I could
have spared no time for discourse. The ar-
rival of my courier from abroad poured, as it
were, a flood of business within these walls—"
"And therefore I wilt not occupy your at-
tention farther," said Lord Danvers, smiling.
The old banker, confounding himself in
bowings and scrapings, assured his lordship
that however occupied he might be in respect
to others, he always had ample time to dis-
course with him.
"Pray therefore, my lord," he continued,
"do not hurry away thus. Permit me to have
refreshments served up. I have wine which
might tempt the palate of an anchorite You
shake your head, my lord, in refusal? Well,
but another time you must honour my humble
dwelling with your presence, so that I may
entertain your lordship in a fitting manner. I
I can never forget that my family owes all its
prosperity to your's"
Suddenly did the, brow of Danvers darken:
aid again did that weird-like mystery of ex-
pression sweep over his countenance, as if he-
experienced a pang of agony as excruciating as
it was evanescent. ,
"Thanks for all your hospitable proposals,
my good friend," he said, that singularly ago*
nizing look having passed away as completely;
as if it had never appeared upon his features at
all. "I can remain with you no longer now
—I have an appointment elsewhere."
With these words Danvers shook the old
banker by the hand, and passed out of the
establishment, Mark the nephew speeding to
escort him to the threshold of the street-door.
So soon as the nobleman had taken his de-
parture, Mark Landini proceeded into the pri-
vate office; and closing the door, said to his
uncle, "What brought Danvers hither this
afternoon?"
"Ostensibly to inquire if we had received
our foreign letters," returned the old banker,
"but in reality to ascertain whether poor Man-
ners had been to see us—and if so, what he'
said."
"But you did not suffer Danvers to perceive
that you showed any sympathy with him V
said Mark in a tone of anxious interrogatory.
"Nephew, have I reached this age without
knowing how to command my looks, veil my*
feelings, and measure my words to suit all men
and all occasions?"—and there was an accent
of grave rebuke in the venerable goldsmith's
tone and manner as he thus spoke.
"Pardon me, my dear and respected uncle,"
said Mark. "Lionel Dan vers is co shrewd
and keen-sightei'—so observant and penetra-
ting, even at the very moment when he seems
most careless ,i:id indifferent———"
"That has been ihe character of his ances-
tors for generations back," interrupted the
elder Landini. "No, it is not probable that I
should suffer my real feelings to transpire in
his presence. Little, little does he imagine
how deep—how insatiate—how implacable Is
the hatred which I bear towards him *'
"And I also, uncle !" added Maik, his plain
but by no means ill-looking countenance ex-
pressing a deep concentration of feeling as he
thus spoke. "But think you that the day of
vengeance is drawing near?"
"Let us hope so,"answered his uncle. "A
vengeance which has been dissimulated in our
family for a hundred and twenty-six years
without having lost any of its original intense-
ness but has been preserved in all its pristms
power until the present moment,—surli a ven-
geance, nephew, is sure to accomplish its aim
at last! Indeed is not the first step nlready
taken towards the working out of thi* heredi-
tary revenge of our's?"
"Yes—it is true that you have so well ma-
naged, uncle, as to induce Lord Danvers to
begin to concentrate all his revenues in your
hands. But let us suppose that this scheme
proves fully successful, and that the bulk ot' his
immense wealth becomes invested with us'!—


THE NECROMANCER.
6.1
even then I do riot see how you will strike the
grand blow which shall accomplish his ruin."
"My dear nephew," answered the cldei
Landiui, "1 thought that I had already explain-
ed myself sufficiently on this head. At all
events, if I have not done so, it is high time
that such explanations were now given. For
if the opportunity should not fully serve while
I am yet'alive, to denude Lionel Danvers of
his collossal wealth—sirip him of his vast es-
tates—and send him an outcast, a wanderer,
and a lieggar upon the face of the earth,—then
must all this lie consummated hy you 1 As a
lineal descendant of the race of Ladini—as the
only surviving son of my younger brother, long
since dead—you are the only inheritor of my
wealth, as you are likewise the inheritor of
that mission of vengeance which by my father
was entrusted to me."
"Aye—and I shall prove no traitor to the
solemn bequeathment," answered the nephew.
"Though born in England, and with my
Christian name anglicised, yet do I feel Italian
blood burning in my veins, and my heart throbs
with all the fervid emotion which prompts an
Italian vengeance! Implacable then as thou
art, uncle, in this cherished vengeance against
(be accursed house of Dsnvers"
At this moment the door of the private of-
fice was suddenly opened; and to the dismay
of the uncle and nephew, the object of their
discourse re-appeared before them. But well,
aiid indeed exquisitely practised in the art of
dissimulation towards him, they both instanta-
neously recovered their presence of mind; and
when they observed, each with a quick glance
that the countenance of Lionel was perfectly
unruffled, they felt convinced that his ear had
not caught a single syllable of the words
which were being uttered at the moment he
opened the door.
"Pardon this interruption, my good friends,"
said Danvers, in that frank style of off-hand
but high-bred courtesy which he was wont to
adopt towards those whom he honoured with
his intimacy: "but I had forgotten one object
of my visit just now."
The manner of the uncle and nephew had
again become so profoundly respectful, and
their looks so replete with an almost reveren-
tial courtesy, that it scarcely seemed possible
that they could be the same men who a few
moments back had been discussing plans of
fearfullest vengeance and direst hate against
the object of their present attention. So how-
ever it was; and while Mark officiously placed
• chair for Lord Danvers, the elder Lan-
dini stood obsequiously waiting his commands.
"No—I will not sit down—I am not going
to wait a minute," observed Danvers. *' What
I came back for may be promptly settled.
Give me the finest and costliest set of dia-
monds you have in your collection." *
A great variety of the most brilliant gems
Was now exhibited to Lionel Danvers; but
without lingering many moments over the in*
spection, he chose a set valued at a price
which was equivalent to a monarch's ransom ,
and thrusting the flat case which contained
them into the breast of his doublet, he once
more took his departure.
But as he walked leisurely forth from the
goldsmith's establishment, had any one lieen
attentively observing his features at the mo-
ment, it might have been seen that a proud
expression of scornful defiance swept over his
darkly handsome countenance, and for an in-
stant gave to his beauty the aspect of Lucifer
in his fall.
CHAPTER XI.
THE TEMPLE GAHIlKNS.
The Temple, at the time of which we are'
writing, was occupied by law-students and
gentlemen of the legal profession, as at the
present day; and the gardens, stretching
down to the margin of the Thames, were a
favourite lounge for the citizens of London
and their wives on a fine summer's evening.
It was not much later than half-past fout
o'clock when old Master Manners entered
those gardens, and proceeded to place himself;
on a bench commanding a prospect of the riv
er. Clad in the comfortable clothing which
he had received at Grantham Villa—with his
mind tranquilized as to his own lot in this'
world—and entertaining some considerable-
hope from the promised intervention of the
King to find Danvers and induce him to es-
pouse Clara, if she were still alive—the old
man presented a much improved appearance
in contrast with his condition when we first
introduced him to the reader. But though
there was upon his features an expression of-
serenity to which they had been long es-
tranged, yet it cannot of course be said that he'
was altogether happy. No—far from that!
Happy he never could be again—unless inde?d
his beloved daughter should be restored, pure
and immaculate, or an honourably wedded'
wife, to his arms. But dared he hope in suclv
a blissful consummation! No: if she were
alive he felt persuaded that she was beguiled
and betrayed—the mistress and not the wjfe
of Danvers! Therefore, even if by the royal
intervention that nobleman should be led to
do her a tardy justice, it would lie the best
reparation that could be made, but incompe-'
tent to efface the memory of past degradation
and ihame.
The reader will remember that Master
Manners had received the King's order to be-
in the Temple Gardens at five o'clock: but it
was quite natural that the old man, in his
over-anxiety to be puuctjal, should have re-
paired thither half-an hour before the tim*


64
THE NECROMANCER.
Seating himself therefore on the bench, as
above described, he gave way to his reflec-
tions, with his eyes fixed on the broad river
which stretched before him, and on whose
surface numerous pleasure-boats and ferry-
barges were floating.
He hjid been seated thus for a few minutes,
when he was suddenly aroused from bis reve-
rse by hearing himself addressed by name:
and turning his head, he beheld a person of
tall ungainly form, stooping considerably in
his gait, but handsomely dressed in a suit of
dark cloth and velvet. This individual's coun-
tenance was not of a prepossessing descrip-
tion: otherwise there would have been little
to cavil at in his general aspect; and indeed,
notwithstanding the drawback of his ignoble
and sinister mien, he might readily be taken
for a respectable member of the medical pro-
fession, the distinctive garb of which he wore.
Old Manners had some indistinct recollection
of this person, but could not tax his memory
so far as to recall to mind who he was, or
where they had previously met.
"Yes—it must be you yourself, worthy
Master Manners!" exclaimed the medical
gentleman, fixing his eyes upon the venerable
countenance which was now upturned towards
his own. "Some years have elapsed since
last 1 saw you—indeed not since your mis-
fortunes, which I can assure you I heard with
very great regret. However, all men must
have their due share of adversity in this world,
and I have had mine as well as the rest. But
really vou seem as if you did not recognize
me!"'
"Your features are not unknown," said
Manners' "and yet I cannot recollect who
you are."
"What! is your memory so treacherous,"
exclaimed the medical gentleman, " that you
have forgotten the learned Licentiate, Apothe-
cary, and Dispenser of Drugs, who attended
your head clerk in his illness, and who was
once called in to prescribe for yourself, when
your own regular medical attendant had gone
upon a journey?" ^
"Ah ! I do now remember you," responded
old Manners, his countenance assuming a
grave look and his bearing becoming reserved
and distant: for at the same moment that
the apothecary of the Old Bailey was thus
brought back to his recollection, was he like-
wise reminded that the said apothecary had
been ordered to discontinue visiting at his
house on account of certain evil reports which
had been whispered concerning him.
"You did not treat me very handsomely at
the time," continued Doctor Benjamin Wel-
'ord; "but I am not a man to cherish ran-
aour. I therefore pitied your misfortunes
when I heard of them :"—then placing him-
aelf by the old man's side upon the bench,
Welford took a flask from the pocket of his I
trunk-hose, and pulling out the cork, handed j
it to the ruined merchant, saying, "Here—
drink a stoup of this prime sack: it will worm
your very heart's core."
"I thank you, but am notathirst," respond-
ed Manners coldly; and he edged off from the
close proximity of the doctor.
"Oh, well! if you object to a dram, I will
e'en drink two—one for yourself and one for
me:"—and with these words, Welford pour-
ed the best portion of the contents of his flask,
which held a good pint, down his throat
.
"Ah! it is indeed cheering," he continued,
smacking his lips. "But really I am welt
pleased, Master Manners, to behold you in
such good form; inasmuch as from all I had
heard, I imagined you to have been very much
reduced. As for myself, I have just kicked
the shop in the Old Bailey to the dogs. I go
to it no more. I am now a gentleman at
large, and am to-morrow morning going to
set out on my travels. In fact, I have got a
good situation, cut and dried, and ready pre-
pared for me. But it was with the greatest
trouble I induced my generous patron to let
me tarry in London until the first glimpse of
dawn to-morrow. However, I pleaded hard
that I had divers indispensable duties to per-
form, and one or two friends to take leave of,
so that I carried my point. And now, what
do you think I am going to do, and why I
came to the Temple Gardens at this hour?"
"It is impossible that I can conjecture,"
said Manners, with a cold reserve, but still not
choosing to risk giving the doctor offence by
at once breaking off the conversation.
"Why, the fact is, worthy Master Man*
ners," continued Benjamin Welford, " I have
Become quite a steady character. Indeed, I
should not have even produced this flask, had
you been a perfect stranger; but knowing
that you are somewhat acquainted with my
antecedents, it is of course no use to go into
extremes and play the utter hypocrite in youi
presence. But so far as my general conduct
is concerned, I am resolved to turn over a new
leaf, beginning as it were a fresh chapter with
some very excellent motto at the head. So 1
mean to look the doctor, as well as practise
the profession of one. I am going to be steady
and sedate —respectable, in a word. You see
I have got the necessary garb to fulfil I his
part," he continued, glancing down compla-
cently at his black apparel; "and I am do.
termined that my deportment, my language,
and my behaviour shall all be in due accord-
ance. Do you approve of my resolution V
"I cannot do otherwise than applaud the
resolve of any person to reform his character
and conduct," answered the old man, but still
with a look that implied his doubt as to the
sincerity of the vaunted self-amelioration. -
'• But I have not yet told you wherefore 1
have sought these gardens at the present
hour," resumed Welford. "Know then that
I leave London, as ere now stated, at peep of


THE NECROMANCER. 66
(burn to-morrow morning. I am pledged and
bound to be off—otherwise I forfeit the good
opimon of the excellent patron whom chance
DM thrown in my way. But this evening am
[ resolved to have a quiet and comfortable ca-
rouse, with just one boon companion, at the
best tavern in Fleet Street. Now, as circum-
stances have separated me from a most excel-
lent young gentleman with whom I have for
some time past been on terms of intimacy, I
|K»itively and truly at the moment have no
familiar acquaintance whom I can make the
companion of my festivity. As for carousing
alone, such a proceeding were not to be
thought of. No.no; it is not so much fur
the eating and drinking, as for the sake of
agreeable discourse—to which however the
aforesaid eating and dnnking are potent aux-
iliaries. I Well then, it is absolutely necessary
that I should find a suitable comrade for my
projected farewell supper in Fleet Street; and
where could I stand a better chance of either
renewing some old friendship or forming a
fresh one, than at these gardens which in the
evening are so favourite a resort? Such are
my motives for coming hither; and foras-
much as accident has thrown me in your way,
it is you, worthy Master Manners, who will
be. my supper companion this night."
"I return you many thanks," was the re-
*ponse given by the old merchant, softening a
little in his manner towards the doctor, who
he fancied might after all have been represent-
ed as worse than he really was, and who at
least deserved due acknowledgment for his
hospitable proffer. "I am not fitted for such
conviviality. I am old—afflicted In a
word, I must decline your invitation."
"Now this is most ungracious," exclaimed
Welford. "But perhaps you fancy that I
•hall slip out in the middle of the entertain-
ment—forget to pay for it—and thus leave
you to settle the score? Such a trick I may
perchance have played in my time; but I am
now as staid and as steady as the parish bea-
dle or the sexton of St. Paul's. Besides,
look here!"—and drawing forth his purse, he
displayed the gold with which it was well filled.
"Thanks to the generosity of my patron, I
am not deficient in coin-"
But old Manners resolutely excused him-
•elf from accepting Dr. Benjamin Welford's
invitation, which was, however, urged most
perxcvenngly for several minutes. At length,
finding the old man fixed in his determination,
the doctor went off in dudgeon, and almost
immediately accosted another person, with
whom he evidently had some slight acquaint-
ance, and who accompanied him away from
the gaidens.
Master Manners soon forgot the little epi-
sode just described, and fell into a reverie
once more. From this, however, he was
presently aroused by a hand laid upon his
shoulder; and starting up, he gave vent to
an ejaculation of astonishment on betwlding
Lionel Danvers.
CHAPTER XV.
THE IITTKBTIKW.
Vert different was the demeanour of Lione
Danvers on this occasion from what it was
when he encountered the ruined merchant
outside the grounds of Grantham Villa, and
the old man was at once struck by the change.
For there was something regretful and con-
ciliatory in Danvers' aspect—nothing abject
nor servile however, nothing grovelling nor
aliased; for alike in his attitude and his look
was all that dignified grace which at a moment
could so readily elevate itself into a haughty
courtesy. But it seemed as if the proud and
imperious disposition, yielding to a conscious-
ness of wrong, and swayed by those generouf
feelings which were not altogether foreign to
it, was now prepared to make reparation or
atonement.
"My lord, dare I hope for aught that will
soothe me in my affliction ?" asked Manners,
in accents tremulous with suspense; for Dan-
vers gazed upon him without speaking.
"Let us sit down and discourse tranquilly,"
said the nobleman. « There are many per-
sons walking about in these grounds, and it
were neither prudent nor agreeable to attract
their notice by any outward display of extra-
ordinary feeling."
Thus speaking, Lionel placed himself upon
the bench, where Manners also resumed his
seat; and as the old man surveyed that elegant
and symmetrical form, I hat countenance which,
with its duskiness of complexion, was of such
perfect masculine beauty—those lips, sur-
mounted with the slight moustache, and which
now, slightly parted, bespoke mournful medi-
tativeness—those eyes whose gaze, half-veiled
beneath the long lashes, beamed not at present
with lightning-fires but appeared to express
the remorsefulness of a proud soul, the bereaved
father felt that he could even forgive this noble-
man for the past, provided he undertook to
make all possible reparation!
"You doubtless know by whose command
I come hither?" said Danvers, again breaking
silence, after a few moments' pause.
"Yes ; his gracious Highness the King must
have sent you hither," exclaimed Manners
"But one word, my lord—I beseech you, one
word! Is Clara alive?"
"She is," responded Danvers, quickly avert
ing his head as he spoke ; but almost instanta-
neously turning his looks back again upon the
old man, he said, " I am prepared to give vol'
a strange surprise."


56
THE NECROMANCER.
"A surprise, my lord," exclaimed Manners,
with mingled joy and misgiving; for while he
inwardly thanked heaven for the assurance
that Clara was alive, still was he troubled liy
the tone in which that assurance was given
and the suddenly averted look that accom-
panied it.
"Ves—a surprise of a nature alike startling
and pleasurable," continued Danvers. "In-
deed, I feel hut too profoundly that my conduct
has been ungenerous—unkind—unwarrant-
able; and yielding to the persuasion of the
King, whom I saw this morning, I am here
now to give you the assurance that all mys-
tery shall cease—all uncertainty be cleared
up."
"Then Clara is alive ?" exclaimed Man-
ners, his joy now triumphing completely over
his misgivings. "She is alive—Clara is alive
—My beloved daughter is alive! Oh ! what
deep, deep gratitude do I feel to heaven,
that has granted me this moment of recom-
pense for the days, and weeks, and months,
and years of jvretchedne.su, suspense, and
horrible uncertainty which I have endured!"
—and as the old man thus spoke, the tears
trickled down his cheeks and rolled upon his
beard.
"Tranquillize yourself—master your emo-
tions," said Danvers, "or we shall be ob-
served!"
"True, my lord," returned Manners; "I
forgot at the moment that we were in a pub-
lic place. Indeed, I remember nothing save
the one blissful thought that was uppermost
in my mind-—the thought that my Clara is
alive! But where is she, my lord? does she
love her old father as was her wont? is she
acquainted with the misfortunes that have
overwhelmed me? is she aware that I have
wandered as a houseless beggar upon the
face of the earth 1 Tell me every thing, my
lord, I beseech you! But first of all, is my
Clara near! is she in London! If so, take
me to her—let me embrace her—let me par-
don her if she be guilty !—But that surprise,
my lord, which you promised?"—and having
thus given vent to his feelings and anxieties
in quick and broken sentences, the old man
began to sob like a child.
"Your daughter is not guilty—she is my
wife," answered Danvers—and again was his
head suddenly averted as he spoke; but on
the vanishing profile did Manners, as he rais-
ed his tearful eyes, catch that wicked look of
awful mystery in the wreathing lips and flash-
ing eyes of Lionel Danvers.
A horrible feeling seized upon the old man:
it appeared as if a voice from another world
had whispered in his ear that he was deceived
- —and from having experienced a brief inter-
val of thrilling hope, he was now suddenly I
plunged into a maze of the most poignant
»nJ agonizing uncertainties.
« Good heaven, m T lord! if you were de-
ceiving me?" he cried, snatching the hand
of Danvers so as to make him turn round
again.
"Deceive you V ejaculated Lionel, hi■
countenance all in a moment assuming a look
of haughty indignation, as he did turn and
bend his inscrutable eyes upon the old man.
"Er:r these doubts—these misgivings!—But
if they are to continue, the sooner our inter*
view ends the better;" and he rose from the
bench.
"No, no—depart not thus, my lord—I im-
plore, I beseech you !" exclaimed Manners, in
bewilderment and confusion - neither reas-
sured in his previous hopes, nor knowing how
to regard his misgivings—not daring to relapse
into confidence and staggered as to his unbe-
belief. "Pardon me If I have wronged you,
my lord: but consider how much reason I
have to doubt! Think of all that has oc
curred to make me distrustful—remember
every thing I have gone through"
"Well, well," said Danvers, half impa-
tiently and half soothingly, as he sat down
again; " I do make all possible allowances for
you. But listen, and endeavour to interrupt
me not. I have already assured you that your
daughter is alive; and now I emphatically
add that she is my wife—that she has all
along been my wife! But it was the pride
of a scion of the mighty house of Danvers
which made me ashamed of acknowledging
the low plebeian family to which she belonged
Nor was this all! Think you that I was un
aware of all the keen pryings, the imperti-
nent scrutinies, and the incessant peeringa
which you carried on with regard to me?
What! I the descendant of one of the proud-
est families in Christendom, and whose hand
would have been accepted without question
or reference by peeresses or princesses, to find
myself the object of ah your mean, base, low-
minded inquiries ?—it was more than I could
endure! Therefore was it that I made up my
mind how to act. I said to Clara, 'If you
love me, abandon home, father, everything,
and come with me ,• but if you value home
and father more than this love of mine, then
farewell forever !'—Was it doubtful which
course a fond devoted maiden could adopt?
She fled with me to the Continent—we were
wedded—and she is now dwelling in splen-
dour, surrounded by domestics, courted arid
admired by all who know her!"
"Where, my lord—where?" demanded
the old man, now elate with confidence once
more.
"At my castle in the Isle of Wight," re-
turned Danvers.
"What, my lord—the Isle of Wight?"
exclaimed Manners, his wild hopes all dashed
down again in a moment. "I have been
thither—the castle is deserted—you yourself
told me when first I knew you that it was
untenanted"


THE NECROMANCER.
67
"But it is occupied now—and Clara is
there" observed Danvers, speaking with the
haughty air of one who with difficulty con-
descends to explain away a doubt accusatory
of himself. "Within the last few weeks
have I made that castle my home again—
and money, lavishly expended, soon rendered
the long-deserted fortalice as sumptuous as a
royal dwelling."
"Oh! again and again," cried Manners,
"do I implore your lordship's pardon for
these doubts—these misgivings—these suspi-
cions on my part! But since Clara is really
at your castle in the Isle of Wight, let me
hasten thither," continued the old man in a
tone of fervid entreaty,—" let me hasten thi-
ther, I say, and behold my Clara once again!
If you, my lord, deem that the alliance is a
stigma and a stain—and even if she should
hesitate to acknowledge her poor, bankrupt,
lately mendicant sire, in the presence of the
brilliant circle which, as you say, surrounds
her—Oh! then will I consent to see her
from a distance! I will not accost her—I
will even stifle her loved name when rising
to my lips—nay, more, I will mingle with the
menial herd, if your lordship wills it, and be-
come your own and my daughter's servitor,
provided I may but see her !"—and as he
thus spoke, again did the tears pour down
his cheeks.
Fortunately the place where the old man
and Lionel Danvers were seated was at some
little distance from the spot principally cho-
sen by the loungers: otherwise his emotions
and the impassioned vehemence of his utter-
ance would have attracted attention. As it
was, the nobleman was compelled once more
to enjoin him to be tranquil.
"Calm yourself," he said; " calm yourself!
You have asked me to yield my permission
that you shall see your daughter, and I will
take you to her."
"O joy, joy!" ejaculated the old man,
utterly unmindful of the injunction to be
calm: "all this is happiness so unexpected,
so undreamt of, that I know not what to say
or what to think! It appears to me like a
vision, presently to melt away and leave
naught but disappointment behind. Ah!
my lord, how bitterly do I deplore that con-
duct on my part which gave you offence and
has aided to produce so much misery! But
peradventure your lordship set down my mo-
tives as mercenary? perchance you believed
that I sought to pry into your affairs to ascer- i
tai« the amount of your wealth? I take |
heaven to witness it was not so! O my
lord, I dare not explain to you what those
motives really were. It was a cause which
may have been imaginary—visionary—delu-
sive: but it was a superstition stronger than
myself It was a belief that hung like aa
iron chain around me—it was an influence
that sat upon me like a spell. Ah ! and that
! same cause it was which ere now again, but
a few minutes back, made me provoke your
wrath by that sudden appearance of misgiv-
ing on my part—0 God! and I behold it
now!" he cried in a sudden paroxysm of
mental anguish, as he caught that same look
flitting in its fearful sardonism and diabolic
mystary over the countenance of the listening
Danvers.
"What madness is this ?" exclaimed the
nobleman, seizing the old man's wrist and
wrenching it forcibly for an instant: while
the look—that fearful look of infernal wicked-
ness—swept again over his countenance.
« God forgive me if I wrong you," murmur-
ed the old man in accents so deep, so piteous,
that it seemed like the voice of a crushed and
ruined spirit; " but you have a look at times,
my lord, as if Lucifer himself were gazing
out of your eyes and reflecting his scorn upon
your lips!"
"Ah! l«cause a sudden pang convulses
me," exclaimed Danvers,—"a pang arising
from some internal malady—am I to be judged
thus uncharitably by you? Does not all
your conduct warrant me in separating my-
self entirely from you—in bearing away your
daughter—and in adopting all the measures
which I have used to keep her on whom the
proud name of Danvers is bestowed, afar from
these base and grovelling influences which j er-
tain unto her sire V
Once more did old Manners experience a
sudden and powerful revulsion of feeling; anil
it was accompanied with a shock that agitated
him from head to foot, What if that expla-
nation were indeed true, that it was the pang
from a hidden milady which from time to
time swept athwart Danvers' countenance?
And after all, what explanation could possi-
bly be more natural? How was it to be
doubted 1 did it not seem the simplest but at
the same time the most rational solution of a
mystery which had haunted the old man for
years past? And if this were, indeed, the
truth, was it wonderful that Danvers should
have felt aggrieved, hurt, and insulted at all
the inquiries, suspicions, and misgivings of
which he had been the object when paying
his suit to Clara? was it wonderful that he—
a great, wealthy, and proud nobleman—should
have borne away his bride in the manner he
did, leaving her father in disgust, and com-
pelling her to choose between that father and
himself?
8uch were the reflections which swept ra-
pid as a whirlwind through the old man's
brain; and he felt an ineffable humiliation—
a profound mortification—as he was thus led
to regard Danvers as the injured person ant
himself the injurer—Danvers the provoket
and himself the provocator!
"My lord," he said, in a tone of deep con.
trition, " I begin to think that, after all, much
of the wretchedness and sorrow which I have


68
THE NECROMANCER.
endured has been of my own making. But
will you pardon a poor ruined old man, who,
whatever his foibles, his weaknesses, and his
faults may have been, has bitterly paid the
penalty!
"This is the hour, then, for mutual for-
giveness," said Lord Dan7ers; and taking the
bereaved father's hand, he wrung it with all
the apparent cordiality of those times when
he visited at the merchant's house as the sui-
tor of his daughter. "Nevertheless," he con-
tinued, " I must candidly inform you that had
it not been for the intervention of his High-
ness the King. 1 do not think these explana-
tions would ever have taken place. His Grace
is well disposed towards you, and purposed to
have sent some trusty emissary to provide
you with a considerable sum of gold to
commence a mercantile career again. But I
assured the generous monarch that, yielding
to his wishes, I would make your future wel-
fare the object of my attention. Henceforth
shall you abide with your daughter."
The old man was about to fling himself
upon his knees at the feet of Danvers: but
his lordship, catching him by the arm, bade
hire lie ware how he abraded the notice of the
lout gers who had within the last half hour
grown tolerably numerous. Clnrn's father
accordingly retained his place upon the bench;
but fixing his tearful eyes upon the nobleman,
he poured forth his gratitude in the most
earnest and the most fervid manner. Danvers
himself seemed to be affected—at least the old
man thought so, for the proud lord averted
his countenance and held his handkerchief to
his face for several moments.
"Have you any preparations to make ere
you leave London?" asked Danvers at
length; "for we will begin our journey in a
few hours."
"To-night, my lord? Oh! the earlier the
better!" exclaimed the old man, scarcely able
to restrain his enthusiasm.
» Yes—to-night at ten o'clock," rejoined
Danvers. "1 shall not be able to leave be-
fore."
"Your lordship will find me ready, and in-
deed anxious to commence the journey," said
Manners. "I will go forthwith, on leaving
your lordship, and purchase a steed. I have
gold, thanks to the bounty of the King"
"No, it is not necessary for you to trouble
yourself on that head," interrupted Danvers:
"I myself will provide the horses. You must
meet me punctually at ten o'clock, under the
walls of the Convent Garden."
"The wall that overlooks the Strand, my
lord 1" said Manners.
"Yes: be punctual to the hour, and you
will find me at the place of appointment. The
steeds shall be in readiness, so that there will
be nought to do save to mount and gallop
■way."
"O, my lord! you are placing me under an
obligation which I can never repay—you are
filling ine with a happiness which I never
thought would be mine in this life again!"
It was thus, in deep tremulous accents, that
the old man spoke; and Lionel Danvers,
again pressing his hand, rose abruptly and
sped away. For some minutes did Manners
remain seated upon that bench, gazing after
the retreating nobleman as his form, so full
of youthful vigour and characterized uy so
much symmetrical grace, as well as being so
lofty and dignified, stood out as it were, con-
spicuously from the now thickening crowd of
loungers amongst whom he passed. At
length the dark mantle so gracefully worn
over the left shoulder, and the sable plume
floating over the cap that rested upon the
raven masses of hair clustering about the
classic head disappeared from the old man's
view; and then reverting his eyes towards
the Thames, he fell into a long reverie.
Now did he examine every minute detail
and every particular of the interview which
had just taken place. But why, as he thus
pondered on all the circumstances that had
occurred, and the syllables that had been
uttered, did a grave seriousness come gra-
dually over his countenance! It was be-
cause his convictions were not established so
completely, so irrcfragably, in favour of Dan-
vers and all that he had said, as to preclude
the access of a faint foreboding into his mind.
He knew not why his thoughts should thus,
as it were, be sobering down into sadness
again ; and he tried to persuade himself that
it was only the reaction naturally following
upon so much enthusiasm as he had been ex-
periencing. But no!—ardently and energeti-
cally as he strove to feel convinced—pro-
foundly and earnestly as he strained every
nerve to fortify his soul against farther doubt
and misgiving—stilt did a presentiment, faint
as a fleecy vapour in the distant horizon steal
over his mind, and a suspicion indefinite as
the ringing of far-off bells fti the ears arise in
his imagination.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE JOUBKET.
It was not therefore with complete assur
ance and unalloyed confidence that Master
Manners found himself wending his way
along the Strand a little before ten o'clock.
Very different was that thoroughfare from
what it is at the present day. Then no
crowds thronged on either side—no doublo
line of vehicles occupied the road-way; the
roar, and din, and bustle, and agitation of
wheels, and horses, and men, which now cha-
racterize the place, gave not in those days
even a sign that they ever were destined to be


THE NECROMANCER.
69
L
The night was dark and cloudy—the Strand
was involved in an obscurity relieved only by
the taint beams of light struggling from the
casements of the mansions on either side of
the road; for a road rather than a street it
assuredly was. Few and far between were
the passengers walking in either direction;
and if here and there a female form were visi-
ble, it was hurrying along as though in terror
of footpads or insolent gallants.
But the old man was too deeply absorbed in
his own reflections to observe any external
objects with more than a cursory attention.
As* a matter of course he was thinking of
Danvers, and likewise of his beloved Clara.
Indeed, to think of one was to think of the
other; it was impossible to keep them sepa-
rate in his mind, or conjure up the image of
the former without beholding the latter also.
Ah! if it were indeed true that he was about to
enter upon a journey Which was to take him
to his daughter—how happy he would be!
But if Danvers were to deceive him? Yet
what possible interest could he have? Why
make matters worse than they were by addi-
tional wrong? No, no—it could not be:
Danvers dared not superadd such flagrant in-
jury u a monstrous outrage 1
TLuh did the old man endeavour to buoy
j|t hia dopes; and yet he could not altogether
diviat himself of the dim foreboding nor stifle
the faint suspicion that vibrated troublously
amidst the gush of his hopes, like the venom-
ous water-snnke in the midst of the crystal
stream that flows in its pebbly bed.
"O Lionel Danvers !" thought Manners to!
himself, •* how is it that there seems to be
within thee a hidden spirit of evil from which
I hive found myself shrinking instinctively?
It b. like a spectre looming through the twi-
light, and appearing to blacken where it stands,
but which vanishes in a moment, leaving the
awe-stricken beholder in doubt and perplexity
whether it were ever there at all. Oh ! what
is this mystery that hangs around thee, Lionel
Danvers? Is it indeed naught but fevered
fancy on my part? Was the explanation
which thou gavest of the sudden pang spring-
ing up at times from an inward malady, the
true one? God grant that it was! But why
did not thy words impress a lasting conviction
upon my soul!—why was the effect fleeting
and transitory? Why indeed these ever-
recurring doubts concerning thy truthfulness'
Why these dark imaginings relative to the
influence thou hast upon all these latter cir-
cumstances of my life? Is it that even when
thou didst speak with the most assurance, and
even with a wrathful resentment of suspicion,
I nevertheless could detect a consciousness of
deceit within thee which thou didst vainly
endeavour to conceal? I know not whether
it were so. Perhaps even now I am dcing
thee flagrant injustice again, by suffering the
faintest whisper injurious to thy integrity and
truthfulness to arise in the depths of my soul.
God grant that so it may be!"
Thus musing. Master Manners proceeded
along tl e Strand, until he reached the plaoa
of appointment. This was the wall that then
enclosed the Convent Garden of Westminster,
the site of wlich is the market known as
Covenl Garden at the present day.
In that spot it was almost pitch dark; for
there was no mansion near at hand to send
forth beams of straggling light from the win-
dows. The clouds had spread a funeral pall
over the sky—neither moon nor stars were
visible—and everything portended a storm.
Such a night was by no means calculated tk
dispel whatever amount of gloomy feeling still
marred the trustfulness and confidence of the
old man, but rather appeared of a nature to'
strengthen his forebodings.
On reaching the wall, Master Manner■
began to skirt it slowly ; and in a few minute■
he suddenly came upon some objects which
were visible as being darker than the darkness.
These were two horses, on one of which a
rider was seated, the other being as yet rider-
less.
"My lord," said Manners, » is that you?"
"Yes—it is I," responded Lionel. " Mount
and let us away. These are steeds of a metlla
rarely equalled!"
The old man fancied that this observation
was made in a sort of mocking tone: but
ashamed of himself for allowing every look,
action, gesture, and word of Lord Danvers
constantly to assume an unnatural aspect in
his imagination, he endeavoured to speak
cheerfully as he said, " It is the fashion for
great noblemen of the present day to have
high-spirited steeds."
"Aye—but few so fleet of limb as these,"
replied Danvers, assisting the old man t*
mount the horse that was intended for him.
"And now let us away I"
At this instant the moon broke feebly and
faintly from behind a cloud; and her dim
watery rays fell upon Danvers' countenance.
The old man instinctively threw a swift
searching glance on the nobleman, half in
terror lest he should behold that expression on
those features that ever sent a cold chill to his
heart's core. And sure enough it was so!
There Was the fire flashing from the deep
dark eyes, and seeming to shed an unearthly
glow upon that countenance which at lb«
instant was invested with all the terrible
beauty of the ruined angel. A cry rose up to
the old man's lips; but he stifled it as it were
ere it found vent;—and the next instant he
was speeding along by the side of Danvers
towards Charing Cross.
The road lay in the direction which is now
called Piccadilly: and skirting Hyde Park—
then a private pleasure ground—it was lined
with a continuous row of trees on either
i side. Wilder grew the night, though a few


THE NECROMANCER.
Aunt beams still managed to struggle from
'behind a break in the dense clouds; and pre-
sently the moon itself came out, chill and
Wan like the eye-ball of a dead man through
• jagged rent in a sable sere-cloth. Instead
•f diffusing a sweet silver lustre, it only
seemed to illume the black air with a feeble
ghastliness, like the effect of a lantern in an
immense cavern. It was such a night as one
would deem fitted fbr any purpose of ill—a
■tight which, without storm or tempest,
seemed full of a silent awe that enwrapped
•s it were the soul. The dark shapes of the
lowering trees might themselves be taken for
•minous portents; and in the utter darkness
that prevailed on either side of the road
where the moon-beams could not penetrate,
Mack sinister forms appeared to be gliding.
The old man knew that all these effects were
tilt the fevered imaginings of his own brain:
Nut vainly did he endeavour to struggle
against the superstitious dread in which they
enthralled him.
"Let us speed onward," said Danvers:
and putting spurs to his horse he dashed
along.
His aged companion was too much under
fte influence of consternation to do aught to
Impel his own courser forward: nevertheless
the animal bounded on, keeping abreast with
the steed which Lionel Danvers bestrode.
They were horses of colossal size and as black
as night . Wondrous was the speed which
Ihey now put forth; and every minute they
appeared to be going quicker and quicker,
until they reached a degree of swiftness that
seemed like that of a hurricane. The trees
flew past as if they themselves were rushing
In the contrary direction; and as Danvers
looked round towards the old man, it struck
the latter that the noble's dark eyes were
now flashing continuous fires, and that the
awful expression of satanic scorn and wither-
ing contempt instead of flitting over his fea-
tures, was stationary there. Horrible ideas
flowed through the ruined merchant's brain,
Hke a trail of scorching flame. He felt as if
he were in the power of some unearthly be-
ng who was whirling him on at a madden-
ing rate that might have outstripped the
whirlwind!
Away, away!—along the road they rush,
the horses' hoofs beating with thundering din
upon the hard ground— while trees, and sign-
posts, and all objects that could serve to mark
distances, flitted past like a moving panorama
speeding one way as the horsemen were
dashing on in another. Through a village
were they home: another moment, and it
was out of sight! Now they suddenly
emerged upon the wide open heath of Bag-
. shot; and in a few minutes Danvers abrupt-
ly reined in his steed—the one which the old
man bestrode sympathetically relaxing its
pace also. Then they stopped; and a creak,
ing sound smote hideously upon the ears.
"Behold where the murderers swing !**
cried Danvers: and through the darkness he
pointed with outstretched arm.
Manners mechanically glanced in the di-
rection thus indicated, and beheld a gilVbet by
the road-side, to each arm of which a male-
factor hung in chains; and as the bodies
swayed gently to and fro, the rusty iron
groaned as if the sounds came up from the
hollow throats of the dead. The hideous
spectacle, darkly defined in the obscurity
which the wan moon feebly illumed, caused
the flesh to creep upon the old man's bones
and the blood to stagnate icily in his veins;
but the next moment the steeds dashed
on again, with wildering, whirling, madden-
ing pace; and a tremendous weight of awful
consternation sat upon the old man, as a foul
night-hag sits upon the breast of a sleeper in
a fearful dream.
Away, away! over the wild heath the
horsemen sped; and as Danvers' short Span-
ish mantle of sable velvet flew out straight
from his shoulders, it seemed as if huge hat-
like wings were thus spread open, giving a
horrible completeness to the idea that his shape
was that of a fallen angel. The old innn gaz-
ed upon him as if his very eyes would burst
from their sockets—gazed indeed with looks
so full of wild terror and awful dread that had
it been some hideous spectral form seated on
the coal-black steed, it could not have inspired
a more tremendous horror. And Danvers
bent upon him a countenance which had a
look glowing with a wild and singular exulta-
tion that mingled with a terrific scorn and
blighting irony. Yet all the remarkable beau-
ty of the features struck the eye forcibly still
—a beauty which in its masculine perfection
resembled that of an archangel, but at the
same time appeared to be nought save a mask
beneath which all the passions of hell were
raging, gnawing, agitating, struggling, corrod-
ing,—aye, and devouring too the heart of that
man who was thus clothed in so tremendous
a mystery!
The ruined merchant endeavoured to cry
aloud, but the faculty of speech failed him.
Then he turned away his head in order to
shut out the spectacle from his view and by a
desperate effort regain something like compo-
sure. But a wild and unearthly laugh rang
in his ears; and he knew that it came from
the lips of his companion. Irresistibly his
eyes were reverted upon that individual, whose
tall, elegant, and graceful form, seated upon
the coal-black steed, with the mantle stream-
ing from his back and the sable plume
stretched nut straight as a pine-bough from
his cap, seemed awful as that of Lucifer.
And, O horror! was it imagination or a dread
reality ?—but now living lightnings seemed tc


THE NECROMANCER.
flash from his eyes, play around his lofty fore-
head, and illumine the wild beauty of his
countenance with their baleful fires? At the
same time the wind swept over the hrath:
and with such suddenness came on the tem-
pest, that in less than a minute it blew a hur-
ricane. Now a wood of fir trees was reached;
and as the sable chargers skirted it in their
maddening career, the wind whistled, and
shrieked, and roared, and moaned by turns
amidst the trees, so that it appeared as if the
voices of ruined spirits falling in headlong
Sight were sending forth the tones of agony
that mingled with the malice-mirth of fiends!
Heavens! how haggard, wild, and horror-
stricken the old man looked: desperation sat
on his features—the most appalling terror was
in his fixed and staring eyes. It seemed as
if demons had him in their grasp and vultures
had fastened on his brain. His imagination,
wrought up to a frenzied pitch, appeared to
torture itself by enhancing the horrors of every
thing that was already so ironscendinglv hor-
,ribje. The notes of the wind, as it swept
through the forest of firs, now seemed to him
to be giving utterance to articulate sounds—
cries of murder blending with the shrieks of
tortured maidens—the wild wail of young
children uniting with the yells of strong and
powerful men in mortal agonies!
"O God, I can endure this no longer !" ex-
claimed Manners, suddenly recovering the fac-
ulty of speech with a great effort, and thus
giving vent to the horror that filled his soul.
"A way, away !" cried Danvers; and asthe
two black coursers ^doubled their speed, the
wild winds echoed the cry of " Away, away!"
and in the far-off depths of the forest of firs
did raving echoes prolong the words "Away,
away!"
We said that the horses redoubled their
speed—and it was so. If they had travelled
hitherto with the celerity of the hurricane,
they now rivalled the vivid swiftness of the
lightning. Their long black manes streamed
out and shone with a bright gloss like me-
teors; their eyes flashed fire—and the breath
that passed through their nostrils, instead of
being of fleecy transparency, was like a glow-
ing vapour. Seen from a distance, it must
have appeared as if meteor-lights were being
borne along with a celerity at which electric
fires alone can travel; and notwithstanding
this fearful velocity wherewith he was wafted
onward, the old man experienced not the
least difficulty in retaining his seat, but on
the contrary appeared to be kept in the sad-
dle by some spell which was stronger than
himself.
He shut his eyes in order to concentrate all
his idea■ internally, and thus shield his ima-
gination as it were against the influence of
external objects. He asked himself whether
all these things were a reality or a delu-
sion ?—whether, in a word, he was merely
performing a very rapid journey with Lord-
Danvers, and that his own fevered fancy
had invested it with such an assemblage of
wild and mystic terrors! For upwards of a
minute did he thus reason with his eyes shut
close; and in the depths of his soul did he
murmur, "Yes, it must be all the work of
imagination!"
But when he felt the night air keen and
piercing as if blowing upon him from Spits-
bergen's ice, and recollected that it was a
night in the genial month of May, he was
struck with the conviction that the atmos-
phere only seemed thus penetratingly cold,
because he was being whirled with such head-
long rapidity through- it. For indeed it was
like speeding full in the teeth of a strong
gushing wind; and therefore the old man
knew that the pace must he terrific. Ah!
how then could it all be a delusion? Feeling
as if suddenly goaded well nigh to insanity,
he opened his eyes and threw a quick shud-
dering look upon his companion. Danvers
appeared at the motnent to have some intuitive
knowledge that the old man thus regarded
him with a glance of agonizing inquiry; and
he turned upon him all the terrific lightnings^
of his looks. Yes—there indeed was still
that awful beauty of the noble's countenance:
there too were the fires flashing from his eyes
and playing like blasting lightnings about his
brow ;—and his very lips, wreathing in satanic
scorn and withering irony, seemed to breathe
fire also!
Away, away!—on thundered the steeds—
a town is reached—it is a large one—and yet
it is traversed and passed quick as if it were
but a single house that had appeared on either
side of the road. On, on—and in a few
minutes they reach the bank of a broad
river on whose bosom the wan moon plays.
The steeds dash in !—a moment and they are
upon the opposite bank! It was as if a mere
puddle had been plashed by their tramping
feet for an instant. Then away, away again!
and the steeds snort flames from their nostrils,
and toss their heads as if to shake off meteoric
fire-sparks from their manes — whde light-
nings flash from their eyes, and they have
the appearance of maddened animals rushing
along in the wildest affright. Another town
is reached: some grand funeral ceremony is
taking place in Ihe churchyard; and torches
waving to and fro, fling a lurid light with a
magical effect upon the white grave-stones
and the grey walls of the sacred edifice.
Danvers reins in his steed for a moment, and
pointing to the churchyard, exclaims in a wild
and mocking tone, " They are busy with the
dead this night!" Then away, away dash
the two coal-black chargers again—the town
is passed—and along the lonely road they
thunder on once more. The winds continue
to rave through the trees; and spirit-voices
appear to shriek, and scream, and moan, and


72
THE NECROMANCER.
how I, above — below — behind — before— on
every side!
Presently the way lies through ■ pert of
the country singularly wild and fitted for
■uch a dread nocturnal journey. The road
passes round a tremendous hollow, into the
black depths of which the eye cannot plunge;
while on the other side of the beaten pathway
nigged heights tower upward.
It is the Devil's Hole !" exclaimed Dan-
vers, pointing into the abyss: and then he
gave so wild and terrific a laugh that it woke
n thousand echoes far wilder and more terrific
•till; and ere they had died in the distance
he shouted "A way, away!"—the hills and
hollows again reverberating the sound, as if
the whole neighbourhood were peopled with
fiends, whose voices kept passing on the word
"Away, away!"
The old man felt as if his senses were now
leaving him; and he had no longer the power
to reflect and think upon what was passing.
But still of all that was taking place he re-
mained painfully sensible: only he had no
longer sufficient control over his ideas as to
deliberate within himself whether these tran-
scending horrors and stupendous mysteries
were stern realities or the mere phantasmago-
ria of a fevered fancy. The wild winds raved
—the air was keen as if formed of myriads of
ice-shafts all shooting in one direction while
he was rushing on against the piercing shower
—the eyes of the horses continued to flash
forth living flames—and when he looked upon
Danvers, he still beheld the awful expression
of scorn and malignant triumph upon his
countenance, illumined by the fires which
shot from the eyes and played like forked
tongues of lambent flame around his brows.
Away, away !—more maddening, frenzied,
and furious becomes the pace at which the
coal-black steeds dash along, bearing with
them the unearthly halo of the fires which
they look and breathe! It is as a trail of meteor-
like flames sweeping onward over the surface
of the earth. The old man loses all power of
reckoning, or even guessing at the lapse of
time. At last another mass of water is sud-
denly reached; but it seems not like a river
—for he cannot see the opposite bank or
shore. Not another moment has he to reflect
upon this. The steeds dash on—the spray
is thrown up thickly around him—and imme-
diately afterwards the horses' hoofs tramp
upon the rattling beach of some shore on
which they have just landed. Here there is
a sudden halt: and the old man flings a fe-
vered anxious glance around. Where is he?
whither has Danvers brought him 1 has the
sea been passed? They stand upon a beach
at the foot of a high and escarped dirt",
which gleams white as snow in the wan
moonlight. On the summit may be seen a
pile of castellated buildings—ramparts, tur-
rets, and towers, looking like a black cloud
of fantastic shape that had settled down there
from the dark vaults of heaven. Below—a
a little distance from the beach which the ebt
had now left bare—two or three shafts of rock
are seen shooting abruptly out of the water.
The old man gazes for a few moments in the
wildest amaze: and then he gives utterance
to a loud and terrible cry—for he recognizes
the spot—he knows the scene—he has be-
held it before! i
Yes—for in his search after his lost daugh-
ter Clara, had he visited the Isle of Wight, at
the south-western point of which stood Dan-
vers Castle, frowning from its rocky eminences
above the sea, and overlooking the spot where
the Needles uprear their heads like the last
vestiges of some temple built by gigantic
hands, and which the ocean has overwhelmed;
No wonder, then, that on recognizing the"
spot to which he had been brought, a terrific
cry escaped the old man's lips! For the
moon was still high in the heavens—the
night was not waning yet—no glimmer of
dawn appeared in the east—and therefore
was the astounding, wildering, whelming fact
apparent, that in three or four short hours a
journey of eighty miles had been accom*
plished! Aye—and the sea had been tra-
versed, too, by the coal-black steeds, which
now stood snorting, and champing, and paw -
ing the beach, as if anxious to start on their
preternatural journey anew!
Oh! as these convictions flashed, soul-har-
rowing and brain-scorching, to the old man's
mind, he felt that he was in the power of one
who was indeed above all earthly laws—aa
exception to the very human race itself! But
his daughter—Ah! horrifying thought !—
what could her doom be, in the hands of such
a being?
"Be you a fiend in mortal shape," cried
the old man, now driven to the frenzy of utter
despair, " I will resist thee until the last!"—
and in his maddened wildness, he rushed
upon Danvers, heaven only knows with what
aim or with what hope.
"Fool—dotard !" muttered Lionel Danvers
in a tone of withering scorn; and all the ter-
rors of his countenance—the lightning of the
eyes and the satanic sardonism of the wreath-
ing lips—were turned full upon the old man.
"O God, that look I" he exclaimed, stop-
ping suddenly short in dread consternation;
then turning half round, he reeled—staggered
back a pace or two—and fell heavily, depri-
ved of consciousness.
When he recovered his senses again, lie
was in a dungeon.


THE NECROMANCER.
73:
CHAPTER XVII.
raa lidt Ufa her tire-maid.
A month elapsed; and during this inter-
nal the King was a constant visitor at Gran-
iham Villa. Scarcely an evening passed
without his Majesty's presence at the Earl's
abode. Sometimes he would sup there: at
others he would merely walk for an hour or
two in the garden and shrubbery in company
with Musidora and her two noble relatives;—
but on all occasions his attentions to our he-
roine plainly indicated that she was the ob-
ject of attraction for him. Indeed, those
attentions became more and more tender in
their nature and more pointed in their signi-
ficanry. Though always characterised by an
ardent admiration, they were nevertheless
blended with the utmost respect, and so far
from having any thing of a libertine aspect,
were those of a suitor wooing a damsel to be
his bride. Never once, either in word or
look, did the monarch transgress the bounds
of the strictest delicacy. Not that Musidora
would for a single instant have tolerated such
transgrc*'ion: but there was nevertheless, aH
circumstances considered, a merit in this for-
bearance on Henry's part. For inasmuch as
• King in those times assumed to himself a
sort of prescriptive right to exercise the full-
est control over the hearts of his female sub-
jects, as he held the lives, liberties, and for-
*anes of all at his own disposal,—the respect-
ful conduct which his Highness observed to-
wards Musidora would have been regarded
by any other lady as a homage of the most
flattering description. It was at once the
most exalted compliment which the Royalty
•f that age, especially when personified in
such a monarch as Henry VIII. could possi-
bly offer to the beauty, the virtue, and the
other merits of an English damsel. But Mu-
sidora, while receiving these delicate and re-
spectful attentions from the King, appeared
to regard them only in the light of ordinary
courtesies, and did not seem to attach any
more significant meaning to them.
But we shall gather a better idea of the
eccurrences of the month which had elapsed
since Musidora's arrival at Grantham Villa,
if we peep into her own chamber and listen
to the conversation which was taking place
one evening between herself and Annetta.
The King was expected to supper at nine:
k v as now eight o'clock, and our heroine
was commencing her toilet a little earlier
than usual.
'Seated near the window, which was open,
and through the lattice-work of which shone
the prismatic lustre of the descending sun,
Musidora gazed down into the beautiful garden
Mow—while Aimetta was arranging the
long shining masses of the lady's laven hair
It was a delicious evening in the month of
June: the air that was wafted into the cham-
ber, was filled with the fragrance of the
sweetest flowers,—yet not to a degree to pro-
duce a sickly sensation, nor to mar the fresh
ness of the gentle breeze. And Musidora
appeared to woo that breeze as it came
through the lattice-blind. Not that there was
the flush of excited thoughts upon her
cheeks: no, pale as the purest Parian marble
were they—and the serenity of her alabaster
forehead forbade the supposition that her
brain throbbed behind those brows. And yet
did she court the breeze as if there were
some inward excitement which its freshness
soothed. Yet who that gazed upon Musido-
ra's countenance, with its ice-like placidity,
and beheld her in all the glacier-brilliancy of
her beauty, could for a moment imagine that
it was possible for her heart to be swayed or
her soul to be excited by the feelings with
which other hearts are touched and other
souls are moved?
"His Highness comes again to-night 1"
said Annetta inquiringly, as she combed out
the long tresses of her lady's hair.
"Yes," replied Musidora; "the King
comes again to-night:"—and her voice usu-
ally characterized by a fluid evenness which
would have been monotonous were it not for
its ineffable melody, gave a just perceptible
accentuation to the word again.
"And are you not pleased, dear lady?"
asked Annetta, who was a shrewd and intel-
ligent, but frank-hearted and well-meaning,
as well as very pretty and interesting girl of
about eighteen. "I am sure that if I had
the good fortune to be regarded as a fit com-
panion for the King, I should be ready to go
out of my senses with sheer delight."
"Then in order to retain your senses, An-
netta," said Musidora, "it will be as well for
you to avoid the chance of ever falling in
with Royalty."
"It is not likely that I shall have such a.
chance at all," rejoined Annetta. "But you,
mistress, who are so very fortunate in this
respect, do not seem near so happy as, frankly
speaking, you really ought to be."
"And why do you think that I ought to
be so supremely happy ?" asked Musidora, in
a tone of placid indifference, as she threw
herself farther back in her chair, over the
crimson velvet of which the raven masses of
her hair flowed like a dark cloud: but as
Annetta did not answer the question, Musi-
dora glanced slowly round; and as she
caught a glimpse of her young dependant's
countenance, she observed, "You wish to
say something, minion, to which you hesitate
to give utterance?"
"May I then speak freely?" asked An-
netta, encouraged by Musidora's words and


74
THE NECROMANCER.
manner: for the term minion was in those
times one of endearing familiarity addressed
by ladies to their favourite abigails.
"Assuredly! say what you will," returned
Musidora. "You have been with me nearly
three years—have you not, Annetta 1—and
during that interval I have received every
proof of your natural goodness of heart, as
well as of your candour and prudence. I
therefore suffer you to speak more familiarly
to me than any one else. And now say
what you wish."
"I was about to observe, dear lady," con-
tinued Annetta, " that his gracious Highness
must ho deeply and sincerely in love with
you to come so often to the villa. Of course
it is not through friendship for Lord and
I.Ally Grantham that his Grace comes; be-
cause I have learnt from the servants of the
household that the King never came hither
at all till you were an inmate of the house;
but on the contrary, I understand the Earl
and Countess were in deep disgrace. It is
therefore evident enough that the King is in
love with you, dear lady; and as his present
marriage is said to be no marriage at all, and
his present wife no wife at ail, it follows that
he is at perfect liberty to contract another
marriage and choose another wife. Oh! my
dear mistress," exclaimed Annetta, enthusi-
astically, "proud I shall be to see you Queen
of England!"
"Annetta, I have suffered you to go on
talking thus," said Musidora, calmly, " be-
oause I in the first instance gave you full and
free permission to speak your thoughts. But
I did not anticipate that you were about to
indulge in such wild dreams on my behalf.
Do the servants of the household permit
themselves the liberty of talking in a similar
manner V
«There is no doubt that they whisper
amongst themselves," replied Annetta, "and
that they sometimes exchange looks which
mean quite as much as words can say. But
they are very cautious alike in speech and
looks with regard to this matter; for there is
scarcely a day that passes without the Earl
and Countess renewing the injunction to keep
his Grace's frequent visits a profound secret,
and never to allude to them outside the walls
of the villa, under pain not only of instant
dismissal but also of the King's sorest dis-
pleasure."
"And what do the domestics think of this
incessantly-renewed injunction," asked Musi-
dora, "accompamed as it is with threats and
warnings?"
"They say little on the point, but yield im-
plicit obedience, so far as I can learn," replied
Annetta. "The servants, both male and fe-
male, are, as you must have observed, all el-
derly people, and have been in Lord Gran-
tham's service for some years; and, therefore,
they are not likely to risk their own situa-
tions, much less dare the royal vengeance, by
carrying tittle-tattle outside the walls of tha
villa. Besides there is the old house keeper.
Dame Bertha, who keeps a lynx-eye upon
them all; and she takes care that none of
them ever set foot over the threshold without
her permission."
"But what opinion do the domestics seem
to have formed relative to the injunction which
the Earl and Countess have given them?"
asked Musidora, though in a cold indifferent
manner, as if rather lor the sake of saying
something than because she felt the slightest
interest in the topic
"I have heard Dame Bertha herself say,"
answered Annetta, " that his Highness is not
so completely his own master but that he to
some extent follows the advice of his council-
lors—the Lord Chancellor Warham, the Earl -
of Surrey, Sir Edward Poynings, and others
—and that they are all bitterly opposed to
Lord Grantham. Therefore his Grace does
not choose all in a moment to inform his
courtiers that he has forgiven Lord Gran-
tham;—and so for the present he visits hem,
incognito. Thus says Dame Bertha." i
"And is that all she says'" asked Musi-
dora; for it was easy to perceive by Annet-
te's tone and the way in which she sud-
denly stopped short, that she had really mora
to tell.
"That is all Dame Bertha says," replied
the girl; "but the servants generally fancy
that this is not the only reason why his Grace
comes hither under such circumstances of
strict secrecy." ,
"Proceed, A nnetta," said Musidora, as bar
dependant again stopped short; but still the
lady spoke in her wonted manner of calm iu-
difference and passionless quiescence. ,
"Well dear mistress, since you permit mo.
to speak," continued Annetta, "it must
frankly be told that the prevailing impression
in the servants' hall is that King Henry comea
here no often and in such rigid incognito, be-
cause he is wooing you as his bride, but does
not choose to let the circumstance become
public until he has sent to Rome to obtain*
from the Pope a bull divorcing him from the
present Queen."
"Now suppose that all these conjectures be
well founded,''* said Musidora, " should you
not think me very wrong, Annetta, to becomo
the cause of severing the King from Queen
Catherine, whether she be or be not an estW
mable woman?"
"If, clear lady, by intrigue or treachery,",
replied Annetta, after a few moments' const*
deration, " you >*>♦1 succeeded in alienating?
King Henry's he.rt from Queen Catherine, [
should certainly think the deed most unge*
lerous for any woman to perform, an*}
most unworthy of the character of Musidora
Sinclair. But inasmuch as it appears from
all I can have learnt, that his Highness hue


7§
resolved, before he ever saw or even heard
of you, to div irce Queen Catherine and to
proclaim the nillity of a marriage which he
believes to have no legal tie, I cannot for a
(ingle moment see that you are to blame if
his Grace has chosen to fail in love with
you." -
Annetta ceased speaking, and Musidora
Blade no reply nor comment for nearly a min-
ute. The young damsel, while arranging
the superb tresses that flowed over the crim-
son back of the chair, passed round from be-
hind the seat so as to catch a glimpse of her
mistress' countenance, and ascertain if possi-
ble whether she could read therein the effect
which her words had produced. But no !—
there was that ice-like brilliancy of the lady's
beauty, with the fading gleam of a smile upon
the lower part of her face; and there was also
the superb lustre of the fine dark eyes; but
the expression of all the features was as in-
scrutable as ever—so that as Annetta passed
behind the chair again she wondered how it
possibly could be that never, never could she
glean from Musidora's looks the slightest,
faintest clue to what was passing in her soul.
"You have spoken like a very sensible and
intelligent girl, as you are," said Musidora,
at length breaking silence again; "butrecol-
lect that I only supposed you; conjectures to
be true foi an instant, in order to give you
an opportunity of expressing your opinion on
a certain point. Let me now assure you, my
dear Annetta, that whatever brilliant hopes
you in your kindness may have conceived on
my behalf, have never once as yet been fos-
tered by my ambition. The King has prof-
fered me many civilities, but has never hither-
to breathed a word which might be construed
into a d;rect proposal."
"But he means it—he means it, dear la-
dy !" exclaimed Annetta: "and I shall yet
have the honour—Oh! the supreme, the
matchless honour of dressing the hair of the
Queen of England! How grandly would a
diadem rest upon this head !"—and as she
spoke with a heartfelt enthusiasm, she with her
two pretty white hands smoothed down the
redundant masses of her mistress's hair.
"Yes—and it will be so too," she continued,
rather in a musing strain to herself, though
speaking aloud, than actually addressing Mu-
sidora ; "every sign, every token proves that
the King loves you. Has he not sent a
teamed physician to the Isle of Wight, to take
tip his abode at Sinclair House 1—not merely
that your father's health may be duly cared
for and cherished, but also that the worthy
knight may have the society of a gay and in-
tellectual companion to make him miss his
daughter's absence all the less. And in the
letter which you received the other day from
Sir Lewis, and of which you so kindly read a
portion to me, did not your father declare
that he had never been happier in his life than
with this individual whom the King had sent
to him, and who served the purpose of coiat
rade, physician, and friend ". Yes—those
were Sir Lewis's very words: and surely it
was most considerate and most kind on the
part of the King to send so agreeable a persoa
to keep Sir Lewis company? But that is not
all," continued Annetta, in her almost uncon-
scious musings. "Has not his Highness pro-
vided you with written orders and passports,,
bearing his own gracious sign-manual, to en-
able you to visit the Towei, St. James's Pal;
ace, and other places under the royal author-
ity and which he thought you would like t»
inspect? Did you not likewise receive aa
order to visit Windsor Castle ?—and was not,
that a pleasant day which we spent on the
jaunt thither! It must be quite a change for,
the Earl and Countess thus to go about with
you, mistress, after being so long confined, aa
one may say, to this particular spot . They
have to thank you for getting out of disgrace
with the King, and into favour again. But
as I was saying, dear mistress, all those civil-
ities and favours which the King has shown
you, speak eloquent enough of his intentions
—Ah! I quite forgot the magnificent set of
diamonds which his Highness gave you ",
"And which I accepted at the time with
so much reluctance," added Musidora, " and
have so completely forgotten ever since."
"You are incomprehensible in all but the
kindness of your disposition !" remarked An-
netta, encouraged, by the turn the conversa-
tion had taken, to a somewhat greater famil-
iarity than she was wont to venture upon
with her young mistress: but at the same
time she meant no harm. "I do not pretend,
to know any thing about the value of precious
stones; but the most ignorant could tell that
these are beyond all price. I thought the set
beautiful enough which the Countess present;
ed to you the day of your arrival, and won-
dered more than once why you wore then^
not. But bright as I deemed Ihem, they ap-
pear absolutely pale and dim in comparison
with those resplendent gems which his High-
ness gave you. Ah! dear lady, if you woulsf
only permit me to decorate you with them
this evening, how ravishingly beautiful would
you look! Beautiful vou always are.—beau-
tiful you ever must be - but still this loveli-
ness of your's may be set. off, if not enhanced,
and displayed in the light of flashing gems aa
a contrast to the simplicity which mingle■
with the glory wherewith it is wont U,
j shine."
] "Annetta—my dear Annetta!" exclaimed
j Musidora, smiling with a sudden gaiety, which
nevertheless was but the heightening of the
cold brilliancy over her alabaster features—
while the pearls shone lutween the parting
coral of her lips ; " you have been studying ia


THE NECROMANCER.
the school of flattery. Do yuu know that if I
were more girlish than I am, you would ren-
tier me quite vain V
'"O dear lady ! you must know—you can-
not help knowing," cried Annetta, now passing
from behind the chair and gazing upon her
young mistress with a sincere enthusiasm,
"that you are splendidly beautiful. Yes—
though of the same sex, yet do I feel a plea-
sure in contemplating such transcending love-
liness as your's. Aye, and it is an honour
likewise to be permitted to serve as the hand-
maiden of one so superbly handsome."
, For an instant—but only for a single instint
—an expression of proud triumph shone upon
Musidora's countenance ; but the next moment
it settled like a spirit of mockery in the depths
•f her dark haunting eyes, as if even the
consciousness of her own miraculous beauty
was not able to excite more than the slightest
and most transient emotions.
. "It does not even appear to give you plea-
sure, dear lady," said Annetta with a look of
affectionate regretfulness, " to know that you
are beautiful. Either you will not allow the
• thought to harbour in your bosom, because
you deem it a weakness—or else it is absorbed
by other thoughts, which make you indifferent
tpthe possession of such rare loveliness."
"Annetta, you have never spoken to me in
such a strain before," said Musidora, bending
her dark eyes for an instant in an inquiring
manner upon her abigail's countenance.
"Because you never permitted the conver-
aition to take such a turn before," answered
Annetta.
"Then you are discoursing on things con-
cerning which you have often wished to speak
mi former occasions'"
"Yea, dear lady, such is the truth. 1 will
sot deny it."
"A nd these things on which you desire to
■peak ?" said Musidora, her dark eyes resting
more searchingly and penetratingly upon
Annetta.
, "Did I not just now take the liberty of
^observing that you are incomprehensible? O
lady, to be beautiful as you are, and yet to
.remain emotionless when told that you are
vfceautiful—in one short month to have brought
the King of England to your feet, and yet to
remain as indifferent to the consummation of
so proud a triumph as if it were some poor
knight or humble gentleman instead of a mighty
monarch whom you had thus inspired with
such a passion—to possess the richest dia-
monds that ever were yielded up by oriental
mine, and yet leave them neglected and for-
gotten in the casket, preferring to place a
simple white rose or a camelia upon your
hair, or else to leave it entirely unadorned, es if
its own dark glory were a brighter halo than
diamonds could shed upon it,—Oh ! there is
something strange—I might almost say unna.
tural. in all this I"
Annetta stopped short; for her mistress's
eyes appeared all in a moment to glow with a
wild'and unearthly lustre; and on her coun-
tenance there suddenly sprang up an expres-
sion so strange, so full of ineffable emotions—
anger, dismay, affright, and entreaty, all
combined—r-that no wonder was it that the
young damsel ceased abruptly and even started
back at thus beholding on the part of her mis-
tress a display of feeling such as the girl had
never seen before. But with phantom-like
swiftness, and indeed with the suddenness
of a passing shade flitting away, did that wild
expression vanish from Musidora's counte-
nance, and her eyes shone with their natural
lustre once more.
"Did I say any thing to offend you, daarest
lady ?" asked Annetta, with timid manner and
deprecating look.
"No. What made you think so?" asked
Musidora, with the air of one who fancied that
not the slightest ground had been afforded for
such an idea.
"Methought you looked as if suddenly an-
gered," returned the abigail: "yes—and not
only angered, but also grieved."
"If you had done wrong wilfully, I should
have chided you," said Musidora, in her usual
tone and without the least excitement. "But
tell me all you wish to say; I shall not I*
angry with you. Speak, Annetta. You know
that I am not often swayed by mere curiosity;
but it suits my humour at the present moment
to hear you explain your thoughts concerning
me. You said that I am incomprehensible?
Is it because my mind possesses a placidity not
easily ruffled, and because it is not so readily
moved by the vanities and the follies of the
world as the generality of our sex?"
"I know not exactly how to answer,"
replied Annetta, somewhat perplexed and
bewildered by these questions. "And yet
it does seem strange that one who is herself
so lovely and so loveable, should notwith-
standing possess a heart so little accessible to
love
"Love!" repeated Musidora: and then
again did that same ineffable expression sweep
over her countenance.
"There! are you not angry with me V
cried Annetta, gazing half in affright upon her
young mistress.
"Angry ?—no!" exclaimed Musidora: and
she smiled with such transcending sweetness
that the impression produced by the other
look was effaced all in a moment. «Go
on, Annetta: let me hear what you have
to say, since it is evident you have thoughts
unto which you are desirous to give expres-
sion."
"Dearra» lady," resumed the young tire-
woman, " I cannot help thinking that you are
a being infinitely superior to myself. I fancy
that were I possessed of your superb beauty
1 should not prove indifferent to compliments


THE NECROMANCER.
aid I possess such gems as those which have
been gifts to you, I should long for every
fitting occasion to deck myself therewith:
—but, oh! were I fortunate enough to win
a monarch's love, my heart would not re-
main like a fragment of an unsunned gla-
cier!"
"Do you not see, my dear Annetta,"
asked Musidora, rising from her seat, and
tapping her abigail with caressing good-
humour upon the cheek, " that if I were all
you suppose I ought to he, I should seem the
most monstrous embodiment of every senti-
ment of vanity, conceit, pride, and vain-glory
that ever combined to render a human being
odious and insufferable? Better, better far,"
she a*lded with some little degree of emo-
tion, "that my heart should remain (if your
description be correct) the fragment of an
unsunned glacier!—better also that my smiles
should be like snow-wreaths, and my tears,
if ever I weep, like drops distilled from
icicles!"
There was a strange energy in these last
words which fell from Musidora's lips—not
strange for any other human being, because
such words had something too much of bitter-
ness in them not to lie spoken with energy;
but strange for her who so seldom—so very
seldom—displayed aught resembling emotion
at all? Yet strange as this manifestation of
feeling was on Musidora's part, stranger still
—aye, and also far more unnatural—was the
sudden coldness which supervened—the ici-
ness of manner and of look which succeeded
that swift brief moment of excitement—while
the petrifying brilliancy of the smile settled
again upon her countenance, and she became
the unfathomable, inscrutable being she of
late years had seemed to be.
"However," she said, as if by way of wind-
ing up the observations she had just made, or
of putting a finish upon the topic of conversa-
tion, " since you wish to have the pleasure of
bedecking me with the gems which his High-
ness the King has given me—and inasmuch
as the circumstance of never having yet worn
them may indeed appear somewhat negloctful
and might be construed into a prideful eccen-
tricity on my part, of which feelings I am
utterly incapable—you shall have* your own
way this evening."
"What! and you will wear the dia-
monds?" exclaimed Annetta, joyfully, as if
she had achieved a brilliant triumph in per-
suading her young mistress thus to adorn
herself.
"Yes—I will wear the gems this evening."
responded Musidora;—and the delighted abi-
-jail proceeded to open the wardrobe in which
the jewels were kept.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE X.IXG'8 STBATAGEM.
It was close upon nine o'clock, when the
door of the saloon where the Earl and Coun-
tess of Grantham were seated, was thrown
open and a domestic announced the King.
The nobleman and his wife rose and advanced
with true parasite servility to greet the mo-
narch, who on his part treated them with (he
most condescending, courtesy. But at the
same time his eyes^rlanced rapidly around;
and the Earl, anticipating his meaning, ob-
served with a low bow, "Sire, the fair Musi-
dora will doubtless make her appearance in
a few minutes."
"Ah! your lordship divined tnen full easily
for whom my eyes sought?" exclaimed the
King. "But tell me, what think you is the
impression I have made upon her, if any at
all! Do not flatter me—do not at once begin
with the wonted courtier-like assurances that
wherever I bend my looks, there must I find
yielding hearts. No, my lord; it is not al-
ways so !—the knee sometimes bends in the
cringing servility which sordid interest prompts
or selfishness suggests; and yet the heart may
rebel! Now, it is a week since I privately
and confidentially whispered in the ears of
yourself and her ladyship the Countess that
your fair young relative has won my
heart"
"Which secret, gracious liege," observed
Lord Grantham, " the Countess and I have,
according to your royal commands, retained
solemnly and sacredly in our own breasts."
"Aye, that much I expected at your
hands," rejoined the monarch. "But for what
purpose did I thus soon make you my con-
fidants? Was it not that you might observe
Musidora well—gather up all her words—
endeavour to penetrate the meaning of her
looks—watch whether you could ever surprise
a sigh escaping her bosom—and take oppor-
tunities when alone with her, to turn the con-
versation upon me, so as to ascertain what
her opinion is of her King? Have you done
all this?—for during the past week I have
not had an opportunity of speaking to you
alone?"
"We have watched—we have observed—
and we have discoursed, in the manner which
your Highness pointed out," returned Lord
Grantham.
"Yes—and I have sought opportunities of
being alone with Musidora," interposed the
Countess, taking up as usual the unfinished
thread of her husband's remark. "I have
spoken to her about your Highness in various
terms—sometimes extolling the generosity of
your character, at others lauding your pro-
ficiency in martial sports and chivalrous tilt;
now alluding to your Grace as a uolishei'


78
THE NECROMANCER.
gentleman and accomplished gallant, and then
praising your domestic virtues and describing
how admirably your Higbneaa'a qualifications
are adapted, all monarch though you are, to en-
sure the happiness of a loving and tender wife."
* Well, and what does the fair Musidora
say to all this!" asked the King. "Come,
tell me the precise truth. I do not wish you
to deceive me in a single point. On the con-
trary, I should be mortally offended with you,
were I to discover that you misled me."
"I will candidly tell your Highness the
truth," answered the Countess of Grantham.
"Musidora exhibits no particular inclination
at any time to make your Grace the topic of
discourse; but she never absolutely avoids
that .topic when I suggest it. She does not
appear moved by the eulogies which 1 pass
upon you; whereas she herself occasionally
suggests faults which she believes you to
possess."
"Ah ! you have been indiscreet in plastering
me too thickly over with those eulogies,"
exclaimed the king in a tone of vexation.
"Instead of laying a delicate gloss over your
picture, you have doubtless put on so thick a
daub of varnish as to make all the rich colour-
ing appear through a suspicious medium."
"No, my liege—I flatter myself/' responded
the Countess, "that in this respect I have
acted ingeniously enough. For when Musi-
dora has hinted at any of your faults, I have
spoken with great apparent freedom on the
subject—with much greater freedom, indeed,
than is consonant with the respect I owe and
the veneration I feel towards your Grace"
"Tush! spare the compliments," cried the
King. "We have not perhaps many minutes
to converse ere Musidora will make her
appearance; and in the interval I wish to glean
what I can relative to the impression, if any,
which my assiduities, my bounties, and my
qualifications may have made upon her. As
for my sovereign rank, I believe it is well nigh
valueless in her estimation"
"No, my liege; Musidora has her ambition,
I am convinced of it!" exclaimed the Countess
of Grantham. "The very style in which she
discusses what she is pleased to term your
Highness'? faults, has once or twice caused
her to let slip a word or two"
"Well, and that word or two *" asked the
King. "And about the faults too'l Tell me
what are my faults in her estimation, that I
may know how to amend them."
"Musidora thinks, from all she has heard,
that your Highness attends too much to plea-
sure and too little to the interests of your
people—that there is a vast amount of misery
and poverty into which your Highness never
condescends to look; and she has once or
twice observed that if she had the power, she
would accomplish such and such reforms, and
•fleet such and such beneficial changes."
"Ah! thro hex's is the ambition to <k>
good?" and a look very much resembling
scornful disgust appeared upon the monarch's
countenance. "However," he immediately
added, " if such be her desire we will see if
it cannot lie gratified. But candidly speaking*.
J^ord Grantham, do you not find your young
relative a beautiful and charming enigma?
Such indeed she appears to me. She resem-
bles the water-lily upon the crystal brook
when the moon illumines the scene and bathes
the flower with its silver flood."
"The comparison is most admirable, my
liege," responded the Earl of Grantham. "It
is on account of her very purity that she is so
slowly accessible to love."
"Yes, her virtue is of the iciest quality,"
added the Countess. "And yet she is not
passionless! It is impossible that with her
radiant beauty, and with that voluptuous
grandeur of form, together with the deep fir■
that burns in her splendid eyes,—impossible, I
say, that she can be passionless!"
"But surely your Grace can form some idea
of the impression which your brilliant qualitiea
as a man and as a Sovereign," said the Earl
of Grantham, " have made upon Musidora."
"Flattery again! sheer flattery on yonr
part!" exclaimed the King, with an impatient
movement of haughty disgust. "Will you
forget the habits of a courtier for a few minutes,
and speak as an adviser, a friend, and a confi-
dant, if you can?"
"It is difficult, sire, to throw off habits of
deference and respect," rejoined the Earl of
Grantham.. "But to speak in the plainest
and simplest language, may I lie permitted to
ask how Musidora comports herself towards
your Highness at such times when you hap-
pen to lie alone with her? For instance,
occasionally when we have walked together
in the gardens of an evening, the Countess
and I have purposely lingered behind to afford
your Grace an opportunity of saying sweet
things to Musidora"
"Aye," interrupted King Henry, "and oh
those occasions to which you refer, has Musi-
dora penetrated the stratagem, and either
loitered or actually stopped short in the shady
avenue until ye two have overtaken us again.
In a word, she has ever avoided being left
alone with me in the pleasure grounds."
"Ah !—that very rigidity of virtue whereof
I ere now spoke!" exclaimed the Countess.
"It is the purity of admirable principles most
highly wrought—the innocence and bashful
reserve of girlhood embellishing the charms
of splendid womanhood!"
"Well," said the King, " I must devise
some means to ascertain how I really stand
in Musidora's heart. Therefore if you heal
me telling any strange tale this evening, cal-
culated to pique her curiosity, jealousy, or
any other sentiment on which I may choose
to play, do you appear to enter into the spi-
rit thereof. It will be hard indeed if I d*


THE NECROMANCER. 79
not think of some method of probing the
Mysteries of the maiden's soul. Perhaps I
may even thaw that iciness of look which
she wears—call up a blush to the cheeks
which are as stainless as marble—and con-
vert into the ruddy glow of the tropics that
■mile which is as brilliant but as cold as the
sun shining on the frozen regions of eternal
winter."
"Whatever stratagem your Highness may
have recourse to, we shall comprehend it,"
said the Earl of Grantham.
"Yes," added the Countess; "and I shall
be glad for your Grace to devise a means to
compel Musidora to give some sign or evi-
dence relative to what she really thinks of
your Highness. But," added the titled dame
hesitatingly, * if I might be permitted to sug-
gest the easiest, the simplest, and the shortest
method"
"What V demanded the King, turning
with something like choleric abruptness upon
the Countess.
"I would advise that your Grace should
at once announce your royal pleasure to Mu-
sidora," responded her ladyship, timidly and
hesitatingly: "for it is impossible to conceive
that a young lady—so highly honoured, so
transcendingly flattered—should hesitate to
fall on her knees and pour forth her gratitude
to the great King who purposes to make her
the partner of his throne."
"Nonsense, madam!" exclaimed Henry
Vni. "I anticipated that such was the idea
which had entered your head. But you do
not know your young relative Musidora so
well as I, if you imagine that she is to be
dazzled all in a moment by a brilliant offer.
Why, she has scarcely seemed pleased at the
civilities I have shown her! She has ac-
cepted them in the light of common-place
courtesies—save and except the diamonds;
and those she positively refused at first to re-
ceive at all, until I commanded her as her
Sovereign to take them. Even then I beheld,
in the quick flashing of her eyes and the
sudden wreathing of her beauteous lips, the
impatience of a proud spirit rebelling against
that despotic mandate of mine. Aye, for
she did regard it as despotic, though it was a
mandate which forced upon her a gift worth
well nigh a monarch's ransom. Yes, she
accepted those jewels because I commanded
her—and because almost at the same time I
told her how I had sent off a learned physi-
cian to take care of her sire's health. But
has she worn those diamonds once ?—has she
condescended to appear in them on a single
occasion? No. Think you then that she
has not a proud, a haughty, a peculiar—aye,
aud an indomitable spirit? How know you
what iron energies may exist in the inscru-
table depths of her soul? Believe me, Mu-
sidora is not to be driven: but she may be
lad! It is possible at least—and we will try
But were I to command her to accompany
me to the altar, she would bend upon me hot
large dark eyes, and her splendid counte-
nance would beam with scornful defiance.
You surely then, madam," added the King,
fixing his looks upon the Countess of Gran,
tham, "cannot wish to expose me, your So-
vereign—the King of England—to the ignc-*
miny of being refused by one who, alter all,
is but an obscure girl? Aye, obscure—but
heavens !—how wondrously beautiful! what
a marvel of loveliness! The earth never
possessed her equal. Talk of oriental oda-
lisques, of whom my Ambassadors to the
Ottoman Porte have spoken in such raptu-
rous terms! they are naught in comparison
with Musidora Sinclair. I am convinced
that all the boasted brilliancy of the brightest
Sultanas' charms would pale into dimness
and sinken into misty gloom, before the tran-
cending splendor of Musidora's loveliness."
I "The Earl and Countess of Grmitham
exchanged quick looks of significancy us they
listenetl to this excited rhapsody on the part
of the King; for they saw that he was so
enamoured of Musidora—so utterly captivated
with the magic glory of her beauty—that he
would raise heaven and earth to win her heart
and make her his own.
Scarcely had King Henry concluded his
fervid speech, when the door opened and the
object of his eulogy made her appearance.
But it would be impossible to describe the
dazzling brilliancy—the almost overwhelming
splendour of her presence, as she thus burst
as it were upon the eyes of her relatives and
the King. The diamonds in which she had
suffered the admiring Annetta to bedeck her,
were indeed of the rarest and costliest descrip-
tion ; and well did they become her! Shining
with the concentrated light of nil the stars of
the firmament upon the raven darkness of
her hair—around the polished column of her
neck—upon the dazzling whiteness of her
bosom—and circling the plump symmetry of
the snowy arms, those gems did indeed, as
Annetta had presaged, set off Musidora's
charms to a new and indescribable advantage.
Yet brilliant though the shafts of vivid lustre
were which the gems shut forth, yet not more
lustrous than the light which shone in the
large dark eyes—those eyes that seemed of
jet filled with electric fire!
An expression of satisfaction hurst from th■
lips of the King as he thus beheld Musidora
decorated for the first time with the diamonds
which were his gift; while the Earl and
Countess exchanged meaning looks once more,
not only to imply that they saw how the King
evidently felt the compliment, tardily though
it was paid, but also to express their hope that
their beauteous young relative had at lengtk
determined upon rivetting the chains which
her charms had thrown around Henry's heart
After some little discourse they all tout


80 THE NECROMANCER.
repaired to the supper-room, and sat down to
Cable. As usual, the King was assiduous in
his attentions to Musidora; and according to
her wont, she received them with that digni-
fied courtesy and polished ease of manner
which left it to he supposed that she took
them as the ordinary demonstrations of polite-
ness, and nothing more.
During a pause in the conversation, Musi-
dora, suddenly recollecting the adventure which
first introduced her to the King, said, " I have
been somewhat remiss in one respect; and
that is in not making very recent inquiries
relative to the poor old man in whom your
Highness so deeply and so generously inter-
ested yourself."
"I have heard naught of him since last I
gave you tidings on the subject," responded
the King.
"That was ten days ago," observed Musi-
dora ; " and he had arrived in Edinburgh on the
special mission upon which your Highness
had despatched him."
"Doubtless more will be heard from him
shortly," rejoined the monarch. "There are
various points in which the commerce between
the two countries may be improved; and as
Manners is eminently proficient in all subjects
of that kind, I thought it best to despatch him
to the Scottish capital as a special Commis-
sioner to treat with the Regency of that king-
dom. He set off, as I informed you at the
, time, within a very few days after we saw him
here: and, as I have likewise informed you, I
learnt ten days back that he had arrived safely
and was entering with spirit upon the object
of his mission."
"Was it not a long journey for so aged a
man to undertake V asked Musidora, her
memory dwelling compassionately upon the
ruined merchant's infirmities and sorrows.
"As I have already informed you, it was
his own wish to remove from London for the
present. After mature reflection he made
that statement to the trusty person whom I
sent, according to appointment, to meet him
in the Temple Gardens; and in consequence
of what the old man then said to my messen-
ger, did I subsequently acl. Rest assured,
Musidora, that Master Manners has every
reaoon to bless the hour when you testified so
much sympathy in his behalf."
"Your Highness hag done more—far more
—titan I could have foreseen or than he
could possibly have expected," observed Mu-
sidora.
"Dear young lady," said the King, " there
are no doubt many, many sad cases of dis-
tress and woe within my realms; and my
heart often bleeds when imagination depicts
those unseen sorrows to which I would so
cheerfully stretch forth a ministering hand if I
did hut know where such sorrows hide them-
selves. Indeed, to discover the seclusions, the
*urking-holes, and the dens where poverty re-
quires assistance, vice needs reform, and die
ease languishes for the physician's help, a'
Queen should tske the task in hand. The.
affairs of State are already heavy enough for
me. Scandalous tongues and evil-disposed
persons have dared to represent that I expend
in pleasure much of that time which should
be devoted to my subjects. But this is not
the ease. Throughout whole days do I set in
deliberation with my Council —or in the in-
spection of State documents—and in the con^
sideration of plans to benefit my people."
Musidora listened to the King with an in-
terest which she made no attempt to conceal;
and as he paused, she said, "It is with un-
feigned delight that I hear your Grace thus
speak. Heaven will prosper all the endeav-
ours you may make for the amelioration of
your subjects." ■ ■
"Had I been blessed," continued Henry in
a grave tone and assuming a serious look,
"with a Queen who would second those en-
deavours to which you have just alluded, fab
Musidora, I should have been happy indeed.
But it is otherwise. My marriage being ille-
gal, and the Queen herself knowing that a di-
vorce has been applied for, is too much occu-
pied with her own sorrows to devote any
attention to those of my subjects. Therefore,
when I resolved to procure the annulment of
this most unlawful and most unfortunate union
into which I was half beguiled and half forced
at the time, I determined that the wife whom
I should choose to share my throne must lie a
woman of a disposition, a character, and a soul
that would qualify her to become the veritable
mother of my people. I said to myself," con-
tinued Henry, now appearing to address him-
self to the Earl of Grantham, and not to Mu-
sidora, "that if amongst the daughters of
England I could find one who combined per-
sonal beauty with mental accomplishments—a
stainless character with a benevolent heart-r-
and a mind that so far from yielding itself up
to the seductiveness of the pleasures and de-
lights which belong to a Court, would become
devoted to the task of ameliorating the condi-
tion of the people,—I vowed, I say, that thij
damsel, wherever I could find her, and who-
ever she might be, should receive the offer of
my hand!"
"It was a resolve worthy of a great and
generous-hearted monarch," said the Earl of
Grantham.
"And one," added the Countess, " which
history will not forget to record in its brightest
page."
"Well," continued Henry," I have sought
after a lady possessing all the requisites
which I have specified—I have caused secret
inquiries to be made in various parts of Eng-
land, even the most distant, to ascertain if
such a young damsel could be found. I my
self thought for a moment,"—and here !.■
glai :ed round at Musidora with a half-sign*-


THE NECROMANCER: 81
Scant and half-reproachful look—" that I had
discovered the fitting object of my research-
es: and I strove to win her heart. I wooed
her as significantly and as tenderly as be-
came a prince who could not descend alto-
gether from the summit of his pedestal. But
[ failed with the voice of affection to awaken
a responsive echo in her heart . She would
not comprehend me—or she could not. If
the former, she was wilfully blind: if the
latter, it is to be deplored—but I dared not,
considering my own rank and dignity, be
more explicit. This day I have received a
communication from a trusty emissary, whom
I sent to a distant county, and who in his
despatch informs me that he has heard of a
maiden who fully merits the high distinction
I proposed to confer on the most worthy.
•This damsel," continued Henry, still address-
ing himself to the Earl of Grantham, "is as
perfect as a matchless beauty, a cultivated
mind, a charitable'disposition, and an affec-
tionate heart can possibly render her. To-
morrow, therefore, do I propose to journey
incognito to the dwelling of this damsel's
father—remain there for a few days—assure
myself that she is in reality all that has been
represented—and then act accordingly. Do
you approve of this intention, my lord?"
"Most decidedly," answered the Earl of
Grantham, remembering the cue he had re-
ceived from the King previous to Musidora's
appearance.
"And I echo the approval," cried Lady
Grantham.
"But you, fair Musidora, what say you
upon the subject?"—and as the King put
this question, he turned slowly round and
fixed his eyes upon our heroine.
"Since your Grace has done me the hon-
our to consult me," responded Musidora, with
nothing in her tone or her look to indicate
the stir of any unusual emotion in her bo-
som, "I will frankly declare my opinion to
be that every part of your Highness's plan
relative to the choice of a future Queen is
admirable and most praiseworthy, but that
the courtship your Grace proposes to make is
too short."
"What mean you, Musidora V asked the
King, as if really puzzled to comprehend her,
words.
"Simple enough though my answer was,"
■he said, in the same placid and passionless
manner as before,—so superb and so digni-
fied too in the alpine splendour of her beau-
ty,—f I will nevertheless endeavour to make
myself more explicit."
"Proceed," said the King. "I am mosfi
anxio is to hear you."
: "What I meant your Highness to under-
stand," continued Musidora, "is that no wo-
man would be really and truly worthy of
your Grace, who suffered herself to be wooed
by a short courtship ; nor could there be any
true delicacy and real feminine dignity in
the heart of her who would advance half
way to meet the overtures of a suitor, even
though that suitor were the Sovereign him*
self."
"Ah! it is admirably spoken," exclaimed
the King, with a quick glance of intelligence
and satisfaction towards Lord and Lady
Grantham: then rising from his seat, he ad-
vanced to the window, which, stretching
down to the floor, looked upon a lawn at the
back of the villa;—and perceiving that it was
brilliant moonlight without, he drew back the
curtain and opened the casement. For a few
instants he stood upon the threshold gazing
forth upon the scene of garden and shruli-
bery, with the field and the shady lane beyond,
all of which were bathed in the silver flood
of argentine splendour:—then turning some-
what abruptly away, he accosted Musidora,
extending his hand and saying, " Come ! the
evening is delicious—let us walk for a while
in the garden."
Our heroine rose from her seat—paused for
an instant—and the glance which she flung
rapidly upon the Earl and Countess, showed
that she hesitated whether to desire them to
accompany her, or not; but making up her
mind the next moment, she gave her hand to
King Henry and suffered him to lead her
forth from the apartment.
CHAPTER XIX
THE MOOIT-lIOHT WALK.
Musidora's diamonds glistened brightly
in the silver flood of lustre that poured down
from heaven upon the garden-scene of dewy
verdure and slumbering flowers; and the
marble fairness of her splendid countenance,
her grandly-arched neck, and her sloping shoul-
ders, appeared in dazzling contrast with the
dark but glossy cloud of her flowing hair.
Her hand was still retained in the KLig's as
he led her down the gravel-walk that inter-
sected the sloping lawn; but it tremoled not;
—it lay there, in his clasp, passive and almost
listless, as if no emotion swelled in the heart
of her to whom it belonged. And upon her
countenance was that same seiene seriousness,
gently softened by the gleam of a half-vanish-
ing smile upon her scarlet lips; but though
her features were thus statuesque and grave
almost to a solemn fixedness, yet did that
faintly beaming smile, together with the glo-
rious lustre that shone in her superb dark
eyes, relieve her countenance of all monotony,
and even lead the beholder to suspect that it
was possible for this ice-like being to becom«
all that could be desired of feminine and ten-
der feelings.
The King gazed upon her with a look of


82
THE NECROMANCER.
unmistakable admiration, and in which there
was perhaps fondness also; but for the first
minute or two that they were thus atom to-
gether in the garden, he spoke not a w ord.
It was nearly as light as day; and they could
see each other quite plainly. Musidora flung
from the depths of her large inscrutable eyes
a quick glance upon the monarch's counte-
nance, as if to penetrate his thoughts with
that lightning-look; but it lingered not to
mingle with his own—and as he gently
-pressed her hand, it gave n. silently responsive
token of tender feeling. In short, not the
slightest encouragement of any kind did the
King receive from this splendid but mysterious
being. Yet surely it was an hour, it was an
occasion, and it was altogether under the in-
fluence of circumstances, which might have
induced her to unbend from her chill reserve
and suffer the ice of her heart to melt some-
what? for this was a moon-light scene, so con-
genial to the tender passion,—and moreover,
it was the mightiest King in Christendom
that walked by the side of Musidora now!
"And so, fair one," began the monarch,
still retaining in his own that hand which
was not withdrawn; but in thus suffering it
to remain in his clasp, there was nothing sig-
nificant—for in those times a lady, when
walking with a cavalier, was as often accus-
tomed to hold the hand as to hang upon the
arm :—" and so, fair one, you approve of my
resolve to raise the most deserving of Eng-
land's daughters to the seat beside me on my
throne? But you disapprove of the brief
courtship of three or four weeks?"
"The opinion which I ventured to give
your Highness upon that point ere now," an-
swered Musidora, " was one which I can con-
scientiously reiterate."
"And if I decide upon espousing this dam-
sel of whom I have spoken," continued Hen-
ry, " will you be present at the bridal V
* I should be bound to obey your High-
ness's commands," responded Musidora, still
speaking in the same even and emotionless
tone as was her wont.
"I can assure you from all that I have
heard, she is eminently beautiful," resumed
the monarch: "and her qualities, though
somewhat peculiar, are excellent. I already
Jove her! Love is ever the more profound
when it is tinged with romance; and there
is something especially romantic in choosing
a wife in such a manner as this. Do you not
think that she will be flattered by the choice
that I thus make?"
"She must undoubtedly feel herself hon-
oured by so marked and distinguishing a
proof of her Sovereign's favour," replied Mu-
sidora. "But if she be a woman of really
fine character, elevated thoughts, and noble
disposition, she will feel a laudable gratifica-
tion of pride rather in the fact that so lofty a
'libitte is paid to ber virtues than in the
mere abstract circumstance of being raised to
a throne."
"You mean that she must feel herself to
be a woman of no common order thus to have
won the good opinion and gained the favour
of the King? Is it not so, Musidora?" he
asked, gazing upon her.
"Yes," was her tranquil reply: "the Sov-
ereign is the fountain of all honour: and it is
therefore natural that his good opinion should
be appreciated far more highly than that of a
humbler individual. Therefore the woman
who is fortunate enough to win this good
opinion, has reason to be proud; she is even
justified in being proud;—and she were some-
thing less or something more than woman,
did she remain unmoved by such a magnifi-
cent tribute paid to her merits. Nevertheless
—But perhaps I shall offend by the remark
to which I would give utterance V
"No, you cannot offend me," exclaimed
the King. «I value your opinion so highly
that I purposely asked you to walk forth with
me from the supper-room that I might receive
it unreservedly from yourlips. I know you to
be a lady not merely of very superior intellect,
but also of fine taste and exquisite delicacy in
all your sentiments. Moreover, a sort of
friendship, I flatter myself, has sprung up be-
tween you and me; and we are now convers-
ing in this spirit. You must forget that I am
the King, while offering me your opinion.
Suppose, for instance, that you fancy your-
self my sister—then all restraint and all em-
barrassment can be laid aside, and you may
speak to me in the fullest confidence and
with the utmost assurance. Do you consent
to talk with me on such terms?"
"I do," answered Musidora.
"Now then, proceed with the remark
which you were about to make," said the
King.
"I had been observing, as your Highness
will remember," continued Musidora, "that
the lady who becomes the object of so special
a mark of royal favour as that which you
purpose to bestow upon the country damsel
of whom your Grace has spoken, cannot fail
to appreciate such a tribute to her merits
But it is at such a time and under such cir-
cumstances, that she ought to show the ti ue
greatness of her character: for she must re-
member that, as a woman, she has a duty to
perform towards herself and her sex. If she
suffer herself to be dazzled by the brilliancy
of the offer and thus accept it readily, your
Highness may rest assured that there is some
weak point in her character. True, it would
be a woman's weakness, and assuredly a par-
donable one: but still it would be not the
less a weakness."
"Then what would you have her do V'
asked the King.
"I would have her frankly and candidly
tell your Majesty," rejoined Musidora, " that


THE NECROMANCER. 83
vhile she feels flattered by the honour you
confer upon her, she nevertheless cannot give
an immediate answer—that she requires some
little time to study your disposition, and as-
sure herself that her own will appropriately
mate with it—that although it is her King
who seeks her hand, yet that it is but a man
after all who woos her heart—and that it is
therefore imperiously necessary she should
have some leisure to search into her own soul
and analyse her own feelings, in order to
ci me to a right conclusion whether it will be
for the advantage of her monarch that she
should accompany him to the altar."
"Vou reason like a discreet and prudent
woman, fair Musidora," said the King—and
he pressed her soft hand tenderly: but still
did she walk on in serene and placid dignity
by his side, without appearing to notice the
circumstance. "To sum up all your argu-
ments in a few words, you think that there
ought to be a proper period of courtship; and
that a King has no exclusive patent or spe-
cial prerogative to claim exemption from such
tardy process of love-making."
"Your Grace has rightly interpreted my
meaning," rejoined Musidora.
"In that respect, then, will I follow your
advice," continued Henry; "for I am not j
one of those who seek a friend's counsel
without the intention of adopting it. But to
another point:—and again do I wish you to
speak freely and candidly. You are aware,
my dear Musidora,—for in these affectionate
terms do I address you by right of the tacit
friendship which has sprung up between us,
—you are aware, I say, that I am for the mo-
ment trammelled by my unfortunate mar-
riage with Queen Catherine: but I have
applied to his Holiness the Pope for annul-
ment and divorce. Now, that this dispensa-
tion or decree will arrive in England in a few
days, I have secret but positive information.
Nevertheless, the Queen has a somewhat
powerful party in the country; and were
the Pope's decree made public all in a mo-
ment and the Queen divorced on a sudden,
there would be civil war. The nation would
be plunged into the miseries of intestine
strife, and my very throne would be endan-
gered. Are not these deplorable catastrophes
to be avoided?"
"Most assuredly," was our heroine's reply.
"But the perils of which we are speaking
are only to be averted by a temporising po-
licy," proceeded the King, "and this may
involve a period of several months. Do you
understand me well! From the very mo-
ment that the Pope's decree reached my
hand, my marriage with Queen Catherine is
dissolved. Shall I be justified in contracting
another, privately and secretly, but with all
the fitting rites and sacred ceremonies so as
to render it legal in the eyes of the church
ind of heaven?"
| "If such a marriage will also be legal
; whenever it may be proclaimed in the eyea
of men," was the answer that Musidora gave,
in a more deliberate tone and with deeper
solemnity of manner than she had before
spoken. "Because," she continued, but still
speaking with measured accents, as if she
well weighed every word ere she gave it ut-
terance, "many marriages take place pri-
vately in the world, from a variety of circu n-
stances: but if the circumstances be imperi-
ous and the marriages themselves are sol-
emnised in good faith and with priestly
sanction, it would be the veriest affectation
of heartless stoicism or refined prudery to
object to them."
"I thank you for this clear and lucid enun
ciation of opinion," said the King; and he
gazed long and intently upon Musidora'a
countenance: but not the slightest evidence
of emotion ruffled its serenity; and still did
her hand remain passive as that of a statue—
but with the living warmth which the marble
hath not—in his own. "To be more explicit
still," he continued, after a long pause, " let
us suppose that I avow my intentions to this
damsel of whom we have all along been
speaking, and that I grant her full power and
license to fix the duration of courtship: sup-
pose also that at the end of this courtship rr»
own love is confirmed and her good opinion
of me is strengthened to the requisite degree
to warrant her in entrusting her happiness to
my keeping. Then let us suplK,sc that rea-
sons of policy render it necessary that a
private marriage should tnke place, but with
the solemn understanding that such marriage
is to be proclaimed so soon as the way can lie
properly prepared for its enunciation. In this
case would you advise the damsel to consent
to such private marriage V
"Yes—under such circumstance■ I would,"
answered Musidora.
Again did the King fix his eyes earnestly
upon our heroine: and still did her counte-
nance preserve all its wonted serenity, though
perhaps there was a stranger and even a
wilder light than usual shining in her glorious
eyes. But this might lie fancy on the mon-
arch's part; for no other evidence of feeling
or emotion did she betray. Her hand, warm
with healthful ammation, lay listlessly in his
own; and the grand outline of her bust moved
not with a quicker undulation than was the
natural accompaniment of her regular breath-
ing. No—nor did even the faintest sem-
blance of a roseate tint appear upon the pure
living white of her cheeks. Her step too
was as firm and as even in its graceful dig-
nity and its elegant lightness as ever; and
thus was she to all outward appearances as
passionless and emotionless as it seemed her
fixed nature to be.
"If you were the bosom-friend of this dam*
set of whom we are speaking," continue*


84
OMANCER.
THE NECR
Henry, in a slower and a deeper tone,—" or,
to make the question more pointed still, if you
were the damsel herself, would you act in the
manner we have [,een describing?"
"It would he either a wretched display
of sophistry or else of base duplicity on my |
part," returned Musidora, " were I to express
an opinion to your Highness which I would
not give to another; or if I were to approve
of n course for that other to pursue, when 1
myself should shrink from adopting it."
"Then, Musidora," exclaimed the King.
"tell me—have you not understood me all
along?"
"Certainly," she replied, answering me-
chanically as if without effort and without
emotion. "You sought my advice as a friend,
and I have given it in that spirit."
"And have you not a deeper interest in the
topic?"
'• No."
"And your heart whispers nothing?"
"No."
"But you have foreseen what was to follow
rom my words?"
« No."
"No—no — always no!" ejaculated the
King in an excited tone. "Your chill replies
fall like ice-flakes upon my heart. Ah! but |
they shall melt there—and your heart shall
warm also yet! Cruel, cruel Musidora—as
lovely as you are cruel—as adorable as you
are incomprehensible! You know—Ah ! you
must know full well what I mean!" cried Henry,
now pressing her hand between both his own,
and fixing upon her looks as tender and as sig-1
nifkant as they were earnest. " Wherefore do
you tantalize me thus! Wherefore continue
thus cold—thus freezing! Tell me—is your
heart indeed of ice? have all the feelings of
a woman frcraen into adamantine sternness
within you ?" •
Musidora spoke not immediately: but now
her hand did tremble, and perceptibly too, in
the monarch's grasp;—and nat merely the
semblance of a roseate tint, hut the crimson
hue itself mantled upan her pure cheeks, like
the flush of morning on the virginal whiteness
of the lily ;—and stranger and wilder flashed
the light from her dark haunting eyes—and
the superb outline of her bust swelled and sank
with quick and visible undulations.
"Oh! then you do possess the feelings
of a woman! The proud soul of ice can
melt—the haughty marble statue can unbend
from its pedestal!"—and as the King thus
spoke, he pressed her hand with renewed
• apture; and inclining his head to a level
with her eyes, he gazed deep down into the
profundities of those magnificent oibs.—
'* Musidora," he continued, in a low deep
tone of impassioned feeling, "you know that
I love you! You must have seen it! Even
if your own heart beat with no responsive
chord, nevertheless you would have been blind
not to perceive all the many evidences of that
devotion which my soul has offered up at the
shrine of your beauty and your worth! Tell
me—tell me, lovely enigma—beautiful embo-
diment of the most enchanting mystery—tell
me, sweet dissembler, that you have under-
stood me all along!"
The flush had passed away-from Musidora'a
cheeks—her bosom's swell was regular one*
more—proudly she stood and proudly too she
looked, as she withdrew her hand and gave
the cold reply, " Your Highness must not ac-
cuse me of dissembling."
"Ah! you are angry with me then! you
are offended?" he cried, looking as if he
thought he had gone too far or had spoken
too fast. "Incomprehensible being that you
are, why this frigid reserve! You know that
I love you—at least, if you knew it not before,
you know it now—for I declare it! The
whole tale of the damsel in a distant county
was a fiction invented to serve as a preface
for this avowal, and as the means, indeed, of
conveying it. All King as I am, I felt that I
could not speak to you, Musidora, as I should
have spoken to any other woman on the face
of the earth. There sits not a queen upon
the throne, before whom the heart of man
must humble itself so utterly as mine is hum-
bled in the presence of your lofty loveliness,
and proud yet graceful dignity! If, then, in
a moment of natural enthusiasm I forgot tbe
amount of homage which is jourdue; if, hurried
away by the wild and impassioned hopes of a
lover, I addressed you in terms which have
i given offence, I crave your pardon—I beseech
your forgiveness. But at the same time I
implore your love ; and in bestowing that love
upon me, it is for you to fix all the conditions
of my courtship in pursuance of the opinions
you have expressed and the rules of propriety
you have laid down."
"Great King," answered Musidora, her
voice now perceptibly tremulous, and a beau-
teous smile of mingled gratiflcation and affa-
bility—we cannot exactly say tenderness—
expanding upon her splendid features,—" I
seek no self-humiliation on your part; I de-
mand it not—I deserve it not. I am but •
humble mortal—a poor weak woman"
"Oh ! now you are melting—you are yield-
ing—you are about to give me hope and
encouragement!" exclaimed the King—and
he pressed her hand in rapture to his lips;
then sinking upon one knee—there, in th■
grsvel-walk of that garden, and in the pel-
lucid flood of argentine moonlight—tha mo-
narch knelt at Musidora's feet, saying, " Tell
me that I am not indifferent to you. Say
that if I woo honourably and tenderly, you
are to be won?"
"Rise, sire—rise," said Musidora, ber lips
now quivering with emotion, her voice trem-
bling, and the roseate hue again mantling
upon the alabaster of her countenance. *' I


THE NECROMANCER.
feel honoured—(lettered—by your Grace's
kindness.—But rise—for it is not fit that my
Sovereign should kneel to me."
'• ( obey you, beautiful Musidora," slid the
King, as he rose from his suppliant posture:—
and again did he snatch her hand and press
it to his lips; but as she gently though firmly
withdrew it, he exclaimed, " Oh! you doubt-
less imagine that it is impossible for me to
love tenderly and sincerely after so brief an
acquaintance? But from the very first in-
stant that we met, was I stricken with an
eternal sentiment, and your image was inde-
libly impressed upon my heart. A month has
elapsed since then. A month!—Oh! it is
a short period'in the life of man; but it is
full of experiences for one who loves—because
every day, every hour, every minute, aye,
every flitting second is characterized by a
worship that perishes not, but the incense of
which grows stronger as it fills the soul. Al-
ready then do I love you adoringly and devo-
tedly; and it seems to me as if I had known
you for years V
Musidora listened with visible interest
though with disappearing emotions; yet even
when the flush had again vanished from her
cheeks, and her hps had grown still once
more, did she continue to gaze with earnest-
•jess upon the monarch's countenance as if to
reaj to what extent his heart echoed the im-
passioned accents of his tongue.
"Do you doubt me—do you disbelieve
me ?" he inquired with a slight tinge of proud
annoyance.
« No, sire," she answered: " I do not doubt
you—I do not disbelieve you. Why should
11 There is sincerity in your words, in your
manner, and in your looks. Besides," she
added, suddenly drawing herself up to the full
of her stately height, " if you know me at all,
you must know me too well to have any object
in deceiving me."
"No—not for worlds!" exclaimed the
King; and again be took her hand, which she
unhesitatingly abandoned to him. "Now re-
lieve me, my beloved Musidora, from sus-
pense: tell me how long my courtship is to
last. But, Oh! in pronouncing this sentence,
be merciful!—doom me not to a delay that
will prove intolerable!"—and as he thus spoke
he passed his arm around her waist.
But instantaneously disengaging herself,
and once more standing and looking proudly
before him, she said in a lofty tone and with
a magnificent expression of woman's virtuous
pride upon her countenance, " If you love me
with a hasty burmng passion only—if your
feelings be made up of frenzy and impetuo-
sity—let there be at once an end of every-
thing between us! Musidora Sinclair will
not become the object of a sensual phantasy
as transient as it is gross: she was not formed
it* be the toy of so grovelling a sentiment.
3ul if your Highness seeks in me a true!
*
friend — a companion to journey with you
along the vista of existence,—if you feel that
there is refinement, and tenderness, and deli-
cacy in your affection, and that as years pass
on you will cherish me with becoming fond-
ness, even when my beauty shall have faded,
my hair shall be streaked with silver, the
fire of my eyes shall be dimmed, and time shaH
have planted wrinkles on my brow,—if such a
love as this your Grace can oiler me, then will
I accept it. I shall esteem it an honour—(
shall ever strive to deserve it; and in me will
you find a true, a faithful, and an attached
wife, until the hand of death shall separate
us!"
Every individual existence has had its proud
moment at least once durihg its passage aloi)g
life's highway from the cradle to the grave;
and the career of such a being as Musidora
was infallibly destined to Iw marked by many
such momenta as that. But this was perhaps
her proudest moment: this was the era in her
life when she assuredly shone to the grandest
advantage and stood upon the loftiest pedestal.
Undszzled by the presence of a King—retain-
ing the full possession of all her strength of
mind, and supreme command over every feel-
ing that was now so well calculated to sway
her heart,—proving indeed that her's was no
common nature, and that if her soul were in-
deed cradled amongst the eternal snowa of an
alpine height, she at least appreciated all the
grandeur of that sublime elevation,—Musidora
Sinclair shone forth in all the glorious pride
of woman now. Repulsing that tender and
indeed pardonable familiarity on the part of
the man who had just declared his love—and
that man too a King,—disengaging her wuist
from the contact of his arm, and without a sin-
gle instant's loss of self-possession,—she at
once made him know not only by that move-
ment, but also by the eloquent language in
which she addressed him, that if he regarded
her with a mere brute passion and as an ob-
ject to gratify a gross longing, site would
scorn his advances, repudiate what he termed
his /uve, and renounce even the brilliant pros-
pect of sitting upon a throne. And in perfect
keeping, too, witl her high moral courage
and the immaculate purity of her conduct,
was her appearance then. Whatever opinion:
the King might have formed of her,—however
unfathomable her character might have been
to him,—yet did all the haughty truthfulness
of her spirit shine through her now. It was
read in the animation of her looks—it flashed
in the fires of her splendid dork eyes—*-it
played upon the wreathing coral of her classie
lips—it sat upon her high and polished brow—
it swelled in the glowing expression of her
bosom—it gave an added loftiness hi her tall
and stately form.
"Believe me—O believe me, my lieauteous
Musidora," exclaimed the King, surveying her
with love and admiration, but not fur a ui■-
s


'86
THE NECROMANCER.
■lent taken aback by her manner or her words
—for it seemed as if he understood her enough
not to lie astounded at this display of haughty
virtue on her part,—" believe me, I conjure
you, when I declare that the love I bear you
is that with which you desire to lie regarded.
,1 also might answer you with pride and in de-
'precating language: fori might ask if either by
i word or deed I have given you reason to sus-
pect me of ungenerous thought or dishonoura-
ble intent—whether from the first day we met
until the present time, my conduct has not
'been a series of delicate attentions, such as a
true cavalier may offer to a charming and vir-
tuous damsel? I might even go farther and
i ask whether all I have said this evening
'lias been calculated to inspire confidence or
to awaken mistrust! No—Musidora: in of-
fering you the homage of my heart, it is the
purest and sincerest ever presented at the
'shrine of a beauteous and deserving woman.
1 love you now—I shall love you ever—and
will cherish you to the end! Have I not
promised to subscribe to any conditions you
may impose! But if I besought you to limit
the period of courtship to as short a space as
is consistent with your sense of propriety, I
merely displayed a natural anxiety to become
'the possessor, as soon as may be, of a treasure
which I long to make mine. Am I to be
blamed for this ?—is there aught unreasonable
in such a request?—or does it not prove
•like the depth and the sincerity of my
Jove?"
I . "I thank your Highness for these assuran-
ces," said Musidora; "and I am satisfied with
'them. Perhaps you will not think the worse
of me for having required them?"
"No—nothing can injure you in my esti-
mation," said the King. "Say then, you ac-
cept my love."
* I accept it," she answered: and of her
- ■wn accord she tendered him her hand.
*• And do you love me in return ?" he ask-
'ed, pressing it to his lips.
"Your attentions are agreeable to me," she
replied.
"Ah! you do not then love me yet?" he
■aid in a tone of gentle reproach. "But
think you that you will be enabled to love
me!
"I will endeavour to do so," she rejoined:
and a strange light flashed as it were from
her eyes, playing over her countenance.
"You will endeavour to do so?" said the
King, repeating her words, but not noticing
that look: perhaps he thought that it was but
the moonbeams reflected brilliantly in the dia-
monds that adorned her raven hair. "And it
ie to tutor your heart to love me that you re-
quire the delay of a courtship?"
"And also that I may know and under-
stand you well," rejoined Musidora, gazing
upon him with the most truthful sincerity;
and there was nothing proud nor haughty now
in her hearing—hut a womanly gentleness
mingled with the most graceful dignity.
"How long is the delay to be ?" asked the
King; and he evidently awaited the answer
with suspense.
"Two months from the present date," she
replied, after a few moments' deliberation.
"Two months !" he ejaculated. "It is an
age!"—and he looked disappointed.
"Take back your avowal of love then,'"
said Musidora, all her coldness instantly re-
turning.
"Oh! again do I ask you to pardon me,"
exclaimed the King. ."Heavens! are we
thus to continue alternating between angering
and forgiving?"
"It is indeed an evil augury for our court-
ship," observed the lady in a freezing tone.
"Musidora, you will drive me mad!" cried
the monarch. "If any one had told me five
weeks ago that I, the King of England, should
thus become utterly captive to a woman, I
should have rejected the idea with scornful
incredulity. But it is so!—and yet how read-
ily—Oh! how cheerfully do I wear the
chains which love has fastened upon my limbs!
Musidora, I will be all submission to you; I
will not anger you again. I will study to win
your esteem and your confidence; so that you
may give me your love. You shall behold no
more impetuosity on my part. Since you are
to be my Queen, we are equal; the natural
imperiousness of my sovereign rank shall not
display itself in my bearing towards you. Mu-
sidora, 1 love yon—I love you; and from this
minute forth shall I study to prove how fond
and how devoted is this love of mine I*'
"Now your Grace speaks to me in a man-
ner which penetrates to my heart," said
Musidora; and for the first time she returned
the pressure of the King's hand. -
"You permit me to love you, then—and
you allow me to hope that at the end of two
months from the present date you will be
mine!"
Thus speaking, he again gently encircled
her waist with his arm; and this time she did
not resist. Emboldened by that yielding
manner on her part, he imprinted a kiss upon
her cheek; and she did not chide him—she
did not disengage herself from the half embrace
in which he held her. And he saw a vivid
blush mantle upon her countenance—that
countenance which in its marble fairness had
until this evening appeared virgin of all blush-
es! The smile too that ever seemed half
fading and vanishing from her lips, expanded
into one of unmistakable sweetness; and at
that moment Musidora looked not as if she
were ice to the very heart's core.
"Now," she said, at length disengaging
herself gently from the King's arm, " let us
re-enter the house. But one word!" she
exclaimed as a sudden thought struck her.
"Your Grace will yourself communicate to


THE NECROMANCER.
the Earl and Countess the proposal with
which I am honoured—and you will permit
me to write and acquaint, my father with the
honour which the King has conferred upon
his daughter by offering her his hand?"
'"Yes—without hesitation do I accede to
your request," replied Henry. "But for the
reasons already explained, and which t need
not recapitulate, we must enjoin the Earl and
Countess of Grantham to observe the strictest
•ecffsy for the present the same also with
vour father."
Musidora answered in the affirmative; and
taking the King's arm, she accompanied him
back into the supper-room. But there she
only remained for two or three minutes; she
was anxious to be alone to give free vent to
her thoughts after the momentous occurrence
that had taken place. She accordingly bade
the King and her noble relatives good night,
and ascended to her own chamber, where, at
•uce dispensing with the attendance of her
maid, she sat down and fell into a long reverie.
Indeed, an hour elapsed ere Musidora made
the slightest preparation for retiring to rest.
CHAPTER XX.
TCE COUSIHS AOAIIT.
Aiout a fortnight after the King's avowal
love, Musidora was walking alone in the
garden one forenoon, when a domestic eame
to announce that a gentleman had just called
to see her. She lepaired to the apartment
where the visitor was waiting; and she found
that it was Percy Rivets. She at once wel-
comed him with her wonted affability of
manner; and his bearing towards her was
equally friendly and cordial. They sat down
together and began to convcise.
"I am delighted to see you again, fair
cousin," said Rivers. "Although but little
more than six weeks have elapsed since you
left the Isle of Wight, I can assure you that
it has appeared to me a perfect age. I miss
the pleasant conversations we used to have
together and the rambles in the garden."
"But doubtless you still visit Sinclair House
as usual !" asked Mtnvbra. "And sell me,"
she continued, without waiting for a reply,
"how is my dear father? The last lrt'er I
received, which was two or three da)6 ago,
represents him as in excellent heaUW ind
spirits."
"Yes—the tidings have not rUwrved y#n,"
said Rivers; "and I can fully corroborate
them. You are of course aware th»t he uas
found a companion in a cffllain Dr. Bertram
i,
"I was aware of it," observed Musidora;
and she threw a rapid but searching glance
upon her cousin to ascertain whether he had
heard or suspected any thing relative to what
had taken place in respect to herself and the.
King: for in her letters to her father, while,
strictly enjoining him to keep all those mat-
ters a profound secret, she had made no ex-
ception in favour of Percy: yet still she did
not know whether, in some good-natured,
mood of confidence or in some unguarded mo-
ment, Sir Lewis might not have whispered
the matter in the ears of the young man.
"Do you know any thing of this Dr. Ber
tram ?" he asked: and she felt convinced by
his look, his words, and his manner, that he
had been kept utterly in the dark as to her
acquaintance with the King and her engage-
ment to become Lis royal bride.
"No—nothing," answered Musidora, in
reply to Percy's question. "I never saw him
in my life."'
"Then you do not even know how your
father scraped acquaintance with him, or
what brought them together ?"—then as Mu-
sidora did not answer, he took her silence for
a negative; and without at all suspecting
that any secret lay behind this guarded si-
lence, he went on to observe, « One morning
—it was perhaps about a week after you left
—on riding over to Sinclair House to see my
uncle, I found him walking up and down the
orchard with this individual, whom he intro-
duced to me as Dr. Bertram. It appeared
that the Doctor had only arrived the night'
before, but was already on the closest terms
of intimacy with Sir Lewis. Indeed, so ama-
zingly fond of my uncle does the Doctor
seem, that he is constantly with him; and
never once have I been enabled to say a word
to Sir Lewis alone, since Bertram's arrival at
Sinclair House."
"The* the physician takes great care of
my dear father? said Musidora, well pleased
at the impression which her cousin's words'
thus conveyed.
"Oh, excellent care!" answered Percy,
but somewhat drily. "Do you know what f
suspect?"
"Tell me your thoughts," said Musidora,
calm and unmoved as was her wont.
"It is my idea that our relatives here.
Lord and Lady Grantham, sent this Dr. Ber-
tram to be a companion to Sir Lewis, so that
he may not miss your absence; and if my
conjecture be right," added Percy, " the in-
ference is that the Earl and Countess intend
to keep you a long time, if not altogether,
with them."
"Have you yet seen his lordship and the
Countess?" asked Musidora.
"No," returned Percy. "I have only just
arrived, and inquired at once for you. 1
thought I would see you first, and ascertain
from your lips whether it would prove agree-
able for Lord and Lady Grantham to receive
me at all. Because, you must remember,
Musidora, that although after the lapse of so


88
THE NECROMANCER.
many years the* at length awoke as it were
to the consciousness of your existence, they
have never made the slightest advance to-
wards me."
"But I have spoken to them concerning
you in such terms as you deserved," remarked
Musidora; "and I have no doubt they will
give you a cordial welcome. Shall I go my-
self to seek them in the apartment where
they may be, and tell them that you are here!
t will be perhaps better than to transmit a
message by a servant."
"Presently, my fair cousin," rejoined Per-
cy. "I would rather, if you be agreeable,
remain to converse a little with you first.
Will you not give me credit for some anxiety
to learn whether you are happy in your new
abode, and whether you find these noble re-
latives of our's kind, amiable, and good to-
wards you?"
"Yes—after their own fashion they are
kind and indulgent," said Musidora. "They
belong to the true courtier-school"
"And therefore have not much sincerity
and heartiness in their conduct," interrupted
Percy. "But—but," he went on to say, in a
somewhat faltering and hesitating manner,
"was I wrong in the opinion that I formed of
their motives for inviting you to stay with
them? You recollect my belief was that in
(lie selfishness of neglected old age they sought
to make you the star of attraction to fill their
saloons with brilliant guests."
"In all that, Percy," replied Musidora,
"you were mistaken. Nothing could be more
quiet, so far as numbers of guests are con-
cerned, than the life we lead here. Indeed
the villa is almost as tranquil in that respect
as Sinclair House."
"Ah! then," exclaimed Rivers, a slight
glow of satisfaction appearing upon his hand-
some features, as if he took Musidora's words
to be a proof that she had encountered no
courtly cavalier or noble gallant who had in
any way made an impression upon her; and
though the young man had long bade adieu
to the idea that his fair cousin would ever be-
come his bride, still perhaps at this moment
he felt the fluttering of a feebly awakening
hope in his heart:—" Ah! then, you have
seen little or nothing of the gaieties of the
Court and Aristocracy? I presume that the
Earl is still in disgrace with the King"
"Do let me proceed to inform his lordship
and the Countess that you are here," said
Musidora: and perhaps at the moment there
was the faintest agitation in her manner—but
so faint indeed, and so evanescent, that though
it escaped not the eyes of her cousin and even
troubled him for a single instant—he knew
not why—yet the next moment he felt con-
vinced it must have been pure fancy on his
part.
She had risen from her chair as she spoke,
and was moving towards the door when
Rivers hastened to stop her; and in a quick
voice he said, "Do grant me a few minutes.
You have scarcely replied to any question I
put to you. Indeed, I am almost in doubt
whether you are pleased at my visit."
"You must not speak thus, Percy," replied
Musidora. "You ought to know that I ant
glad to see you: it is unkind to give utterance
to such a reproach."
"Pardon me then, my dear cousin," said
Rivers, taking her hand and pressing it cordi-
ally: then instantaneously loosening it again,
he observed, "I asked you whether you were
happy here; and I expect you to tell me
whether you prefer the banks of the Thames,
or whether you long to get back again to the
old house overlooking Brading Haven, with
the shady walks of the forest close by."
"Home will be sweeter to me after an
absence," replied Musidora. "For a change
I am well pleased with my present abode; and
since I know that my dear father is happy and
has an agreeable companion who also watches
closely over his health, I am spared all anxiety
on his account. I have already assured yon
that Lord and Lady Grantham are as kind
and indulgent as it is their nature to be; and
therefore I am happy. And now tell mo,"
she added, " when you arrived in these parts,
and what has brought you hither: for I do in-
deed perceive that we have left many things
unspoken of, on which we might converse
ere I inform the Earl and Countess of your
presence."
"Ah! I am glad that you have said that!"
exclaimed Rivers, a beam of joy again lighting
up his handsome countenance: "for it looks
like former times. I was afraid just now that
I was intruding: for though your manner is
kind and amiable towards me as it always
was, yet methought I perceived in it a certain
constraint, as if I had come inopportunely."
"No—I was alone in the garden when the
domestic announced your arrival," said Musi-
dora; "and again I beseech you not to do me
such an injustice as to suppose that I would
receive you with intentional coolness. But
you have not told me upon what errand yon
have quitted the Isle of Wight:" and thus
speaking, she returned to her seat-
"My patron and friend Sir William Wood-
ville is dead," replied Rivers, his countenance
suddenly becoming serious. "The excellent
old man expired in my arms; and so soon as
the funeral rites were performed, I hurried off,
as in duty hound, to make known the event
to Lord Chancellor Warham, Archbishop of
Canterbury."
*• Sir William Wixxlville is dead !"exclaim-
ed Musidora. '• You have lost a kind friend
in him, Percy. But have you yet been to
the Lord Chancellor?"
"I am now on my way to his residence,
which I understand to bp for the present near
the Royal House at Greenwich. But on my


THE NECROMANCER.
89
mad thither I could not resist the opportunity
of pausing to assure myself of your health and
happiness. My horse is at the garden-gate;
and therefore it is but a flying visit that I pay
ytw."
"But I shall see you again ere you leave
for the Isle of Wight V said Musidora. '• I
will take upon myself to say that the Earl and
Countess will give you a most cordial recep-
tion."
"My stay, and indeed all my future move-
ments, must depend entirely upon my interview
i with Lord Warham," returned Rivers; "for
Ly the death of my patron I have of course
lost my official situation."
"And what are your prospects, my dear
cousin?" asked Musidora, with ao evident
interest in his welfare.
"I can scarcely hope to be appointed succes-
sor to Sir William Woodville in the government
of the Isle of Wight. I shall be considered too
young; and besides, I lack powerful recom-
mendations. Without great interest to support
my appeal, it were useless to make it; and I
have no influential friends to assist me. Doubt-
less my nunc stands well in the estimation
of the Archbishop Chancellor; but mere cha-
racter is but a poor recommendation it Court.
However, I shall supplicate at the Chancel-
lor's hands for some kind of employment,
which I have no doubt of obtaining. Were
Lord Grantham reinstated in the royal favour,
and suppose he had the inclination to assist
Me"
"Stop one moment," exclaimed Musidora;
"this must be seen to! I will return in a
few minutes."
Thus speaking, and with more haste than
it was by any means her wont to display, she
quitted the room, and proceeded to the apart-
ment where the Earl and Countess were
jetted together, discussing all the brilliant
prospects which they considered themselves
justified in entertaining on their own account
when Musidora should become Queen of
England.
"My lord!" she said, advancing towards
her noble relative, " my cousin Percy Rivers
of whom I have frequently spoken to you, has
just arrived on a hurried visit. You are
aware that he occupied the post of Civil Secre-
tary to Sir William Woodville, Captain-
Governor of the Isle of Wight. Sir William
is dead ; and Percy requires interest to support
him in an endeavour to obtain the appoint-
ment. What is to be done?"
"You have not told him, Musidora. of your
engagement to the King!" said the Earl,
looking frightened.
"Because," immediately added the Coun-
tess, " you know how strict his Grace's injunc-
tions have been on that head, and what
mischief might be occasioned by disobeying
<hcm."
"I have told him nothing," answered Mu-
sidora, in her cold tranquil manner. "Surely
I should be the last to betray his Highness'a
secrets."
"Then what do you wish us to do ?" asked
the Earl. "You know that although in reality
restored to his Grace's favour, yet that to suit
his own purposes this is likewise one of the'
secrets to be religiously kept for the present;
and therefore I dare not proceed to the palace
and ask an audience of his Highness."
"And his Grace will not be here thu>
evening," observed Musidora; "not until to-
morrow night—and in the meantime the
appointment may be given away to some one
else. Immediate measure! must be taken.
Would it be indiscreet if a letter were written
to his Majesty?"
"I do not think it would be indiscreet for
you to write it, Musidora," said the Earl.
"No—certainly not," promptly added the
Countess: "and it can at once be despatched
to the Royal House."
"But of course you will not tell Rivera
what is being done," said the Earl. "Would
it not be better for me to see him?"
"I wish your lordship to give him a wel-
come reception," said Musidora.
"Ah! but I cannot ask him to take up hie
quarters here—nor even encourage his visit*,'*
cried the nobleman.
"No — not by any means," added the
Countess: "his Highness might be angry."
"If the King," said Musidora, in a cold,
slow tone, but with eyes that flashed fire,
"were capable of such miserable, mean, and
grovelling jealousy, I would at once proclaim
an end to everything between us."
"Hush, my dear girl!" said the Earl, in a
sort of consternation at this display of spirit
on his young relative's part: then instantly
recovering himself, he observed, "You mis-
understood my meaning."
"Yes—and mine also," the Countess has-
tened to superadd. "What we intended to
say was that it would be indiscreet to encour-
age Master Percy Rivers too much at the
villa, because his presence here, would neces-
sarily prevent his Highness from paying his
accustomed visits; and that, you know,
would be a severe punishment lor him, seeing
how fondly he loves you and what pleasure
he takes in your company."
"Let us proceed to the other apartment,"
said Musidora, her coral lips perceptibly
wreathing with a scornful smile at these shal-
low excuses whereby the Earl and Countess
endeavoured to explain away their previoua
remark.
They all three repaired to the room where
Percy Rivers was waiting:—and most cordial
in outward appearance, was the greeting
which the old courtier and his wily Countcea
gave the young man, who stood in about teat
same degree of distant relationship to them ■*
did Musidora.


90
THE NECROMANCER.
*
"My dear young friend," said the Earl,
speedily coming to the main point, "our
sweet relative, Musidora, has explained to me
your exact position; and though I myself
bavo no direct influence at Court at the pre-
sent moment, yet will I exert myself without
delay amongst others who are in favour there.
Rest assured all I can do in your behalf shall
cheerfully be done; and I have very little
hesitation in promising you that the appoint-
ment is yours. Go then—see the Lord Arch-
bishop Chancellor—and prefer your claim.
But say naught relative to any interest that will
be made in your behalf Leave that to work
as I shall see fit and prudent. The Chancel-
lor is certain to give you no definite reply at
once; and therefore you must call again upon
me in two or three days, when I shall be ena-
bled to communicate the result of the endea-
yours I am about to make on your account."
( Percy Rivers was of too independent a dis-
position to suffer it to appear that he compre-
hended the meaning of his lordship's invita-
tion for him to call again in two or three
days: though he fully understood the hint
that his presence was not desired at the villa
pending the promised exertions in his favour.
He noticed, however, the sudden look of in-
dignation which Musidora's eyes shot forth:
but she also deemed it prudent to offer no
verbal interference. The young man almost
immediately took leave, after making suitable
acknowledgments to the Earl for his volun-
teered endeavour to promote his interest; and
it was perhaps with more than usual kindness
r-asifjo arone for her relatives' inhospitable
"Xmiuct—that Musidora shook hands with
nim at parting.
- Immediately after he had mounted his
horse and galloped away, our heroine sat
dow and penned a note to the King, frankly
stating all the circumstances of Percy Rivers'
case, and soliciting the royal favour in the
young man's behalf, provided that it should
seem good to his highness to confer the ap-
pointment upon hint
CHAPTER XXI.
THE KESULT Of MUSIDORt's LKTTKR.
Whkh Percy Rivers had taken his leave,
and the letter was despatched by the most
discreet of the Earl's men-servants to the
Royal Ho jse, Musidora was about to retire to
her own chamber, when the Countess said,
"Stay a few minutes, my dear girl, and con-
-erse with the Earl and myself."
"Certainly," was our heroine's response;
and she resumed her chair from which she
Dad risen.
It is most probable," continued Lady
Granham, " that in consequence of our note,
dear 'Dora, the King will make it a point of
coming this evening although when taking
leave of you l ist night, he intiinftted that hit;
should not see you until to-morrow. But 1
think, from the tender anxiety which his.
Highness displays to render himself agreeable
to yiiu, that whatever engagement he may
have formed for this evening, will be set asida
to enable him to p iy you a visit" .
'• It is probable," olwerved Musidora, in her.
usual cold placid manner.
"But do you not hope so, my dear child 1",
asked the Countess. "I really wish you
would endeavour to throw a little more warmth .
into your manner—at least when in company
with the King; or he may perchance imagine
that you do not love him." ,
"I am no hypocrite,*'replied Musidora, a
freezing chill marking her voice.
"But you do love him, Musidora V urged ,
the Countess: "or at all events you begin to,
feel your heart moved towards him! It it
impossible you can remain insensible to hit
attentions, which are as assiduous as they
are delicate? If you have no ambition t■
become a Queen, you cannot at least be in-
different to the prospect of wedding a cavalier
who, setting aside his sovereign rank, is of
such goodly presence, such elegant manners,,
such courtier-like speech. Besides my dear ,
'Dora I think you ought to feel that hi* con-
duct has been most straightforward and hon-
ourable; and you cannot possibly have any
doubt relative to the sincerity and uprightness
of his intentions. Let me recall to your
mind a circumstance most highly creditable to
his Grace. On returning to the supper-room*
with him on a certain memorable evening—
exactly a fortnight ago," continued her lady-
ship, with a signincant smile, "you almost
immediately retired to your own chamber, and
he at once availed himself of the opportunity
to acquaint the Earl and me with everything
that had taken place in the garden."
"Had he not done so," said Musidora,
"everything would have been at once at an
end between his Highness and me. Living
beneath your roof as your relative and guest,,
and under your care, I cannot be regarded at
my own mistress: and therefore it was the
King's duty to lose not an instant in acquaint-
ing you with the honour he had done me. by
making an avowal of his attachment, and of-
fering me bis hand. Indeed, 1 purposely with
drew to my chamber on that occasion, in order
that he might have such an opportunity, if he
thought fit to make it available. He did so—
and I was well pleased when, on the following
morning, I received your congratulations ami
those of bis lordship. Had the King acted
otherwise, I should have put no farther faitkv
in his honour, nor his professed intentions of
wedding me legally and sacredly."
"Well, my dear 'Dora," resumed the Coun-
tess, " I am charmed to find that his Grace"


THE NECROMANCER.
conduct met. your approbation: but still I am
sorry to reflect upon the remark you ere now
made—namely, that you do not as yet love
him."
"Would you have me tell an untruth?"
asked Musidora, proudly.
"No, no," the Earl hastened to observe:
"the Countess did not mean that for a mo-
ment."
"Far from it," cried her ladyship. "But,
entertaining as I do so deep an interest in
you, it is but natural that I should look for-
ward with hope and confidence to a favorable
result in respect to this courtship."
"I have not told you that I wdl not marry
the King at the expiration of the prescribed
period," said Musidora.
"Ah! then you will marry him, my dear
child," cried the Countess, scarcely able to
restrain the enthusiastic manifestation of her
joy, " whether you love him or not?"
"Rest assured," said Musidora, now speak-
ing with the firm tone of a strong-minded wo-
man's decision, " that if I marry his Grace it
will be with the intention of proving an at-
tached, faithful, and devoted wife to him—re-
solved to consider his interests as ever para-
mount—to assist htm to the utmost of my
numble ability in the duties of his high sta-
tion— am' to bear myself in a manner that
■hall bes prove the deep gratitude which I
experience for the bounties conferred upon
myself and those connected with me. But
for all this," added Musidora, in a tone and
with a look that seemed for an instant
strangely bewildered and mournful, " I may
not perhaps love him!"
"Unaccountable being that you are !" cried
Lady Grantham. "But no matter for a child-
ish, sickly, and sentimental love, so long as
you have made up your mind to accept the
monach's hand."
Musidora rose from her seat, advanced to
the window, and stood gazing forth for up-
wards of a minute. Her back was thus
►urned towards her noble relatives; and there-
fore t' were unable to perceive whether
it was a. mere mechanical and listless move-
ment on her part, or whether indeed it was
deliberately done for the sake of concealing
some emotion suddenly excited. They exchang-
ed rapid and significant glances of mutual in-
quiry; then they shook their heads at each
other, as much as to imply that they could
not understand it, and that Musidora was a
being who in many traits of her conduct ut-
terly surpassed their power of comprehension,
ijl'owly and calmly did she return to her seat;
and both the Earl and Countess thought that,
pure and stainless as the alabaster of her
countenance ever was, it now seemed paler
than before—that instead of the weird light
flashing mystically in her dark eyes, there was
now a haunting mournfulness in their un-
fathomable depths. Fearing however to say
or do aught that might offend one whom then
entire aim was to conciliate as much as pos-
sible, they appeared not to notice that any
thing peculiar had taken place.
"To return then, dear 'Dora," resumed th<<
Countess," to what I was just now saying,—
I think that after the note you have trans
mitted to his Highness, we may expect hinv
here this evening. At all events arrange-
ments will be made in anticipation of such a
visit. And now, to come to the point—what'
I wished to say to you, Musidora, was that!
since the evening on which his Grace opened*
his heart to you and offered his hand, you.
have not once worn the diamonds which are
his gift. And yet I feel convinced that the
King never surveyed you with so much admiral
tion as he did that night! Regarding you as.
his future Queen, it is but natural he shoulsV
take pride in your beauty and rejoice to be-
hold it set off to the fullest advantage. Be „
skies, if he on his part be ever anxious aw
willing to demonstrate his love by all possiblv,
assiduities and attentions, has he not a right,
to expect from you some little concessions t■
his pleasure, even though it be mere whim or,
fancy on his side?"
"I should mos assuredly have worn those:
diamonds aga'n," said Musidora, " but unfor-,
'tunately on the first and only occasion that f
did wear them, I lost two of the principal
gems from their settings."
"Heavens! why did you not tell us that
before?" exclaimed the Countess.
"Because I did not discover the loss until
this morning," replied Musidora. "I remem-
ber putting the jewels somewhat hurriedly
away, when retiring to my chamber on the
night that I wore them two weeks back, and
the casket was not opened again until this
morning. Then, as Annetta was searching
for something in tin. casket, she observed that
the principal gem was missing from the tiara
and another from one of the bracelets. They
must have fallen out when I was walking in
the garden with his Highness."
"And yet. I think I should have noticed^
their absence," said the. Countess, " when yati'
returned to the supper-room."
"But you remember that 1 almost imme-
diately withdrew?" said Musidora; '• and
there/ore you had scarcely leisure to observe
the loss of the gems. Annetta searched care-,
fully for them this morning all over my chant-,
ber—but without success. I also went intti
the garden and looked carefully along the.
paths where I walked with the King on the
evening in question; but I had not much'
hope of fimling the lost diamonds—for it ha*'
rained two or three times during the fortnight,
and moreover the gardeners have been at
work in the grounds. They may have trodden
them into the gravel; or if they have foun4-
thein and appropriated them to their own piv*
poses, it were useless to make in a quartet


92
THE NECROMANCER.
where ■ negative would be given in order to
cover dishonesty."
." And vet you take the circumstance so
coldly, Musidora?" said the Countess; "and
»»«n now you have only mentioned it inci-
dentally! Perhaps if I had not spoken of the
diamonds, you would not have alluded to the
circumstance at ail?"
"I had' certainly forgolten it," observed
Musidora j" but as for experiencing any ex-
citement on account of this loss, it were use-
leas. All the vexation in the world will not
restore the missing gems. The only thing
to be done is to seek the assistance of soma
merchant or goldsmith who trades in precious
stones."
"Musidora is right," said the Earl of Grant-
ham; "regrets are useless. To-morrow we
w'iil repair to London, and endeavour to pro-
cure two diamonds of the proper size and also
•f suitable brilliancy to match the others. By
•he by, the moat eminent dealer is that very
Landini, the wealthy goldsmith of Lombard
Street, whom the old merchant Master Man-
ners mentioned in the course of the long tale
be told us."
"At this moment the door opened ; and the
lacquey who had been despatched with the
note to the. palace, made his appearance.
f" Have you acquitted yourself of your er-
mnd I" asked the Earl.
"I have, my lord," was the reply. - On
reaching the Royal House I represented to
•ne of the valets in the great hall that I was
Charged with a missive of secrecy and import-
ance destined only for the King himself The
menial at once conducted me to the apartment
of Master St. Louis-——"
* Did you say any thing, Musidora?"
•sked the Earl of Grantham, fancying that
Our heroine had spoken.
"No," was her calm reply. "It was a
cuddefi cough rising up into my throat."
"Proceed then," said Lord Grantham, turn-
ing once more to the lacquey. You were
saying that the royal valet conducted you to
the apartment of Master St. Louis—who, by
the by, within the last six weeks or so, has
filled the high and important post of Private
.Secretary to the King. Well, and what
i'-¥e^t>"
"I informed Master St. Louis that I was
entrusted with a private despatch for his
Highness," continued the lacquey, "and be-
sought him to place it as speedily as possible
in the royal hands. Master St. Louis in-
quired from whom I came: but I most re-
spectfully begged that this question would not
be persisted in."
."And was St. Louis offended with your
answer!" asked the Earl of Grantham.
'"Not at all, my lord," returned the lacquey.
*'He at once said that if it were a private
ttiatter he ha I no wish to peer into his royal
master's seerc .s, and assured me that the mis-
sive should without delay be delivered to the
King. I thanked him, and took mv depar-
ture."
"You have behaved discreetly," said the
Earl.
The lacquey then retired; and almost im-
mediately atterwards Musidora went up to
her own chamber.
As the Earl and Countess of Grantham
had anticipated, the King made his appear-
ance in the evening, a little before niiw
o'clock; and at once accosting Musidora, ho
took her hand, saying with the utmost kind'
ness of manner and with love beaming in bi■
looks, " I am glad that you have asked me a
favour—still more delighted that I am ena-
bled to grant it. Where ia this cousin of
your's?"
"He is not staying here, may it please
your Highness," the Earl of Grantham has-
tened to observe. "Although connected with
us in some distant degree of relationship, we
nevertheless did not deem it exactly prudent
for him to lodge beneath our roof"
"And why not?" asked the King, with an
appearance of such noble frankness, alike of
look and manner, that Musidora threw upon
him a glance of mingled gratitude and admi-
ration—which he instantaneously perceiving,
hastened to observe, "If he be the merito-
rious, well-conducted, and high-minded young
man described in my dear 'Dora's note, you,
Lord Grantham, should have shown him all
becoming hospitalities. I am not jealous," ha
added, with a smile, as he pressed our hero
ine's hand tenderly; "I have too much vanity
on my own account, and too sublime a con-
fidence in her to whom my heart is devoted,
to entertain a sentiment alike humiliating and
derogatory to ua both."
"1 thank' your Grace for this observation
so worthy of a true cavalier and chivalrous
King," said Musidora; and her dark eyes
dwell with a look of tleeper admiration and
also with a more eloquent gratitude upon the
royal countenance than ever they had dis-
played before.
"Your Highness altogether mislays me,"
said the Earl of Grantham, adopting Ins
blandest tones of courtier-hke servility: for he
saw that in his somewhat unguarded zeal to
please the King he had unfortunately pro-'
duced the very contrary effect.
"Deign to hear the explanation, sire," ex-
claimed the Countess, hastening to put in a
word on her husband's behalf. "What the
Earl meant was that in consequence of the
strict commands issued by your Highness that
your royal visits to the Villa, and their objecta
most especially, should be shrouded in all
possible secrecy, it would have been incouve
nient to harbour Master Percy Rivers within
these walls: lor either your Grace must have
suffered him to learn the secret, or must else
have abstained from honouring this humble


0 M A N C E R.
93
dwelling with your august presence so long
•s Master Rivers remair-id our guest."
"I receive the explai ation in the good spi-
rit which dictates it," said the King, now
suffering himself to be mollified. "But at the
same time," he added, reverting his gaze upon
Musidnra's splendid countenance, and now
addressing himself to her, "I should be truly
grieved, my sweet friend, if you were in any
way vexed at this treatment which your cou-
sin may have experienced, and which may
appear unaccountably inhospitable to him.
Rather would I have punished myself by re-
maimng absent from you for a few days, than
that you should feel any annoyance on his
account."
"I can make no other return for your
Grace's goodness," said Musidora, " than to
declare that I feel and appreciate all that is
kind, and generous, and noble in your conduct
and words."
'• Since I have pleased you, sweet friend,"
rejoined the King, raising her snowy hand to
his lips, "I am truly happy. But where
lodges the object of our discourse? or when
and where are you likely to see him again."
"He will call at Grantham Villa in two or
three days," answered Musidora. "But your
Highness must permit me to apologise and be-
seech your excuse if there were aught of in-
discretion or freedom in the appeal that I ven-
tured to make on his behalf."
"Ah ! Musidora, do you demand forgiveness
of me—you who cannot possibly have offend-
ed ?"—and as the King thus spoke he pressed
the lady's hand, which he still retained, most
tenderly between both his own. "Did I not
ere now assure you that I was charmed to be
at length asked a favour by you 1 Soon, my
dear 'Dora, you yourself shall be in a position
to bestow places and honours, pensions and ti-
tles. For the present you have only to ask in
order to have your wish. Here are two
parchments, each bearing my sign-manual;
and they are each stamped with my royal seal.
One," continued Henry, as he drew forth the
two documents from the breast of his doublet,
» contains the nomination of Percy Rivers to
the post of Governor of the Isle of Wight,
with the same' emoluments, privileges, and
powers, as were enjoyed by the late Sir Wil-
liam Woodville. And this other parchment
contains a decree restoring your revered and
respected father, Sir Lewis Sinclair, to the
Rangership of the forests and woodlands of the
said Isle of Wight. Here also is my sign-
manual—and here likewise my sovereign
seal."
"My liege," said Musidora—and now her
voice was perceptibly tremulous and her looks
indicated an emotion that was beyond all
doubt,—-" how can 1 find words to thank you
for these proofs of generosity—and good-
ness"
'And of love !" added the King, approach-
ing his lips to Musidora's ear—and he fell her
hand, which he still retained, tremble in his
own. "But of course, my charmer," he con-
tinued, " Master Percy Rivers will be suffered
to understand that these bequests have been
obtained solely and entirely through the pri-
vate and secret interest which the Earl of
Grantham has made with high officials at the
Royal Court. My lord," he added, turning
towards the Earl. " it will be for you to make
this statement to Master Rivers—as I am well
aware that my beloved 'Dora can but indif-
ferently tutor her sweet lips to frame an apol-
ogy or excuse that has the slightest tinge of
falsehood."
The Earl bowed, as if he felt that a high
compliment was thus paid to himself, although
indeed it was but his power of duplicity which
evoked the royal flattery in so equivocal a
manner. Immediately afterwards a page an-
nounced that supper was served up; and to
the room where the repast was in readiness,
did the King conduct Musidora—preceded,
according to the etiquette of the time, by the
Earl and Countess. It is not however neces-
sary to dwell at any greater length upon the
incidents of this particular evening: suffice it
to say that ere the King took his departure he
found an opportunity of whispering thrss
words in Lord Grantham's ear:—
"I was not really offended with you for
having avoided to receive Percy Rivers as your
guest. On the contrary, I am well pleased
with your prudence. Musidora must be kept
as secluded as possible, so that the presence of
no friends or acquaintances may in any way
interfere with my courtship. Not that I am
jealous of this Percy Rivers. From certain
sources I am aware that though he loves Mu-
sidora madly and devotedly, and that for some
time all who knew him in the Isle of Wight
fancied it was to be a match, yet that she
never entertained any other sentiment save
friendship for him. Again I declare I am not
angry with your lordship for having treated
him somewhat inhospitably. But I saw that
it was a fine opportunity to play off a stroke
of dramatic noble-mindedness in Musidora's
presence; and you must have observed with
what telling effect it succeeded. She already
admires my character and feels profoundly
grateful for my bounties. Admiration and
gratitude, when combined in a woman's heart,
i are so near akin to love, that if they never do
ripen into the more tender sentiment, they are
still sufficiently powerful in themselves to en-
sure the suitor's success. Therefore, my lord,
it is beyond all doubt that your incomprehen-
sible young relative will bestow her hand on
me. To you I do not speak about reward and
recompense at present. You shall see that 1
know how to be grateful. But ere I depart,
one word more in your ear! Percy Rivers must
lose not a minute, upon receiving those docu-
ments, in speeding back to the Isle of Wight,


THL NECROMANCER.
where he can of ourse present the one con-
taining Sir Lewis Sinclair's appointment, per-
sonally to the worthy knight. And now fare-
well till the day after to-morrow, when I shall
,eturn at the same hour as usual."
CHAPTER XXII.
THE D1AMOHDs.
It was a little past noon, on the following
day, that a handsome barge with six rowers,
and containing the Earl and Countess of
Grantham and Musidora on the cushioned
seats in the stern, came along the City Stairs
at London Bridge. The Earl assisted his
wife and heauteous relative to land; and hav-
ing ascended the steps, they proceeded to
Lombard Street. There they entered the es-
tablishment of Master Landini, the richest
goldsmith-banker of that already immensely
wealthy street; and Mark Landini, the old
man's nephew, at once came forward to learn
their business.
Perceiving that they were personages of
distinction, he at once proposed to conduct
them to the private office; and they were ac-
cordingly shown into the inner room, where
Master Landini himself was seated. Musi-
dora immed.ately fixed her eyes with a more
than ordinary interest upon the old man:
that is to say, an interest which was percepti-
ble—and any emotion or feeling which her
usually unfathomable countenance suffered to
appear, may be accurately described as of no
ordinary character.
The Earl of Grantham announced his
name, as Mark officiously placed seats for the
accommodation of the visitors; and old Landi-
ni, with his wonted urbanity, bowed low alike
to the nobleman and the ladies.
"I have called upon you, Master Landini,"
■aid the Earl, now opening the business, "for
the purpose of ascertaining if in your valuable
collection of precious stones you possess any
that will match with a set of gems of the rar-
est brilliancy, and of which two have been
unfortunately lost. This is the more annoy-
ing, because the set was a present, under
particular circumstances, to my relative, Mis-
tress* Musidora Sinclair:"—and he glanced
at our heroine to intimate to the banker and
the nephew that it was to this young lady he
alluded.
"I may say, my lord, without vanity," re-
plied the old banker, " that tnere can scarcely
be any diamonds for which my collection will
not furnish a suitable match; and rare indeed
must they be if they even come up in the fine*
* The diminutive Hits was not used in the times of
which we are writing. SpinE'er-ladies were denomi-
nated Mistress, the introduction of the Christian name
showing that they were spinsters. I
ness of their water to some which I possess.
Mark, feti h in some caskets."
"Or wait one moment," exclaimed the Earl.
"You had hatter see these diamonds of which
I have spoken ;"—then producing the jewel-
case containing the set which Musidora had
received from the King, he opened it, at once
displaying its brilliant contents.
'* Ah !*' ejaculated Landini: and a quirk
glance of intelligence passed between hiiu
and his nephew.
"I comprehend !" cried the earl of Gran-
tham, who, as well as the two ladies, had ob-
served that rapid exchange of Km ks: "these
diamonds were purchased at your establish-,
-mentl You recognize them? Is it not so?"
As he thus spoke, the nobleman and his
Countess became confused and troubled: for
it instantaneously struck them that if the
King had really bought the diamonds here,,
and that the Landinis knew to whom they
were selling them at the time, they could not
fail now to see at once that it was from the
royal hands Musidora had received the gift.
The young lady herself was likewise evidenV-
ly annoyed, and for the very same reason: but
her feeling on the subject was but just per-
ceptible beneath the icy brilliancy of her
looks.
"Yes—I think that the diamonds were
bought here—but I do not recollect exactly
when or by whom," said the elder Landini,
now off-hand and business-like: then turning
to his nephew, he continued, "Do you not
think they were bought here, Mark ?—or
possibly at our wealthy neighbour's opposite
—eh V
"They were bought of us," replied the
younger Landini. "I recollect perfectly well
a strange gentleman coming for them. He
paid liberally and took them away with him
without a word."
"Yes—I do now remember the transac-
tion," observed the uncle: then again ad-
dressing himself to the nobleman, he said with
a tone and manner of the blandest courtesy,
"We cannot always remember our custom-
ers, my lord—it is quite impossible."
"Oh! certainly," rejoined the Earl: and
he darted a quick glance upon the Countess
and Musidora, as much as to imply that their
previous apprehensions were unfounded, and
that the secret was safe relative to the dia-
monds being the gift of the King.
"Thev are very splendid," continued thii
elder Landini: " but we shall be enabled full
easily to match them in respect to these miss-
ing ones. I see that the tiara has lost its
finest gem, and this bracelet the centre stone
of its star. Now, Mark, fetch the caskets
numbered 7, 8, and 9."
The nephew disappeared for a few min-
utes; and when he returned he carried in his
hand the jewel-boxes he had been to fetch..
His uncle examined the contents with thr


THE NECR
OMANCER.
rapid but keen glance of one fully experienced
in the nature of precious stones; and in a
very few minutes he selected two which he
pronounced to be of an equally fine water,
and of the exact size as those that were lost.
The Earl and Countess examined them nar-
rowly, to satisfy themselves that such were
the facts; and they had not the slightest ob-
jection to raise. Musidora, with her wonted
indifference, paid but little attention to the
proceeding—satisfied, no doubt, that the set
of diamonds would be made up again in a
proper manner.
"And now, when will the work be done?"
asked the nobleman.
"In three hours, if urgent," replied the
elder Landini; " but if your lordship be anx-
ious to return to Greenwich, my nephew
shall bring the diamonds to Grantham villa in
the evening."
"That would be dangerous," exclaimed
the Earl: "there are robbers both on the
Thames and in the high road—and it were
folly for a man to travel at dusk with such
valuables about his person."
"It would be our risk, my lord," said the
banker with a polite smile: "if the diamonds
were lost, we should have to make them
good. But if your lordship has another visit
to pay in London, and could pass the time
for three hours, I can guarantee that the new
diamonds shall be securely fixed in these
settings. Or if your lordship should honour
my humble habitation by waiting a while, I
shall feel proud to harbour such guests :"—
and again the old man made a courteous sa-
lutation.
The Earl exchanged a look with the Coun-
tess, who gave a slight nod, as much as to
imply th&t it would be far better to accept
the banker's invitation. Lord Grantham ac-
cordingly conveyed this decision to Master
Landini.
." I am highly flattered, my lord," said the
banker. "Now, Mark, hasten you up to the
workshop, and let the men set about this at
once; while I escort his lordship anj the ladies
10 our best apartment."
. The nephew accordingly issued forth from
the private room; and turning into a little
narrow passage in one corner of the front
office, he hurried up a dark break-neck rtair-
case to the workshop on the highest story of
the house—while his uncle, opening an nner
door from his own private office, courteously
conducted the Earl, the Countess, and Musi-
dora up the principal staircase into a hand-
somely-furnished apartment^ on the first floor.
Having officiously placed chairs for his guests'
accommodation, he begged to be excused
remaining with th"m, "on account of the
extreme pressure of business," and then with-
drew. But ere he returned to his office and
his papers, he summoned his housekeeper—n
matronly-looking woman, with a great bunch
of keys suspended to her side—and bade hef
hasten to convey up-stairs the best refresh-
ments in the shape of wine, viands, fruits, and
cakes that the cellar, larder, and buffet would
afford. Then he retraced his way to his great
arm-chair behind his desk, and continued the
perusal of the pile of letters that lay before
him.
"I was marvellously afraid for the moment,"
said the Earl of Grantham, so soon as the door
of tite drawing-room had closed behind the
old banker, " that we had betrayed the grand
secret hy coming to this establishment. But
it is evident enough, from what both uncle
and nephew said, that they do not know who
was their customer when these diamonds were-
purchased."
"And yet," observed the Countess, " there
was something strange in their manner which
I do not altogether like.":
"Oh! I understand that full well," said the
Earl, with a very knowing look. "Why, my
dear, it is as transparent as possible! The
fact is that these two mean money-making
citizens were uncommonly annoyed at so
'unguardedly lrctraying the circumstance of
the diamonds having been originally purchased
at their establishment; because they were
afraid that I should turn upon them and insist
that as the diamonds were lost through some
fault or flaw in the setting, it was their duty
to make them good again without charge or
expense to me. I do really believe that tbe
old curmudgeon purposely threw out hints,
as broad as he dared, to induce his nephew
to venture the bold declaration that the dia-
monds were not bought at this establishment
at all; but either Master Mark Landini did
not exactly understand the old man's meaning,
or else had not impudence enough to proclaim
so brazen a falsehood.*'
"Ah ! you have indeed hit upon the truth,"
said the Countess. "I think that there is a
great deal of hypocrisy concealed beneath that
excessive politeness of the old banker, and
that colder but still very servile and cringing
courtesy of the nephew."
At this moment the door opened; and the
portly housekeeper entered, followed by a
younger servant-woman, both bearing tray■
covered with refreshments, which they spread
upon the table. They then retired; and the
Earl, approaching the table, filled a glass with
some foreign wine, which he tasted and then
drank off, the satisfaction of his looks proving
that it was excellent. The Countess was
easily persuaded to taste the same nectar;
and finding it extremely palatable, she sat
down to form a farther acquaintance with the
refreshments thus served up. The Earl like-
wise took a seat at the table, remarking that
the breeze on the Thames had given him a
little appetite.
"Will you not join us, dear 'Dora'!" asked
the Countess.
S


Mb
THE NECROMANCER.
"No—I need not any refreshment," was
ber answer.
"But what are you doing there, my dear
child?" inquired her ladyship.
'- There are three or tour curious old manu-
script volumes," replied Musidora ; " and with
your permission I intend to amuse myself
awhi'e in examining them; for it appears that
we are to pass three hours here."
Opening from the spacious drawing-room
was a little inner chamber without a door—
or rather a sort of recess—where, upon a cu-
rious piece of foreign furniture, resembling in
shape a modern cheffonier, lay the volumes
to which our heroine alludded. Her eye had
caught sight of them; and while her two no-
ble relatives had begun to taste the refresh-
ments for which the river breeze had given
them an appetite, Musidora had commenced
turning over the leaves of one of the books.
It was in manuscript, but written in a very
plain and legible hand; and as Musidora at
no time admired the conversation of the Earl
and Countess—their topics being either of
the mo3t frivolous or worldly-minded charac-
ter—she was not sorry at thus discovering the-
means of whiling away the three hours that
had'to be passed beneath Landini's roof.
She found that the volume which thus en-
gaged her attention, was composed of a se-
ries of biographies connected with the Lan-
dini family. It was a very common custom,
in the age of which we are writing, for emi-
nent Italian families to keep written records
•f the principal transactions of their various
scions ; and this habit was particularly adopted
by the wealthy mercantile firms of the Italian
Republics in the fourteenth and fifteenth cen-
turies. We may likewise add that inasmuch
as the volume was thus left lying in the room
—or at least in a recess adjoining that room
—and therefore accessible to any one who
might be shown thither, there was no indis-
cretion in the circumstance of Musidora ex-
amining its contents.
But as soon as she discovered what the na-
ture of those contents actually was, and how
they treated of the deeds of note and the per-
sonages of importance connected with the
great commercial family of Landini, how deep
and absorbing became the interest with which
she slowly and carefully turned over the
pages! Was she seeking some particular
chapter for perusal! or was she merely look-
ing, as persons when taking up a strange
book often do, for some part that might seem
to possess greater attractions than the rest?
We know not.. But now she no longer con-
tinues to turn over the leaves without stop-
ping to read them thoroughly: she appears
to have lighted upon some passage that rivets
her attention; and with the air of one pro-
foundly wrapped up in the subject of an en-
grossing stu ly, she begins to read carefully
on without skipping a line—aye, and without
missing a single word!
But what is it that she thus reads? Tha
particular episode in which her attention ■
thus absorbed, will be found in the following
chapter.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE HISTORT Or BIAJtCA UTHIt,
"It was a dark night, in the beginning of
January of the year 1390; and the wind
swept down from the lofty Apennines upon
the city of Genoa. Like a bodiless fiend,
wingless and footless, hut with a howling and
roaring voice, the tempest sent forth its wild
and terrific dirge from the mountain clouds;
and its breath was laden with a storm of
pelting sleet such as was seldom known to
visit that southern clime on the Mediterra-
nean shore. The sea, in wild magnificence
of sound, mingled its mighty voice with
that of the wind, and in its convulsive play
seemed to wrestle even with the power of its
Creator. It was indeed a night of fearful
storm; and as the inhabitants of Genoa, i»
their mansions or their huts, huddled more
closely round the fire, many of them thought
or said amongst themselves, 'It seems as if
nature itself were determined that the Doge's
decree shall be thoroughly respected this
night!' *;
"To what did the allusion refer? It ap-
pears that early in the forenoon of this day
of which we are writing, his Highness the
Doge of Genoa, Angeio Visconti,—as if Ui
strike fresh terror into the hearts of the Ge-
noese, and consummate the execrable tyran-
nies which had already marked his ducal
reign of three years,—had promulgated a
decree to the effect that no one was to appear
abroad in the streets, under any pretext what-
soever, after eight o'clock 'in the evening.
Exception was alone made in favour of the-
sbirri—those detestable police-agents who
were all creatures of his own special choos-
ing, and who were charged to watch that
this new decree was executed to the very- let-
ter. But why had the Duke Angeio Vis-
conti promulgated such an ordinance! We
must explain. Having been elected Doge of
Genoa, on account of his great valour in
battle against the Pisans and the Venetians,
he refused to surrender the seals of office,
according to custom, at the expiration of a
year; and in defiance of all the constitu-
tional rights of the Genoese Republic, had
proclaimed himself Doge for life. Having
amassed immense treasures when in com-
mand of the Genoese armies, in the war■
that created his renown, he had no difficulty


t HE
NECROMANCER. 97
in bribing a venal soldiery and in winning
Jaw the admiral of the fleets to his cause.
Hia usurpation was thus established by means
of corruption, and consolidated by force.
The democracy of Genoa, which for centu-
ries past had so nobly resisted the arrogance
of the aristocracy, were paralysed, and in-
deed rendered powerless, by the tyranny of
Angelo Visconti; and not the slightest
attempt was even made tc resist the domina-
tion of the usurper. Latterly awakening,
however, from the stupor of apathy, the pat-
riate of Genoa conspired in secret; but the
Duke's spies introduced themselves amongst
those brave men and betrayed them to the
tyrant. A special tribunal, armed with ex-
traordinary powers and clothed with all ima-
ginable terrors, was instituted for the trial of
those who were termed * rebels and having
undergone the tortures of the rack and other
(earful instruments for mutilating and dislo-
cating their limbs, they were put to frightful
deaths. Some were roasted upon gridirons—
others were hacked to pieces with knives and
scissors; some were thrown into caldrons of
boiling oil—and others again were delivered
over to the wild beasts in the ducal menage-
rie. Nevertheless, discontent still brooded
in secret; and if fresh conspiracies did not
really exist, at all events they were dreaded.
Then came a proclamation to prevent persons
frera harbouring in their houses more than a
certain number of guests. But still the ty-
rant's fears were not silenced; and his last
resource was to prevent all meetings whatso-
ever, even those of a family nature or of the
most innocent kind, by the decree above
ellud! i to, forbidding all persons, no matter
of what rank or on what pretext, from quit-
ting their homes after a stated hour in the
•vening.
"The first night on which this decree came
into operation, was marked by the tempest, as
described at the opening of this chapter. It
was therefore a night on which no one would
have thought of leaving his dwelling, unless
impelled by some urgent necessity; and
hence the observation so prevalent throughout
Genoa, that nature itself seemed determined
to aid, at least for this once, the effectual
carrying out of the ducal decree.
"In a magnificently furnished apartment
belonging to one of the finest mansions of
Genoa, a man of handsome person, and whose
sge was about forty, was pacing to and fro
with uneasy looks and agitated steps. This
was Nino Landini, one of the wealthiest
merchants not merely of Genoa, but in all
Europe. The light of a splendid lamp sus-
fiended to the ceiling, as it fell upon his
countenance every time he passed beneath it
ta his troubled walk, showed that his fine
features were convulsed with workings of
mingled affliction and rage; and the frequency
with which he clenched his hands and set his
teeth together, afforded farther indication ol
the strong excitement under which he was
labouring. Sometimes he paused near a door
communicating with an inner apartment, but
which was shut close; and as he thus gazed
upon it his passion subsided into the agony
of suspense. Then, as no one came forth
with the tidings which he was evidently
awaiting, he would turn away again and re-
sume his troubled walk, muttering to himself,
'If it should be necessary after all, what is to
be done? Duty and love prompt me on the
one hand how to act: but that dreadful decree
stares me in the face on the other hand. Oh,
the execrable tyrant! Pitiless as he is and
daring too in his despotism, is there no ven-
geance as remorseless and as bold to over-
whelm him 1 But my mind is made up! If
need be I will go forth, at any risk and at all
peril. Peril! it is great!—there is death in
the undertaking! The Doge hates :ne, be-
cause I have refused to become the partizan
of his cause and the creature of his will.
Were I not so highly placed amongst the
merchants of Genoa, and that he hesitates to
outrage so powerful a class by venting his
spite on me, he would have crushed me long
ago. As it is, he would gladly seize upon
the first pretext to immolate ine to his rancour.
But, ah! there is a chance! If I be compelled
to go forth, gold will perhaps bribe the sbirri,
should I meet them? Yes—that is indeed
the only chance of escaping the danger. But
they are venal, and would even sell their souls
to the Evil one for gold!'
"The musings of Nino Landini were sud-
denly interrupted by the opening of that door
on which he had so frequently paused to gaze
in breathless suspense; and a beautiful crea-
ture came forth. This was a young lady of
about twenty, in all the pride of that matchless
loveliness which characterizes the daughters
of the sunny south. Tall and splendidly
formed, she had all the voluptuousness of a
Hebe jningled with the graces of a Sylph.
Her large dark eyes, full of fire, now shone
with the restlessness of agitation ; and through
the clear olive of her complexion the rich car-
nation mantled, from the same cause, with a
heightened glow. A profusion of the darkest
and glossiest hair was fastened with a golden
arrow at the back of her nobly-shaped head;
and from the Grecian knot in which it was
thus tied, hung down two long tresses, reach-
ing below her'slender waist. Altogether she
was one of the brightest embodiments of
female charms that ever broke upon the view
of man.
This splendid creature was Bianca Landini,
the merchant's sister. Of a very targe family
of children which their parents possessed, the
eldest and the youngest had alone survived.
These were Nino and Bianca. A pestilence
which some years past ravaged Genoa, had
■wept away all the brUhers and sisters of


98 THE NECROMANCER.
intermediate ages; and these two hnd alone
survived of that once numerous and happy
family. The natural bonds of affection would
in any cose have rendered them deeply at-
tached to each other; hut the circumstance
which had thus left them the only survivors
of their parents' large progeny, was full well
calculated to rivet those bonds and cement the
affection subsisting between them. Bianca,
though so beautiful and likewise so wealthy,
was still unmarried—not for want of many
dleis, but because her disposition was too
noble and her mind too pure to allow her to
wed where she could not bestow her heart;
and hitherto that heart had remained virgin of
love's impressions. Her brother too had long
remained single. Indeed, but little more than
a year had elapsed since he espoused the
charming daughter of a merchant nearly as
rich and as eminent as himself; and on this
very night of which we are speaking was the
lieloved Genevra seized with those symptoms
which appeared to be the warnings heralding
the birth of a child.
"The moment Bianca emerged from the
inner apartment, her brother Nino hastened
to accost her; and he at once saw by the ex-
prosion of her countenance that it was as had
been suspected. The aid cf the medical man
was I her- fore necessary; and indeed, from the
few hurried words which Bianca spoke, in a
voice filled with the golden harmony of her
own glorious clime, the need was urgent and
imperious.—' Then I will go forth,' said Nino.
—Bianca clasped her hands despairingly; and
yet under the circumstances she dared not bid
him stay. At the same time she dreaded,
with the profoundest terror, to see him go
forth in contravention of that decree whose
penally was death! He comprehended full
well all that was passing in her mind, and
hastened to observe, ' Fear not, sweet sister;
it is most probable that on such a night as
this the abirri will not watch; but if I should
chance to meet them I will lavish gold to pur-
chase their secrosy.' —Bianca shook her head
des|K,ndingly; she could not help it—it was
an improvised movement, spasmodically arising
as it were from the tension of her feelings.
Her brother strove to reassure her.—4 My dear
Nino,' she said, a thought suddenly striking
her; and she gazed up appealingly into his
countenance; * your life is far more precious
than mine; you are a husband, and you are
about to become a father. Let me go. If
gold will really succeed in bribing the sbirri,
what matters it whether it be lavished by your
hand or mine V—* Bianca,' answered Nino
Landini, profoundly affected, ' of all the proofs
of sisterly love that you have ever given mc,
this is the deepest and the most touching.
But not for worlds would I allow your life to
be thus perilled! Even if you returned safe,
I should loathe and detest myself as a coward
for having permitted you to incur such dan-
ger; but if any evil did ensue, the thought of
my dastard conduct would drive me mad.'—-
Bianca still urged her project; but Nino would
not listen to it.—' Then have you not,' she
asked, * in your numerous household of well
fed and well paid menials, a single one who
will dare this venture for the sake of a kind
master!'—'No, not one whom I could yen-
ture to trust,' hastily responded Landini. 'Be-
sides, we have lately received new servants
beneath our roof; and I have positive informa-
tion that one is a spy ; but which of them it ifl
I know not . I could not lay my finger upon
the traitor. No; I must go forth myself.
The private door will give me safe egres»
unobserved by a single soul within the dwell-
ing; the doctor dwells not far off; and in a
quarter of an hour I hope to be safe back again.
—Bianca said no more; she dared not, foi
Genevra's sake, utter a remonstrance against
her brother's intention; and she dared not,
for his sake, encourage him to go forth. She
was almost bewildered with despair; alid there
was a strong presentiment of evil in her mind.
He muffled himself up in his mantle; and as
he once more turned to bis sister to embrace
her ere hurrying forth, he said in a low quick
voice,' Genevra knows naught of this atrocious
decree of Angelo Viseonti's?'—'No; accord-
ing to your instructions, my dear brother,'
she answered,' I have carefully kept from her
this fresh proof of the tyrant's despotism.
Feeling so deeply as she does on behalf of the
crushed liberties of our once free and proud
Genoa, it would have grieved her sorely.'
Nino Landini now embraced his sister ten-
derly, and descending a private staircase
issued forth from his mansion by a door of
which he alone possessed the key.
"It can hardly be necessary to state tha
during the day, and indeed up to a late hou
of the evening, no suspicion had been enter
tained that Genevra's time was so near
otherwise, as a matter of course, common
prudence would have suggested the propriety
of sending for the medical attendant previous
to the hour set forth in the Doge's arbitrary
decree. The symptoms of approaching ma-
ternity had seized with suddenness upon Sig-
nora Landini; and thus was it that her affec-
tionate husband was now compelled to dare
so tremendous a peril on her behalf. But as
he hurried along the dark and deserted street,
holding his cloak tightly around his person to
prevent it from being torn away by the wind
which came sweeping along with fearful
violence as he faced it, the thought suddenly
struck him for the first time, that the doctor
himself might refuse to violate a decree which,
in its diabolic tyranny, had made no excep-
tion even for such a case as this. For an in-
stant Nino Landini was staggered with the
thought: but a few moments' reflection made
him reason thus with himself:—' Dr. Forli i»
a humane as well as brave man; he is more*


THE NECROMANCER.
99
over mv devoted friend, and he will not re-
fuse to run this risk on my account. Besides,
even if we were both arrested, surely the
Doge would never dare to push his tyranny
to such a frightful extreme as to punish a
medical man of eminence for obeying the
solemn and sacred duties of his profession?
If any thing would goad the Genoese to des-
peration and make them fly to arms, it would
be such a Satanic tyranny as that.'—Reas-
sured by these reflections, Nino Landini pur-
sued bis way, having, however, literally to
struggle against the fury of the tempest, and
pained by the beating of the sleet upon his
countenance, which his plumed cap scarcely
protected.
"In a little more than five minutes he
reached Dr. Forli's house; and was at once
admitted by the worthy physician himself,
who had been somewhat astonished at hear-
ing a summons at his gate under existing cir-
cumstances. But upon recognizing Landini
he at once suspected the object of his coming;
and his looks grew troubled.—' Will you not
venture?' asked Nino in acute suspense.—
* Yes,' replied the physician boldly; 'but if
you saw me tremble, it was on your account
.
It is to be hoped that my profession would
serve as a guarantee for my security, and that
even such a tyrant as Angelo Visconti would
not dare to wreak his vengeance upon me. But
you, my dear friend, are different; and the
Doge hates you. Let ne then repair to your
house, and you remaii, here till morning.'—
Nino Landini objected to this arrangement,
alleging his deep auxi ty to be near his wife
on such an occasion. Hut the doctor at once
adopted a decisive bearing towards the mer-
chant, though with a most friendly intention.
I will only go to your house,' he said,' on
conditien that you remain here in mine until
the morning. Better to endure some anxiety
than run the fearful risk of giving the tyrant
a hold upon you : better to remain away from
your dwelling for a few hours, than incur the
peril of being snatched from it for ever.'—
The doctor was firm in his friendly advice;
and Nino Landini was compelled to submit.
He accordingly remained where he was;
while Forli, hastily wrapping himself in a
thick cloak, and drawing his cap over his
countenance to protect it from the nipping
chill of the tempest, sallied forth, promising
however to return so soon as he had any intel-
ligence to report relative to the expected little
one.
"Not a quarter of an hour had elapsed
after the doctor's departure, when a loud and
imperious knocking was heard at the gate;
and the merchant's heart was seized with a
sudden misgiving. What if the sbirri had
traced him? For a moment he thought of
concealing himself—then of flying: but the
next instant he discarded both ideas, angry
with himself for having even entertained
them. The gate was opened by Dr. Forli's
domestics; and the house was immediately
invaded by the sbirri. They burst into the
room where Nino Landini was, and at once
made him their prisoner. Behind them, in
the shade of the doorway, appeared a coun-
tenance which shrank back the moment its
eyes were met by its own: but it did not
thus disappear before he recognized Thoma-
so, one of his own servants. The truth
flashed to him; this man was the spy, ol
whose presence in his household he had a
short time back received a hint from a friend
ly quarter! And it was so. The villain, on
hearing that evening that his mistress was
taken suddenly ill, at once felt assured that
his master would go forth to fetch the physi-
cian: he had watched accordingly—his sus-
picions were confirmed—and hurrying off to
the guard-house, he had brought the sbirri
to accomplish this arrest.
"Nino Landini bore his calamity with the
firmness of a brave man. He asked the ofti
cer commanding the force, whether Dr. Forli
was likewise arrested? * No; we do not
mean to touch him,' was the response. 'Out
orders arc to exempt medical men from the
operation of the decree; and this much should
have been specified when it was promulgated
by the heralds this morning. A supplemen
tary ordinance to that effect will be issued to-
morrow.'—' But how,' demanded Landini,
* can medical men's services be obtained, un-
less there is somebody to fetch them ?'—
'That, signor, you must ask the Judge to-
morrow,' was the curt response. 'We are at
all events performing our duty now, and know
nothing beyond it.' Landini felt somewhat
consoled by the thought that his wife was at
least ensured the medical attendance of which
she stood in need; and though he remember-
ed his pre-arranged idea of bribing the sbirri,
he was nevertheless at the first moment too
proud even to seek to purchase his liberty on
such conditions. When, however, the officer
bade him resume his mantle and come away
to the castle-prison, a powerful revulsion of
feeling took place all in a moment in the
merchant's mind: he thought of his happy
home—his beloved wife and his affectionate
sister: he thought also that he was full soon
to become a father! Then, stifling his pride,
he drew the officer apart and offered him a
sum one-tenth of which might have been
thought tempting enough for that function
ary. But the man shook his head; and
glancing quickly towards the doorway, said
plainly that he dared not accept it- Nino
Landini understood what he meant. Tho-
maso, the Duke's special spy, would betray the
circumstance. There consequently seemed
no alternative but for the unfortunate mer-
chant to accompany the sbirri to the gaol
within the castle walls; and resuming bi■
mantle and cap, he prepared to issue fortb


100
THE NECROMANCER.
with them from the physician's house where
the arrest thus took place.
"As the party emerged into the street, the
torch, which, according to custom, burnt in
an iron ring in what may be termed the hall
of the dwelling, flung its strong and lurid
light far out of the doorway; and at the in-
stant a tall figure, enveloped in a mantle, and
With the sable plumes of his cap streaming in
the wind, passed by. So leisurely was his
pp.ee and unconcerned his manner, that it
seemed as if he must be utterly ignorant of
the existence of the decree, or else that he
most contemptuously disregarded it. But
while some of the sbirri, who were about ten
in number, remained in the gateway to keep
charge of Landini, the others moved towards
the daring stranger.—' Back, villains!' he
exclaimed, not even attempting to draw his
rapier, but proudly waving them off with his
arm which lie extended from beneath the folds
of his mantle. At the same moment the
light of the torch flashed full upon the stran-
ger's countenance, which was that of a man
of about thirty—perhaps a year or two more
—remarkably handsome, and now displaying
the haughtiest scorn as the fine dark eyes
flashed lightnings upon the sbirri. Whether
it were that his audacity for the moment as-
tounded them, or that there was something in
Us looks which overawed them, we cannot
say; but certain it is that those who had
rushed forward to seize upon him, fell back—
and he, turning coolly upon his heel, was
slowly passing on, when the sbirri with one
accord feeling that they were playing a das-
tard part thus to recoil from the presence of
a single individual, sprang upon him. Nino
Landini never afterwards could exactly tell
the precise manner in which the stranger
dealt with them: for what now followed took
place as quick as the eye could wink. A
single moment—barely a moment—and the
five sbirri were hurled away, staggering back
as if a giant arm had dashed them all off;
and the next instant the stranger was seen
standing calm and collected, with his naked
rapier now drawn in his right hand, and his
left hand upon the hip—while his cloak
streamed out behind him like huge fluttering
wings.
"The officer of the sbirri, who was stand-
ing on the threshold by Landini's side, now
gave vent to a hitler imprecation against what
he naturally supposed to be the cowardice of
the five men who had lieen thus instantane-
ously discomfited; and he sprang towards the
stranger.—' Bark, hack, foul, or you will meet
your deatli,' said the unknown, not labouring
under the least excitement, but speaking with
a calm remonstrance, as if wielding a power
which he knew to be invincible. The next
moment, and the officer fell back in the same
dismay which had seized upon his men; and
then Landini, bursting from the palsied grasp
of his guards, sprang towards the stranger,
saying, - Brave unknown, let us resist them
together !' 'Ah, you were their prisoner then,
I presume!' said the stranger. * Well, yop
shall not seek for my succour in vain. Keep
with me:' then turning the lightnings of his
looks once more upon the sbirri, not another
man of whom ventured to approach him, he
said, 'Beware how you follow us; for next
time it shall be death /'—He then turned
away, and passed along the street, accompa
nied by the amazed and bewildered merchant,
who for a few moments could scarcely believe
that what had just passed was otherwise than
a dream.
"The sbirri, stricken with an awful con-
sternation, for which they themselves could
not account, ventured not to disobey the un-
known's last injunctions; and when Landini
found that he and his companion were not fol-
lowed, he experienced a species of awe, as if
conscious of the presence of some superior be-
ing. But now the stranger laughed—not
with a coarse and vulgar triumph, but with
the mockery of a haughty scorn—saying,
'Those miscreants are all cowards in thefr
hearts, if one does but know how to deal with
them. Had I shed their blood, they would
have fought to desperation; but exercising the
commanding authority of a superior mind
over a common one, I quelled them as you
saw.'—Nino Landiu feeling that this was
indeed the only mr - is, short of a supernat-
ural power, by whicl he wonderful event that
had just occurred co.* d be possibly accounted
for, was satisfied by be explanation: and he
proceeded to return his grateful thanks for the
succour he had received from the stranger.
'But' he asked, ' are you aware of the Doge's
decree ?.'—' Assuredly,' was the reply, given in
a scornful tone; 'and I laugh at it. If you
Genoese are servile enough to submit to such
outrageous tyranny, I, as an Englishman, am
resolved to assert my right to personal freedom
while sojourning in your city.'—' Permit me lo
warn you,' said Landini,' that the Doge makes
no distinction between natives and strangers
in the exercise of his tyranny.'—' But at least.'
rejoined the unknown, with cool indifference,
and yet with a certain lofty consciousness of
power, which was expressed in his tone and
manner, 'your Doge will think twice ere he
meddle* with an English Peer.'—'Then it is
to an English Peer that I am indebted V said
Landini, with increased respect towards his
companion.
"The unknown answered, ' I bear the an-
cient and honoured name of Danvers. And
now tell me whom I have had the pleasure uf
serving this night ?'—' My name is Landini,'
replied the merchant.—' Ah, the name is well
known to every one in Genoa,' responded
Lord Danvers: 'and it is not strange to my
ears.'—Nino Landini again expressed his
gratitude to the English nobleman, adding, ' I


THE NECROMANCER.
101
wish, my lord, that I could invite you to par-
take of the hospitalities of my dwelling: but
I much tear that there is no alternative for
me except to fly from Genoa and take refuge
at Pisa within as brief a time as possible: for
although by your lordship's kindness I am res-
cued now from the hands of the sbirri, yet
will they be aure to return anon in double
force to take me.'—' Fear nothing, Signor
Landini,' answered Lord Danvers in a tone
of confidence. * Go to your home, attempt
not to fly from Genoa, but trust to me.'—
'Your lordship amazes me, exclaimed the
merchant; * hut I fear that such good inter-
cessions as you may intend to make on my
behalf with the Duke Angelo Visconti, will
fail.'—' Again I say fear nothing,' rejoined
Lord Danvers, with the emphasis of one who
spoke not lightly but knew full well the im-
port of hie words. 'You cannot think that I
should betray you into a false security. Even
if danger were to overtake you for a time, rest
assured that I will deliver you. But this is
your house,' he said, suddenly pausing in front
of the merchant's mansion, which they had
now reached.—' Then your lordship knows
where I live?' said Landini in some surprise.
—' Yes, I have drafts upon you from your
Paris agent for a considerable amount; and
during the day I took the trouble of ascertain-
ing where you lived. I should have called
upon you to-morrow, even had we not met
thus to-night. And now farewell. But again
I say, yield to no alarm; you have a friend in
me.'
"Having thus spoken. Lord Danvers wrung
the merchant's hand with a friendly warmth,
which seemed all the more cordial inasmuch
as it was evident that he was as proud in dis-
position as he was handsome in person; and
as he turned slowly away and disappeared in
the surrounding darkness, the merchant re-
entered the mansion. Hastening up-stairs to
the apartment where we first introduced him
to the reader of this narrative, he was clasped
in the arms of his delighted sister Bianca,
who was. rejoiced to find that he had thus re-
turned safe (as she fancied) from molestation.
Then, in a few hurried but joyous words, she
made him aware that he was the father of
■ son, and that the mother was progress-
ing admirably. The merchant, for the mo-
ment forgetting every thing that had just
'aken place, was enraptured with this in-
telligence. Dr. Forli now made his appear-
ance from the inner apartment, and was
anazed on beholding Landini there after he
hfd so s'rictly enjoined him to remain at his
house till the morning. But when the mer-
chant had explained every thing that had
takon place, he left his sister and the physi-
cian to make their comments upon the adven-
ture, while he himself passed into the adjoining
room to embrace his beloved Genevra and the
new-born babe.
7
"Resolved to follow the instructions he had
received from Lord Danvers, and put the
utmost' confidence in the assurances of pro-'
lection which that nobleman had so generously
offered, Nino Landini remained tranquilly at
his own mansion, and' thought no more of
flying to the neighbouring Republic of Pisa.
On the following morning he went into hia
counting-house and attended to his business
as usual. At alxrat mid-day Lord Danvers
made his appearance, and was most cordially
received by the grateful merchant, who had
now an opportunity of observing his new
friend more closely than on the preceding
night. It would be difficult to conceive a
more perfect masculine beauty than that pos-
sessed by Walter Danvers. He was tall—of
slender.figure—but symmetrical as an Apollo;
and so well knit in all his proportions, thaf
his slightness was not incompatible witti
strength. His complexion was dark—his hai|
black and glossy as that of a woman—his eve■
were large and strangely brilliant—and his
teeth seemed like two rows of ivory beneath
the lustrous jet of the mcustach? which was
finely pencilled upon his short and curling u(A
|ier lip. His costume was of the richest ma-
terials and of the most tasteful elegance. Al-
together he was a cavalier full well adapted
to touch the heart of even the least suscepti-
ble of women.
"In the course of conversation with the
merchant, Lord Danvers said that being wea-
ried of the constant strifes, contentions, and
cabals in which the imbecility of the reigning
King of England (Richard II.) had plunged
his native country, he had resolved to abandon
it altogether: that he had realised a consider-
able portion of his wealth with a view to de-
posit it in the hands of three or four eminent
mercantile firms upon the Continent; and
that as accident had thrown him in the way
of Nino Landini, he should be most happy if
this merchant would become the recipient of a
portion of his funds. Landini expressed hit
gratitude for this proof of confidence, and tie.
dared his willingness to accept the trust.—
'Our arrangements in this respect,' said Wal-
ter Danver scatelessly,4 can be all the more ea-
sily effected, inasmuch as I already hold drafts
to a considerable amount upon you :' and with
the same off-hand easy air of aristocratic in-
difference, but which nevertheless seemed io
be utterly void of affectation, he tossed down a
roll of papers upon the desk. With the cool
deliberation of business habits did Nino Lan-
dini arrange the papers in an orderly manner,
and then scanned them carefully one alter the
other. An expression of astonishment gradu-
ally deepened upon his countenance as lie
went on; and having thus gone through the
documents, he said, * Your lordship is the
bearer of letters of credit upon me for the lar-
gest sum which, throughout all my mercantile
experience, I was wt?r called upon to pay to


102
THE NECROMANCER.
•ne individual. It is indeed a colossal fortune
in itself.'—'You think so, Signor Landini?'
•aid Danvers carelessly. *I have deposited an
equal sum with a mercantile firm in Paris,
and nearly as much with another establish-
ment at Madrid.'—Landini, notwithstanding
the natural courtesy of his manners, opened
his eves with mingled amazement and incre-
dulity at this announcement; while Lord Dan-
vers went on to say, as he threw down some
more documents, * But here are the receipts of
these mercuntile firms in Paris and Madrid of
which I have spoken; and you can keep them
for me for the present.'—Nino Landini made
a low bow, and assumed a manner respectful-
ly apologetic for the passing incredulity he
had exhibited. Then he began to talk upon
the best means of investing the immense funds
w-hirh Danvers proposed to leave in his hands;
bin the nobleman cut him short by observing,
*,We will discourse upon these matters anoth-
er time. I presume you have heard no more
of the adventure of last night?—'Nothing,'
replied Landini; 'but the treacherous servant
who betrayed me to the sbirri, has not return-
ed to the house; nor should I think he would
venture to do so. Yet, being the Doge's spy,
Ke must doubtless have communicated the
whole affair to his Highness.'—• I myself
called upon the Doge just now,' said Dan-
vers, 'and very candidly explained to him
what took place. As frankly did I assure his
Highness that I for one, though a stranger in
his city, would not submit to the tyrannous
decree he had issued.'—• Ah! then your lord-
ship bearded the despot? ' exclaimed Landini
joyously. 'And what did he sayV—'He
evaded the subject; and after some farther
discourse,' continued Danvers, • on indifferent
matters, I took my leave. But depend upon
it, that so far from offering any additional out-
rage towards you, he would rather that the
incident of Inst night had never occurred at
•II.*
"Nino Landini was overjoyed at this intel-
ligence, which seemed to guarantee his safety:
and he now invited Lord Walter Danvers into
the private apartments of his splendid man-
sion. There an elegnnt repast was speedily
served up; and the English nobleman was
introduced to Bianca. The young lady was
already naturally prepossessed in favour of the
gallant foreigner who had been the means of
rescuing her brother from the sbirri on the
fircceding night; and she therefore received
him with the generous frankness of a' grateful
heart. Doubtless she was at once struck also
by.his extraordinary personal beauty; nnd he
on his part could not help gazing upon Bianca
with admiration. Indeed, as they sat down
at table, and the merchant surveyed his sister
seated next to Walter Danvers, the idea gra-
dually stole into his mind that there whs a
remarkable fitness in the companionship of the
two, and that it would be impossible for the
world to furnish a handsomer couple. In the
coarse of conversation Lord Walter Danvera
suffered it to transpire that he was unmarried,
and that as yet he had never been tempted to
change his condition; and Bianca'a cheek■
displayed a slight blush as he thus spoke, for it
seemed as if there was a meaning and a pur-
pose in his words which her own heart enabled
her to understand. Two or three hours passed
in a very agreeable manner; and when Lord
Danvers took his leave, it was not without a
pressing invitation on behalf of the merchant
to call as frequently as he had leisure and
incli nation.
"Lord Danvers was staying at the principal
hotel in Genoa, where, as it appeared, he had
not been many days before the incidents we
have related thus rendered him intimate at
the mansion of the Landinis. He had arrived
at Genoa with a numerous suite, all wel!
mounted on splendid chargers; and the evi-
dences of immense wealth he displayed, spee-
dily rendered him a conspicuous personage in
the city. The adventure with the sbirri was
not one that could be kept secret even by
those who were most interested in suppressing
it; and thus when it came to be known that
the gallant English nobleman bad single-
handed defied a posse of the police, and even
walked of)' triumphantly with their prisoner
before their very eyes, the public admiration
for the hero of this exploit amounted to a posi-
tive enthusiasm. Every one however was
astonished that the Doge should have taken
the proceeding so quietly and tamely; but
such was the fact, and it led to many and
varied conjectures. With these however we
need not encumber our narrative. Let ut
proceed to state that three months passed
away—April came with its sunny smiles—
and the groves and gardens in the vicinage of
Genoa put forth all their verdure. Meanwhile
Lord Danvers had been a constant visitor at
Signor Landini's house; and by his assidui-
ties, his delicate attentions, and his many no-
ble qualities, had won Bianca's heart. Deeply
and enthusiastically did the beauteous damsel
love her English suitor; and fervid was the
language in which he in due course declared
his own passion. There could ire no visible
objection to such an alliance, in every way so
eligible for Bianca: and therefore the assent
of her brother Nino and sister-in-law Genevra
was at once given when asked. It was de-
cided that the nuptials should take place so
soon as Lord Danvers had made up his minJ
where he thenceforth intended to fix his abode:
for, inasmuch as he had conceived a strong
aversion for his native country, where his an-
cestral mansions were situated, he did not
choose to bear his bride to either one of his
English homes; and therefore must he pre-
pare one somewhere else to receive her. He
expressed his desire to settle in France, and
intimated his intention of at once


THE NECROMANCER.
103
thither to purchase a castle and estate which
he had learnt were to be sold in Normandy,
and which he would lose no time in preparing
to receive Bianca when she should become his
bride. He declared that his absence would
nol exceed two months altogether; and on
his return the marriage ceremony should be
celebrated. Now, though Landini and Ge-
nevra, as well as Bianca herself, had hitherto
hoped that Lord Danvers would be induced
to settle at Genoa—or at least in its neigh-
bourhood—so that the young lady might re-
main m ar her brother and sister-in-law, yet
it was impossible to dictate to him in this re-
spect; and therefore all his proposed arrange-
ments were assented to. Having taken a
lender leave of the charming Bianca and a
friendly farewell of Nino and Genevra, Lord
Danvers departed with his suite from Genoa.
"When he was gone, an evil presentiment
■truck to Bianca's heart. It was not on ac-
count of her lover that she thus experienced
so sad a misgiving; she had all possible con-
fidence in (he strength of his affection, his
fidelity, and his honour; but it was on her
brother's behatf that she trembled. For now
that Lord Danvers had quitted the city, niight
not the despot Angelo Visconti attempt to
wreak his vengeance upon the merchant'
Bianca felt that hitherto her well-beloved
Walter had been a safe-guard and a shield
for Nino, and that by some means or other,
which he had never exactly explained to her,
le had possessed sufficient influence over the
Duke to avert the effects of his rancour from
he house of Landini. But now that he was
rone, would the tyrant still remain passive?
.t is true that in their parting conversation.
Waller, alluding to this matter, had bade her
entertain no fears; and at the moment she was
tranquillized by his assurance. But now that
he was no longer there, to afford his succour
in case of need, her heart sank within her;
and she could not possibly shake off the gloom
of despondency which gathered around her
■oul. She however veiled her misgivings as
well as she was able, so as not to alarm her
brother and Genevra unnecessarily ; and when
they observed that she was melancholy, they
naturally attributed this mournfulness to the
absence of her lover. Day after day passed
without realizing any of the damsel's fears;
her courage and confidence therefore revived;
and when seven weeks had elapsed without
the slightest hostile demonstration on the
Duke's part towards her brother, she smiled at
the misgivings she had at first entertained.
Yes—she smiled now, because in another
week her Waller was to return; and then
would she become his bride!
"Very nearly five months had thus elapsed
•ince that memorable night which gave Nino
Landini an heir to his name and wealth; and
the little Lodovico throve apace. We must
also observe that during this interval the ty-
rannical conduct of the usurper Angelo Visconti
had exhibited no abatement. All the odious
decrees previously enacted continued in force;
and others equally arbitrary had been promul-
gated. The entire Genoese Republic wa»
groaning beneath the tyranny of Angelo Vis-
conti; and the popular spirit appeared to be
altogether broken. Suddenly it became ru-
moured that the Doge, who was a widower
and childless, had resolved to take unto himself
a second wife, in the hope of obtaining an heir
to his usurped power; for the principle of an-
nual elections for the Chief of the State had
been abolished by him, and he entertained the
project of founding a dynasty. Report like-
wise added that inasmuch as the treasures
which he had amassed in the wars were all
expended in consolidating his usurped authori-
ty, he had determined to make his matrimo-
nial views serve also the purpose of replenish-
ing bis empty cotters, and that his confidential
advisers had drawn up a list of all the loveli-
est and wealthiest damsels in Genoa.
"This intelligence was whispered through
Genoa just at that period when, as above de-
scribed, it wanted a week of the day fixed for
the return of Walter Danvers. In the eve-
ning, at about nine o'clock, Landini, Genevra,
and Bianca were seated together in one of the
splendid apartments of the mansion, and were
engaged in earnest discourse. But very far
distant from the Doge or his plan* was the
topic of this conversation. Indeed the mer-
chant, his wife, and sister, were discussing the
preparations that were already in progress for
the bridal—a letter having been that day re-
ceived from Lord Danvers, stating that he had
purchased the castle and estate in Normandy,
and that he should be at Genoa again on the
day originally appointed. The reader may
therefore easily conceive that the present con-
versation was of a very interesting character,
and that those who were engaged in it had
little inclination to trouble themselves with
fleeting rumours respecting a tyrant's projects.
Presently the door opened, and a domestic en-
tered to announce that a knight, who gave no
name, required an immediate audience of the
merchant.
"Landini asked what appearance the visitor
had; for the circumstance carried a sudden
trouble into his own heart as well as into the
hearts of the two ladies. The domestic in reply
to his master's question, observed that the visi-
tor was sheathed in complete armour and wore
a helmet with the vizor closed. Scarcely had
he thus spoken when the heavy trampling of
steel hoots was heard in the passage; and the
menial turning round, exclaimed, 'Here ia
the visitor to speak for himself!'—The intru-
der, clutching the domestic's arm with his
gauntletted hand, thrust him rudely back
from the threshold; and passing into the
room, closed the door behind him. Nino
Landini, Genevra, and Bianca, all three start-


!104
THE NECROMANCER.
ed from their seats on beholding the tall form
Of the armed warrior thus appear before them;
and while the two ladies shrank together, the
merchant, though with an increasing uneasi-
ness, assumed a calm demeanour and inquir-
ed who the stranger was, and what he
wanted?
"But the intrusive knight did not immedi-
ately reply. Advancing towards the two
ladies, he fixed his looks through the bars of
his helmet upon Bianca, and surveyed her
with an intentness that was apparent enough,
despite the steel veil which covered his fea-
tures. For she could see his piercing eyes
glow as it were through the openings in his
vizor; and she shrank back from that gaze so
earnest and so fiery. 'By the saints!' ex-
claimed the intruder, the natural tones of his
voice altered so as to be deeply cavern-like
and even sepulchral as they issued from the
depths of that steal helmet: 'by the saints!
report hath not misled me in this instance.
Indeed it were impossible for rumour to exag-
gerate charms so peerless as these. Yes,
thou art indeed the loveliest maid of Genoa;
and it is sufficient that thou art Landini's sis-
ter to be a guarantee for the richness of thy
dower.'—Thus speaking, the intruder raised
the vizor of his helmet, And revealed the coun-
tenance of the Doge Augelo Viscoati.
"A half-stifled shriek burst from the lips of
Bianca, as an awful fear seized upon her
heart. Genevra gave vent to a cry of terror;
and a similar ejaculation fell from the mer-
chant.—' Do not alarm yourselves,' said the
Duke, deliberately seating himself, and im-
periously beckoning with his steel-clad arm
for the others to follow his example. They
obeyed in silence, vainly endeavouring to as-
sume a calmness of demeanour the better to
repel the atrocious proposition which their
fears too faithfully told them was about to be
made.—' Doubtless you have heard,' continu-
ed the Doge, his harsh features assuming an
expression of condescending familiarity min-
gled with a patronizing imperiousness, 'the
rumour which has been spread abroad to-day,
trumpet-tongued throughout the city of Ge-
noa? But if you have not, I may as well in-
form you that it is my intention to raise to a
share of my ducal seat the loveliest damsel in
the Republic; and as a matter of course her
friends, delighted with the honour thus con-
ferred upon her, will bestow the richest dower
as a bridal-gift. The loveliest damsel inhere,'
he added, glancing toward the shuddering
Bianca; 'and you, Signor Landini, will fur-
nish the dower.'—' My lord,' answered the
merchant, feeling his courage rise in pro-
portion to the emergency of the case,' my
sister Bianca is engaged to wed another, to
whom her vows are plighted, and on whom
her affections are likewise bestowed.'—' And
that other,' said the Duke sternly,' is Lord
Walter Danvers, the English nobleman who
a lately sojourned for a few months at Genoa.
; Now mark you, Signor Landini,' continued
a the Doge, speaking in a measured voice; '1
- was no stranger to the incident which occurr-
- ed on a certain night in front of Dr. Forli'a
t house; but this Danvers of whom yon speak
came to me, and by the exercise of some un-
- known influence, which was powerful enough
i at the time, actually succeeded in overawing
f me. I can scarcely account for this weakness
r on my part; for all the world knows that
, Angelo Visconti possesses no craven spirit,
■ But that man seemed to have a spell in his
i looks and to wield a wierd-power too well
i calculated to make even the boldest afraid. I
, do not mind confessing this much now; be-
* cause at length I have succeeded in shaking
i oil' that mystic influence which by his own
i unknown subtleties he shed upon me. I coins
• therefore to demand the hand of Bianea in mar,
riagc; to demand also that you bestow upon her
, such dower as becomes the sister of the wealthi*
. est merchant in the world. I give you three
clear days to reflect upon the subject. On
; the fourth morning hence I shall return for
• your answer. If it be favourable, it were well
for ye all: but if unfavourable, then prepare
yourself, Nino Landini, to answer before
the tribunal of justice for the double charge
of having contravened my august decree and
'having escaped from the authorities of the
law on that same night to which I have be-
fore alluded.'—Having thus spoken, the Dogs
Angelo Visconti rose from his seat, drew
down the vizor of his helmet once more, and
stalked majestically from the room."
CHAPTER XXIV.
cosclusiox or the iistort or iiiicga
LA.VDINI. J
"Whijt the Doge Angelo Visconti thus taok
his departure, he left the wretched Genevra
and Bianca overwhelmed with mingled grief
and dismay. Bianca, weeping bitterly, threw
herself into her brother's arms, exclaiming,
'Oh, now it is 1 beloved Nino, who am des-
tined to draw Jown the direst calamities upon
your head!'—But the merchant said all he
could to console his afflicted sister and his
equally anguished wife, beseeching them Iwth
to compose their feelings that they might all
three deliberate s riously upon the course to
lie pursued. That Bianca should sacrifice
herself to the ducal tyranny, was not even for
an instant thought of; nor did the damsel her-
self, willing as she would have been to d« al-
most any thing to save her brother, suggest
such an alternative. She knew his generous
heart too well to sup|io$e that he would tole-
rate the idea for a moment; and the reader
may be well assured that she was by no


THE NECROMANCER.
*»ns dazzled by Angelo Visconti's prefer-
..ce. On the contrary, even if her heart
>*re not engaged and her troth plighted to
rV alter Danvers, she would sooner have wed-
led the humblest and the meanest inhabitant
-A Genoa, than become the bride of the proud
tnd unscrupulous usurper. But what was to
Ue done 1 There was no time to send and in-
firm Danvers of what was taking place: and
•Ten if he should return earlier than the day
appointed for his coming, how could he avert
the menaced catastrophe! Had not the Duke
declared that Danvers no longer exercised any
influence over him? Again and again did
the merchant, Genevra. and Bianca ask each
other what was to be done. Should they fly?
This was their only alternative; but scarcely
bad they begun to deliberate upon this step,
and arrange a plan for letting Danvers know
whither to follow them, when a servant enter-
ed the room to announce that half a dozen
sbirri Lad just arrived with the intimation that
Ihey were to take up their quarters beneath
Kignor Landini's roof for the next three or four
days, and that the merchant himself, as well
as his family, must consider themselves pris-
oners within those walls.
"The domestic withdrew so soon as he had
delivered the message of the sbirri; and now
Die unfortunate victims of Angelo Visconii's
detestable tyranny sat gazing upon each other
in speechless dismay. Farther deliberation
was useless. There was indeed naught to
deliberate upon. Every avenue of escape
from the dread catastrophe seemed to be shut
np. It is scarcely possible to conceive a mis-
ery of the soul more truly agonizing than that
which the honest, upright merchant and the
two amiable and beauteous ladies were now
enduring. Till a late hour that night did they
remain together, in the vain hope that some
happy suggestion would arise for their deliv-
erance. But not a single inspiration of such
a cheering nature pierced through the gloom
of their souls: they had no longer a hope—no
net one! *
"When Bianca met her brother and sister-
in-law again in the morning, at the meal
which passed away untasted, she looked hag-
gard and careworn. But suddenly the mer-
chant suggested a plan! He would send to
the Duke and ofler all his wealth—even to
the last coin that he possessed—as a propitia-
i tion and a compromise. The hearts of the
two ladies fluttered anew with hope. A re-
spectful letter was drawn up and forthwith
despatched to Angelo Visconti. In a short
time the messenger returned, with the intima-
tion that an answer would be sent anon. Oh!
then the prayer was not refused abruptly and
•utright? and this circumstance enhanced
the hope already entertained. Hour after
hour passed: the sun gained the meridian—
and still no response came. How fearful was
the t ispense w+ ch those three victims of
tyranny now endured—so fearful as almost tc
stifle hope altogether! Still the hours dragger?
their slow length along, and no reply! The ,
sun was sinking into the Mediterranean wave,
when a messenger from the palace was .
announced. He delivered a sealed letter, and
immediately departed. Bianca clung in the
agony of suspense to her sister-in-law; and
the hands of the naturally strong-minded
Nino trembled to such a degree that he could
scarcely open the missive just received. At
length the document was unfolded; and as
his eye glanced with lightning speed over its
contents, his countenance at once grew pale,
and blank, and deathlike with bitterest dis-
appointment. The Doge refused the offer!
In terms which were almost insolent, he de-
clared that he wanted a wife as well as a
fortune—that this wife must be the most
beautiful maid in Genoa—and who so beauti-
ful as Bianca Landini? All was now des-
pair—dumb, blank, awful despair!
"And yet another hope gleamed forth next
day. The merchant would offer half his
fortune to the sbirri to connive at the escape
of himself and those who were dear to him!
He descended to the room where the officer
of the sbirri was lodged, and propounded his
object. It was received with cold contempt;
and when the merchant retraced his way to
the apartment where his wife and sister were
waiting for him, his looks again denoted 'he
futility of his errand. Oh! what was to be
done now? It was impossible to yield tamely
and withdut an effort . Despair suggested a
dozen schemes—all of which, alas! proved
utterly devoid of feasibility the moment they .
were reasoned upon. Thus the second day
passed. The third morning came; and when
the three victims of a satanic cruelty met at
the breakfast-table, they were horrified at
beholding the ravages of care in each other's
looks. Genevra pressed her infant with con-
vulsive violence to her bosom; and though
she Said nothing, yet in the utter woe of her
half-stifling sobs was read the thought that
agonised the soul. For as she looked upon
the innocent countenance of that'sweet child,
she thought to herself, 'Just Heaven! is it
possible that within a few hours, thou, unT
offending babe, may'st be deprived of a
father V—And the father afso wept as he
gazed upon that child: but with a prompt ret
turn of manly courage he speedily dried his
tears for the sake of those whose grief was
already eo poignant.—' Now, my dear wife,
and you also, beloved sister,' he said, 'there is
no hope for us but in the mercy of Providence.
We have essayed all human means to avert
the impending calamity: it is time that we
should implore Heaven's succour. Rest as-
sured, that if it please the Almighty to spare
me, He will yet find a means of working out
his sublime will. Therefore let us avert out
thoughts from all worldly things, and fix out


106 THE NECROMANCER.
hopes upon that Power which is superior to
the dominion of princes, and dominant above
the will of the proudest tyrants.' In compli-
ance with this suggestion, the remainder of
that day was passed in devotion and pious
discourse.
"The fourth morning dawned: it was the
memorable one fixed by the Doge Angelo
Visconti for the merchant's decision to be
given. Nino Landini and his wife, when
they met Bianca at the breakfast-table, were
profoundly afflicted to behold the still greater
change which another sleepless night of tor-
turing thoughts had worked in that charming
creature: she was still beautiful—touchingly
beautiful: but how sad—Oh! how sad, was
the look that seemed to have settled indelibly
upon her features. Her cheeks were sunken
too; and her eyes were dim with weeping.
When the three embraced, they mingled their
tears together. But again did they have re-
course to the consolations of prayer; and
scarcely had they concluded their devotions,
when the door was thrown open and Angelo
Visconti, followed by a party of his body-
guards, entered the room. He was arrayed
in a splendid Court-dress, as if he had come
with the certainty of being invited to conduct
a bride to the altar: but the instant his looks
were swept around upon the countenances of
the unfortunate family, he understood the de-
rision chat would be given.
"' Signor Landini,' he exclaimed in a loud
imperious tone, * what says your sister Bianca,
and what say you?'—'I say, my lord,'
answered the merchant, now possessed of all
the courage requisite to enable him t*> face
whatever might be in store, ' that my sister
Bianca cannot accompany you to the altar.
As for my wealth, it is at your service, even
to the last ducat; but I cannot permit a be-
mved sister to make a wreck of her heart's
affections, or betray the troth which she has
pledged to another.'—' Hah, this insolence!'
thundered the Doge. * Away with him to the
tribunal! And see that these women,' he
added, with brutal allusion to Genevra and
Bianca, 'be still closely guarded here, as I
■hall bethink me how to deal with them when
tfie arch-traitor Landini has been disposed of
by the headsman.'—Then followed a wild and
terrible scene, the wife and the sister clinging
to the merchant on whom the guards rudely
•eizrd; he imploring them not to lose confi-
dence in Heaven, and they pouring forth the
bitterest lamentations; until the merciless sol-
diers literally wrenched him from their embrace
and hurried him away. The Duke departed
with his guards and their prisoner; and the
almost heart-broken ladies were now left alone
together.
"From the mansion to the tribunal of jus-
tice—Oh, what a mockery to use the word
justice in such a sense !—there was no great i
jialancc. And now behold the eminent roer- I
chant of Genoa standing, with shackles upon
his limbs, in the presence of a Judge who wat
the mere creature and the vile tool of a detest-
able tyrant! The tribunal was situated in a
gloomy subterranean, lighted dimly by iron
lamps suspended to the low vaulted roof. Tho
torture-room was adjoining; and the door wet
left wide open on purpose that the hideous
instruments of dislocation and mutilation might
be seen by the light which also burnt in that
horrible place. But Landini maintained a
firm and dignified bearing. The bitterness
of death was passed at the moment the guards
tore him away from the embrace of his agonized
wife and sister. He caretl not now for torture:
had not his soul already endured excruciations
riiore exquisite than any which man's cruelly
could inflict upon his body? Nor did he con-
template death with affright: had he not lived
too virtuously to tremble at the idea of speed-
ily standing in the presence of his Maker!
"The trial was a mere mockery, and was
as brief and hurried as such mockery well
might be. Evidence was given to prove that
Landini, on a particular night, hud violated
the ducal decree, and that succoured by an
Englishman, not now present, had escaped
from the officers of justice. The merchant
frankly and firmly admitted that the allegations
were true; although he protested boldly against
the infamy of the decree which his duty as a
man, as a husband, and as an expectant father,
had imperiously compelled him to disobey.
But still be admitted the truth of the charges;
and consequently there was no need for lUi
horrors of the rack to extort confession. The
Judge pronounced sentence of death ; and the
penalty was ordered to be carried into imme-
diate execution. Indeed, as this result had
been foreseen from the first moment of Lan-
dings arrest, the preparations for his doom
were made while his trial was progressing;
and during the short hour and a half which
the mock ordeal occupied, the platform was
set up, the block placed upon it, the axe sharp-
ened, and the headsman in readiness, all in
the great square opposite to the ducal palace.
"Though public spectacles of this hideous
nature had been common enough at Genoa
since Angelo Visconti first ascended the ducal
throne, yet that morbid curiosity which no fre-
quency of horrors can ever satiate, much les»
appease altogether, had gathered even in so
brief an interval of time a considerable crowd
around the paraphernalia of death. It was
to be a short shrift for Nino Landini! A
priest was summoned to attend upon him;
and accompanied by the holy man, the pri-
soner walked forth with a firm step from the
subterranean tribunal. In the street a pro-
cession of guards and sbirri was already
formed, with the Doge himself at their head.
As Landini met the eyes of Angelo Visconti,
a demoniac smile of triumph appeared upor
the features of that cruel and implacable- uia»


THE NECROMANCER.
1U7
but the merchant fixed upon him a gaze
which implied as eloquently as looks could
speak, that the day of retribution would as-
suredly come. 'Advance!' exclaimed the Duke
in a loud tone; and the procession moved on.
In a quarter of an hour the great square was
reached: but still Landini trembled not on
beholding the preparations of death. Yet in
his heart there was a poignant anguish, as he
reflected that though he was about to die, yet
the shedding of his blood might not satisfy
the tyrant's rage; but that a defenceless wife,
an unprotected sister, and an innocent babe
would be left behind him, perchance to be-
come the victims of the ducal fiend's remorse-
less fury! Oh! now therefore did all the bit-
terness of death return into Landini's soul
again!
"On ascending to the platform, the mer-
chant's ear caught subdued murmurs of sym-
pathy from the assembled crowd: but the
Doge, who, mounted on horseback, had taken
his station close by the scaffold, looked fiercely
around; and such was the dread in which all
stood of the tyrant, that those murmuring
sounds instantaneously ceased, and a dead si-
lence prevailed.—' My lord,' exclaimed Lan-
dini, in a firm tone, but with respectful de-
mean -,ur,' I will meet my death with cheer-
fulness if from your lips I receive the solemn
assurance, in the presence or those now as-
sembled here, that you will not visit upon the
friendless females and the innocent babe whom
2 shall leave behind me, any sin which you
imagine that I may have committed against
yourself or the law. Nay, I will even breathe
a prayer for your welfare, in my last moments,
if your Highness will condescend to give me
the assurance I ask.'—' I will promise no-
thing,' thundered the tyrant. 'Proceed with
the execution of this traitor !'—' Then,' cried
the merchant, raising hi* voice into the
swelling enthusiasm of prophecy, 'I invoke
upon your head the vengeance of the Eternal
if you dare prosecute your odious tyrannies
against those whom I leave behind me.
People of Genoa! if you have not the spirit
to deliver an innocent man from death, at
least display sufficient generosity and courage
to assure him that when his blood is poured
forth you will become the guardians of his
wife, his child, and his sister, who at one fell
blow are to be deprived of a husband, a father,
and a brother!'—Again did murmurs arise
amidst the assembled multitude; and several
voices were even hardy enough to give utter-
ance to threats against Angelo Visconti: but
the tyrant drew his sword from its sheath, and
glancing with the rage of a hyena around,
ordered silence to be observed. His body-
guard and the attendant sbirri likewise drew
their weapons; so that the unarmed populace
fearful of being mowed down by the monster
and his myrmidons, again relapsed into an awe-
(tricked stillness. Landini fell upon his knees
—breathed a short prayer on behalf of Gene-
vra, Bianca, and the infant Ludovico—and
then laid his head upon the block. Tha
headsman raised the tremendous axe on high
—ghastly it gleamed in the sunlight: but at
the very instant that it was about to descend
on the merchant's neck, a midden noise and
confusion on the outski -ts of the crowd, made
the executioner pausn • tnd as the multitude
parted in the midst, a small body of horse-
men galloped up to the t-pot.
"' Release the prisoner!' cried a loud and
commanding voice, which instantaneously
fell familiar on the merchant's ears; and start-
ing up from his kneeling position at the
block, he beheld Lord Danvers, followed by
his retinue of dependants. Shouts of exul-
tation burst forth from several points in the
crowd, and in a few moments became gene*
ral, a myriad voices combining in a chorus
of applause on behalf of Danvers and of ex-
ecration towards the tyrant. As for Angela
Visconti himself, he suddenly grew ghastly
pale on meeting the eyes of the English no-
bleman: but speedily recovering himself, he
turned to his guards, exclaiming,' Arrest thp
insolent foreigner who dares interfere with
the course of justice at Genoa !'—But Dan-
vers spurring his steed close up to the line of
guards, bristling though it were with pointed
spears and flashing with naked swords, waved
his arm with cold disdain, saying,' No, they
dare not lay a finger upon me f—' Cowards!
dastards! will ye see me bearded thus?' ex-
claimed the Duke, literally foaming with
rage.—For an instant there seemed to be a
movement amongst the guards as if they
were about to obey their master's mandate
and rush upon the English nobleman: but
as Danvers swept his lightning-glances along
the serried rank and threw upon the armed
men all the terrors of his scornful looks, they
shrank back with dismay—their lances fel.
suddenly to the ground—and their swords
were, dropped as if from palsied hands. For
an instant the stupor of wonderment held the
multitudes motionless and dumb: but in a
very brief space the long pent-up excite-
ment of outraged feelings burst forth with
the fury and the force of a volcano. The
maddened populace tore the Doge from hi»
horse, trod him under their feet, and literally
trampled the life out of him. All this wa»
the work of a few seconds; and neither
guards nor sbirri attempted to raise a hand
or lift one of the dropped weapons in the
tyrant's defence. But when the massacre
was accomplished, those myrmidons of a dread
miscreant's will seemed but too glad to obey
the imperious gesture made by Lord l >anveri*
hand, and save themselves by a precipitate
flight from the vengeance of the Genoese po-
pulace.
"The chains were knocked oft' Landini'e
limbs ; and with fervent gratitude di I he t*


108
THE NECROMANCER.
■rare his deliverer. The multitudes formed
a procession to escort him home in triumph;
tni in this manner, accompanied by Lord
Walter Danvers, did the merchant return to
that dwelling which three hours back he
thought that he had quitted for ever. Oh!
what tongue can tell or what pen can record
Hie joy that was experienced by Genevra
and Bianca at this most unhoped-for restora-
tion of him whose loss they had been so bit-
terly, bitterly deploring! But if it were pos-
sible that any thing could enhance the delight
which the charming Bianca felt at her bro-
ther's deliverance, it was the circumstance
that this rescue had been accomplished by
him whom she loved so tenderly and so well.
How fond, then, was the embrace in which
she clasped her lover! and how affectionate
were the caresses which he bestowed upon
tier in return! So brilliantly did the hues
of health come back to her countenance, that
the care-worn haggardness of her features
was scarcely to be observed: and in a few
days all those traces of recent anguish passed
away, so that Bianca Landini seemed more
beautiful than ever.
• "Lord Danvers explained that it was a
troubled dream which had induced him to
hurry his return to Genoa two or three days
before the date previously fixed for his arri-
val: but what the exact nature of the dream
was, he did not state. The merchant how-
ever was well convinced that the finger of
Piovidence was visible throughout the pro-
tecding; and he was too happy it his resto-
itttion to his family to be able to give much
lime for reflection upon the extraordinary
events that had taken place at the scene of
his intended execution. But the people ol
Genoa, who had witnessed the whole occur-
rence, freely canvai:aJ its details. They
asked themselves and each other, who this
Lord Danvers was, that he seemed to wield
a preterhuman power and paralyze the
strength of armed men by his gestures and
looks? That was especially a period when
the mind of man was prone to superstitious
belief; and many of the Genoese therefore
came to the conclusion that Walter Danvers
must be invested with powers not possessed
by ordinary mortals. But others merely be-
held in the transaction the influence of a very
■uperio: mind wielding its moral power over
the brute instincts of a horde of hireling bra-
voes; and this was also the explanation
Danvers himself gave to the Landinis, and
to all those friends who came to congratulate
the merchant upon his rescue. In two or
three days the Genoese people were plunged
into the excitement attendant upon the elec-
tion of a new Doge; and thus the marvel-
lous adventures that had taken place on the
•ccasion of Landini's deliverance, ceased to
•ngage public attention.
"lb* preparations for thelal were con-
tinued in a spirit more blythe than that with
which they were commenced; and Walter
Danvers was now constantly with his Bian-
ca. They rode out together on horseback in
the forenoon—they rambled of an evening
upon the sea-shore. The damsel was evi-
dently wrapped up in her lover. She seemed
to live and breathe only for him. And no
wonder! Not only was his personal beauty
of the highest order, his manners most fasci-
nating, his intellect most brilliant, his mind
stored with varied information—but he had
likewise rendered such signal services to the
Landini family that could not fail to endear
him to the generous-hearted Bianca. And
as she had never loved until she first saw
Danvers, she experienced all the bliss which
this new sentiment had excited in her soul:
and in proportion as her thoughts were pure,
and innocent, and artless, so was her pas-
sion illimitable, enthusiastic, and deep.
"It was now the evening preceding the
day fixed for the bridal; and the lovers' walk
was prolonged on the sea-shore to a some-
what later hour than hitherto. When they
re-entered the mansion, the merchant and
Genevra both observed that there seemed to
be something like a trouble in Bianca's looks
and manner—but a trouble, if such it really
were, which she sedulously sought to con-
ceal. Danvers took his leave as usual, and
returned to the hostel where he was staying
with his retinue. Bianca then. remained
alone with her brother and her sister-in-law;
and now that species of uneasiness which
they had observed in her air and looks, grew
more apparent.—' I know, my beloved sister,'
said the merchant, 'what is passing in your
mind. -Fven across the glorious sunshine
of your heart is a cloud stealing. But, Ah!
how slight is that shadow in comparison with
the glowing light of happiness through which
it is floating. Yes, Bianca, I can read th■
thought which troubles you! Although
about to become the loved and honoured
bride of him who adores you so enthusiasti-
cally, and who is in every way so well wor-
thy of your heart's best and purest affections,
yet you cannot help regretting that you are
about to be borne away from these walls
which from your birth have been your home,
and that you are going to the land of the
stranger. I also, and Genevra too, feel a si-
milar regret at the prospect of parting with
you to-morrow; but this we regard as a sel-
fish feeling on our part, when we take into
consideration the certainty of that happiness
which you will experience from an alliance
so eligible in every sense.'—Bianca endeav-
oured to murmur some reply: but the words
died upon her lips, or rather were lost in
sobs; and having tenderly embraced her
brother and sister-in-law, she retired some-
what abruptly to her own chamber.
"On the following morning the merchant


THE NECROMANCER.
109
ind Genevra rose at a much earlier hour
than usual, in order to see that every thing
was in readiness for the bridal which was to
take place this day, and which was to be ce-
lebrated by a grand banquet at noon, where-
unto all the friends of the Landini family
were invited. But when the breakfast-hour
arrived and Bianca did not make her appear-
ance in the apartment where the table was
Genevra hastened to the damsel's
. It was vacant; and Signora Lan-
dini was about to turn away to seek for her
sister-in-law in some other room, when she
suddenly observed that Bianca's couch had
not been slept in all night. Alarmed,
she sped back to her husband. Inquiries
were now made; but Bianca was nowhere
to be found. No one had seen her that
morning; nor had any one observed her
leave the house on the preceding night. It
appeared, however, that on retiring to her
chamber she had dispensed with the usual
services of her tiring-maid, alleging that she
wished to be alone. That was the last trace
of Bianca Landini.
"But what had become of her? All was
bewilderment and amaze. The merchant hur-
ried to the hostel; but Lord Danveri was not
there. He had not been seen since the pre-
vious evening; and the servants of his retinue
had all taken their departure at a very early
hour in the morning. The merchant was
staggered, and could scarcely believe the evi-
dence of his senses. That Bianca could have
consented to elope as a guilty mistress with
one vtho had lieen wooing her as an honoured
bride, seemed incredible; and that Danvers,
even if he were her villanous seducer, could
have had any interest in foully murdering her,
was equally impossible of belief. The mer-
chant, when enabled somewhat to compose his
feilings. made farther inquiries of the keeper
of the hostel; when it appeared that about
eleven o'clock on the preceding night, Dan-
vers had returned to the establishment and had
ordered his grooms to saddle the two splendid
coal-black steeds which always served for his
own special use; that he mounted one of them
and departed, leading the other away by thq>
bridle; that he had thus gone forth alone,
having none of his retinue in attendance upon
him; and that he had returned no more. It
farther appeared that at an early hour in the
morning the domestics composing his retinue
suddenly ordered all their horses to be sad-
dled; and the principal menial having liber-
ally discharged the account due to the
keeper of the hostel, they took their depar-
ture.
"These were all the particulars the mer-
chant could glean: this indeed was all that
was known at the hostel. He accordingly re-
turned home to communicate the strange de-
tails to his wife. That Bianca had fled with
Danvers, was beyond all doubt. But for what
purpose, this flight? There se.med to be not
the least necessity for it. It was an enigma
defying all conjecture. Nino and Genevra
were well nigh heart-broken at the occurrence;
and knowing the purity of Bianca's mind so
well, they felt convinced that it could have
been under the influence of no ordinary in-
fatuation she was thus seduced away from her
home. Now however the merchant began to
reflect more seriously, and likewise more
gloomily, than he had ever done before, upon
the conduct of Walter Danvers. The adven-
ture with the sbirri in front of Dr. Forli'a
house—the influence which the nobleman had
managed to exercise over the late Angelo Vis-
conti—and then the circumstances attending
Nino Landini's deliverance from death upon
the scaffold, all appeared to indicate that Wal-
ter Danvers was indeed no common man.
But was he a fiend in human shape? The
merchant was lwwildered. He however felt
that he had a duty to perform; and from thia
he was resolved not to shrink. Bidding his
wife farewell, and having affectionately em-
braced the infaDt Ludovico, he set out, at-
tended by a small retinue, upon a journey to
France. Losing no time by the way, he in
a few days reached Normandy; and there he
ascertained that everything which Lord Dan-
vers had stated in respect to the purchase of
the castle and estate, was strictly true. In-
deed, the castle was tenanted by the numer-
ous domestics whom Lord Danvers had ere
gaged during his recent sojourn there; but
nothing had been seen of him since he had
departed thence to return to Genoa. The
merchant lost no time in proceeding to Eng-
land; and on his arrival he visited Lord Dan-
vers' mansion near Chelmsford in Essex; but
for the last eight years his lordship had not
been there. Thence the merchant preceded
into Cumberland; but the same period of
time had elapsed since Lord Walter Danvers
wus last seen at his castle in that county.
With scarcely a hope left, Nino Landini re-
traced his way southward, and passed over
into the Isle of Wight. But there he found
that the castle on the point overlooking the
Needles, was shut up altogether; and from
the inhabitants in the neighbourhood he learnt
that it was precisely eight years since young
Lord Walter, on coming into possession of
the family title and estates, had suddenly
broken up his establishment at Danvers Castle
and had gone abroad. Hating thus fruitlessly
prosecuted his inquiries, Nino Landini, with
his little retinue, went back to Gi'noa, which
city he reached after an absence of foul
months. He was received with o|ien arms
by the affectionate Genevra; but they had
naught consolatory or hopeful to impart to
each other concerning Bianca. Nothing had
been heard of her at Genoa during the mer-
chant's absence; no letter nor message had
been received from the lost one. Time passed
.


no
on — weeks swelled into months—months
grew into year*; and yet no tidings of Bianca
Landini! No, nor was aught more heard at
Genoa of Lord Walter Danvers.
• *••»•
"Twenty years had passed away; and we
now heboid the eminent merchant Nino Lan-
dini stretched upon the bed of death. By the
side of the couch knelt a handsome youth,
wanting hut a few mouths to complete his
twenty-first year; and by the strong likeness
which existed between his features, that were
pale with grief, and those of the invalid that
were pule with approaching dissolution, it was
easy to distinguish the degree of relationship
in which they stood to each other. At the
tool of the bed was a venerable man, well
stricken in years: and a nurse was mixing a
medicamml at the side-table. The time was
evening; and the light of the lamp played
with sickly effect upon the ghastly counte-
nance of the dying man. Presently he spoke,
saying to the nurse, * I feel that my last hour
is come; and it is useless to take potion or
drug in the hope of wrestling against the
Destroyer. Retire therefore:' — then fixing
bis eyes upon Dr. Forli, the venerable man at
the foot of the couch, he continued, ' And you
also, my good friend, Lie kind enough to leave
me alone with my son for a brief space.'—The
physician and the nurse accordingly quitted
the room, and the dying merchant then said,
'Remain upon your knees, my dear Ludovico:
for it is in that solemn attitude that it becomes
thee to hear what I am about to speak, so that
thou may'st give my last instructions thy most
sacred ratification.'
"The youth took his father's hand, pressed
it to his lips, and watered it with his tears.
He endeavoured to speak, but could not; sor-
row choked his utterance.—'Tranquillize your
feelings, dear boy,'said the merchant; 'fori
have grave and serious matters whereof to
treat with thee. In the first place I must
apeak to you as an honourable man, and
faithful to the character of the first merchant
in Christendom: but in the second place I
shall speak to you as a man who cherishes a
vengeance which for years past has gnawed
his heart with the virulence of an envenomed
snake, and has haunted him like a remorse.'—
The merchant stopped for a few minutes to
g*...er breath, and then proceeded as fol-
lows :—' First of all* then, my son, listen to
me while I address you in my capacity of an
upright merchant whose word has ever been
stamped with the authority of a bond. I leave
you my sole heir. When I am gone to rejoin
that beloved wife, your angel-mother, who
went before me five years ago to the world
beyond the grave, you will take my example
as your guide and pursue your mercantile
career with the strictest honour and the most
scrupulous integrity. At first sight the wealth
which you will find at your disposal must ap-
|iear colossal beyond your wildest imagin-
ings; but when you search amongst my pri-
vate papers, you will find that only one-half
of it is legitimately my own, or can lie ho-
nourably bequeathed to you. The other half
belongs to whomsoever at this moment bears
the title of Lord Danvers. Exactly twenty
years and six months ago did Lord Walter
Danvers deposit an immense sum in my hands.
That amount has trebled since then. You
will find due specifications relative to this
business in my private papers. I know not
whether Lord Waller Danvers is still alive,
or whether he has even left any heirs. For
years past I have heard nothing of the name.
But it is most probable that if he himself be
not alive, there must be some heir to his
wealth. Should this heir ever present him-
self and demand the restoration of his proge-
nitor's money; or should Lord Walter Dan-
vers himself be living, and come to claim it;
you will at once restore the amount, with pro-
fit, and interest, and compound interest, ac-
cording lo the specifications in my private
papers. Deducting this immense sum from
the wealth left at your disposal, you will still
be the richest merchant in the world. May
you thrive, my beloved son, even as I have
thriven.'
*' The youth, with tearful eyes and broken
voice, faithfully promised to follow his dying
parent's Injunctions; and Nino Landini then
continued as follows:—'I now come to the-
second portion of my subject. Amongst tny
secret papers you will discover a history of the
loves of Lord Walter Danvers and your long
lost aunt Bianca Landini; that is to say, you
will find recorded all that was known of those
loves down to the moment of her disappear-
ance. These particulars you must cause to
lie duly recorded amongst the Chronicles of
the house of Landini. And now to the point
on which I am desirous of fixing your atten-
tion. A fearful outrage has been perpetrated
by a member of the house of Danvers towards
a member of the house of Landini. The for-
mer was Lord Walter, of whom I have spo-
ken: the latter was your long lost aunt'Bian-
ca. What became of her I have never known,
That she was seduced away by Lord Walter
is beyond doubt; and we must hence infer
that she either perished miserably, with a bro-
ken heart through shame and grief; or else
that she was foully murdered by her betrayer.
Otherwise, had she lived on all these years,
there must have been one moment of penitence
and contrition, in which her soul would have
yearned to communicate with those whom she
left behind her in her native land. Whatever
lie her fate, then, it is clear that a fearful out-
rage was perpetrated by Walter Danvers
against Bianca Landini. This outrage is one
demanding a true Italian vengeance. I have
had no opportunity of wreaking it. I there,
fore bequeath it as a heritage unto you; and


THE NECROMANCER. Ill
if you, my mm, should likewise fail to wreak
it, hand it down as a sacred tradition and an
hereditary duty to your children. For never
must the race of Landini abandon this ven-
geance until it he fully gratified and terribly
assuaged! No matter that the descendants
of Walter Danvers may he held innocent of
their progenitor's crime: on them must the
penalty fall, if it fad to reach the guilty Lord
Walter himself. But to wreak this ven-
geance effectually, it must not be by means of
your weapon, nor of the hired assassin's dag-
ger. There is a vengeance more terrible than
that of taking away life. If you take the life
of an enemy, you place him beyond the reach
of farther pain at once; and this is scarcely a
Vengeance to be contemplated with satisfac-
tion. But if you get your enemy into your
power—involve him in a web of difficulties
that shall be inextricable—insidiously draw in
the meshes tighter and tighter around him, so'
that utter ruin at last slares him in the face,
—this is true vengeance; because he remains
alive for you to tell him that you are avenged,
and he lives on in wretchedness and misery to
feel day after day and hour after hour the ef-
fects of your vengeance! Now, my son, do
you comprehend me? Will you accept the
heritage of this vengeance? and should you
yourself fail to wreak it, will you hand it down
as a legacy to your posterity V
I will,' responded Ludovico, solemnly,—
'You swear?' said the father.—*1 swear,' was
the answer.—' Then I die content,' rejoined
Nino Landini; and he gave up the ghost.
• » • • •
"Ten years had elapsed: it was the mid-
dle of the year 1420; and Ludovico Landini,
now a little past thirty, was one day seated
in his counting-house, and with gloomy as-
pect looking over his books and making cal-
culations. The farther he progressed in this
examination the more moody grew his mien;
and when at last he added up a long column
of figures and compared the total with the
sum of the other column, his handsome coun-
tenance grew pale with despair. At this mo-
ment one of his clerks entered to announce a
visitor; and Ludovico, settling his features as
well as he could into a business-like compo-
sure, rose to receive him. This was a tall,
handsome man, of slender figure, aristocratic
bearing, elegant apparel, and courtly grace-
fulness of manner. But when Ludovico Lan-
dini marked the dusky complexion, the
brilliant eyes, and the glossy black hair of
his visitor, he was at once struck by the
wondrous resemblance which he bore to the
portrait of Lord Walter Danvers, as delineat-
ed in the written chronicles he had for ml
amongst his father's papers. Nevertheless,
this individual could not possibly be Lord
Walter; for hn did not seem to be above four-
and-thirty years old; whereas, if Lord Wal-
ter were alive, he must be exactly double that
age.
"Ludovico bowed, and requested his visi
tor to be seated; but that personage, advanc-
ing to the desk with an air of easy courtesy
and polished frankness, said,' You are Signot
Ludovico Landini? Permit me to introduo
myself as Lord Ranulph Danvers.'—* At
Lord Danvers!' repeated the merchant, witt
the air of one who receives the confirmation
of a disagreeable suspicion: but again re-
covering his self-possession, he said,' What
can I do for your lordshipV—'Perhaps you
are aware, signor,' replied the nobleman,
'that about thirty years ago some little trifle
was deposited by my father in the hands of
your father V—' It was so; but not a trifle,'
answered Ludovico: then pointing to a piece
of paper which lay before him, he added,
'Here is the original amount deposited with
my father; and this is its value at the present
day. Your Lordship will observe that the
original sum has very nearly quadrupled, and
constitutes an amount larger than the reve-
nues of any two monarchs in Christendom.'—
'Indeed,' said Lord Ranulph Danvers, care-
lessly :' when will it suit you to pay me this
amount V—' My lord,' answered Ludovico,' I
will deal candidly with you. Your lordship
is aware that within the last few years the
Genoese Republic has been ravaged by the
Pisans, to the great detriment of our native
commerce; moreover three rich argosies of
mine have been lost at sea; and thirdly, the
failure of an eminent mercantile firm at Ve-
nice made me a considerable sufferer. Can-
didly, therefore, my lord, I am not in a posi.
tion to liquidate your claim; no, nor even
half of it, nor a quarter of it at the present mo-
ment.' Before Lord Ranulph had time to reply,
a clerk entered the office with an abruptness
which was however explained by the conster-
nation upon his countenance; and he beck-
oned Ludovico Landini into the adjoining
room. In three or four minutes the merchant
returned to Lord Ranulph Danvers: but his
countenance was as pale as death, and his
looks were full of trouble.—' Has aught un-
plesant occurred V asked the nobleman.—'My
lord,' replied the merchant, ' a large transac-
tion, involving the boldest venture, and by
which I hoped to retrieve the losses of the last
few years, has utterly failed. The intelligence
has this moment arrived. I am now a ruined
man; and so far from being enabled to settle
any portion of your lordship's claim, I shall
be compelled to throw myself upon the mercy
of all my creditors. In a word, I am beg-
gared !'—and the representative of the once
wealthy house of Landini burst into tears.
"' As for the sum in which you are in-
debted to me.' said Lord Ranulph Danvers, as
calmly and indeed with as much indifference
as if his own loss were of the most paltry


112
THE NECROMANCER.
description,' do nut let it trouble you. I shall
not ask you for it until fortune smdes upon
you again !'—' Oh, my lord,' exclaimed Ludu-
vico, * this is most generous on your part!
Would to Heaven that I could hop* for sftnilar
mercy at the hands of my other creditors, but
a gaol star?s me in the face.'—' Let us hope
not,' ohserred Lord Ranulph : 'then afler a
brief pause, he said, 41 presume that you enter-
tain no good will towards any one bearing the
name of Danvers V—Ludovico looked con-
fused and made no reply. He thought of
the legacy of vengeance which had been
bequeathed to him, and how circumstances
were now laying him under the deepest obli-
gations to the very man who was to be the
object of his hate.—' I am no stranger,' con-
tinued Danvers,'to the wrong perpetrated by
my father against your aunt Bianca Landini.
That was thirty years ago.'—• Ah !' suddenly
ejaculated Ludovico,as a thought struck him:
'your lordship must be a trifle over thirty, and
'was therefore born previously to my aunt's
seduction! In that case I presume your
father was married at the time when he paid
his court to Bianca Landini.'—' Yes, such
indeed was the fact,' answered Lord Ranulph;
* and hence his inability to espouse Bianca.
Infatuated by her beauty, he was led on to
perpetrate that grievous wrong for which I, as
his son, am however ready to make atone-
ment.'—' Know you. my lord, the fate of my
unfortunate aunt Bianca V asked Ludovico.—
'She died many long years ago,' responded
Ranulph :' my father, when on his death bed,
told me all. But I can remain with you no
longer now. On a future occasion we shall
converse more on the subject.'—* On a future
occasion, my lord,' said the merchant in a tone
of deepest despondency, * you will find me
imprisoned in a gaol!'—But Lord Ranulph
seemed not to catch this observation; and
with a courteous bow he somewhat abruptly
took his departure.
"The rumour soon spread abroad that the
affair* of Ludovico Landini were in a most
disastrous condition; and his creditors came
thickly upon him. The law in respect to
debt was mercilessly severe at that period:
the unfortunate debtor could be thrown into
a dungeon amidst rogues and felons, or could
even be sent as a slave to toil at the oar on
board the gallies of the fleet. The position
of the young merchant waa therefore unfortu-
nate to a degree; but still he had too much
honour to fly from the face of impending dan-
ger. He hoped that leniency would be ex-
tended towards him in consideration of the
integrity of his character, the calamities that
had beggared him, and the eminent name
which bs inherited. But a creditor more
spiteful than the rest, caused him to be
snatched from his home and plunged into the
castle-gaol. Not many hours however had
Ludovico thus become the inmate of a prison,
when he was informed by the turnkey that ■
person desired to see him in one of the apart*
menla belonging to the governor of the castle.
Thither was Ludovico accordingly conducted-;'
and to his surprise he found that the visitor
was Lord Ranulph Danvers. tiuot'
"' I scarcely thought that matters would
come to (hit when I saw you the other day,''
said the nobleman; 'or I should at once have
offered to assist you.'—' My lord,' exclaimed
the ruined merchant,' have you not already'
lost an immense sum by me V—• Fortune'
may yet take a turn,' said Lord Danvers;
'What is the amount of your liabilities
—'Immense, my lord,' waa the reply.—'But
the amount, 1 ask?' repeated Danvers.-^-
'Behold,' rejoined Ludovico, presenting a slip
of paper to the r.obleman.—' Let us go into
the governor's own apartment,' said Danvers J
and he led the way thither. Then, to the
utter amazement alike of the merchant aha'
the governor himself, Danvers wrote orders
upon four different mercantile firms of Genoa,
the aggregate making the whole amount of
Ludovico's liabilities. While the governor'*
messenger proceeded to satisfy himself that
the draughts would lie duly honoured, Ranulph
Danvers continued to discourse in a frank ami
easy manner just as if be had merely been
transacting some business of very trivial im-
portance instead of an affair involving millions
of ducats. The messenger returned in due
course; the draughts had all been honoured,
and Ludovico Landini was a free man. How
could he do otherwise than express his grati-
tude? But Danvers cut him short by observ-
ing, ' Give me no thanks. What I have dorii
for you is merely by way of making atone*
ment for the injury inflicted by my father upon
your ancestress. Besides, it is not my inten-
tion to leave my work half done. But I should
ask whether you intend to resume business
again in Genoa?'—'No, my lord,'was the
reply. 'Although through your bounty my
debts are paid, yet does a stigma rest upon
my name ;- and in consequence of having even'
for a few days failed to meet my engagement*,
and being for a few hours the inmate of a
prison, I can never hold up my head in Genoa
again.'—'That is exactly the answer I ex-
pected from you,' said Danvers: 'for I knoW
the pride of you Italian merchants. Will
you repair to London, open a mercantile
establishment there, and undertake the agency
of the revenues derived from my English
estates? If you consent, I will furnish yon
with the necessary capital to commence the
world again.'—Ludovico Landini positively
refused to incur further obligations to the
nobleman: for he could not, as an honourable
man, receive favours from an individual be-
longing to a race against whom he had sworn,
by his father's death-bed, to wreak a terrible
vengeance. • But I must insist on your ac-
cepting my proposal,' said Lord Danveii


THE NECROMANCER. 113
•Merrily: ' how can you ever repay me all you
•we, unless by entering largely into commerce
•gain V—' Ah, my lord,' exclaimed Ludovico,
'.if you put the matter in that light, I am
hound to accept your offer. Indeed, your
bounty haa made me your slave; deal with
me as you think fit.'—'Then you shall go to
London,' n-joined Lord Ranulph Danvers.'
"Accordingly, in a few weeks, Ludovico
repaired to England; and on arriving in the
metropolis, established himself as a diamond
merchant, goldsmith, and banker, in Lombard
street . His affairs prospered marvellously;
every enterprise in which he embarked,
proved successful: riches poured in upon him
fratmtJJ quarters; and he renewed his corres-
pondence with those eminent merchants in
various parts of Christendom who had been
wont to do business with him at Genoa/ In
the course of fifteen years he was enabled to
liquidate the entire amount due to Lord Dan-
vers, whom, we should observe, he saw but
twice during this interval, and then only for
a few hours on each occasion.
., "Four years later (in 1439) Ludovico,
being now forty-nine, began to think serious-
ly of matrimony: and he espoused a young
lady of his own native land, but whose pa-
rents had for some time been settled in Eng-
land. This lady brought with her a hand-
some dower; and thus were the riches of
Ludovico still farther increased. In due time
he was blessed with a son, whom he named
Alessandro; and two years afterwards his
wife presented him with another boy, who
was called Cosmo. But in giving birth to
the latter, the mother lost her life. Time con-
tinued to roll on—years and years passed—
old age came upon Ludovico: but he looked
on his two grown-up sons with pride, as the
fitting heritors of his wealth and of that fatal
legacy which, in pursuance of his oath, he
was bound to bequeath unto them. He him-
self had found no opportunity of wreaking
the family revenge upon Ranulph Danvers,
whom not even the sense of gratitude could
have induced him to spare had the occasion
for vengeance presented itself. For para-
mount above all other considerations—domi-
nant over all other sentiments—must a che-
rished vengeance be in the Italian breast.
When upon his death-bed, at the ripe age of
seventy—and therefore in the year 1460—
be spoke unto his two sons in the same man-
ner as fifty years back his father had spoken
to him. Alessandro and Cosmo, who at this
period were respectively but twenty-one and
nineteen, received the legacy of vengeance,
and swore to fulfil it or else to hand it down
to be fulfilled by their posterity.
Ludovico Landini died; and his sons con-
tinued to he the agents of Lord Ranulph
Danvers, who however had not visited Eng-
land for many, many years. In 1462, Lord
Humphrey Danvers—an elegant and hand-
some young man, inheriting all the persona)
characteristics of his ancestors when at the
same age—introduced himself to the bro-
thers Landini, announcing the death of his
father Lord Ranulph, and offering to continue
them as his agents. The proposal was of
course accepted; and the large sums which
were at the time in the Land in is' hands
were duly transferred to the name of Hum
phrey Danvers. Some time afterwards the
two brothers fell out and resolved to separate
partnership. They divided their wealth
equally between them, Alessandro the elder
retaining the establishment in Lombard street,
and therewith the agency for the Danvers
family. Cosmo married, and in due time had
a son, whom he christened Marco. Not be-
ing gifted with the intelligence of his brother,
he was unfortunate in his speculations—
failed—and perished of a broken heart. His
wife, who was devotedly attached to him,
never recovered the blow, and died shortly
after, leaving the orphan Marco dependent
upon his uncle Alessandro. Meanwhile
Alessandro Landini himself had likewise
married, but had become a widower and was
childless. He therefore adopted his orphan
nephew to be the inheritor of his wealth, and
if need be, of the legacy of vengeance like*
wise!
".VOTE TO THE ABOTX HISTORT.
"I, the undersigned Alessandro Landin1,
having as yet been unable to wreak the here-
ditary vengeance of my race upon any mem-
ber of the accursed family of Danvers, and
feeling that old age is creeping upon me,
have, on this first day of January of the year
1701, revealed to my nephew, Marco Lan-
dini, who yesterday completed his twenty-first
year, the secret of that hereditary vengeance.
Therefore, if any plot or plan which I may
as yet be enabled to devise for executing that
vengeance, should remain unfulfilled, Marco
will at my death accept the heritage of the
legacy for himself, and likewise for his heirs,
if need be.
"Witness my hand,
« ALESSANDRO LANDINI."
CHAPTER XXV.
ALZSSAJTDBO LAXDIST AKD MUSIDORA
Wi cannot pretend to fathom the effect
which Bianca Landini's history produced
upon Musidora; for so seldom was it that
her splendid but inscrutable countenance af-
forded any indication of her inward feelings,
and then only when under very extraordinary
circumstances of sudden excitement. Certain
it was, however, that with a deep and absorb-
ing interest had she perused that chapter in
the Landini Chronicles which recorded the


114 :THE NECROMANCER.
untoward loves of the beauteous Bianca.
Without once raising her head from the huge
volume wherein these chronicles were con-
tained, Musidora read on from the first word
till the Ust; and perhaps a clone observer—
had any such been nigh—would have fancied
that this interest on her part was of a more
profound, a more concentrated, and a more
engrossing character than even the most ar-
dent admirer of the wild and romantic would
have exhibited in the perusal of that his-
tory.
While she was engaged in her all-absorb-
ing study, the Earl and Countess of Gran-
tham had been enjoying themselves at the
refreshment-table and when their repast was
over, they had drawn their chairs close to each
other in order to converse upon their favourite
topic. This was Musidora's approaching
marriage with the King: for that she would
marry him at the expiration of the prescribed
period of two months—a fortnight of which
had already elapsed—they had not the slight-
est doubt. Indeed, she herself had ou the
previous day given them to understand that
such would be the result of the monarch's
courtship; and therefore the Earl and the
Countess, looking upon the alliance as a mat-
ter that was as good as settled, revolved and
discussed with the almost childish delight of
anticipation the thousand-and-one things they
would do or have done when their charming
relative should be Queen of England. So
absorbed did they become in this subject, and
so completely were they carried away by its
fascinations, that they did not observe the
lapse of time; so that while Musidora was
reading in the recess and the noble couple
were carrying on their whispered discourse at
the table, the three hours mentioned by the
Landinis as the interval requisite for repair-
ing the set of diamonds, passed away. A
beautiful clock upon the mantelpiece made
the Earl aware how time had sped; and
starting from his seat, he exclaimed, " Come
forth from your nook, 'Dora: we shall soon
be going."
"My dear child," said the Countess, as our
heroine emerged from the recess where she
had just finished the narrative of Bianca Lan-
dini, "you must have found something very
pleasing indeed in that old book thus to have
kept you enchained for three mortal hours to
your scat. What is it all about, my dear?"
"Some Genoese adventures and historical
incidents in the time of the despot Duke An-
gelo Visconti," was Musidora's reply.
"Will you not change your mind now and
take some refreshment?" asked the Countess:
then looking fixedly upon her beauteous young
relative, she exclaimed, "But I do believe
that you are at this moment a little paler than
is even your wont. I am sure it is through
exhaustion for want of food. See! it is four
o'clock. How many hours since you have
taken any refreshment!"
"I require none at present," answered Mu-
sidora. "I will wait till we return to the
villa."
The door now opened; and the two Lan-
dinis—uncle and nephew—made their appear-
ance, the latter carrying in his hatid the cas-
ket of diamonds, which he at once presented
to Musidora.
"Be pleased, lady," said Mark, as he thus
approached her, "to examine the tiara and
the armlet now; and I think you will admit
that the gems are admirably matched."
Musidora for courtesy's sake examined the
diamonds, and signified her full approval; but
as she raised her eyes to Mark's countenance,
while speaking, she thought for the moment
that the look which she caught him as it
were fixing upon her, had something strange
in it. He however instantaneously assumed
an air of what might be termed the indiffer-
ence of cold respect; and bowing in acknow-
ledgment of the approbation which she had
expressed, he turned away to exhibit the con-
tents of the casket to the Earl and Countess
of Grantham.
"The gems are indeed exquisitely match-
ed," said the Earl.
"And the settings are most artistic," added
the Countess. "I am so glad to think that
we applied to you, Master Lnndini," she
continued, now addressing herself to the un-
cle; "for I question whether we should have
had the loss so easily or so efficiently made
good at any other establishment."
Old Alessandro Landini bowed an acknow-
ledgment of this compliment, and immediately
said, "I hope that we have not kept your
ladyship waiting. It was close upon one
o'clock when you were shown up into thie
room ; it is now but a few minutes past four
—and thus we have not detained you beyond
the three hours originally specified for the re.
quirement of that delicate work:"—and he
pointed to the diamonds.
"We not only have to thank you, Master
Landini," said the Earl, now taking up the
thread of the discourse, "for your exactitude
in respect to time, hut also for the hospitality
you have shown us."
*4 Yes," added the Countess," we have done
justice to your good fare. That is to say, I
and his lordship have partaken with appetite
of the repast; but I cannot say the same for
our fair relative. Indeed I think, Master Lan-
dini, that for her yonr old musty volumes
have greater attractions than your well-spread
table."
At these words the two Landinis ex-
changed a quick look of consternation; but it
flitted away from their countenances as soon
as expressed—and Lady Grantham was too
superficial an observer to notice it- The Ear/


THE NECROMANCER.
115
at the instant was examining the diamonds in
the casket and wondering hiw much be would
have to pav for I tie repairs. But Musidora
did observe that expression of dismay which
for a swift brief moment passed over the fea-
tures of Alcssandro and Marco Landini; and
advancing towards them, she said, " It is per-
fectly true that I took the liberty of turning
over n few pages in one of your volumes ; but
I hope that I have not lieen guilty of any in-
discretion."
'• Oh, indiscretion!" exclarmed the Coun-
tess.—her aristocratic pride shocked to think
that her young relative, who was so soon to
be Queen of England, should deem it neces-
sary to make such an apology to the plebeian
citizens,—" I am sure that neither Muster Lan-
dini nor his worthy nephew can be angry with
you lor having looked into an old volume.
Uf course books are written to be read, and
when left lying about, may be opened by
any body. Besides, there can be no possible
harm in reading about Genoese incidents,
the Duke Angelo Visconti, and other Italian
matters."
Again did the elder Landini and his ne-
phew exchange that quick and significant
glance of consternation which Musidora had
already noticed; but again did it pass un-
perceived by the Earl and Countess of Grant-
ham.
"From what her ladyship has said," Musi-
dora proceeded to remark, still addressing
herself to the Landinis, and speaking with
greater haste than was her wont, " you per-
haps have understood what chapter it was in
that volume which I have been reading? But
I can assure you"
"Pray offer no apology," the elder Landini
hurriedly exclaimed. "But step with me for
a moment into that recess, while I show you
one curious anecdote in the book which you
may not have seen. I shall not detain you
there, young lady, more than two or three
minutes; and in the meantime my nephew
Mark will explain to hia lordship the in-
structions I have already given him relative
t» the cost for repairing those diamonds."
"You must not detain her more than a
minute," said the Countess of Grantham:
"for we are somewhat in a hurry to retrace
our way to Greenwich."
"Not more than a minute or two," rejoined
Alessanclro Landini; and with the courtesy
of a well-bred old man, he took Musidora's
band and led her into the recess.
'•Now worthy Master Mark," said the Earl,
addressing himself to the nephew, who had
tltrowi. a hurried and somewhat singular look
after his uncle and Musidora as they passed
into the recess, —" what have you to tell me
relative to the charge for these diamonds and
their setting?"
"My lord," responded Mark, speaking how-
ever with a certain abstractedness of manner
which the nobleman set down as diffidence on
the part of a citizen in the dazzling light of
his own proud aristocracy,—" my uncle de-
sired me to sny that considering the diamonds
were originally purchased at his establishment,
and that therefore he is to some extent respon-
sible for the loss of the two from the tiara and
the bracelet, he begs your lordship will not
think of offering the slightest remuneration.
My uncle is moreover rejoiced that chance
should have led your lordship to apply to us
for the repairs; inasmuch as it afforded him
the opportunity of doing as, under circumstan-
ces, he is bound to do--I mean replace them
without price or cost to your lordship's self."
*' Both you and your uncle are worthy and
inestimable men," said the Earl, overjoyed at
being spared any outlay on account of the
lost diamonds; for his lordahip was particular-
ly fond of money, and with all his aristocratic
pride, was not above receiving a favour from
the plebeian citizen. "This conduct on your
part," he added, "is highly creditable to you
both."
"And we are bound," said the Countess,
who never thought any thing which her hus-
band said could be complete unless she ap-
pended a few words of her own thereto,—
"we are bound to tender our best thanks for
the kind hospitality we have received."
At this moment Musidora came forth from
the recess, followed by the elder Landini.
Mark threw a hasty look upon ber. and ob-
served that her large deep eyes shone with a
strange unearthly lustre and that a more than
ghastly pallor was upon her marble features.
But she hastened—with a sort of excitement
that was most unusual for Iter who did every
thing in so deliberate and leisurely a manner
—to snatch up her scarf from the chair upon
which she had thrown it when first entering
the room; and for an instant she turned her
back upon all present as she flung that scarf
over her shoulders. Then, on turning round
again, every thing strange, wild, uf unnatural
had passed away from her countenance; and
she looked the same coldly brilliant being,
with the ice-like smile upon the lips, that she
was wont to seem.
"Now we are ready for departure," said the
Earl of Grantham; and he expressed to the
elder Landini the same acknowledgments he
had just before vouchsafed to his nephew.
The nobleman and the Countess passed out
of the room, accompanied by Musidora, and
followed by the two Landinis. They de-
scended the staircase—threaded the private
office—and reached the counting-house, the
uncle and nephew attending the nobleman
and the two ladies to the very threshold of the
street door. Then, as the departing visitors
took their leave, Alessandro Landini threw
upon Musidora a quick glance of deep mean-


116
THE NECROMANCER.
lug, which ■he relumed with a look of equally
mysterious significancy ere she turned away
to take Lord Grantham's arm.
When the visitors were gone the elder Lan-
dini beckoned his nephew to follow him into
the private room; and the moment they were
alone together he said in a stern voice^" Mark,
it is through your carelessness that those vol-
umes were left in the recess of the drawing-
mom. This is the first time I have ever had
to complain of want of precaution or prudence
on your part; let it be the last!"
"My dear uncle," replied the nephew, with
a tone and manner expressive of deep contri-
tion, " I am indeed blameable in this. You
know full welt how fond I am of studying the
chronicles of our family; and last evening I
was reading those volumes after you had re-
tired to rest. By some extraordinary oversight,
for Which I cannot account, I left them lying
in the recess, instead of replacing them in
their wonted security. It shall never happen
again. But is any mischief done V'
"No—on the contrary, perhaps a warning
has been given," responded the elder Landini.
"But only reflect, my dear nephew," he con-
tinued in a milder tone than at first, " what a
terrible inconvenience would have arisen if by
any accident Lord Danvera had been shown
up into the drawing-room and had found these
volumes lying there. He would have seen
that chronicle which records—I may say even
sustains, keeps alive, and perpetuates, the idea
of hereditary vengeance which our family
cherishes against his own."
"I do indeed understand, my dear uncle,
all the harm that might have been done by
my carelessness," rejoined Mark,—" a care-
lessness indeed for which, I again assure you,
I cannot possibly account. However, you will
pardon me?"
"Yes—I forgive you," returned Alessandro
Landini. "But now hasten up-stairs and se-
cure those books"
"Pardon me for delaying to fulfil your com-
mands for one moment," said the nephew:
"but might I ask which anecdote it was you
wished to show to Musidora Sinclair?"
"What, Mark! is it possible that you did
not see through my motive V exclaimed the
uncle. "Whither has fled all your wonted
shrewdness and penetration 1"
"Ah! I thought at the time," interrupted
Mark, " that it was merely an excuse on your
part to have an opportunity of exchanging a
few words with Musidora."
"Assuredly," rejoired the uncle. "What
think you of her?"
"She is a splendid creature," replied
Mark.—" the most beautiful woman I ever
beheld in my life! But what means that
lingular iciness of look—that almost passion-
l«ss air—that chilling demeanour"
"How can I comprehend it any more than
*ou V asked the old man. "But hasten you,
Mark, and secure those volumes in the ^on
safe; then come back to me, and I will tell
you what passed during the two or three brief
minutes that I was with Musidora in the
recess."
The nephew accordingly huTried away to
execute his uncle's order relative to the
volumes: for he was in haste to rejoin the old
man and to receive the promised explanations.
Not but that he had already pretty wefl
divined what it was that his uncle had said
to Musidora; but he was anxious to learn
what had fallen from her lips in reply. For
that during the brief colloquy which had taken
place between them in the recess, she must
have been profoundly moved, he felt assured, .
from that strange look which she wore for the
first moment on issuing forth agau.
CHAPTER XXVI.
PEHCt's KETUaS TO THE VILH.
Two days after the one of which we have
been writing, and at about noon—which was
in those times the approved hour for paying
visits—Percy Rivers alighted from his horse
at the gate of Grantham villa; and he was
immediately conducted into an apartment
where the Earl and Countess were seated.
They received him with much apparent friend*
ship,—assuring him that Musidora, who was
walking in the garden, would be rejoiced to
see him; but begging him to sit down for a
few minutes ere he proceeded to join her, as
they wished to confer with him on some
matter of business. The young gentleman
accordingly took a seat; and the Earl went
en to address him in the following manner:—
"Cousin, when you were here three days
back, I promised that whatever little interest
I could command should be exercised in your
favour. I have fulfilled this promise, and have
secretly but earnestly moved several noble
friends of mine to represent your case to the
King. Nor, while so doing, was 1 unmindful
of my excellent relative, Musidora's father.
For, to tell you the truth, Master Rivers," con-
tinued the Earl with a smile, " when a per-
son makes up his mind to ask one favour at
Court he may just as well ask two—be-
cause whenever the King is in a humour to
grant a boon he is profuse in lavishing his'
benefits."
"Yes—that is exactly the character of
his Highness," added Lady Grantham, " and
therefore it was sound policy which prompt-
ed his lordship to think of Sir Lewis Sin-
clair while exerting his influence on your
beh-uf."
"The result is," continued the nobleman,
taking up the thread of the discourse just
where his wife dropped it, " that I have sue-


THE NECROMANCER. Ill
seeded in both respects. Here is a document
conferring upon you, Master Percy Rivers,
the style and title of Captain-Governor of the
Isle of Wight, with all such powers, emolu-
ments, and immunities as were enjoyed by
your predecessor Sir William Woodville. And
here is another parchment, reinstating my
worthy relative Sir Lewis Sinclair in the
Rangcrship of the Forests of the Isle of
Wight, with all such pensions and authorities
M he was wont to enjoy."
While thus speaking the Earl of Grantham
produced the two documents, and spreading
them open, displayed the royal sign manual
and sovereign seal.
"My lord," exclaimed Percy Rivers, with
alt the generous enthusiasm of mingled de-
light and gratitude—not so much on his own
account as on that of his uncle Sir Lewis Sin-
clair,—" how can I sufficiently thank you for
this kindness—this goodness—this transcend-
ing proof of friendship on your part? What
can I do to testify all I feel in return for the
noble interest vou have thus taken in myself
and Sir Lewis Sinclair V
"What can you do?" repeated the Earl, ap-
parently in a musing tone: then seeming sud-
denly to recollect himself, he exclaimed, " I
will tell you what you can do! You must fulfil
the condition upon which those appointments
have been made:"—and he indicated the
parchments.
"What is this condition, my lord ?" inquired
Percy Rivers.
"That you lose no time in setting off to the
Isle of Wight," was the response. "Indeed,
I was enjoined by the nobleman through
whose most especial interest I procured these
benefits, to signify to you that it was the royal
pleasure you should take your departure within
an hour after the documents were placed in
your hands."
"Within an hour, my lord?" exclaimed
Rivers, astonished at so peremptory a pro-
ceeding.
"Such are the instructions I received,"
'njoined the Earl. "His Highness the King
is naturally anxious that his faithful lieges in
the Isle of Wight should not be left in any
needless suspense as to who their future gov-
ernor is to be."
"But the order is not merely peremptory—
it is even arbitrary!" cried Rivers, a certain
vague and indistinct feeling of uneasiness
arising in his mind, as if all was not right
and straightforward in the proceeding, but
that something hidden lay behind.
: " Young man," said the Earl of Grantham,
Assuming a very serious look, " the King's
orders must not is trifled with. And permit
me to remind you .hat it is not altogether a
handsome return you make to me in thus he-
sitating to fulfil the directions whereof I am
only the mouthpiece."
"And vou should reflect. Master Rivers,"
the Countess hastened to observe, " that if
you prove disobedient to the royal mandate*,
you will only draw down the King's wrath
upon the heads of those who have so kinder
interested themselves in your behalf."
"I feel the full force of your ladyship's ob-
servation," said Percy Rivers, though with an
evident air of perplexity; " and I beseech you,
my lord, to acquit me of even the faintest
shadow of ingratitude either towards yourself
or those friends whose influence you have'
made available to serve my purposes. I will
therefore obey the mandate which accompa-
nies these appointments, and I crave your for-
giveness if my temporary hesitation proved
offensive. But pray answer ine one thing,
my lord. Is it not expected that I should pre-
sent myself at Court to thank his Highness
for these bounties? Or, at all events, must I
not convey that gratitude through the Lord
High Chancellor?"'
"All these ceremonials are needless, young
cousin of mine," said the Earl of Grantham,
"Have I not demonstrated towards you a
friendship deserving your confidence? Why,
then, seem to doubt me? What interest can
I have in hurrying you away from the metro*
polis or its neighbourhood in so peremptory
a manner? None, I can assure you."
"My lord," answered Rivers, "let us say
no more upon the subject. You tell me that
I must depart in an hour—and I will obey.
Meanwhile, with your permission, I will ask
my fair cousin Musidora what messages or
letters she may have to send to her father." i
"Do so," replied the Earl. "Musidora is
in the garden: you can go to her."
Percy Rivers passed through the open case-
ment on the sloping lawn; and perceiving
Musidora at the farther extremity of the spa-
cious garden, he proceeded towards her. But
during the three or four minutes that it took
him thus to reach her, many uneasy and be-
wildering reflections swept through his mind.
He did not like the apparent mystery which
enveloped the granting of these appoint-
ments. The boon he had craved for himself
seemed to have been bestowed so very, very
easily—without delay—without even any in-
terview between himself and the Lord Chan-
cellor: for though he had called two or threa
times upon that high functionary, he. had
been unable to obtain an audience. And not
only too was this boon so promptly conferred
upon himself, but it was accompanied by an-
other that was altogether unasked for and
unexpected—namely, the restoration of Sit
Lewis Sinclair to the Rangership. Perhaps
it would not have struck Percy Rivers the*
there was any mystery at all attending ihosa
appointments and the singular despatch with
which they were made, but he would have
implicitly 3et them down to the zealous inter-
vention of the Earl of Grantham acting
through the medium of powerful friends at


us
THE NECROMANCER.
Court, had there not been something so sus-
picious in the peremptory order which accom-
panied the granting of these important fa-
tours. He could not help thinking that there
was an anxiety to get rid of him from the
neighbourht.'sl and send him back as speedily
as possible to the Isle of Wight. He could
not fdrget the inhospitality of the Earl and
Countess of Grantham when he called at the
villa three days back: for on that occasion he
had seen that he was not wanted. Then too,
he bethought himself of that physician who
had been sent to take up his abode altogether
with Sir Lewis Sinclair;—and weaving all
these things together, the uneasiness of sus-
picion was enhanced in his mind.
"I fear me," he thought in soliloquy, as he
traversed the garden to join Musidora, " that
tlhe Earl and the Countess have some sinister
vsftsign in respect to my fair cousin. They
wish to retain her here altogether with them;
• and they send a person—whom, by the bye,
I am very far from liking—to keep her father
company and prevent him from feeling lonely
during her absence, so that there may be no
excuse for his recalling her home. Lastly, it
appears as if I am one too many in this
neighbourhood, and it is sought to send me
back to the Isle of Wight with the least pos-
sible delay. What can it all mean? I have
loo much confidence in the prudence, the
virtue, and the pride of my cousin to think
that she will suffer herself to be ensnared in
an/ derogatory proceeding: but if I thought
that serious dangers really menaced her, I
.would tear up the parchment containing my
appointment—scatter the fragments to the
winds—and in defiance of all the royal
mandates in the world, remain concealed in
this neighbourhood to keep watch over her.
But ah!" he ejaculated within himself, as a
thought struck him,—" there is a better way
•f proceeding than by any rashness of this
kind. Yes—I will indeed hasten back to the
Isle of Wight; but it shall be to implore and
beseech Sir Lewis Sinclair to recall his daugh-
ter home without delay!"
Cheered by this resolution,—which seemed
to the warm-hearted young man the best, the
safest, and the most effectual course to be
adopted,—he was enabled to accost Musidora
with a smiling countenanco; and the moment
■he beheld him approach, she advanced to
meet him with her usual frank cordiality.
. But it struck him that she did not appear
altogether happy. Despite that passionless
placidity which sat upon her countenance as
well now as it had done for three years past,
Percy Rivers fancied there wss something
that deepened into actual mournfulness in her
look when he first met her gaze, and that it
was with an effort she put aside as it were the
■npleasant thoughts which seemed to be occu-
pying her mind.
"You are come to bid me adieu, Percy V
she said, with that liquid evenness of tons
which suited so well her ice-like air and the
cold serenity of her manner.
"Ah ! then you know," he at once exclaim-
ed, "how peremptory is the order for my
departure V
"I know it," she responded, steadily meet-
ing the gaze which he fixed with earnestness
upon her.
"And think you not, my dear cousin," ha
continued, "that it is somewhat singular as
well as harsh to accompany such an immense
boon as my appointment in itself is, with a
decree which on the other hand half neutralizes
the graciousness of the favour itself!"
"I suppose that Lord Grantham has given
you some reason for such a proceeding," said
Musidora.
"None that is very feasible," rejoined
Rivers. "He says that the King hurries my
departure because it is desirable that the
inhabitants of the Isle of Wight should hear
as soon as possible who is to be theii new
governor. But surely their anxiety on this
head cannot be deemed so very great as to
compel my departure at a single hour's notice.
What say you, my fair cousin V
"I agree with you, Percy," she replied,
"that the mandate does appenr somewhat
harsh. But surely you will lose all sense of
annoyance on that head, in the proud feelings
which you must naturally experience at find-
ing yourself in so exalted a position—for which
I pray you to accept my sincerest and moat
heartfelt congratulations." I
"That you are rejoiced on my account,
Musidora," answered Rivers, *' I am well con-
vinced. Indeed, I have no doubt it was to
your prompt and kind intervention the other
day that the Earl took up my case with so
much apparent zeal and warmth. I need not
tell you, my dear cousin, how delighted 1
shall feel when presenting to your father that
royal document which reinstates him in an
office the loss of which has so much wounded
his pride and impoverished his means."
"Then, have you not another inducement,"
asked our heroine, " to make you regret all
the less this urgency for departure? Know-
ing your generous heart, I feel assured, Perry,
that you long for the moment when you will
be enabled to render my dear father so su-
premely happy
"And you, my fair cousin,—shall you not
shortly feel desirous of embracing your dear
father again? Do you not long to return to
Sinclair House ?"—and as he thus spoke, the
young man again looked earnestly—we might
even say penetratingly—upon Musidora's
countenance.
"Knowing, Percy, as you do, how fondly
devoted I am to my father," she responded,
"you must be well avare that nothing would
give me greater pleasure than to embrace him
at this instant. I therefore think you must


THE NECROMANCER.
119
have some Intent motiie for addressing me ir»
so serioua a manner. If so, speak frankly;
and tell me also why you gaze upon me with
this strangeness of loot which I cannot under-
stand?"
"Tell me first, Musidora," answered Rivers,
with a tremulous voice, " whether you are
completely happy?"
"Nay," she exclaimed, with a slight accent
of excitement in her voice, " now again you
are evidently speaking from some motive that
pre-occupies you. Do tell me what it is. I
like nut." she immediately added, almost cold-
ly, and with the least shade of dignified hau-
teur in her manner, as she drew her fine form
up, " to be questioned in this dark and myste-
rious strain."
"I know not how to explain myself, my
dear cousin," Rivers hastened to observe; for
he hud in reality, no real and tangible ground
on which to question her;—the suspicion that
had arisen in his mind, was only a vague un-
easiness, and had assumed no definite shape;
and thus was it that he found himself perplex-
ed how to reply—while at the same time, he
would not for worlds say any thing to give his
fair cousin offence.
'- You know not how to explain yourself?"
she observed, repeating his words: "and yet
you evidently look at me and question me with
a moiive. Now, Percy Rivers, if you really
wish information on any particular point
wherein I nan enlighten you, speak out frank-
ly at once."
The young gentleman felt confused—almost
distressed. What could he say 1 To declare
that he entertained some wild and uncertain
suspicion, without being able to define it,
would amount almost to an insult. He there-
fore regretted that he had said as much as had
already escaped his lips; and in his perplexity
he gazed upon his ieauteous cousin, who
seemed calm, placid, and inscrutable as ever.
If there were indeed any secret unhappiness
in her mind, not a trace had it marked upon
her magnificent countenance. All the glory
ol that loveliness was there, fresh and unim-
paired, as he had been wont to see it—aye,
and adore it! Her glorious eyea had lost not
a single beam of their lustre; her head was
borne erect as ever ;—her form, so grand in
its fulness, yet so symmetrical in its grace,
showed not a sign of being bowed down with
the weight or wasted with the emaciation of
Care. Waa it, then, mere fancy on his part
that at the moment when he first encountered
her in the garden, there waa a shade of sor-
row upon her features, clouding the ice-like
brilliancy of her smile?
"You ask me whether I am happy," she
•aid. "Have you any reason to suspect that
I am otherwise?"—and she fixed upon him
the full power of her magnificent looks, as if
to read into the depths of his soul.
"Ho—I have not the slightest reason to
believe that you are unhappy," he hastened to
reply, "beyond the transitory thought that at
the instant we met ere now there was the
slightest shade of despondency in your look;
but Heaven grant that I was deceived—as I
now indeed am almost convinced that I was!"
"Almost! and why not guile convinced V
she asked, with an expanding smile, which
parting the vermilion of her lips, displayed the
teeth white as pearls of the East.
"Oh! believe me, Musidora, that I would
ten thousand times rather persuade myself
that you are happy," cried Percy Rivets,
"than torture my heart with groundless ima-
ginings to the contrary!"
"I thank you, my dear cousin," she re-
sponded, "for this additional proof of kind
feeling on your part;"—then after a brief
pause, during which Percy thought that she
hesitated whether she should give utterance to
what she afterwards fvent on to say, she
added with a slight—but a very slight and
barely perceptible tremulousness of tone—
"Pray do not breathe aught in my father's
ears which may lead him to fancy that I am
unhappy. I am well aware that it waa only
through friendship towards me"
"Friendship!" murmured Rivera with ■
sigh; but neither the word nor the long deep
respiration were more than just barely au-
dible.
"Through friendship for me," continued
Musidora, not seeming to notice the slight
zephyr-like interruption, " that you for an in-
stant caught the illusion that I wore an air of
sadness. But I had been walking here alone
for the last hour, thinking of home; and you
are aware, my dear cousin, that the looks may
become serious although no positive care
weighs upon the heart. Do not therefore, I
repeat, on your return to the Isle of Wight
say aught, to render my father uneasy respect-
ing me. Will you promise me this! What!
you hesitate?" she suddenly exclaimed, per-
ceiving that he looked perplexed and even sor-
rowful: for be it remembered that Percy had
already made up his mind to advise Sir Lewis
Sinclair to recall his daughter home, and he
feared that any pledge he might now give
Musidora in answer to her question would act
as a barrier to the carrying out of that resolve.
"I will not tell your father," he at length
answered, "that you are unhappy. On the
contrary, I will assure him that from your
own lips I received the gratifying intelligence
of your perfect happiness. May I say that
much ?"—and again he fixed his eyea upon
Musidora.
"You may," she answered;—" always re-
membering," she added in a sort of qualify-
ing tone, "that I am as happy as can be ex-
pected when thus separated from him who is
nearest and dearest to me upon earth."
"Then why not return home" asked
Rivers somewhat abruptly.


180
THE NECROMANCER.
"Is that a question to be put to one wfto is
paying a visit to relatives that treat her
kindly?" asked Musidora, again exhibiting
that naughty bridling up which displayed the
proud woman's spirit . "If your question
meant a remonstrance against my temporary
absence from home, would it not imply that
no visit is ever to be paid by one relative
to another? I might even feel offended by
such a question, Percy," she continued;" but I
will not take offence where I know that none
was meant. I will even add that after the
bounties which have been conferred upon
yourself and my father, I am compelled by a
sense of gratitude to remain where I am—at
least for a time."
"Pardon me, my dear cousin, for my inju-
dicious observation," exclaimed Percy. "In
fact, I am afraid that I have spoken indis-
creetly more than once during our present
interview. But you will forgive me all this?
And now tell me what messages or letters
you have to transmit to Sir Lewis."
"I will give you a letter for my father,"
replied Musidora.
They then re-entered the villa, where re-
freshments were served up; and as the young
man was about to depart, the Earl and Coun-
tess could now induce themselves to give him
a somewhat more hospitable entertainment
than on the preceding occasion of his visit.
He did not however tarry long: for the ur-
gency with which he had been desired to
leave was uppermost in his mind.
Having secuied the two royal documents
about his person, as well as the letter which
Musidora gave him for her father, Percy
Rivers bade farewell to his cousin, the Earl,
and the Countess; and mounting his horse,
gallopped away towards London, whence that
very same afternoon he began his journey
back to the Isle of Wight.
CHAPTER XXVII.
n*. BERTRAM
Tens we now to the Isle of Wight. It
was in the evening of the second day after
the incidents just related, that Sir Lewis Sin-
clair and Dr. Bertram were sitting together in
a little summer-house commanding a beautiful
view of Brading Haven, the sea into which it
flowed, and the line of the Hampshire coast
that bordered the water in the distance. The
weather was serenely beautiful: there was
scarcely a breeze to arouse a ripple upon the
ocean;—and the birds were pouring forth
their gush of melody in the adjacent forest.
The table in the summer-house was covered
with flasks of nine, drinking cups, and dishes
of fruit; and while the worthy knight and his
companion beguiled tbc time with such dia>
course as was most to their taste, they did nc4
forget to do ample justice to the dessert—es-
pecially the fluid portion of it.
"Yes, my excellent friend," observed Sir
Lewis pursuing the theme of a conversation
which had already been progressing for an
hour past, "you are evidently a man of th#
world; and I reckon it to be one of the most
fortunate days of my life when the King sent
you as my companion"'
"Hush, my dear Sir Lewis!" said tha
doctor: "you know the old proverb that walls
have ears; and if that lie true, why should
not green bushes likewise possess auricular
faculties? lam always telling you never te
mem ion the name of a certain personage—I
I mean his Highness," added Bertram, lower
ing his voice to a cautious whisper. 't
"Well, I do forget myself sometimes." re-
marked Sir Lewi*,—" especially at the eighth
or ninth cup of wine: but you must admit,
my dear friend, that considering all things, A
have kept these secrets with marvellous close-
ness V -i
"You have. Sir Lewis," rejoined the doc-
tor: "and pray continue to exercise the same
carefulness. It would be a pity indeed tu
spoil all by any want of caution. Only (hint,
my dear friend," he continued, again speaking
in a whisper, " when once a certain lady has
acquired a certain ranU by marrying a certain
person, we shall be as happy as the day it
long."
"Aye," responded Sir Lewis; "and we will
drink their healths from morning till night.*
"That I think you do pretty well already;"
said Dr. Bertram. "By my faith! you are
mighty fond of the wine-stoup, Sir Lewis."'
"Egad! and I can return the compliment
without the least compromise of my veracity:'
exclaimed the knight, laughing.
"You see, most worthy friend," answered
Bertram, "I was always of a very studious
habit, and remarkably steady: therefore, being
much addicted to hook-learning and to the
study of the medical art—in which, forsooth,
I excel rarely—I have been obliged to sustain
my over-taxed energies with an occasional
dose of nature's choicest lieverage. And I can
assure you that I only drink wine medici-
nally," added the doctor very gravely.
"What! and ale, hollands, lambswopl,
wassail, and other good things, also medici-
nally ?" inquired Sir Lewis.'
All medicinally, 1 can assure you," wna
the doctor's response, delivered with a solemn
shake of the head: "and as your physician,
I allow you to partake of these same good
things on the same medicinal principle."
"Then arc you assuredly the kindest and
best physician on the face of the earth," ex-
claimed Sir Lewis. "But it iieems to roc,"
he added in a jocular tone, "that we both


THE NECROMANCER.
121
take a great deal of this kind of medicine:"
—and he raised the brimming goblet which
Be had just filled.
"When I think you are taking too much,
Sir Lewis," repl'*Hl Bertram, still with an air
•f gravity, "I shall assuredly exercise the
physician's authority and stop you."
"Ah, well! I am not much afraid that the
Citient and the doctor will fall out," cried Sir
ewis, laughing gleefully. "We seem to be
■pon an excellent understanding with each
other. But tell me—since you have been one
•f the King's physicians—joes his Grace in-
dulge pretty deeply in his potations?"
"Between you and me," answered Ber-
ttam, with a knowing wink, "the King likes
his glass as well as either of us. He and I
have sometimes locked ourselves in his pri-
vate cabinet and have tossed off glass for
glass, till the whole room turned round, and
while I saw two Kings he saw two Dr. Ber-
trams."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Sir Lewis very hear-
tUy: then as his mirth subsided, he observed
in a grave tone," But my 'Dora will not much
'like the King to give way to these drinking
kouts."
"Oh !" replied Bertram, "his Grace will
abandon all that kind of thing for the young
lady's sake. I have not the slightest doubt
•f that! No one knows King Harry better
lhan 1 do. In fact," added the doctor in a
Cvi.iiiiential whisper, "he and I are as thick
m two two"
"Thieves," observed Sir Lewis, by way of
helping his friend to a completion of his sen-
tence, and without the slightest attempt at
any sinister meaning.
'* Nay, nay, that is rather too bad of you,
Sir Lewis!" exclaimed Bertram, laughing.
"But, as I was saying, the King and I are
to very intimate that I can do any thing with
him. He calls me * honest Bertram'—thus
| you perceive," added the doctor pompously,
"stamping my high character with his royal
'approval."
- Well," remarked 8ir Lewis, « wherever
die Sovereign's seal is set, the article must be
genuine; and therefore you, my dear friend,
are a genuine good fellow, as you assuredly
are a right down worthy boon-companion.
But do you, when with the King, recom-
mend him to drink wine on medicinal princi-
ples?"
"Certainly I do," responded Bertram. "As
I have before told you on divers occasions, I
kave invented a new system of medicine, the
basis of which consists of good living. Don't
let me be told that plenty of roast beef, wine,
and ale will make invalids! I know better.
To the thin and emaciated, I say,' Bat plen-
tifully, that ye may get fat .-' and to the
■tout and portly I say, ' Eat plentifully, lest
ye get thin and in low condition.' In the
wine way, to those who are desponding and
melancholy I say, 'Drink copiously in order
to raise your spirits-.*' and to those who are
happy and cheerful I say, 'Drink copiously,
lest ye experience reaction, and fall into low-
tic ss of spirits.' Now I defy any one to
prove the fallacy of this system of mine. I
maintain that it is consistent with common
sense:"—and here Dr. Bertram looked so
exceedingly wise that Sir Lewis Sinclair was
for a moment confounded hy the knock-me-
down kind of argument to which he had been
listening.
"Yes—I must admit," said the worthy
knight, "that your system, doctor, is the
most reasonable, as it is certainly the most
agreeable."
"Tobe sure!" exclaimed Bertram. "But do
you want a proof? your own sensations must
have furnished it over and over again. For
instance, the other night—be it spoken with
due respect—you took so much of the medi-
cine, Sir Lewis, that it overpowered you, and
you tumbled under ihe table—"
"And you, out of kindness, worthy doctor,"
responded the knight, with a sly look, " lay
down beside me, to keep me company, as you
assured me the next morning."
"As a matter of course," rejoined Bertram.
"Was I not sent hither to minister unto you
and make myself agreeable in all things'
Therefore, as long as you can sit up at the
table, I am bound to sit with you ; but if y> a
prefer rolling underneath it, I am equally
bound to roll there by your side. But let me
continue with the illustration of my medical
system. On the morning after that little in-
cident whereof we have been speaking, you
awoke with something of a headache"
"Something of a headache!" ejaculated Sir
Lewis: "it was as if ten thousand invisible
demon blacksmiths were mistaking my head
for an anvil and beating on it with their
hammers."
"Just so!" observed the doctor. "Arid
now suppose that I had given you medicine—
would it not have reduced your system in a
way to render you incapable of hearing up
against that pain? And if I had offered
you a glass of water, it would have tnrned
your stomach sick. I therelbre made you
swallow a brimming goblet of good Canary
wine"
"Aye—a hair of the tail of the dog that
bit me over night," observed Sir Lewis.
"And was not the remedy infallible?''
asked the doctor: "and after three or four
turns in the orchard, did you not do an.t le
justice to cold sirloin, cakes, and ale, by way
of breakfast?"
* ' In good faith did I," responded the wor-
thy knight; then surveying his companion
with great seriousness and admiration, he
said," Ah, doctor! you are a prodigy of learn-
ing, and I am well convinced that your system
| is decidedly the best."


122
THE NECROMANCER.
"Whenever I have been consulted by el-
derly Indies, for instance," continued Bertram,
"on the score of spasms in the stomach, cold,
rheumatism, or ague, I have invuriably pre-
scrilted frequent drops of strong waters*:
and it is astonishing," he added gravely,
"what a favourite I became with all the anti-
quated dames in or about London. But, Ah!
I hear the sounds of a horse's feet approach-
ing"
* ' It is Percy !" ejaculated Sir Lewis, as he
beheld his nephew gallop round to the gate
of the enclosure.
"Remember," said Bertram, clutching the
knight by the arm, and speaking in a serious,
almost grave tone,—" remember that you do
not commit yourself in any way in the pre-
sence of this young man: for if he were
ten thousand nephews instead of one, he
is not to know what is going on in a certain
quarter."
"Trust me, my dear friend," answered Sir
Lewis. "I am not such a fool as to spoil
every thing by any act of indiscretion. Rest
assured of that! But now let us go forward
and meet him."
The groom belonging to the knight's esta-
blishment had already hastened forth from the
mansion to receive Percy's horse; and the
young gentleman, having dismounted and con-
fided the steed to the domestic, sped towards his
uncle and the doctor. To the latter he
bowed with marked coldness; for Bertram
-was very far from being a favourite with
Percy Rivers; but there was no love lost, for
he in his heart disliked the young man most
cordially.
"Well, what news did you bring us, ne-
phew?" inquired Sir Lewis, shaking Percy
warmly by the hand.
'• Good news, 1 hope, in some respects,"
answered Rivers.
"In some respects!" echoed the knight
.
"Are there, then, any exceptions in the case?
But how is Musidora? have you brought a
fetter from her? and how have you fared in
your application to the Chancellor? Has his
Right Reverend Lordship given you any hope
of future employment? and who is to be the
new Governor of the Island?"
"Gently, my dear Uncle," responded Riv-
ers, with a half smile at this torrent of ques-
tions; "and I will explain everything in due
course. First of all, let me assure you that
Musidora is well—and as she declares,
happy."
"That's a good beginning," observed the
knight. "Come, let us welcome the intelli-
gence with a cup of wine. I have no doubt
that you are athirst, nephew?"
"Not at all, my dear uncle," was the re-
sponse: but as the old man drew him to-
wards the summer-house, he was obliged to
accompany him thither, Dr. Bertram taking
very good care to be close at the other side of
Sir Lewis.
"And now go on with your intelligence,"
said the knight when he and the doctor
had paid their renewed respects to the wine
flask.
"I have already assured you that my fah
cousin is well, and, as she says, happy," con-
tinued Percy Rivers. "Next, I must deliver
you this letter from her."
"I will read it presently," said the knight,
as he received the missive and placed it in the
breast of his doublet. "What next!"
"The new Governor of the Island is duly
appointed," proceeded Percy: "and your old
situation of t'e Rangership, which for the
last few years has remained in abeyance, is
again filled up."
"Indeed!" ejaculated Sir Lewis. "Who
,,
"The Governor, my dear uncle," answered
Percy with a smile, "has the pleasure of ad-
dressing the Ranger."
"Eh, what?" cried Sir Lewis, starting up
from his seat, with an excess of almost child-
ish joy.
"Take a cup of wine to drink a welcome to
these appointments!" Dr. Bertram hastened
to exclaim: for he was fearful that Sir Lewis
might let out something to show that this re-
storation to his former office was not alto-
gether unexpected on his part.
"Dr. Bertram," said Percy Rivers, turning
upon the physician a look that was coldly se-
vere, " If you arc a medical man who practises
his profession honestly, you will not encour-
age my uncle to address himself too often to
these pernicious stimulants."
"Governor Rivers," said Dr. Bertram
fiercely, "attend, I pray you, to your own
professional duties, and leave me to mine."
"Nay, let there be no angry words," inter-
posed Sir Lewis Sinclair. "Besides, my
dear nephew, when we have got more leisure
Dr. Bertram shall explain to you his system,
according to which I must drink while cheer- *
ful, as you see me now, in order to prevent
my spirits from experiencing a what
is it, doctor? a reaction! Oh, I remem-
ber—that's the term !—yes, a reaction."
"What jargon is this that you have been
putting into my uncle's head?" demanded'
Rivers, now fixing a stern look upon the doc-
tor.
"Let me assure you," replied Bertram, no-
thing discomfitted nor abashed, " that this is
not the place for you to begin playing off your
Governor's airs; nor shall you with impunity
level an insult at Dr. Bertram, physician, li-
centiate, surgeon, apothecary, and divers
other qualifications."
Rivers measured for a moment with his
eye the tall ungainly form of Dr. Bertram, as
if half inclined to knock him down: but the


THE NECROMANCER.
123
next instant, thinking it beneath him to pro-
Tqke a quarrel with such a being, he turned
his looks contemptuously away; and produc-
ing a parchment from his doublet, tendered it
to his uncle, saying, with a sudden brighten-
ing up of his handsome countenance, " Re-
ceive from my hands the sovereign decree
which restores you to the Rangership of the
forests and woodlands of the Isle of Wight."
Sir Lewis took the parchment and waved it
joyfully over his head—skipping and dancing
with delight at the same time ; then exhausted
by this display of his exuberant feelings, he
sank down upon the seat, saying, " Now, my
dear doctor, a little of the medicine."
Bertram accordingly filled a goblet to the
brim and handed it to Sir Lewis,—Percy
Rivers looking on in silence, but with a coun-
tenance that changed rapidly to an expression
of compassionating mournful ness; for he not
only saw that his uncle was getting more and
more in the power of Bertram, but that the
latter evidently wielded his influence to encou-
rage him in his wine-bibbing propensities.
"Here," said the doctor, raising his own
goblet, which he had likewise taken good care
to fill, " is a health to you. Sir Lewis, in your
re-appointment to the Rangership: and if I
thought that my advances towards a more
friendly footing would be well received on
your part, Master Rivers, I would equally
felicitate you on your good fortune in being
raised I the high office whic*- yo,- now
occupy.'
The young man merely bowed with trie
most contemptuous coldness, which Bertram
did not however choose to observe, but tossed
off his wine with the air of one who was as
devotedly attached as Sir Lewis himself to the
generous fluid.
"But tell us," exclaimed the knighl, after
a brief pause, " how all this came about?"—
for he began to think it probable that his
nephew had been let into the secret of Musi-
dora's intended marriage with the King.
I" Wc are indebted, uncle," responded the
young Governor, " to the interest which the
Earl of Grantham exerted on our behalf by
means of some influential friends of his own.
I myself did nothing towards the realization
of these results, beyond explaining my own
position to your daughter; and she it was
who, with characteristic generosity and readi-
ness, urged Lord Grantham to use his influ-
ence in the matter."
'"But did you see the King?" asked the
old knight.
"I did not," replied Rivers. "I saw no one
it all connected with the Court: and perhaps 1
should not have returned so speedily, had it
not been for a peremptory order to that effect,
which was given through Lord Grantham
when he placed the documents in my hands
the day before yesterday. But will you step
•side with me, Sir Lewis, for a few minutes!
I wish to hold some private converse with
you."
"We are all friends here," Dr. Bertram
hastened to observe, as he nudged the old
knight.
"Yes, yes," Sir Lewis accordingly exclaim-
ed, in obedience to the privato hint thuo.
conveyed by the doctor's elbow. "You can
speak out, Percy; I have no secret■ from rhy
friend here."
"But my dear uncle," urged the young
gentleman, in a tone of remonstrance, " as you
are unaware of the subject on which I desire
to speak, you cannot possibly undertake M
say that it is one which may be discussed in
the presence of an individual whom, whatever
confidence you may choose to place in him, I
must decline to regard otherwise than as a
stranger."
Governor Rivers," said Dr. Bertram, in a
reproving tone, "it ill becomes you, at your
age, to dictate to your uncle."
"No, no, Percy, I must not be dictated to,"
said the knight. "Remember that the Ran-
gership is independent of the Governor; the
authorities are co-equal, yet distinct"
"Good heavens, my dear uncle !" exclaim-
ed the young man; " I am not addressing you
in my official capacity, but as your own
nephew; and I think that I have never given
you cause to believe that I would bear myself
otherwise than respectfully and deferentially
towards you. Besides," he added, "if you
are. so tenacious of your own independence,
uncle, and will i ot suffer dictation, why per*
mit this person"—and he flung a glance of
haughty contempt upon the doctor—" to rule
you as with a rod of iron?"
"This is downright insolence !" exclaimed
Bertram, his sinister-looking countenance be-
coming purple with indignation.
"My dear uncle," continued Rivers, not
deigning to take any farther notice of the
doctor, "I conjure yon to grant me five
minutes' conversation in private."
"But after all that has just taken place,"
observed Sir Lewis, in obedience to another
nudge which he received from the doctor, "(it*
would be a veritable insult to, my friend here
to yield to your request. Therefore I must
again desire you to speak out."
Percy Rivers was both angry and perplexed.
He saw with the deepest pain how completely
Sir Lewis was under the thumb of Dr. Ber-
tram, and that it would be scarcely possible to
carry his point of obtaining an opportunity
for a private discburse with his relative. A»
for uttering in the presence of Bertram what
he was desirous of saying to Sir Lewis, he
was resolved that he would not: for he felt
more assured than ever that the Doctor was a
mere creature of Lord Grantham, to whom
everything would be duly reported by letter.
Then also it struck him that even if he did
succeed in drawing Sir Lewis apart and


124
THE NECROMANCER.
privately recommending him to recall Musi-
dora home, the moment he was gone all that
he might have said to the knight would be
wormed out by Bertram, and thus be equally
sure to reach the knowledge of Lord Grantham
In due course.
All these reflections occupied but a moment
»»they traversed the brain of Percy Rivers;
ind he saw clearly enough that nothing was
to be done on the present occasion, but that
fce must take some little leisure to reflect what
course it was best to adopt in order to carry
•ut his design.
"Well, my dear uncle," he accordingly
said, "I must take my leave of you now,
trusting to a future opportunity to be able to
converse with you on family matters."
"But you will remain to supper V cried
8ir Lewis. "See! it is just upon sunset—
and hither indeed comes the servant to an-
nounce that the repast is served. Besides, we
must drink a flask in commemoration of these
appointments."
• "You will excuse me this evening," said
rVrcy. * I must return to Carisbrook without
delay, and indite a proclamation to issue to
•he inhabitants of the Island to-morrow."
"Aye—and by my faith I" cried Sir Lewis,
drawing himself up with an air of infinite im-
portance, " I also shall issue my proclamation,
warning all knaves and vagabonds to beware
how they kill deer or otherwise trespass upon
the royal lands whereof the charge is entrusted
imito me; and I will make known that they
•hall be punished according to law and
statute."
"Do as you like, uncle," said Rivers, sur-
veying the old man with a melancholy air;
for it certainly struck him that the effects of
dissipation mingling with sudden joy, were
lending to make him somewhat childish: "do
as you like, but I scarcely think such a pro-
clamation on your part is necessary."
"Oh! it cannot be dispensed with," ex-
claimed Sir Lewis pompously. "But if you
are determined to leave us so abruptly this
evening, my dear nephew, you must promise
lo come again soon; if not, I shall ride across
-to Carisbrook and ferret you out. Egad! it
will be with a dashing train once more that I
shall gallop over the island. I shall have my
hunters and my hounds again—my grooms
and my pages; and you, doctor," he added,
turning towards Bertram, " will always sit on
my right hand at the board, and ride in the
same place when I make my excursions."
Percy Rivers now took his leave of the old
knight, but deigned not to bestow even so
much as a look upon the physician, who, the
moment the young man had departed, observed
lo Sir Lewis, " My good friend, that nephew
of your's all Governor though he be, is one of
the most unmannerly curs in Christendom.
I do not like him; and the less he is en-
•imingtc tt the house the better."
"Well, well," returned the knight, "we
shall see; but I am sorry that such ill wiH
reigns between you."
He and his boon-companion then entered
the mansion, where they had sat down to
supper; and after the meal they drank success
to the Rangership so often that when UV'j
awoke in the morning and found themselves
in bed, each in his respective chamber, they
had not the slightest idea of how they got
thither.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE LAST DAT OF THK COURTSHIP
Drniso tne six weeks which now elapsed
from the date of the visit of Musidora and
her noble relatives to the Landinis' house in
Lombard Street, until the day when her final
decision was to be given in respect to the
King's suit, there was much in the conduct
of the young lady to keep the Earl and Coun-
tess in some suspense as to what her ultimate
decision might be. For notwithstanding the
wonted iciness of her look, the cold placidity
of her manner, and the extraordinary control
which she evidently possessed over her feel-
ings, there were intervals when she exhibited
a certain restlessness and uneasiness that it
was altogether impossible for her to conceal.
Sometimes, when the King was at the villa,
and they were all seated together at the sup-
per-table, she would fix her eyes upon him
with so strange, wild, and searching a look
that it appeared as if she entertained some
vague but torturing suspicion concerning him,
and that she endeavoured to satisfy herself by
penetrating into the depths of her soul. At
other times she would exhibit such a flow of
spirits as seemed perfectly incompatible with
her frozen nature, and which had an appear-
ance of being artificially forced in the despe-
rate attempt to veil feelings of bitterness that
were rankling in her heart. Or again, she
would sink into the profoundest despondency,
leaning back in her chair, with her arms lying
listlessly upon her lap, her white hands lightly
clasped, her head bent forward, and the
long ebon lashes of her eyes resting upon
the marble of her cheeks.' Then, if in this
mood she were spoken to, she would give no
response: it was evident that she heard not
the remarks addressed to her, and that her
thoughts were far away from the immediate
topic of the discourse carried on in her pre-
sence. At times she would start from this
desponding mood as if suddenly awakening
from slumber; and, after sweeping her quick
glance around, as if to ascertain where she
was and who were present, she would become
collected, calm—or rather coldly passive and
inscrutable—as ever!


THE NECROMANCER.
125
Sometimes she would endeavour to treat
whe King with that grateful courtesy and con-
fiding familiarity which a damsel in her posi-
tion might well be expected to demonstrate
towards a Sovereign who was about to make
her his wife: but at other times she behaved
towards him with a reserve so frigid—a-cold-
ness so distant—that both the Earl and Coun-
tess trembled lest the King should take of-
fence, abruptly break off every thing, and de-
part from the villa, to return no more! But
if ever mention being made of her father or
Percy Rivers, she was thus reminded of the
bounties which King Henry had conferred
upon her parents and her cousin, she would
at once assume such a sweetness of manner,
all, well-bred lady though she were, she was
not usually wont to display; and even in
this was it evident enough that she was
forcing herself to perform a part which a
sense of gratitude alone prompted her to
enact.
The King, strange to say, did not appear
to notice her changes of mood. When she
was smiling, and courteous, and amiable,
then was he affectionate, winning, and endear-
ing: when she was cold, reserved, and dis-
tant, he continued to discourse gaily with
the Earl and Countess;—and when she sat
desponding or wrapped up in reverie, he ad-
dressed her not, but waited until her mood
changed again, and then conversed with her
in as easy and tender a strain as if he had
not for an instant noticed that there had been
any passing peculiarity in her conduct. Nor,
when alone with the Earl and Countess, did
he ever a.'ude more than in a very transient
and casual manner to these strange humours
on her part: at all events he never.expressed
chagrin; but the nearer the time approached
for her to give her final decision, the more con-
fident did he appear, when conversing with
b-ir two noble relatives, that this decision would
be in his favour
The Earl and Countess themselves occa-
sionally questioned Musidora relative to these
phases in her conduct: but she invariably
met thr.ir queries with such iciness of manner,
such cold, brief answers, and with such strange
unfathomable look?, that they knew not what
to think. Although, as day after day passed,
the King seemed thus indifferent or else most
unaccountably blind to the marked character
of her moods, the old courtier and his in-
triguing wife certainly fancied that he was
putting an extraordinary rein upon his pa->
tience, and that it must reach a point at which
he could endure no more; but as each succes-
sive occasion proved their misgivings to be
unfounded, they said to each other that never
was man so completely infatuated with a wo-
man as Henry VIII. must be with Musidora.
For that he—the proud, haughty, imperious
monarch, whose temper was far from the most
amiable—should thus °nontaneously lay aside
all his lion-qualities and become passive, en-
during, and tame as a lamb, in the presence
of a girl of comparatively obscure Hrth, was
something well calculated to excite the won-
derment of the Earl and Countess of Grant-
ham. Much did they tremble however at each
visit from the Royal lover, lest Musidora
should push matters too far and arouse him
all at once from this knd of stupor, of patience,
and endurance;—and infinite was the relief
to their feelings when, on taking his departure
each night, he shook hands with them as cor-
dially as ever and promised to return on the
following evening. Thus each day brought
its misgivings and its apprehensions to the
Earl and Countess; and when the ordeal was
over, it as regularly left its renewal of confi-
dence behind.
Musidora passed much of her time in her
chamber; and each successive day she ram-
bled less and less in the gardens and pleasure-
grounds. That her soul was the seat of strange
but powerful feelings, was evident beyond all
doubt: for strange and powerful indeed must
they have been when thus able to ruffle the
surface of that aspect which had remained
frozen as it were for more than three long
years! Annetta, her maid, could not help
observing these evidences of inward agitation
on the part of her mistress; and occasionally
she hazarded a few words in the hope of being
permitted to learn the source of the young
lady's grief (if grief it were) or at least to
proffer consolation. But though Musidora
invariably answered with kindness,—for sho
liked Annetta, and therefore spoke not in the
same brief icy manner as when responding to
the questions of her two relatives,—yet did
she never encourage the conversation with her
maid upon that topic, but at once turned it
into some other channel, or else sought an
excuse for dismissing her for the time being
from her chamber
But when Musidora was alone, how looked
she? what thought she? how passed she her
time? Dra she read? did she work at her
embroidery? or did she sit plunged for long
hours in deep desponding reverie? We can-
not say. As yet it is not permitted even
for our hand to raise the veil from the sanc-
tuary of Musidora's heart—no, nor watch her
in her solitude. Certain however was it that *
the glories of her beauty were not dimmed by
any shadow that might rest upon her soul.
certain was it that if a cloud enveloped her
heart, its murkiness marred not the lustre of
her splendid eyes—but on the contrary, in
the depths of those unfathomable orbs the
weird and mystic light was shining there
with greater brilliancy if possible than ever!
The reader will naturally ask whether it
were that Musidora did not love the King
and felt that if she accepted his hand she was
sacrificing herself? But this hypothesis could
scarcely be the correct one; because from iba


126 THE NECROMANCER.
very first she had given her noble relatives no
hope that she should he enabled' to tutor hor-
self to love the monarch, while ut the same
time she had more than hinted at the certainty
of her espousing him. Besides, we have seen
that she did feel grateful for the bounties
he had conferred upon her father and her
cousin, as well as for his unchanging tender-
ness and assiduities towards herself. There-
fore, if only with this sentiment of gratitude,
and with none of a deeper and more affec-
tionate character, she might have felt herself
justified in bestowing her hand upon him:
because she assuredly did not hate bim, and
the alliance whs too splendid, too brilliant,
and too advantageous in most respects not to
tempt any young lady, even though with a
mind so strong and with notions so delicate
as Musidora's.
Again, the reader may ask whether it
were that, through the instigation of Percy
Rivers, her father had written to recall her
home, or had in any way changed his mind
so as to have become opposed to her marriage
with the King? But on this point we can
■peak positively. The young Governor of the
1sle of Wight had, indeed, managed, during
a hunting party, to say a few words alone to
Sir Lewis Sinclair, earnestly recommending
the knight to send for Musidora. But, as he
. had foreseen, Sir Lewis subsequently commu-
nicated to Dr. Bertram every thing that had
thus passed between himself and his nephew;
and the doctor experienced not the slightest
difficulty in preventing Sir Lewis from follow-
ing Percy's advice, because the old man him-
self was too ambitious to see his daughter a
Queen to take any step to thwart the project.
Besides, he naturally fancied that Percy
Rivers was merely suspicious of some latent
evil because he was not initiated in all that
was passing; and, therefore, though he gave
his nephew credit for the best possible inten-
tions, he was by no means inclined to follow
his counsel. Consequently, Musidora had
received no communication from Ifcr father to
excite her feelings in any way; on the con-
trary, the answer he had sent to her letter of
affection and love which Percy Rivers had de-
livered to him, was filled with all the congra-
tulations which the mingled selfishness and
parental tenderness of the old man were calcu-
lated to suggest.
But we will not tarry longer upon any of
the incidents that marked the lapse of that
period of courtship which Musidora had sti-
pulated for. Let us suppose the two months
ended—the last day arrived. The King was
to come in the evening as usual; but on this
occasion to receive from Musidora's lips the
decision which she had adopted. She de-
scended from her chamber at the usual break-
fast-hour in the morning of that day; and
the instant she entered the room where the
Earl and Countess were already seated, they
threw upon her a simultaneous look of tha
most anxious inquiry. She was calm, serene,
and brilliantly smiling, as during the first days
of her residence at the villa. She seemed to
have resumed all that outward tranquillity
which, though bo glacial, was nevertheless so
animated, and which to the eye of the ob-
server bespoke naught save a corresponding
serenity within. She said little during the re-
past; but what she did say was free from any
indication of heartfelt bitterness. Breakfast
being over, she accepted with even an amia-
ble cheerfulness a proposition made by flie
Countess to walk in the garden; and there
they rambled for two or three hours without
the slightest appearance of ruffle or ripple
upon the frozen surface of Musidora's resplen-
dent beauty.
The dinner-hour passed in the same man-
ner; and afterwards she retired to her cham-
ber. Then as evening approached, the Earl
and Countess felt their anxiety and nervous-
ness painfully increasing as to what might he
the issue of the coming crisis. For they
could not conceal from themselves that there
was something unnatural in Musidora's con-'
duct—to have been lor six weeks subject to
such strange phases of look, manner, and de-
portment, and now on the last day to be so
icily calm, so immoveably tranquil!
The hour for the King's appearance arrived.
He came—and, as usual, was at once shown
into the splendid saloon where it was cus-
tomary to receive him previous to seeking the
supper-apartment. Confidence was in his
looks; and both the Earl and Countess caught
therefrom a kindred inspiration. Of their
own accord, without waiting to be asked, they
told him of Musidora's altered aspect and how'
her demeanour was restored to exactly what
it was wont to be during the first few wei ks
of her sojourn at the villa. Then did a smile'
of triumph appear upon the countenance of
the King; and he said in a voice that was,
proudly exultant, like that of a general whir
proclaims his victory over a formidable ene-1
my, "For some weeks past I have experi-
enced but very little doubt as to the result of
my courtship. Musidora is mine!"
Almost immediately afterwards the young
lady herself entered the room. She was ar-
rayed in a dress of dark velvet, which threw
out the alabaster purity of her complexion;
with dazzling effect; and her appearance was
rendered the more overpowering by the splen-
did diamonds—the King's gift—wherewith'
she had decked herself. Upon the raven
glory of her hair did they gleam; around the
marble column of her neck, upon the snowy.,
stain.essness of her bosom, and circling the
statue-like modelling of her white arms bare to
the shoulders, shone the brilliant gems, gliltet-
ing like icicles upon a being who herself was
of icy aspect, so that she appeared the Queep
of Winter!


THE NECR
OM ANCER.
With the serenity of a frozen lake shining
in the sunlight of the pure frosty air when'
the heaven is cloudless all above, Musidora
advanced into the room. Nothing was to be
gathered from her inscrutable countenance—
naught was revealed in the shining depths of
her weird-like haunting eyes. At the same
time there was nothing to discourage the King,
rror to dismay her noble relatives. The cold
brilliancy of the half-vanishing smile was upon
her classic lips; and she looked just as she
was wont to be until within the last six weeks
of the courtship.
"Chaining and well-beloved lady," said
the King, advancing to meet her with the
graceful ease of a royal cavalier, mingled with
the respectful and admiring tenderness of a
suitor,—" what answer am I to receive from
your lips? My happiness hangs upon a
single word! Is it yes? or is it no?"
. " Yes!" replied Musidora; but it was
in a voice of ice that she 6poke; and for
an instant—but only for an instant—a shud-
der swept through her entire frame; then
becoming her own cold serene self once
more, she extended her alabaster hand to the
King.
And cold as alabaster too was it to his
touch! t
CHAPTER XXIX.
t >.
THE CHAPEL.
It was in the first week of August—exactly
three months after the date of Musidora's
arrival at Grantham Villa—that she thus
gave an affirmative answer to the suit of
King Henry VIII.; and a week later—namely,
on the 13th of August, 1516—the scene which
we are about to record took place.
Embowered in the midst of a wood, at a
distance of three miles from Greenwich, was
a small monastery, inhabited only by twelve
monks, who led a life of the most ascetic cha-
racter. Their apparel, as' coarse as sackcloth,
was fastened by a rude cord round their waists.
They usually went barefooted; but if going to
any distance on their wonted errands of bene-
volence and piety, they wore sandals com-
posed of flat pieces of wood fastened on by
rough leathern thongs. According to the
regulations of their establishment, the number
of its inmates could never exceed twelve,
which number was emblematic of that of the
Apostles; and whenever one died, his place
was immediately filled up from the order of
Mendicant Friars. The little sanctuary was
presided over by one of the twelve, who bore
the denomination of "Superior and his
authority was implicitly obeyed b, his breth-
ren.
The monastery itself had a castellated ap-
pearanee, its dark massive walls being perfo*
ated with mere loop-holes to serve as windows,
and the huge doors being set in a deep gothie
arch. The chapel belonging to the religious
establishment, was of similar architecture, and
had a large heavy-looking tower frowning
above the circumjacent trees. A space to the
extent of about two acres was cleared away
in the rear of the monastery, to alford room
for a cemetery to receive the remains of those
who perished within the walls, and also for a
garden to yield the fruits and vegetables
which constituted, together with coarse barley
bread, the principal fare of fhe holy fathers.
That religious establishment bad existed for
three centuries,—maintaining with tradition-
ary reverence and exactitude all the pristine
simplicity with regard to its internal discipline
that was originally prescribed by its founder.
It therefore enjoyed the veneration and respect
of all who dwelt in the surrounding districts;
and every Sunday the chapel was crowded
with a humble but pious congregation. There
was not a peasant's hut nor a rural dwelling
within a dozen miles of the Monastery of
Twelve—as it was called—thst had not been
at some time or another indebted to the holy
fathers for visits ef charity and religious con-
solation. Many wealthy persons were wont
to bestow donations upon the monastery, to
be dispensed in alms at the discretion of the
inmates; and thus, though they themselves
practised the sternest sell-denial and clung
with devotedness to the principle of poverty —
thus emulating in their own lives the example
of the Apostles—they nevertheless were en-
abled to relieve the distresses of many a poor
family and bestow pecuniary succour upon
many a penniless way-farer. No wonder was
it, therefore, if these good monks enjoyed so
excellent a repute, and were the objects of so
much veneration—a character and respect
which by the purity of their own lives they
full well deserved.
It was ten o'clock at night on the 13th of
August, 1516, as above recorded, that the tu-
pers were lighted upon the altar-piece of the
chapel, which was spacious and lofty consid-
ering the insignificant size of the monastery
to which it belonged. Only upon the altar
were the candles lighted; and thus but a
small portion of the sacred edifice was shown
by their feeble, flickering, uncertain gleam.
The roof appeared to hang in dense blackness
above: the pillars separating the aisles from
the nave, shot up likewise into darkness;
while the whole of that extremity of the
church which was farthest from the altar was
involved - in* the deepest obscurity. There
were some large pictures suspended to the
walls, the gifts of pious persons at different
times; but these looked like mere squares of
sable canvass set in huge oaken frames: for
it was impossible to discern their subjects in
that dim and oscillating light. At the altar


128 THE NECROMANCER.
me monk alone was kneeling: and this was
the Superior—an old man, whose name was
Father Paul.
The kneeling priest had on a simple white
•tolo and a plain alb, over his rough sackcloth
garments. He was entirely bald on the crown
and above the forehead; but from the temples
a fringe of thin silvery locks passed round the
hack of his head, growing longer towards the
nape of the neck. His countenance was
filled with benevolence and piety; and it waa
easy to read in his mild blue eyes the unsophis-
ticated sincerity of his soul, as well as the
hearifelt depth of the silent devotions in which
lie was now engaged. As the light from the
altar fell upon his up-raised countenance, and
brought out his figure with a Remhrant-like
relief from the sphere of obscurity upon the
verge of which he touched, and which spread
into deepening darkness all behind him, he
looked like some venerable patriarch of the
ancient time come back again in the spirit to
this earth which his example had illuminated
in by-gone centuries, and the concerns of
which occupied his care even in the unknown
world to which he had long since departed.
Such, wc say, was the impression which his
appearance—in his simple apparel, with his
venerable looks, and in the uncertain light
■bed from that altar—might have made upon
an observer, had any been nigh; but no patri-
archal spirit was it—but the worthy Superior
himself, Father Paul, in flesh and blood, who
on this night and at that hour was praying
before the shrine of his adoration.
A solemn silence filled the church—a like
stillness prevailed without, around the monas-
tery and in the depths of the circumjacent
wood. Not a breeze ruffled the foliage of the
trees—not a breath of air whispered through
the chapel. The day had been intensely hot
—and when the sun went down, he It ft all
his sultriness behind. But dark masses of
clouds were piling themselves up against the
sky; and every thing portended a storm.
It waa ten o'clock, we say—and Father
Paul knelt before the altar in his silent devo-
tions; for he was praying in the heart and not
with the lips. Presently his ear caught thn
sounds of horses' feet approaching the gates
of the church; and the old man arose and lis-
tened. Certain that he had not mistaken
those sounds, and likewise assured by a
knocking which he now heard at the door,
that those whom he awaited had come, he
sped i.own the nave, or body of the chapel, as
fast as his feeble limbs would allow him to
proceed ; and drawing back the huge bolt
which kept the gates fast, unfolded one of the
wings of the massive portals. The night was
now dark as pitch without, and all that ex-
tremity of the church was involved in imper-
vious gloom; but the feeble lights glimmering I
on the altar at the other extremity, served as •
% guide to the. party now entering. This par-1
| ty consisted of four persona; and, followed by
I the venerable Superior—who tarried a UrOt-
ment behind, after he had admitted them, ia
order to close the door and draw the bolt again,
—they proceeded slowly through the obscurity
of the place towards the altar.
Upon the arm of King Henry leant Musi,
dora; behind them walked the Earl and Coun-
tess of Grantham. There were no bridemaido
—no brilliant courtiers—no princely train—m»
host of friends assembled to felicitate the parr
whose hands were now to be united. Yet
this was a bridal party! Were the actors in
the scene clad in wedding-dresses? No—all
four were attired in riding-suits, which gave)
them the air of being dressed in their plainest
garments. The King wore boots reaching
nearly up to his knees, and was enveloped in
an ample cloak. 1'he Earl of Grantham was
dressed in a similar manner; Musidora anil
the Countess wore rid ing-ha nits of dark velvet,
and in fashion much resembling those of the
present day.
But how looked Musidora? Upon her
marble features there was a certain trouble—a
perceptible evidenco of inward uneasiness—r
which she nevertheless strove to subdue. Even
her very lips were pale—those lips that were
wont to lie so deliciously red in their dew.y
freshness! Her large dark eyes, deeper and
more unfathomable than the night through
which she had just journeyed from the villa
to the church, were thrown restlessly all around
as she first entered the sacred edifice, and then
were fixed upon the altar with its feebly glim-
mering lights. But her pace was firm and
steady—and whatever might have been her
inward feelings, it was at all events evident
that she was fortified with an unflincl ig
resolve to pass through the present ceremony
unto the end.
Upon the countenance of the King then
was an expression of joy and triumph, sub- *
dued to just that degree which shuwed that he
dared not altogether permit his features to
indicate the extent of the emotions that were
swelling so exultiugly in his breast. For him
the scene, with its awe-inspiring accompani-
ments of a dim light within and utter darkness
without, had no overpowering effect; the
solemnity of the place and the occasion, the
hour and the circumstances, which evidently
made an impression upon Musidora, was not
felt by him. Was his happiness so great that
the idea of possessing as a bride this being of
wondrous beauty, was all-absorbing—all en-
grossing—alike in the heart and the imagina-
tion of the monarch?
If Henry experienced no sensation of solemn
awe stealing upon him as he entered that
dimly-lighted fane and conducted Musidora
Sinclair towards the altar, it was by no means
likely that the Earl and Countess of Grantham
would lie more susceptible on that score.
Thoroughly selfish and worldly-minded even


THE NECROMANCER.
129
to heartlessness, their only cause of misgiving
or alarm could have been that at the very last
moment Musidora might yet recant her pro-
mine and refuse to become King Henry'a
bride. But little of this doubt or apprehension
was in their minds; for during the past week
—-since the day on which she had given her
6n»l answer—Musidora had exhibited all her
wonted self-possession, all her cold indifference,
•It her ice-like serenity. Without remonstrance
too, had she listened to the cogent reasons
suggested by the King for a private wedding;
•ml without hesitation had she consented to
the proposed arrangement that the sacred
solemnization should take place at this hour,
•t that church, and under those circumstances
of secrecy and privacy which we have described.
Therefore, all these things being considered,
there was little scope for apprehension and
misgiving on the part of the Earl and Count-
ess of Grantham.
But to continue. The bridal-party paused
•t the railing which enclosed the altar; and
there they waited in silence until Father Paul
rejoined them. The venerable Superior was
not far behind; and in less than a minute he
took his station on one of the steps leading up
to ti e sacred shrine.
• "Dread Sovereign and illustrious Prince,"
Mid the old man, now breaking the silence
Which had hitherto prevailed, and speaking in
• solemn voice the tones of which sounded
strangely deep throughout the sacred edifice,
—"all things have been arranged according to
the royal mandate which I received from your
Highness's lips last night. Of the twelve in-
mates of the monastery I am alone here;—
for in obedience to my Sovereign's will, my
brethren are ail consigned to their cells and
know not what is now passing. Lady,"
added the Superior, fixing his eyes upon Mu-
sidora with a scrutinizing intentness, " is all
this with your full and free consent ?—for
otherwise I would not allow my lips to breathe
the bridal prayer nor my tongue to give the
marriage blessing—no, not for all the earthly
Sovereigns of the universe! Say then, Musi-
dora Sinclair—for such I understand is your
name—speak and tell me if all that is doing
or to he done, is with your unbiassed, unco-
erced assent V
It is," wasour heroine's response: and
passionless as her looks had again become,
equally cold was her voice—as if her heart
wire but the fragment of a glacier and her
traguc an ice-shaft.
"And ye, my lord and Countess of Gran-
tham," continued the Superior, now turning
his eyes upon those whom he thus addressed,
"is it with your full consent and free permis-
sion that the damsel here, whom his Highness
has described to me as your relative, should
contract this solemn alliance? Is it, I ask, in
accordance with your unbiassed and unpur
chase >1 will?"
"It is," answered the Earl of Grantham.
"It is," echoed the Countess.
"Your Grace," resumed the venerable Su-
perior, now again turning his eyes upon tin
monarch, "will deign, ere the ceremony com-
mences, to exhibit unto my eyes and give into
my hands that decree which bears the signa-
ture of his holiness the Pope, and. whereof
your Grace spoke to me last night."
"Behold it!" replied the King: and he
took from the breast of his doublet a parch-
ment having three leaden seals suspended by
ribbons thereto.
Father Paul, upon receiving this document,
ascended to the highest step of the altar, so
that he might examine it carefully by the light
of the tapers. He looked at the seals—he
scrutinized the signature—and then in a re-
spectful mannei he touched the parchment
with his lips, in recognition of the supreme
power of the Sovereign Pontiff the Pope of
Rome.
"Know ye, all who are now gathered be-
fore me," the venerable Superior proceeded to
exclaim in a far louder voice than that in
which he had before spoken, "that I hold in
my hand a Bull bearing the signature of the.
Holy Father, marked with the Keys of St.
Peter, and authenticated by the three leader,
seals of Rome! The purport of this high and
sacred decree is to absolve Henry Plantage-
net, King of England, from all vows which
he may have taken and all troths he may
have plighted to Catherine of Arragon, either
at the altar in the presence of the priest, or
elsewhere and under whatsoever circum-
stances. Farthermore the Sovereign Pontifl
doth declare and pronounce such marriage
between Henry Plantagenet and Catherine
of Arragon to be null and void, each and both
to be absolved from the vows plighted and
the pledges made aforetime. Finally, this high
papal document doth empower and authorise
either or both of the said parties, Henry Plan-
tagenet and Catherine of Arragon, to contract
other marriage ties, the same as if none had
previously existed ;—and that this Bull, bear-
ing the Holy Father's signature, stamped with
the Keys of St. Peter, and accompanied by
the leaden seals of Rome, is authentic and
genuine, I do hereby solemnly avow my be-
lief!"
The Superior ceased—the tones of his
voice died away in the aisles—and a solemn
silence pervaded the church. He descended
the steps of the altar, and displayed the Papal
Bull to Musidora, saying, "Daughter, you
behold this decree which I have read: satisfy
yourself that it is the same which Henry
Plantagenet did ere now place in my hands."
"I am satisfied," answered Musidora.
"But you scarcely glance at it, daughter,"
said the Superior. "Perhaps you have seen
it before?"
•• I have," returned our heroine: "other


THE NECROMANCER.
wise, you may rest sssurrd, holy father, that I
thou ld not be here upon this occasion and for
such a purpose."
"It la well, (laughter. Such is the response
1 was desirous to elicit from your lips:"—then
beckoning to the Earl and Countess to step
forward, the venerable Superior displayed the
Papal Bull to their eyes, and asked them each
reparatcly, '* Are you satisfied that this is the
same identical document which Henry Plan-
lagcnet. King uf England, did place in my
bauds as authority for these proceedings?"
"I am satisfied," answered the Earl.
"I am satisfied," added the Countess.
-' Now," continued Father Paul, producing
a slip uf parchment from the folds of his gar-
ments, together with an inkhorn and a pen.—
"you, my Lord of Grantham, and your lady-
ship also, will as witnesses append your names
to a certificate which I have already prepared,
and which is to the effect that ere the com-
mencement of the nuptial ceremony this Papal
Bull was duly placed in my hands, read aloud
by me in front of the altar, and made plain
and apparent to all present, so that none could
misapprehend its purport and its meaning."
With these words, Father Paul beckoned
the Earl and Countess to approach a little
aide-table near the altar, and placed conve-
niently so as to catch the light of the tapers.
He then read over the certificate, with the
formula of which we shall not trouble our
readers, but which was to the effect already
explained by the holy Father. The Earl and
Countess affixed their signatures to the docu-
ment, which the Superior at once secured
about his person—.that paper being a guaran-
tee and indemnification for the part which he
himself was performing in the present pro-
ceedings. The nobleman and hia wife re-
turned to their place behind the bridegroom
and the bride; and the nuptial ceremony then
commenced.
Musidora'a countenance had by this time
utterly lost that alight expression of uneasi-
ness which it had worn on first entering the
chapel; and the colour had come back to her
lips, while there even seemed a tinge of the deli-
cate rose-leaf upon her cheeks. But this might
have been a deception produced by the flicker-
ing gleam of the tapers. Certain it is that
she maintained a calmnly dignified and de-
voutly serene look and manner, as Father
Paul proceeded with the bridal prayers. At
length it was over, that solemn ceremony;—
the nuptial blessing was said—the King press-
ed his lips to Musidora's brow—the Earl and
Countess offered their congratulations—and
the Superior repeated in his heart that fervid
benediction which be*had just bestowed with
his tongue.
"Holy father," said the King, putting a
heavy purse into the monk's hand, «I know
that to thee and thy brethren this would be
«**'•• ■irnaa, were it not that ve mav dispense
it in charities. For that purpose therefore da
I pray thee to accept the gold."
Father Paul received the purse, and blessed
the hand which gave it. He then seated
himself at the little table and filled up the
marriage-certificate, which he had previously
prepared. This slip of parchment he handed
to Musidora, who read it with attention and
carefully placed it in her bosom.
* Now, Moved one," said the King, in a
voice of whispering tenderness, as he took hia
bride's hand, " thou art Queen of England!
In as short a time as may be. this marriage
and the rank which it confers shall be pro-
claimed to the world. Let us issue hence,
and return at once to Grantha* Villa."
But scarcely did the bridal party turn to
quit the altar, when the whole interior of thai
church was in a moment lighted up by a
blaze which threw every feature of the place
into fearful distinctness. In the twinkling of
an eye that sudden glare was gone—and then
a terrific burat of thunder pealing through the
sacred fane, followed the lightning's glow.
There was something awful to a degree in
this abrupt outburst of the storm, at such a
moment and on such an occasion. Musidora'a)
countenance became ghastly: she shuddered
from head to foot, and her eyes, settling on
her husband's features, surveyed him with a
look of wild terror and amaze. Her features
were rigid—her lips ashy pale once more.
The King himself was evidently confounded
for the moment: but instantaneously recover-
ing his presence of mind, he clasped Musidora
to his breast—kissed her cold forehead and
her deathlike cheeks—but spake no word.
Perhaps he himself felt at the instant that
there waa something appallingly ominous ia.
the occurrence, and that it would be a blas-
phemy to proclaim a confidence which he did
not feel—an impiety to impart a reassurance
in which he could not partake. Lady Gran-
tham, terribly frightened, clung to her bus-
band who was also startled and overawed^
while the reverend Superior, falling upon his
knees, began breathing a prayer to heaven. .
"Now let us depart ere the storm pours
forth all its fury," said the King: and he bur-
ned Musidora along the nave.
But again the obscurity through which
they were proceeding was suddenly lighted up
by the vivid glare of heaven's storm-fire; and
again, as it vanished away, did the thunder
roar with deafening, crashing, pealing sound,
as if ten thousand chariots of brass were
driven madly over the stone-pavement of the
sacred edifice.
"Oh! this is terrible, terrible !" murmured
Musidora, appalled by the dread omens—for as
such did they doubtless strike with the force
of hammers upon her heart and brain.
"My love—my dearest—my own sweet
bride," whispered the King in a voice that waa
quivering with heaven only knows what feel


THE NECROMANCER.
131
ings and what thoughts,—" do not shrink
'away from me thus!"
"No," Musidora hastened to observe, instan-
taneously regretting the unpremeditated move-
ment: "my place in the hour of danger is by
your side—on your breast J"—and she suf-
fered her husband to fold his arms around her
—nay, she even courted that fervid embrace
in which he locked her.
Then did a deep silence—a silence pro-
found as that of the tomb—once more prevail
in the church; and as they glanced back to-
wards the altar, they perceived that Father
Paul was now kneeling with his head bowed
down so that his forehead touched or rather
rested upon, the highest step. He was evi-
dently praying devoutly and in silence.
Again did the King lead Musidora on to-
wards the door, the Earl of Grantham and
the Countess following close behind. The
bolt was drawn back—the portal was opened
-—and just as they crossed the threshold, an-
other vivid flash of lightning streamed forth,
making the whole canopy of heaven appear
as if it were on fire. Then, as the celestial
.lame vanished once more, leaving the deep
darkness darker still, the crash of heaven's
artillery again rolled forth in fearful reverbe-
rations, making the utter blackness of the
.light terrible indeed.
- And again did Musidora cling to her hus-
band—and again did he cover her counte-
nance with impassioned kisses: but she felt
that his strong frame was shuddering and
quivering in her embrace; and she could not
wonder that it did so, for was it possible to
rvmain indifferent to the awful terror of the
storm?
No rain was falling; and the air was as hot
and sulphurous as if laden with invisible fire.
The horses were found to be trembling as if
instinct with the same feelings of alarm which
agitated their owners. The poor animals
were standing as still as statues in the very
spot where they had been left, and where
their bridles were fastened to a palisade that
was just outside the chapcl-door. But as if
naught were wanting to complete the dread
solemnity of the hour and all its circumstances,
the united voices of the eleven monks whom
the Superior had ordered to their cells, were
now rising in lugubrious chaunt, sending up
through the still hot air and the darkness of
night a hymn of intercession to the ruler of
the storm.
Oh! what a bridal night was this!—with
what awful portents did it seem filled! Of
a surety our heroine was not all ice; else
wherefore should she have shuddered again
and again with an icy thrill that vibrated and
quivered through her entire form ?—and why
for an instant did a still deeper feeling than
terror—a feeling of a wild and desolating
agony —convulse her from head to foot, as she
muttered in a sort of frenzied whisper to her-
self, " My God! what does it all mean? what
have I done!"
"Dearest, dearest," said the King, catching
her in his arms and pressing her again and
again to his breast, " I beseech—I implore you
to be calm I"
"Yes, yes—I will—I ought—I must!" she
replied in a strange deep voice that had sud-
denly become as unnaturally calm as her look
and manner likewise grew; and whatever
painful feelings she now experienced—what-
ever alarms disquieted her peace, or presenti-
ments of evil horrified her thoughts—they had
all in a moment become entombed as it were
in an inward darkness—the terrible darkness
of the soul! .-
To be brief, the bridal party remounted
their horses, and slowly descended the emi-
nence on which the monastery stood. Their
way lay along a narrow path which intersected
the wood; but even there the verdant foliage
gave no freshness to the hot and heavy air.
The heat was stifling to a degree ;—and again
and again, as they proceeded, did the lightning
glare and the thunder send forth its deafening
din. Without any accident, however—for
they were all good riders and the steeds were
manageable—-did they succeed in reaching
the villa: but scarcely had they entered it,
when the rain began to pour down in tor-
rents.
A magnificent repast was spread in the ban-
queting-room; and the bridal-party,—cheered
by the blaze of light and the comfortable aspect
which the well-furnished room presented in
contrast with the gloom of the night without,
and naturally ready also to avail themselves
of any encouraging influences which might
afford an escape as it were from the ominous
impressions so recently made in their minds,—
sat down to the board. The rain continued
to pour down with a deluging violence; buj
at each outburst of the thunder it became more
and more evident that the storm was passing
away. The King, the Earl, and the Countess
soon recovered their wonted spirits: but Mu-
sidora was not so easily cheered—nor did she
regain even as much of that icy animation of
look and manner which it was her ordinary
wont to display. Still she strove to render
herself affable and agreeable to the King—thus
proving that inasmuch as she had accepted
the position of a wife, she was resolved to the
utmost of her power to perform its duties.
Of all the servants beneath the roof of
Grantham Villa, two only were entrusted
with the secret of this marriage. These were
Musidora's own maid Annetta—and Dame
Bertha, the housekeeper of the establishment.
For obvious reasons it had been requisite that
Musidora should take her tire-woman into her
confidence; and through prudential motives
it had been judged advisable to acquaint the
housekeeper with the secret also. Thus, when
Musidora quitted the supper-table and repaired
s


132
THE NECROMANCER.
to her own chamber, she found the faithful
Annetta and the important-looking Dame
Bertha in waiting to tend upon her as she
■ought the nuptial couch.
CHAPTER XXX.
THX VISIT TO DElltXAJl's PLACE.
A riir days after the incidents just related,
a young gentleman, elegantly attired and
mounted on a gaily caparisoned steed, rode
through the detached villages of Rotherhithe
and Bermondsey, and entering St. Olave's
Street, turned his horse into the Sanctuary of
Deadman's Place. It was about noon, and
the sun was shining gloriously: but instead
of imparting any cheerfulness to the aspect of
this vile neighbourhood, the golden radiance
seemed shed in mockery of the wretched habi-
tatibns constituting that privileged district. It
was evideiit, however, that the young gentle-
man had been thither before: for he paused
not to survey the features of the place, but
rode on up the narrow thoroughfare until he
reached the house which stood at the end and
a portion of which so completely overhung the
river as to be supported by piles fixed deep in
the mud: for it was now low water, and the
shore consisting of black slime was bare for a
dozen yards out.
Turning into the stable-yard, the young
gentleman leaped from his horse—tossed the
bridle to an ill-looking fellow of a groom who
immediately came forward to receive it—and
then asked, " Is Master Dunhaven within?"
"I think he is. Sir Cavalier," answered the
hostler; then suddenly giving a sort of ironi-
cal whistle, he exclaimed," Well, may I never
apply curry-comb to horse's coat again, if you
•re not Master St. Louis!"
"And what of that?" inquired the King's
Secretary with indignant hauteur. "Cannot
a man's position change through his own
merits, and his ragged doublet be displaced by
an embroidered coat, without eliciting the im-
pudent remarks of such as yon? Come, fel-
low, know your place; or mayhap I shall
teach you ;''—and St. Louis placed his hand
upon the light elegant rapier which, as a sym-
bol of gentility, hung by his side.
"My lord—your honour—your worship—
or whatever else you may be," said the host-
ler, '• I meant no offence: and therefore you
won't forget to give me a silver piece present-
ly when you require your steed again? I am
sure, for my part, I am well enough pleased
to behold this change in your circumstances;
for I recollect that when you were last hire, it
was to borrow a horse and pistols that you
might play the highwayman. But now, if I
mistake not, you come to see us upon a horse
«f your own; and I must say you look more |
like a courtier belonging to a palace, than •
roystering ruffler upon the King's highway."
"Here, rascal I" exclaimed St. Louis, who
had blushed up to the eyes at that allusion to
the criminal straits to which he was formerly
reduced; "take this gold piece, and see that
you drink enough ale or strong waters, ac-
cording to your taste, to lull into* eternal • re-"
pose that too faithful memory of yours—I
mean so far as it regards me and my antece-
dents. You understand?"
"Your worship goes the right way to nuke
one understand." said the hostler, in huge de-
light, as he picked up the gold piece which St.
Louis had tossed to him. "From henceforth
I have neither eyes, nor ears, nor tongue for
aught that regards you, unless you give me
encouragement to look, to listen, or to speak.
Besides," he added, with a knowing grin, " I
don't often stir out of this sanctuary, having
done two or three little things in my time that
it might lie inconvenient to he questioned
about by the King's constables: and therefore,
worthy Master St. Louis, you will have little
| dunger of encountering me elsewhere than in
Deadman's Place. But I see you are grow-
ing impatient. If you step in you will finel
the old man."
St. Louis accordingly walked down the
stable-yard and knocked at a little low door in
the side-wall of the house. The summons
was immediately answered by Dunhaven him-
self,—presenting to the young gentleman's
view that same vile, sinister, and sordid aspect
which once seen could not be well forgotten.
"Ah! is it possible?—worthy Master St.
Louis!" exclaimed the old man, instantane-
ously recognizing his visitor; for his memory
was excellent and his perception keen as that
of a hawk. « I am right glad to behold you
<n such good form; and notwithstanding your
feathers, your lace, your ruffles, and your
ribands, I knew you directly. But walk in,
walk in."
St . Louis accordingly followed Dunhaven
into the little dirty room which we have be-
fore described, and where the old man's bed
was stretched upon an enormous trunk, re-
sembling a sea-chest, in one corner.
"Now sit you down," said the owner of the
place pointing to one of the two or three
stools that constituted items of the furniture:
and placing himself on another, he proceeded
to observe, " On that night when you were
here last you promised to return shortly."
'• But my occupations would iiol possibly
allow me to keep mv word until this day,"
answered the King's Secretary.
"Your occupations, eh? It was thee
months ago," continued Dunhaven,—" and
more than three months too, thatyou promised
to return. Scarce a day has passed but I have
thought of you—wondering why you did no
keep your word, and wishing I knew where to
seek you."


fHE NECROMANCER.
"All!—then yoa really felt anxious to see
me ?" observed St. Louis inquiringly.
"1 did : and perhaps you can guess where-
fore?" rejoined Dunhaven, fixing his eyes with
a sinister earnestness upon the young man's
countenance.
"No—not altogether," was the latter's re-
■ponse; " unless it were that you wished to tell
me the history of that ancestress of your's of
whom you spoke—the lovely Margaret, I
think you said—the fairest maid of Cumber-
land—and who became the victim of Lord
Ranulph Danvers?"
"Your memory serves you aright," answer-
ed Dunhaven :" all that you have just repeated,
did I say to you the night you were here with
Welford. But it is not merely for the sake
of telling you the history of my ancestress that
I wished we should meet again; it was also
. discourse with you at length relatrve tothat
man of whom we spoke on the night referred
to—a man whom I had thought dead, but of
whose existence in the land of the living still,
you gave me such positive assurance."
"Lord Danvers you mean?" observed St
Louis; « Lord Lionel Danvers—the same
whom you pitched down that trap-door over-
hanging the river, on a night of darkness, of
tempest, and of flood V
"There your memory serves you well
■gain," responded Dunhaven. "But ere we
continue our discourse upon that point," he
exclaimed, his small grey eyes wandering with
twinkling celerity over every part of St.
Louis's person, " tell me—that is to say if
the question be not indiscreet—how your for-
tunes have undergone so striking a change?
For that this is no sudden spurt of prosperity
which has clothed you in a lace-bedizened
doublet, put plumes in your cap, and given
you the flue steed which I beheld from my
window a few moments back, is pretty evident.
You do not wear those gew-gaws as if you
had purchased them yesterday and stood the
chance of being compelled to part with them
again to-morrow for the sake of a meal or to
satisfy a tavern-score. Ah! Master St. Louis,
I have seen too much of the world not to be
able to read all these little evidences of men's
circumstances with facility enough; and I see
that your garments are worn with a confidence
■s if you had no fear of parting from them.
Moreover, there is a comfortable assurance in
your manner—the easy gentility of one who
feels that he stands secure and safe in a fine
position. Pardon me if I say all this: pardon j
me likewise if I seek the explanation of your
prosperity ; but I feel interested in you."
"Is it because when I left my casket as a
pledge in your hands, you read the papers it
contained ?" inquired St. Louis, laughing good
naturedlv.
"Just so," responded Dunhaven. "Yet
not exactly because I read your papers, but
because from the circumstances thereby brought
to my knowledge, I learnt that there must he
one sentiment in your heart which is identica
with that which is uppermost in my own—1
mean a sentiment of eternal, immitigable ha-
tred against every one belonging to the famdy
of Danvers! Indeed, a relative of Arlinn de
St. Louis cannot fail to h4ve a fellow feeling
with a descendant of that family to which
Margaret Dunhaven belonged."
"Well, as to the questions you have put to
me," replied Gerald St. Louis, evading any
comment upon the remarks which the old man
had just made, ** I will satisfy your curiosity,
In a word I am Private Secretary to his High-
ness the King."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the old man,
starting up from his seat; then with a mechani-
cal impulse, he made a low bow to the elegant
Court-functionary.
"It is quite possible, because it is the
truth," returned St. Louis, laughing; " but I;
did not come hither to astonish you with my
good fortune. Therefore resume your seat,'
and let us continue our discourse."
"A cup of wine, Master St. LouisV said
Dunhaven, now growing excessively pressing
with his courtesies; "it shall be of the best,
I can assure you."
"I thank you, but must decline. Ever
since I was fortunate enough to obtain this'
place, which is too good to risk its los*
through inebriety, I have forsworn l:cuo"y
save of an evening."
"Ah! your old friend and boon-crmpa*
nion Welford was the one to drink at all
hours and of all sorts!" exclaimed Dunhaven;
then as he resumed his seat upon the stool,
he asked, "By the by, what has become of
him? Never have I once seen the royster-
ing doctor since the night you were here
together."
"He also is in luck's way," returned St.
Louie, "and has obtained some situation—but
of what kind or where I do not know. All
correspondence has ceaset] between us ever
since that very night to which you made allu-
sion; and I cannot say that I am grieved
thereat—for Benjamin Welford led me into
many follies and serious troubles."
"Ah! he was not the wisest of men," ob-
served Dunhaven ; " yet a personage of some
talent in his way. But may I he permitted
to inquire who was the author of this great
and sudden good fortune that hath smiled
upon ye both?"
"No—that is my secret," returned St.
Lonls, good-humouredly; for he now recol-
lected that on the night when he was last at
Deadman's Place, it had merely been men-
tioned that he and Welford had reel ved gold
from Danvers, but not that his lordship had
made any promises beyond that display of hia
bounty.
"Well, well, I do not wish to lie inquisi-
tive," exclaimed Dunhavep


131
THE NECROMANCER.
"Let us revert, then," said the King's Se-
cretary, "to the former topic of our discourse
tnd the object of my visit."
"We will," rejoined the old man, hii
countenance becoming so grave and solemn
■hat its expression served for a mask, as it
were, for the momekt—but not one hypocrit-
ically assumed — to veil the wonted sinister
aspect of his looks.
"Let me hear, then, the history of Mar-
garet Uunhaven," observed the Secretary;
•* xince you are so well acquainted with
that of my unfortunate relative A rline de St.
Louis.-'
"Yes—you shall hear the history of Mar-
garet Dunhaven," replied the old man, in a
voice as deep and solemn as his looks. "But
first there is a sight for you to see;"—and he
rose slowly from his seat.
Gerald St. Louis gazed upon him in 'sur-
prise, and watched him with an increasing
interest, as he drew off the pallet from the
immense chest; having done which, the old
man proceeded to take out the fire-arms,
weapons, garments, silver plate—in fine, the
whole miscellaneous assortment of articles
which appeared to form the contents of the
chest. But those were not all the con-
tent*. There was a false bottom, made
to be lifted out by a ring fixed in the
middle. Dnnhaven leant down—caught hold
of the ring—lifted out the false bottom—
and then beckoned to St. Louis to approach
and look in.
The King's Secretary did so; but he start-
ed back with an ejaculation of horror and
amazement, on beholding a skeleton stretched
out at full length at the bottom of the chest.
There it was, as if in its coffin—the bleached
bones all perfect and connected together—
none dismembered, none deficient. The
two rows of teeth, which must have been
beautiful in the living form, were white
and even, but gleaming ghastly in the liplesa
jaws—while the dread object seemed to look
upwards in horrible derision from its eyeless
sockets.
Old Dunhaven stood gazing down upon the
grim and hideous spectacle for more than a
minute; and unutterable things were evi-
dently passing in his mind. Then slowly re-
placing the plank which constituted what
might be termed the lid of the coffin part of
the chest, he proceeded to pile in upon it all
the articles of plate, weapons, and clothes
which he had taken forth.
This done, he returned to his seat, and
bade St. Louis resume his place also. When
the King's Secretary had obeyed the invita-
tion, Dunhaven commenced his narrative in
the following manner.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE H1STORT OF M4RG1RET DUlTHATIlf.
"Th« south-western district of Cumberland
may be described as a magnificent assemb age
of lofty mountains an J beautiful lakes, forming
the subliinest and at the same time the most
charming scenery in all England. Nothing
can exceed the diversified and picturesque
loveliness of the landscape surrounding the
lake of Ennardale, which is three miles in
length, and nearly three miles in breadth at
its widest part. Upon an eminence crowing a'
gradual slope on one shore of the lake, stands
the castellated mansion of the Danvers family,
It is a vast structure—the solid masses of mason-
ry seeming to be heaped up one above inoiucr
like the hills and mountains of the a, [joining
scenery. The castle and grounds occupy an
extent of four acres; and tho enclosure is sur-
rounded by a battlemented wall, forming a
complete square, and having an octagon tower
at each angle. High above the other build-
ings of the castle, the huge Donjon rears its
sombre head; and at one angle a tall narrow
circular tower shoots up like a shaft of mason-
ry, and is surrounded at the top by an embat-
tled over-hanging gallery, where in times of
trouble or of feudal strife the sentinels werq
wont to pace day and night . From that ele-
vated point they could look down, with the
view of a bird, upon the buildings, grounds,
and walls of the castle—the slopes on every
side—the lake occupying the valley with it*
silver sheen—and the whole circumjacent
country far and wide. The grand front of
the castle, looking towards the lake, is compa-
ratively of modern architecture, viewed in con-
trast with the heavy structures and majestic
towers forming the other lines of the square
array of buildings, that enclose the courtyard
wherein the Donjon is situated. Outside
these lines of buildings, to the foot of the ex-
terior walls, the well-cultivated gardens, the
lawns surrounded by noble trees looking as if
they were the growth of ages, and the pleasant
walks embowered with lofty acacias, occupy
the enclosure.
"On the opposite shore of the lake, and at
a distance of three miles in a straight line from
the castellated mansion just described, stood a
somewhat humbler abode,—humbler only how-
ever in comparison with that spacious feudal
fortress; for Dunhaven Hall, to which I thus
allude, was like a spacious edifice and a com-
fortable home. It had a garden reaching down
to the very shore of Ennerdale lake, from the
brink of which the Hall itself was situated
about three hundred yards;—and in the rear
of the edifice were shrubberies, pleasure-
grounds, and orchards. The year 1407 is the
period of which I am about to speak in my
narrative; and Dunhaien Hall was then the


THE NECR
135
OMANCER.
property of a worthy knight who had inherited
the estate from his ancestors. The family of
Dunhaven was an old one, and in earlier
times had been very powerful and very
wealthy. Far as the eye could reach on that
side of Ennerdale lake, did the hills, the val-
leys, the woods, and the pasture-lands, all once
In-long to the knights of Dunhaven. Their
retainers and vassals were numerous and bold,
—renowned in border warfare when the
Scots made incursions into Cumberland,—and
formidable likewise to the feudal chiefs of the
Surrounding district. A mortal enmity had
ong existed between the knights of Dunhaven
and the Lords of Danvers. This inveterate
hatred frequently exploded in hostile aggres-
sions; and on more occasions than one during
the progress of two or three centuries, was
Dunhaven Hall sacked, pillaged, and burnt by
the Danvers and their vassals. The Hall was
however speedily built up 'again; and inas-
much as Danvers Castle was too strong and too
impregnable to admit of a like retaliation, the
Knights of Dunhaven were wont to avenge
themselves by destroying the huts and habita-
tions of the Danvers' vassals, and taking pos-
session of their (locks and herds. Thus, for a
long long time, the feudal warfare was waged -
upon tolerably equal terms between the two
families of Danvers and Dunhaven: but at
last the former began to reap advantages over
the latter on each successive outbreak of hos-
tilities. The knights of Dunhaven, too, being
traditionally lavish and extravagant in their
expenditure, fell into pecuniary difficulties—
mortgaged their broad lands to usurers—and
by degrees had to surrender up parcel after par-
cel of their territorial possession to the money-
lenders of Carlisle. There was nothing nobly
forbearing in the conduct of the Lords of Dan-
vers towards the Knights of Dunhaven; for
in proportion as the latter grew weak and im-
poverished, did the former become encroaching
and predatory. It was now the Dunhavens'
turn to have their flocks and herds swept
away; and thus though the hatred between
the two families increased in rancour, yet
year after year beheld the Dunhavens be-
coming more and more exposed to the ven-
geance of the Danvers,
'* Great therefore was the relief experienced
by the falling and half-ruined Dunhavens when
in the year 1389, or 1390—I forget which—
Lord Walter Danvers, who had but very re-
ently succeeded to the title and estate*, quitted
his native land for some reason not very gene-
rally known,but supposed to be through disgust
■t the troubles into which King Richard II,
who reigned at the time had plunged the
country. To a very considerable extent he
broke up the warlike establishment which his
ancestors had ever maintained at their castle
in Cumberland; and in this circumstance Sir
Poniers Dunhaven, the then possessor of the
H»U and of the little estate to which the once
extensive territory of his forefathers had dwin-
dled down, beheld a guarantee for peace and
tranquillity. But with this sense of security
the family hatred experienced by Sir Poniers
Dunhaven against his more powerful rival, was
by no means mitigated; on the contrary it was
perhaps rather increased by a sense of ha
own utter impotence to wreak it upon the vast
territorial possessions and the numerous vas-
sals that Lord Walter Danvers had thus left.
"I have already said it was in the year 1407
to which I specially seek to direct your atten-
tion. Picture to yourself a fine, tall, middle-
aged man, with a charming girl of seventeen
leaning on his arm, walking by the shore of
the lake in the cool of a September evening
in the year just named. These individuals
were Sir Poniers Dunhaven and his beautiful
daughter Margaret. The martial air of the
knight—his powerful well-knit form—the
blended hauteur and sternness of his looks—
and the pride exhibited in his gait, were the
true characteristics of the race to which he be-
longed, and afforded no mean indications of
his qualities and his attributes, alike physical
and moral. His arm had been tried in battle;
and where danger was most imminent in the
ranks of death, there was he ever found He was
proud, too, of the name which he bore—a name
known for centuries on the banks of the En-
nerdale, and indeed throughout the county of
Cumberland; but with the laurels of bravery
upon his brow, and with the pride of an an-
cient name throbbing in his heart, he was
nevertheless a disappointed man. Yes—he wn
disappointed; because his courage in fighting
the battles of several Sovereigns had earned
him no rewards; and because the comparative
poverty to which he was reduced, and the
narrow limits to which his estates had dwin-
dled down, permitted him not to sustain the
honour of his rank and name with what he
fancied to he a becoming dignity.
"Margaret Dunhaven was the fairest maid
in Cumberland. A profusion of soft and gold-
en tresses were parted above a brow of alabas-
ter purity, and fell in sunny luxuriance upon
her ivory shoulders. Her complexion was
dazzlingly transparent, with the roseate bloom
of health upon her cheeks, and so pure a lily
fairness upon the brow, the shoulders, and the
neck, that each delicately pencilled violet
vein might be clearly traced. Her figure was
tall, slight, and exquisitely modelled—with
just sufficient fulness of contours to mark how
the beauty of womanhood was unfolding into
richer proportions withoutdestroyingthe charm
of girlish elegance and grace. Light and play-
ful as the fawn, she could be the dignified
damsel and enact the part of the chieftain's
daughter when occasion required. In nocence
and candour were in all her looks, and sat
upon her sweet and tranquil brow; truth and
artlessness like guardian angels seemed to
hover around her. Her beaut; was peculiar
/


136
THE NECROMANCER.
—sunny and seraphic, yet glowing and daz-
zling. Her eyes were large and of the deepest
blue, fringed with long lashes, aud surmounted
With jrows which were of delicately pencilled
brown, but deep enough to form a contrast
with the golden glory of her hair. Each
varying expression which swept across her
speaking features, though full of animation,
served but as an index to the artless purity of
her thoughts, and to the generous feelings of
her nature. It was impossible to view that
bright, that nymph-like beauty, without feeling
interested in her welfare, and without a senti-
ment of regret that such an exquisite being
could belong to a world the sweetest ornaments
of which are frequently doomed to the saddest
destinies.
"From all that I have been saying relative
u, Margaret Dunhaven, it has doubtless be-
come apparent that her's was not a nature to
iinhihe as a prejudice'that feeling of rancorous
hatred which her father experienced for the
very name of Danvers. As a matter of course
she regretted—and deeply regretted—the long
series of feuds which had raged between her
own ancestors and their rivals on the opposite
bank of Ennerdale water, but if she felt no
vindictive hatred against that family, she never-
theless would not have been very ready to wel-
come any member of it as a friend. Her
spirits were too buoyant,her disposition too in-
genuously gay, and her instincts at once too
pure aud noble to permit her to dwell with
anything of a brooding hate in respect to
whomsoever might bear the name of Danvers;
and her good sense taught her that in the
t,rigin of this traditionary strife between the two
families, her own ancestors had been as much
to blame as the founders of the rival race.
"Margaret was an only child, and she had
lost her mother when at a tender age; but an
qld aunt had supplied with much affectionate
care that mother's place, and the good dame
had preferred leaving her niece's instincts to
their natural course in respect to the family
feud, rather than warp the ingenuousness of
her young mind by inculcating sentiments of
rancorous malignity and bitter hatred. That
aunt had died when Margaret was fifteen, and
therefore tolerably well able to think for her-
self; but the kind old relative had lived long
enough to screen her niece as it were from the
influence of those traditionary prejudices which
corroded the heart of her father.
"Such was Margaret Dunhaven, the flower
of Cumberland—the fairest damsel of the north.
To return to that September evening on which
we found her walking with her sire upon the
borders of Lake Ennerdale, it must be observed
that while she herself seemed more serious
than usual, Sir Poniers wore a look more
amiable than was his wont. Not that he was
ever harsh or unkind to his daughter: no—he
loved her too well for that: she was his joy
and bis darling—and she was also his hope;
because in her he beheld the only poss.bla
means of amending the broken fortunes of his
race. He therefore cherished her with feel-
ings that were a strange admixture of fondness
and selfishness—fondness for the innocent,
charming, affectionate, and dutiful girl whose
gentle ministrations and artless gaiety cheered
his gloomy hours; and selfishness in the
thought and intention of bestowing the hand'
of his beautiful Margaret upon a riih and
powerful chief whose wealth might enable ttir
Poniers to purchase back the broad lands which
usury had wrested from his forefathers. Upon
this topic, to a certain extent, was the conver-
sation turning, as the Knight and his daughter-
rambled along the shores of Lake Ennerdale;
and hence was it that while a cloud gradual y
darkened upon Margaret's features, her father
assumed a look more tender and mure concili-
atory than was his wont.
"' Lord Glenmorris has many noble anil ex-
cellent qualities, my dear child,' said the Knight
continuing the topic of the discourse wlfich he'
had already commenced, as delicately as his
somewhat coarse nature and habitat bluntnesa
of speech would allow. 'He is thirty years of
age, exceedingly handsome, has distinguished'
himself in the border forays and feuds against
the Scotch, and possesses so many broad acres
that when he stands on the summit of hi*
castle-tower the whole district which he sur-
veys, far as his eye can reach, is his own.
What thinks, then, my gentle Margaret of
Incoming the Lady of Glenmorris ?'—The1
young damsel threw a quick inquiring look up
at her father's countenance, as if to assure
herself that she had comprehended his mean-
ing aright, and that her previous fears and
suspicions relative to the aim of his discourse
were now really confirmed by the explicit
crisis to which he had brought it.—' My dear
daughter,' continued Sir Poniers Dunhaven,
• you have now reached an age when it is right
that I should become thoughtful for your wel-
fare. Amongst the chiefs of the surrounding-
district, several have cast their eyes lovingly
upon you; and several have dropped a hint in i
my ears that it would be a proud day for them
to make Margaret Dunhaven their bride. But
of all who have thus looked or spoken, none
seems more eligible than Lord Glenmorris. To-
lie candid with you, Margaret, I have given
this nobleman an encouraging answer: I have
promised to speak with you on the subject;'
and he waits but for the word from my lips to
throw himself at your feet and demand your
permission to pay you his honourable suit.'—
'But my dear father,' returned Margaret,
whose maiden modesty was both shocked and'
alarmed at what she could not help regarding'
as very precipitate, if not positively indelicate
in this proceeding on the part of her father,' I'
am so little acquainted with the Lord oiGlen--
morris!'—' And yet he has of late visited
Dunhaven Hall frequently enough,' rejoined1


THE NECROMANCER. 137
her father.—' True,' answered Margaret;' but
on those occasions I have been little in his
company, retiring from the hoard when the
repast was over, and leaving you and his
lordship to enjoy your flagon together/—' It
is not necessary that you should be well
acquainted with him, Margaret,' resumed the
JCuight, ' in order tq be convinced of the excel-
lence of his character or the generosity of his
heart, much less the valour of his arm or the
wealth in his coffers. It is sufficient that I
give you suitable assurances on all these points.
As for his personal appearance, you have at
least seen him often enough to be well aware
of his good looks; and that his manners are
sufficiently courteous, you have likewise had
ample opportunity of judging. What more
then can you require V—' My dear father,'
returned Margaret,' I have always understood,
and my good aunt, who is now, alas! no more,
frequently informed me, that you espoused my
mother because you were deeply attached to
each other, and that your love was a sentiment
of spontaneous growth. Therefore does it
seem to me unmaidenly and improper that I
should allow myself to think of marriage where
my heart entertains no fueling of affection.'
—'AhJ' ejaculated Sir Poniers, somewhat
angrily, ' then I see that your head is filled
with love-sick sentimentalism! Tell me,
child,' he added, bending a stern look upon his
daughter, 'do you love any other? has any
one of the chiefs who occasionally visit Dun-
haven Hall, whispered sweet words in your
ear and engaged your heart V—There was a
bUsh upon the maiden's cheek as she lifted
her countenance towards her father's: but it
was not the tell-tale blush of love—it was the
glow of mingled shame and grief at being thus
rudely addressed and searchingly questioned
by him whom she had never in her life de-
ceived. But if there were that mantling hue
upon her cheeks, there was candour upon her
brow, and the proud consciousness of inno-
cence' in her eyes, as she said in a firm voice,
'No, father; I have never listened to such lan-
guage as that of which you speak; nor do I
experience (he least liking for any one cf your
visitors more than for another.'
"-Sir Poniers Dunhaven was annoyed with
himself that he had thus wounded the tender
sensibilities of his charming daughter; and at
once assuming a kinder look and milder tone,
he said,' I am glad to receive this assurance
from your lips. I did not think you would
deceive me; but for a moment your observa-
tions somewhat startled me and made me
afraid. However, since you tell me that your
heart is altogether disengaged, I tell you in
return that the image of Lord Glenmorris is
well worthy of filling it: and as an obedient
daughter I trust that you will permit him to
nay you his courtship.'—Margaret gave no
answer; bu*. her heart swelled with rebellious
feelings aga'nst this mandate on the part of
her sire. It was the first time in her life she
had ever felt her thoughts rise in insurrection
against his commands: but with all her inno-
cence, her purity, and her artlessness, the
young girl had a proper spirit; and this spirit
revolted against the idea that her hand was to
be disposed of with or without her own con-
currence.
"' For more reasons than one,' continued
Sir Poniers after a brief pause, * it is necessary
that I should think of settling you in life. My
own means are gradually becoming more and
more impoverished; and the little estate to
which the territory of Dunhaven has dwindled
down, produces so beggarly a revenue as to
fill me with cares for the future. Ah !' ex-
claimed the Knight, as he stopped short, and
looking across the lake, fixed his eyes upon
the castellated mansion on the summit of the
hill on the opposite shore; 'would that I had
the power to wreak upon my haughty rival the
vengeance which my soul cherishes!'—'But
my dear father,' observed Margaret, by no
means displeased to turn the conversation from
its former topic,' Lord Walter Dauvera, the
present owner of that castle, has never done
you any harm.'—' Harm !* echoed the Knight,
his whole countenance becoming distorted with
rage; 'is he not the representative of a race
which has been the mortal enemy of my an-
cestors? O Margaret, let me not be compelled
to think that you are a degenerate scion of the
Dunhaven family, and that you have no ran-
cour in your heart against every one bearing
the hated name of Dan vers!' 'My dear father,'
replied the young girl timidly and hesitatingly,
'I never saw Lord Walter Danversin my lite.
It was when I was an infant in the cradle that
he broke up his establishment at yonder castle
and quitted England altogether. How, then,
would you have me hate an individual whom
I have never seen, and who in his own per-
son has never done barm to you? Besides,'
she added suddenly, as a thought struck her,
'was there not a' rumour current a few weeks
ago that Lord Walter has died abroad, and
that he has been succeeded by his son Lord
Rannlph, a very young man ?'—' Yes, there
was such a rumour rife,' answered Sir Poniers
gloomily.: * but whether it be true or no, I care
not. No matter what the Christian name of
the owner of yon castle may lie, whether Wal-
ter or Ranulph, he is not the less my foe, nor
am 1 the less inveterate against him.'—' Sup-
pose, my dear father,' Margaret ventured to
remonstrate, 'that Lurd Ranulph Dun vers
(presuming it to be true that he is now the
possessor of the family castles and estates in
England and the Isle of Wight) should be
more friendly inclined towards you than his
ancestors have been to your's, would you still
hate him !'—' I would, I would,'exclaimed the
Knight with a fierce bitterness in his tone.
'Enough however upon this subject! It ii
for you to bethink yourself of that other topic


138
THE NECROMANCER.
on which we have been speaking: for to-mor-
row I shall ride across to Glenmorris Castle
and assure his lordship that he will not be
rejected when be comea to pay his courta_ip
to my daughter.'—Margaret's bosom heaved
with a low sigh as she thus beheld in her
father's words an additional proof of his inten-
tion to make her wed Lord Glenmorris what-
ever her own inclination might be: but she
offered not another word of remonstrance.
Though her spirit had rebelled for a moment,
and she had perhaps spoken to her father with
a bolder frankness than she had ever dared
exhibit before, she nevertheless stood too much
in awe of him and was likewise habitually too
obedient to carry her opposition any farther.
But he, thinking perhaps that she would say
more upon the subject, and anxious to escape
from the necessity of a prolonged argument
abruptly observed,41 shall now re-enter the
house; but you need not come in immediately,
unless it be your pleasure. I know that you
are fond of an evening walk on the hank of
the Ennerdale ; and you may prolong it a little
on this occasion if you choose.'—W ith these
words he hastened away; and as it waa close
by the n ail of the garden where the concluding
p.irt of the colloquy had taken place, he quickly
disappeared through the little low door opening
into the enclosure.
'- Margaret turned and slowly retraced her
way along the border of the lake. There was
a mourn fulness in her thoughts such as she
had not known for a long time: no, not since
the influence of her aunt's death had shed its
cloud upon her mind. It was not that the
maiden loved another, for her heart was as
yet virgin of the sentiment of love : nor was it
that she positively disliked Glenmorris, because
she had really no feeling of either aversion or
liking at all in the matter. But the purity of
her mind had been shocked, the delicacy of
her feelings had been hurt, by the bare idea
that her hand was to be disposed of in so ar-
bitrary a manner, and that she was to be
sacrificed to motives of self-interest. For inex-
perienced though she were in the ways of the
world—unsuspicious and unsophisticated as
by nature and circumstances she was—she
nevertheless could not help understanding that
through this contemplated marriage her father
hoped to redeem his broken fortunes. In her
love and her tenderness for him she would
gladly lay down her life on his behalf; but
her soul revolted against the thought of being
made the object of a mercenary bargain and
thus sacrificed to a cold worldly selfishness.
'Revolving all those things in her mind,
Margaret continued her way along the shore
of the lake. The sun was disappearing behind
the hill-tops in the west: the mists, in fleecy
lightness, were gathering over tho lake and
the surrounding scenery. From behind the
mountains the rays of the sinking sun shot
upward and away to the right and left, spread-
•
ing out fau-Iike in their lambent glory, until
gradually becoming fainter and fainter, they
gave place to long streaks of orange and purple,
crimson and gold, which blended their gorgeous
hues in lines of richness along the horizon.
Still the young damael walked on,—beholding
not the beauty of the sunset, nor warned by
the gathering mista that it was time to retrace
her steps. Indeed so profoundly was she ab-
aorlied in her reflections that she did not notice
—well as she knew the spot—the presence -
of a little river which branched off from the
lake and might be crossed by a bridge a few
yards higher up. But coming upon it suddenly,
in the profound distraction of her thoughts, she
slipped down the bank, and the next moment
was immersed in the water. A rending shriek,
ringing from her lips, awept over the lake; for
she was out of her depth and unable to regain
the land. But, ah! that piercing cry for help
is auddenly answered! A young man, ele-
gantly dressed, and who, unnoticed by her,
had been observing her with attention for the
last few minutes, now suddenly sprang for-
ward—plunged into the lake—caught hei as
she was sinking a second time—and in a few
momenta laid her safely upon the bank. But
he did not altogether disengage her from his
clasp. Kneeling by her side, he sustained her
in his arms—bent over her—whispered cheer-
ing words in her ears—and wrung nut the
water from the long heavy tresses of her gold-
en hair. Her senses were so bewildered, her
thoughts so confused, that for upwards of a
minute she scarcely knew where she was—
what had happened—or whether it were all a'
dream: but the words which were breathed in
her ear gradually became comprehensible in
their cheering effect; and rising to her feet,
the maiden began to falter forth a few sylla-
bles expressive of gratitude. The young stran-
ger besought her not to tarry there, but urged'
her to allow him to conduct her homeward;
and compelling her to take his arm, he hurried
her along the border of the lake towards Dun-
haven Hall. But few words were spoken
between them: for dripping wet as they both
were, small was the opportunity for the stran-
ger to improve his acquaintance with the'
damsel whose beauty had evidently produced
no trifling effect upon him; and she on hei
part was still too much bewildered and con-
fused by what had occurred, as well as by the
awkwardness of her position in company witt
the unknown, to say anything beyond a repe-
tition of her thanks. The low door in the
garden-wall was reached in teu minutes; and'
then, as the stranger spoke a few words of
farewell, Margaret, auddenly awakening to a
sense of the courtesy requisite for the occasion,
invited him to enter that be might receive hei
father's acknowledgements, and procure I
change of raiment. But a singular smile
flitted across the wondrously handsome coun-'
tenance of the y mthful stranger aa he declined


THE NECROMANCER. 139
the invitation,—but declined it in such a
manner as not to offend the hospitable feelinga
of Margaret Dunhaven. He then aped away,
and was soon concealed from her view by the
increasing obscurity of the hour. For, to 'ell
the truth, dripping vet though she were, the
damsel remained standing at the gate for seve-
ral moments, gazing after bim, transfixed in
surprise that he should have hastened away so
abruptly, and also annoyed to think that he
would not even enter to change his dripping
garments,
"On reaching the house, Margaret sped up
to her own chamber, and putting off her wet
clothing, apparelled herself in other raiment.
She then descended to the room where her
father awaited her for the evening meal, and
*t once explained to him what had occurred.
'You silly girl,' he cried,*1 should be angry
with you for your carelessness in meeting with
such an accident, were it not that 1 am too
rejoiced to have you restored safe and sound.
But it is singular that this gallant unknown
would not enter the house. If he be, as we
qiust suppose, the guest of some neighbouring
chief, he must at all events have a considerable
distance to run ere he regains his place of
abode; or it may be that he is a tourist on a
visit to the Lakes, and lodging at some adja-
cent cott»ge. Doubtless he will call to-morrow
to mak courteous inquiries concerning you;
and then we shal. learn who he is.'—Sir
Poniers said no more upon the subject, but
addressed himself to the cold viands upon the
board, not forgetting to pay his respects fre-
quently enough to the goblet which he filled
from a flagon placed near him.
"That night Margaret Dunhaven slept but
little fiir the image of the handsome, elegant,
aud nolile-looking youth whu had rescued her
from a watery grave was uppermost in her
mind. On the following day Sir Poniers Dun-
haven mounted his horse to ride over to Glen-
morris Castle, which was about six miles
distant. His daughter, who knew full well
whither he was gone, and felt more unhappy
than even she bad done the evening before at
the thought of being forced into a union with
J.ord Glenmorris, went forth alone to take her
usual walk on the bank of the lake. Her
young female dependant Alice offered to ac-
company her, hut Margaret wished to be left
to the solitude of her own reflections; and she
accordingly dispensed with the attendance of
her abigail. Insensibly her steps led her to-
wards the scene of the last evening's accident;
but this time, though still giving way to her
thoughts, she waa more careful as she ap-
proached the river. It was not however until
she reached its bank that she noticed there
was some one seated on a huge stone at the
fool of the bridge at a little distance. That
individual immediately arose, doffed his plumed
cap gracefully, and advanced towards her
then did au involuntary blush mantle upon the
maiden's cheek as she immediately recognized
the hero of the previous evening's adventure
He took her hand, and kept it in his own a
little longer than was warranted by the slight-
ness of their acquaintance; but then this tha
maiden might have thought pardonable con-
sidering tha circumstance under which that
acquaintance had commenced. For such a
circumstance might be looked upon as at once
establishing a sort of friendship instead of a
mere acquaintanceship, the stranger having
saved her life. Be it as it may, Margaret did
not immediately withdraw her hand from tha
youth's clasp; and doubtless it trembled in his
own, for she felt her heart fluttering with sen-
sationa such as she had never experienced
before.
"They crossed the bridge—they walked
together along the border of the lake—and
they conversed upon the beauty of the scenery,
the accident of the previous evening, and the
loveliness of the present morning, with the
sky of unclouded azure and the sun making
the lake glow like a molten mass of silver.
Gradually the youth turned the conversation
upon other topics, and spoke of foreign clitnea
which he had visited. He depicted his tra-
vels in France, in Spain, in Germany, in Italy,
and in Greece, with an eloquence that en-
chanted the young maiden. His melodious
voice, manly however in its harmony, poured
forth a flow of beautiful language that delight-
ed the ear with its masculine music and sank,
down into the heart with its fervour. She
gazed upon him with a rapture of which she
herself was almost unconscious; and she be-
held his splendid countenance beaming with
intellect, while every additional word ,he
uttered was a fresh draught that her young
heart drank in from the ineffable fountain of
love. And was it surprising that she should
thus in every way have been fascinated by'
her companion? To say that he was hand-
some, were to say nothing: he was perfectly
god-like in his beauty. Tall of stature, his
slender figure was marked by an aristocratic
bearing attempered by courtly elegance and'
grace; his locks were long and of raven glos-
siness; his eyes, dark as jet, nevertheless burnt
with living fire; his mouth, cut with classic
perfection, was surmounted by a very slight
moustache, though his chin was beardless;
and when he smiled, his teeth were white,
even, and faultless like those of the loveliect
woman.
"After rambling for nearly three hours on'
the shores of the lake, but at such a distance
from the Hall as not to be seen from its win-
dows, Margaret suddenly observed that the'
sun was high, and recollected that her father
would speedily be returning for the mid-day
meal. With a heightened colour upon her
cheeks and somewhat downcast looks, sbV
informed her companion in faltering tones
that she must retrace her way ; aud he accom-


140 THE NECROMANCER.
panied her as far as the bridge over the rivu-
let : but there he paused to say farewell. She
gazed upon him with unfeigned surprise; and
then exclaimed in the artlessness of her
thoughts, • But you must come and be intro-
duced to my father! He expects that you
will call to-day: he is anxious to express his
acknowledgements for the immense service
you rendered me last evening.'—' Lady, I
cannot have the honour of seeing Sir Poniers
Dunhaven to-day,' replied the unknown with
a serious look and impressive manner.—' But
you really must come, if only for a moment,'
rejoined the ingenuous Margaret: * it ought
not to be that I have an acquaintance who is
unknown to my father. Come then, I ask it
as a favour to myself:' and again the sweet
damsel blushed at the vehemence of her own
words.—' Dear lady,' replied the stranger,
taking her hand and pressing it in his own,
'if you really conceive yourself under the
slightest obligation to me for the service, as*
you are pleased to term it, which I was en-
abled, to render you last evening, I beseech
and implore that you will not urge me to
accompany you now. Besides,' he added, his
voice sinking to a low and plaintively earnest
tone,' if you desire ever to see me more, you
will not even mention to your father that you
have met me again to-day. But if you will
condescend to be here to-morrow, I will ex-
plain to you the meaning of my words.'—
Having thus spoken, and allowing the amazed
damsel no time to reply, he pressed her hand
to his lips, and sped away.
"She stood for some time with her eyes
fixed upon his retreating form—that form so
full of youthful elegance and manly grace:
and as he reached the angle of a grove at a
short distance, he turned, doffed his plumed
cap, and then disappeared from her view.
Slowly and pensively did Margaret Dunhaven
retrace her way to the Hall. A suspicion of
the real truth relative to the young stranger
was expanding in her mind, acquiring greater
consistency the longer she reflected upon his
conduct in not accompanying her home and
(he words he had used at parting. But what
course was she to pursue? To behave with
duplicity towards her sire, was an alternative
which shocked her pure soul: but to resign
the chance of ever beholding her youthful de-
liverer again, was bitterness to the heart that
already in a few short hours had begun to ex-
perience the Miss of love, though she as yet
did not comprehend what her feelings were.
With a sense of duty warring against the in-
fluence of a nascent passion, Margaret Dun-
haven pursued her way homewa d, and re-
entered the Hall without having resolved upon
any settled course to adopt. She learnt that
her father had just returned—that he was ac-
companied by Lord Glenmorris—and that he
was inquiring after her. Accordingly, so soon
s she had put off her walkiug-raimeut and
assumed another toilet for the dinner-table
(this repast being in those times taken at
noon,) she repaired to the apartment where
Sir Poniers and Lord Glenmorris were await-
ing her. A variety of conflicting feelings sent
the blood mantling up to Margaret's cheeks,
so that Lord Glenmorris fancied she looked
more lovely than ever in this sweet confusion,
the cause of which he utterly mistook. Being
rich and handsome, nobly-born and valorous
—endowed indeed with all the qualities that
were well calculated to win the female heart
—the nobleman, with a very pardonable van-
ity, beheld in the damsel's emotions everything
that was flattering to himself; and he inter-
preted them as being favourable to his own
suit. He accordingly advanced to meet her,
and taking her band gallantly raised it to his
lips, saying in a low tone and with meaning
look,' Fair lady, this is the happiest day of
my life!' Margaret was so bewildered with
the thoughts which crowded in upon her brain,
that she could not utter a word of reply; but
her father, fearing that she might say some-
thing that would damp the young nobleman's
ardour, stepped forward, and smoothing down
her golden hair with the caressing appearance
of paternal fondness, observed, * Margaret,
like a good and obedient child, entrusts to her
parent the duty of providing for her happi-
ness : and as you behold her, my lord, a docile
daughter, so will you find her a loving and
affectionate wife,'—Again did Lord Glenmor-
ris bend down to kiss Margaret's hand: but
had his eyes remained fixed upon her counte-
nance at the moment, he would have seen a
strange rickly look waver upon her features,
and the mantling blood suddenly disappear,
leaving her cheeks for the instant as pale aa
marble. Her father did notice this evidence
of emotion on her part; but bending upon hei
a look unusually severe, he turned away.
"They sat down to table ; and in the course
of the repast Sir Poniers Dunhaven recited to
Lord Glenmorris the accident which had oc-
curred to his daughter on the previous even-
ing. Then turning towards her, he said, ' By
the bye, has the chivalrous young gentleman
who rescued you made his appearance this
forenoon at the Hall? or have you seen him
again V—The truth trembled for an instant
upon Margaret's tongue—but only for an in-
stant; the next moment she looked her father
full in the face, and answered,' No.'
"How was it that Margaret Dunhaven—
the pure, the innocent, the ingenuous, artless
girl—thus boldly gave utterance to an un-
truth? bow was it also, that while thus send-
ing forth a falsehood from her tongue, her
countenance still wore that angelic look of
candour and sincerity which had ever been
wont to characterise it' It was lie cause her
father himself had within the hour that was
passing taught her a lesson of dissimulation.
He had audaciously given Lord Glenmorru


THE NECROMANCER.
141
lo understand that \iis suit was welcome to
the■lamscl; and having proclaimed this false-
hood, Sir Poniers had bent upon his daughter
that look of stern severity which bado her be-
ware how she contradicted him. Think you,
then, that Margaret, ingenuous though she
ever was wont to be, failed to profit hy the
teachings of her sire, in a matter which now
so intimately regarded her own happiness?
No: she did profit by that example! She
had this day received her first lesson in dupli-
city and dissimulation; in a single hour she
had grown years older in worldly-minded ex-
perience;—a moment of a father's tyranny,
falsehood, and severity had taught her what
a whole lifetime of happiness, truthfulness,
and parental love would have failed to im-
part.
"I need scarcely tell you, then, that on the
following morning, soon after nine o'clock,
Margaret Dunhaven wended her way alone
along the bank of the lake; and on reaching
the .bridge over the little river she found the
fascinating young stranger—scarcely however
a stranger to her now—anxiously awaiting
her arrival. Joy beamed upon his splendid
countenance, glowing through the olive dusk-
iness of his complexion, as he advanced to
meet her; and snatching her fair hand in his
own, he pressed it to his lips. Again and
again be kissed it—and it was not with-
drawn.—' Margaret, dearest Margaret,' he
said, with that low deep music of a manly
voice which, when quivering with enthusiasm,
no young maiden can listen to with impunity,
'you are come, and lam not disappointed!
I knew you would come; not because I for a
moment fancied that you were inspired by a
mere sentiment of curiosity to know who I
am; for that doubtless you have already con-
lectured; but because it was your destiny to
come and meet me here again, inasmuch as
we were made for each other! Yes, my
lovely, my adored Margaret, though I have
known you but for » few hours, I love you as
if I had lived whole centuries and your image
had been cherished in my heart throughout
that immense period of time. 1 love you, Oh!
you cannot conceive how I love you; and
. perhaps this love of mine is all the more ador-
ing, all the more nearly approaching a wor-
ship, because the life which animates you
now was saved by me! V'es, dearest, I love
you thus madly, thus devotedly, and I claim
your love also thus earnestly, thus enthusiast-
ically, because Death had you in hits embrace
and I snatched you from him! I vanquished
the destroyer who had you in his grasp; I
bora you from destruction in that deep water,
to this hank of flowers where I now kneel to
demand and implore your love!'—and the
young man knelt at her feet; and agai n and
•nam did he preaa her hand to bis lips; and
the damsel felt the wildest but tenderest flut-
terings in her young bosom. Her heart throb-
bed with pulses never stirred before ; she now
comprehended why it was that the image of
her adoring suitor had filled her mind through-
out the past night; and when he again be-
sought her, in a fresh torrent of rich, glowing,
and impassioned language, to declare, that
she would love him, ste murmured, 'Yes.'
—He sprang to his feet, he caught her in hii
arms, he strained her to his breast, and upen
her virgin lips did he imprint the warmest
kisses.
"Then they wandered again together along
the margin of the lake; and on this occasion
the youthful lover spoke not of the beauty of
the scenery, nor of the sunlit glory of the day,
nor of the things he had seen in foreign
climes ; but he spoke of love—of love alone—
that passion whose feeling was so new to her
heart, and whose language was so novel to
her ears, but which was so ineffably sweet to
both; and though for hours the discourse last-
ed, yet the topic had no sameness, no weari-
ness, no monotony for the young damsel. She
listened with subdued rapture—she felt as if
new worlds of elysian bliss had suddenly
opened their golden portals to her view, and
admitted her into their realms of delight and
joy. Again was she warned by the vertical
beams of the noon-day sun that it was time
to return—again did her lover accompany her
as far as the bridge—and (gain did they
pause there to exchange their farewells. Yes,
and not only to exchange farewells, but like-
wise to arrange an appointment for the mor-
row: then as they were about to part, Marga-
ret suddenly recollected that she had an
inquiry to make in order to confirm her con-
jecture relative to her lover.
"With a blush upon her cheeks and with
downcast looks—for she felt that in the bliss
of the last three hours she had forgotten to
put the question she was about to ask—she
inurmuringly said,' You have not told me
your name ?'—He caught her by the hand
and held her tightly, as if to imply that what-
ever were the effect of the answer he was
about to give she would not flee away from
him; then he said,' Bitter as was the hatred
of my ancestors for your's, so fond and devo-
ted is my love for you. I am Ranulph Dan-
vers!'—' I guessed it. I knew it,' returned
Margaret. 'Uh, what would my father say,
or what would he do, if he beheld me thus
with one bearing the name of Danvers?'—
'He would stay us both, dearest Margaret,'
replied Lord Ranulph; 'and therefore must
the secret of our love be inviolably kept.'—
'Yes, it must be so,' rejoined the maiden;
and with another fond embrace the lovers
separated.


142
THE NECROMANCER.
CHAPTER XXXII.
eencLusiox or thi histoht or xhsiiet
IIUNHAVBH.
"Etkii Jay, for six weeks, did Margaret
Dunhaven and Lord Ranulph Danvers meet
at the atone bridge and pass hours in each
other's society. The maidpn informed her
lorer of the courtship which Lord Glenmorris
was paying her, and of the dissimulation she
was. compelled 10 practise at home in order to
avert her father's suspicion that another image
than thnl of fits candidate for her hand occu-
pied her heart. Lord Ranulph spoke—but
spoke delicately—of the necessity of a secret
marriage, and solicited Margaret to make up
her mind to fly with him. But deeply, ten-
derly, devotedly as the young maiden loved
him, she could not so soon come to the re-
solve of abandoning her home. die Tting her
father, and rushing precipitately upon this
new career which her lover developed to her
contemplation. Nevertheless, she promised
that if Sir Punier* Dunhaven should persist in
his attempt to sacrifice her to Lord Glenmor-
ris, and if circumstances should take such a
course as to leave her no hope that there could
ever be a reconciliation lietween her sire and
the present bearer of the name of Danvers,—
then would she, as her only alternative, fly
away with him and become his bride. It will
therefore be perceived that though Margaret's
love amounted to a positive infatuation, yet
that the natural reititude of her character still
asserted its authority to a degree sufficient to
make her reflect ere she took any rash or pre-
cipitate step. Lord Ranulph, with every ap-
pearance of an affection as generous as it was
enthusiastic—as elevated in sentiment as it
was profound in devotion — yielded to the
young damsel's delicate scruples, and never
urged his point to an extent that might shock
her sensibilities or make her suspect the ethe-
real character of his love. This very forbear-
ance on his part endeared him all the more
fully to the confiding Margaret, and she felt
assured that he possessed the noblest of na-
tures.
"Meanwhile Lord Glenmorris had been a
constant visitor at Dunhaven Hall: but in his
presence Margaret was even silent and reserved,
submitting to his courtesies, receiving but
never encouraging his attentions, and cover-
ing her own pre-occupation of heart and ab-
straction of thought with the veil of conceal-
ment, which was however too cold and too
devoid of studied affectation or artifice to be a
downright hypocrisy. Lord Glenmorris attribu-
ted her conduct to maiden bashfulncss; while
her father troubled himself very little about it,
since she ventured no overt remonstrance
against the contemplated match. Perhaps he
thought she was passively resigned: at all
eventr se purposely avoided finding himself
alone with her, lest any disagreeable scene
might take place. That she loved another he
did not for an insisnt suspect: nor did
he even know that Lord Ranulph Danvers
was in the neighbourhood at all; tor lb*
young noli email con trued to keep this cir-
cumstance a profound secret.
"There was one, however, I em ah the
roof of Dunhaven Hall who failtd not to no-
tice the singularity of the young lady s pro-
ceedings; and this was the female dependant,
Alice. The abigail had been in the habil of
walking out With her young misliess; but for
the last six weeks Margaret had altogether dis-
pensed with her company. Moreover, Alice
olm rvcd a considerable change in Margaret's
manner, and being sharp-witted and shrewd,
she was not long in arriving at two conclu-
sions. The first was that her young mistress
did not love Lord Glenmorris; and the second
was that she loved some one else. Alice, be-
ing a faithful dependant, was somewhat piqued
at Margaret's reserve,or rather studied s.leiico
towards her; and with true feminine curiosity,
she resolved to watch the young lady's move-
ments. This she did through no malicious
in ten', nor with any ulterior view of betraying
whatever she might discover: it was merely
to gratify that sentiment which the whole sex
in general, and Alice in particular, cherished
in the heart—the legacy of their first mother
Eve! Accordingly, one morning when Mar-
garet Dunhaven went forth to take her usual
walk on the bank of Ennerdale Water, Alice
followed at a distance; and by taking a cir-
cuitous route, amidst the groves upon the hill-
slopes and behind the fragments of rock which
lay scattered about in various parts, she ma-
naged, without being seen herself, to keep her
mistress in view. Her suspicions were s|iee-
dily confirmed by beholding Margaret Dun
haven encounter an elegant young gallant by
the stone bridge; and the affectionate em
brace in which she saw them clasped, showed
full well that they were not merely friends,
but tender lovers. Alice could not how-
ever, without revealing herself, approach near
enough to obtain a full view of her young
mistress's admirer; and contented with what
she had already discovered, she retraced her
way, unperceived by the fond couple, to Dun-
haven Hall.
"In the evening, when Alice was assisting
her yeung lady to disapparel herself ere re-
tiring for the night, she dropped a significant
hint which at once startled Margaret Dun-
haven. That hint mado her aware th it her
secret was known to Alice; and suddenly
bursting into tears, she threw her arms round
the young abigail's neck, murmuring, 'Mv
dear Alice; I have been wrong not to make
you my confidante! Oh, I have wanted to
do so on many and many an occasion; but I
was afraid. Yet it would have been a relief


THE NECROMANCER; , 143
indeed to me to impart a secret which Kems
too mne' fur my own bosom to contain. It
was not that 1 leared you would betray me;
but it was liecause I trembled lest you should
be both Iriuhlened and shocked at the mere
mention uf the name ol him whom I love.
But te.l me, how did you discover my secret?
is it known to any other beneath this roof?'—
Alice, who was really most devotedly attached
to her young mistress, hastened to relieve her
apprehensions on this score, by explaining
how she had obtained an insight into what
was going on—not admitting however that
she had purposely watched the young lady,
but alleging that having occasion to pass near
the bridge on au errand to a neighbouring
farm, she had noticed Margaret and her lover.
The young lady then revealed to the ears of
AI.ee the name of that lover; and the abigail
was a.tound d on thus learning that a daugh-
t.'i of Dunliaven had bestowed her heart upon
one who bore the name of Dauvers. Marga-
ret, with that tender longing which young
ladies iu her circumstances ever experience to
pour forth their thoughts, emotions, and lei I-
ings into the bosom of a confidante, proceeded
to enter into the minutest details with regard
to everything that had taken place between
herself and Lord Rauulph Dauvers. Alice,
who was young, high-spirited, and kind-
hearted, was not only flattered at being thus
admitted to Margaret's fullest confidence, but
also sympathized with her young mistress;
and so far from counselling her to accept Lord
Glenmorris, she advised her to consult her
own happiness by marrying Lord Ranulph
Danveis.—• Your father, dear lady,' she said,
'only seeks to bestow your baud upon Lord
Glenmorris, in order that from the treasures
of your intended husband he may purchase
back the lost estates of his ancestors; but if
report speaks truly, for every piece of gold
that Lord Glenmorris can produce, Lord Dau-
vers possesses ten; and surely, therefore, if
Lord Dan vers can so far forget the traditionary
feudal hatred as to espouse Dunbavcn's daugh-
ter, he will not scruple to place a portion of
bis treasures at the service of Dunliaven him-
self?'—'Alas! but would my father accept
of such succour?' said Margaret mournfully:
'little more than six weeks have elapsed since,
in my hearing, he proclaimed the inveteracy
and the immortality of his hatred for every
one belonging t: the house of Dan vers! What
can I do? what course would you counsel me
to adopt? Shall I throw myself at my father's
feet, confess everything, and beseech him to
abjure his hatred ot Ranulph Dauvers for my
sake !'—' I know not how to advise you, dear
lady,' returned Alice; 'but I should tremble
to see you dare your father's wrath by con-
fessing this love of yours. What says Lord
L'anulph himself?'—* He asks me to fly with
him that I may become his bride,' responded
the blushing Margaret; then perceiving that
A lice offered no comment, she said, "You are
silent: what think you ?'—' I think, lady, that
if I were in your place I should yield to the
piayer of Lord Ranulph Danvcrs:' and this
answer was delivered by Alice in a firm and
decisive tone.
"On the following morning, when Marga-
ret Dunhaven descended to the room where
the early meal was served up. her father, who
was already there, said, * My dear child, Lord
Glenmorris your suitor is anxious that the
bridal should take place with as little delay as
possible; and 1 have therefore fixed this day
week for the solemn ceremony. The holy
rites will be celebrated in the chapel of Glen-
morris Castle; and therefore at an early hour
in the morning of Wednesday next, will the
bridegroom come with a glittering train of
nobles, knights, and fair ladies, to escort you
thither. I give you this timely notice in order
that you may make fitting preparations in
respect to raiment. Iu the course of this day
a large mail-trunk will arrive from Carlisle,
containing everything requisite for the seemly
apparelment of Dunhaven's daughter.'—Mar
garet made no reply; and as she had been
very taciturn and reserved of late, her father
was not troubled by her sdence, which he
still regarded as indicative of a passive re-
signation.—* Lord Glenmorris,' he continued
after a brief pause,' has behaved towards me
in a manner which should command your
esteem, my dear Margaret, even if you cannot
bestow upon him your love; and 1 am about
to give you these particulars in order to con-
vince you how worthy a son-in-law 1 shall
find in that nobleman. In (he first place, ne-
gotiations are already opened with a scrivener
at Carlisle for the repurchase of those immense
tracts which in times past belonged to the
members of our family, but which have been
alienated from them. The present owner is
willing to dispose of these lands, and in a
very short time they will revert to my posses-
sion. But this is not all. Glenmorris has
formed a solemn league and bond of friendship
with me; aWd within one week from your
bridal-day will he place at my disposal all his
armed retainers, for a purpose which you can
well guess.'—'And that purpose?' said the
young maiden, an ice-chill striking to her
very heart's core.—* Yon castle,' returned Sir
Poniers, pointing towards a castellated man-
sion on the opposite shore of the lake, 'has
been left comparatively undefended by it■
owner. The report which we some weeks
since received respecting Lord Walter's death,
is now confirmed; and it is said that Lord
Ranulph intends to follow his father's exam-
ple and remain abroad. Those who are left
in charge of the castle, and all the vassals
upon the Dauvers estate, believe me to i« loo
poor, too friendless, and too much broken
down in circumstances every way, to be ena-
bled to make the slightest attempt at a renewal


144
THE NECROMANCER.
of the ancient feuds. They are therefore
lulled into seci*rity: but this security is false.
Glenmorris will furnish me with a ga'hnt
Bond; and taking advantage of some dark
night, when the moon appears not and the
stars are bHden, will I storm yon castle and
carry the vengeance of fire and sword over
the whole domain of Delivers.'—' But my
dear father,' said Margaret, shocked at this
terrible revelation, * will it not be an unworthy
thing for a valorous chief to do this deed in
suddenness and darknessV—'Daughter,' re-
sponded the Knight sternly, 'you know not
what you say. Often and often in times past
have the Danvers harried the lands of Dun-
haven by night; aye, and burnt our mansion
to the groutid. Think you, then, that I will
hesitate to deal forth a terrific retribution, now
that opportunity will so shortly serve?'—' But
those poor vassals, with their innocent wives
and children, have done you no harm,' remon-
strated Margaret, an expression of exquisite
pain and anguish upon her lovely counte-
nance.—' And the poor vassals of Dunhaven,
with their innocent wives and children, who
never did the Lords of Danvers any harm?'
exclaimed her father in bitter scorn. —' But
surely, surely, my dear parent,' cried the
young damsel, the tears streaming down her
cheeks, * there must be a time for all those
horrors to cease ?'—* Yes, they shall ceas;
only when the castellated mansion of the
proud Danvers ia levelled with the du*t and
their lands are made a desert!'—Having thua
spoken with a savage energy, Sir Poniers
Dunhaven rose from his seat and abruptly
quitted the room.
"With a heavy heart did Margaret ascend
to her chamber to put on her walking apparel,
preparatory to going forth to meet her lover;
and to Alice she told all that had just taken
place between herself and her father. Scarcely
was she ready to descend from her chamber
again, when a horseman galloped up to the
entrance of Duuhaven Hall. This was Roger
Dunhaven, one of the Knight's nephews and
the heir to the title. He was atyoung man
of three-and-lwenty, of noble form, handsome
but stern countenance, and already celebrated
not merely in tilt and tournament, but also as a
warrior in the ranks of battle. His father, the
younger brother of Sir Poniers, had been dead
some years; and Rager as well as his younger
brother Euric, had attached himself to the
household of a powerful Baron dwelling in a
midland county. Sir Poniers had sent Roger
and Euric a message to the effect that Mar-
garet was about to become the bride of Lord
Glenmorris; and Roger Dunhaven had ac-
cordingly arrived as a visitor at the Hall to
be present at the wedding and its attendant
festivities,—his brother Euric being unable to
accompany him.
"Sir Poniers hastened forth to greet his
•ldei nephew, whom he loved well, not only
on account of his warlike renown but likewise
because he was an individual after his own
heart—fond of carousing at the board, and
inheriting with due implacability the tradi-
tionary hatred of the Duuhavens for the family
of Danvers. Tossing the reins of his steed
to the groom who was in attendance, Roger
entered the hall with tis uncle; and a mes-
sage was immdiately sent up to summon Mar-
garet from her chamber. She accordingly de-
scended in obedience to her father's mandate [
and her cousin congratulated her in somewhat
rough and uncouth terms, not only upon her
approaching marriage with Lord Glenmorris,
but also upon the wondrous beauty of her per-
son.—* It is four or five years since I saw you
last, fair cousin,' said Roger, ' and in the in-
terval yon have shot up from a saucy frolic-
some light-headed girl to a splendid woman-
hood. Why, how old are you? Not much
above seventeen; and yet yci are as tall as a
dart. Higher than my shoulder, I declare!'
and then Roger Dunhaven laughed loudly.
He sat down to table, ate voraciously, and
drank in proportion. Poor Margaret was
compelled to remain in the room, although
disgusted with her cousin, and longing to
speed away and keep the usual appointment
with her lover. But this appointment was
not to be kept on the present occasion: for
when Roger had finished his meal, he said,
'Now, fair cousin, you and I will go and take
a long walk together, either upon the shore
of the lake or else amongst the hills, which-
ever you choose.'—Margaret began to mur-
mur an excuse to the effect that she did not
feel well, and moreover that she had occupa-
tions at home, But Roger insisted.—Sir Po-
niers gave an authoritative look—and the un-
happy Margaret was compelled to sally forth
with her coarse-minded rough-mannered cou-
sin. She purposely took him amongst the
hills, in order to avoid the chance of meeting
Ranulph on the borders of the lake; and
when they returned to the Hull the dinner
was served up. Immediately afterwards tha
mail-trunk arrived from Carlisle; and Sir
Poniers insisted that Margaret should inspect
all its contents at once. In short, the day
passed without her being able to steal forth
from the mansion and meet her lover.
"On the following day the rain poured
down in torrents, and there was no possibility
of Margaret's stirring out. The bad weather
continued for the three days next ensuing;
and the young damsel dared not excite suspi-
cion by venturing forth in the deluging rain.
Five whole days had now passed, and Marga-
ret had not seen Ranulph Danvers ; yet never
had she so much wanted to behold him—
never had her heart so yearned toward* him!
She was profoundly unhappy. Her father
was sternly bent upon her marriage with
Lord Glenmorris; her cousin Roger was con-
stantly obtruding himself with his ccarse but


THE NECROMANCER.
v not ill-meant familiarity upon her presence:
and in addition to these sources of annoyance,
she was forced in order to avert suspicion
*rom the secret of her love, to superintend the
making up of the wedding raiment. The five
days which thus elapsed since last she met
Lord Ranulph, were the most miserable the
poor grrl had ever known; and each evening,
when alone with Alice, did she give vent to
her grief in bitter, burning tears. The sixth
day came: it was Monday morning—and the
weather had once more changed. It was
beautiful, but very cold - for the end of Octo-
ber had now arrived. Margaret was resolved
at any risk to meet her lover this day; there-
fore as soon as breakfast was over, she re-
treated to her own room, hastily donned her
walking apparel, issued stealthily forth from
the Hall, by a back door, and sped towards
the stone bridge. Lprd Ranulph was there.
Even before her eyes caught sight of his ele-
gant form, her heart told her that he was sure
to be at the usual place of appointment.
More tender if possible than ever was the
embrace in which they were now locked:
more affectionate were the syllables to which
they gave utterance! All that had oc-
curred since they had last met was speedily
explained by the damsel; nor did she even
hesitate to reveal to her lover the hostile in-
tentions which her father contemplated, and
which he purposed to carry out with the
assistance of Lord Glenmorris's armed vas-
sals.
"' Now, dearest Margaret,' said Ranulph,
straining her to his breast, 'you will no long-
er hesitate when I implore you to fly V—The
young maiden said nothing; but the look
which she gave and the tenderness with
which she clung to her handsome admirer,
afforded him an answer as intelligible as
words themselves could have been.—' The
day after to-morrow, you say, dearest Marga-
ret,' resumed Ranulph Danvers, 'will Glen-
morris, with a lordly and brilliant retinue,
come to bear you away to his castle, where
all the preparations are made upon a splendid
scale for the nuptials 1 But when he, and
his lords, and bis knights, and his dames
arrive at Dunhaven Hall, it must be only to
experience the bitterest disappointment, and
to learn that the sweet bird has Sown. Shall
it not be so, Margaret ?'—'It shall,' she re-
plied in a faint tone; for she doubtless felt
that the alternative she had to adopt was a
desperate one. —' To-day and to-morrow,'
resumed Lord Ranulph Danvers, ' must I oc-
cupy myself in certain preparations, which,
after all you have told me relative to your
tather's hostile intent, are requisite to place
my castle and domain in a condition of de-
fence. But these arrangement■ will be con-
ducted with such secrecy and precaution that
my presence in this part of the country shall
■till coptinse unsusnected in those quarters
where it is desirable for it to remain unknown.
And believe me, my sweet Margaret, when I
solemnly assure you that whatever vengeance
your sire may endeavour to wreak upon my
fortalice or domain, shall provoke no active hos-
tility on the part of my vassals. If attacked,
they shall merely display an imposing force, in
the presence of which the invaders will quail.
But when once you are far away, and Glen-
morris has lost you as his bride, he will not be
so zealous in taking up the feudal quarrels of
Sir Poniers Dunhaven: and thus there is in
reality no fear of a revival of hostilities.'—
Margaret was reassured and cheered by the
language of her lover; and she resolved to
confide in all things to his prudence and hia
affection.—' We will not remain long toge-
ther now,' he said,' lest that rude cousin of
your's should chanco to behold us in his ram-
bles ; and though my good sword would teach
bim courteous manners, yet it were well to
risk nothing that might threaten to mar our
projects. Beloved Margaret, to-morrow night
at eleven o'clock I shall be here, at this very
spot, with two fleet horses; and the minutes
will he anxiously counted until you make
your appearance.'—'But Alice, is she not to
accompany meV asked the young damsel;
'you know that I have told her every thing;
I explained this much to you just now.'—
'Margaret,' replied Lord Ranulph,' if you en-
tertain the slightest doubt relative to my
honour, you then can have no confidence in
my love. It will multiply the chances of dis-
covery if Alice accompanies you in your
flight. One person may steal forth from a
house, where two weuld be observed. Be-
sides, I have a pair of steeds of wondrous
swiftness, and which outstrip any others in
my castle stables. Were Alice to go with us,
the steed provided for her use, would prove a
laggard in comparison with the two that must
bear my beloved Margaret and myself.' But
still the damsel hesitated: her instinctive de-
licacy made her feel that it were more con-
sistent with propriety for her to be accompa-
nied by her maid. Lord Ranulph Danvers,
however, advanced fresh arguments against
the necessity of such a step, assuring Marga-
ret Dunhaven that ere the sun should rise
upon the night of their intended elopement
the priest's blessing would give her the sacred
name of wife. The young damsel glanced
across the lake towards her lover's castellated
mansion, and asked, with blushing cheeks,
'Wherefore not solemnize the nuptials there?'
—' Because, dearest Margaret,' he at once
answered,* if it were known that it was I who
had borne ysu away, and that you were an
inmate of yonder towers, then indeed would
Glenmorris and your father come with all the
armed strength they could mnster to wrest
you from my embrace; and then indeed would
the deadly feud revive, and heaven alone can
tell whose blood might flow! But I have


146
THE NECROMANCER.
another ramie which can be reached in a few
hours; and thither shall I bear you.'—The
result of the discourse was that Margaret
assi nted to every thing her lover proposed;
arid they parted with the renewed under-
standing that on the night of the next day
(hey were to meet at the bridge at eleven
o'clock.
"The young damsel sped back to the Hall,
whore she was well pleased to find that her
stisence had not been particularly noticed by
her father or her cousin. Repairing to her
own chamber, she confided to Alice all that
had just taken place between herself and Lord
Kanulph Danvers, not even omitting a single
word that he had uttered, or a single argu-
ment that he had used in order to induce her
to full into his arrangements. Alice listened
in silence; and her looks gradually became
gloomy.—' You had expected to accompany
me in my flight V said Margaret; 'and I could
have wished it also; but rest assured, dear
girl, that I shall lose no time after my union
with Ranulph in sending lor you. The same
messenger who will liear to my father a letter
explaining all that I have done, will be charg-
ed to escort you to my dwelling-place.'—
Alice was cheered by this assurance; but as
a thought struck her, she observed, 'It is sin-
gular that I never learnt till now that the
Danvers family had another castle so near to
that of Ennerdale as to be reached in a few
short hours. We have heard that they have
a castle in Essex, and a castle in the Isle of
Wight; but besides the three thus known of,
I have heard of no other.'—'It is not, my
dear Alice, because we have never heard of a
fourth castle,' answered the confiding Marga-
ret, ' that there should not be one in existence.
Oh. do not for an instant even seem to think
that Lord Ranulph could deceive me!'—
- Heaven forbid, dear lady!' rejoined Alice;
'it was only a passing reflection, without real
importance, to which I gave expression. So
far from counselling you against the course
which you have chosen to adopt, I have ad-
vised it before, and I advise it again.'—At
this moment the dinner-bell rang, and Marga-
ret was compelled to descend to the room
where the repast was served up.
"The better to ward off all possibility of
suspicion, she worked for the remainder of
that day and throughout all the next at the
wedding-raiment—that raiment which in her
heart she had vowed never to wear! Her
father seemed well pleased that she should
thus devote herself to the task; and as her
rousin was out pursuing the pleasures of the
chase amidst the adjacent mountains, during
the whole of that memorable Tuesday, she
had not to endure the annoyance of his com-
pany. He did not return till supper-time;
and soon afterwards Margaret, according to
her wont, retired to her chamber.
"It was now past ten o'clock; and Sir
Poniers Dunhavcn sat drinking deep draughts
of wine with his nephew Roger. They dis-
cussed the plan of the attack which was con-
templated to l« made the first fitting opportu-
nity upon the castellated mansion on the
other shore of Lake Ennerdale, and they like-
wise talked gleefully of the negotiations thefl
in progress, and which in a few days were to
restore the Dunhavcn estate to its ancient
boundaries. But principally they dwelt upon
the proposed incursion on the domains of
their rival and the beleaguerment of his
castle. This subject they discussed with a
ferocious joy: but presently they began to
differ in opinion as to the best method of
assailing the fortalice, so as to carry it by
storm at a single blow. Sir Poniers, dip-
ping his finger into his goblet, traced various
lines upon the table to describe the exact
position of the castle on the opposite bank;
on the other hand, Roger declared that he
was well enough acquainted with every fea-
ture of it; and while the knight advocated
an onslaught upon one point, the nephew as
vehemently insisted that the attack should
he made upon another. The discussion grew
warm; and without exactly quarrelling, they
disputed in a loud tone and in strong lan-
guage. At length Sir Poniers, starting up,
exclaimed, 'Let us go at once and examine
well those points of the fortress concerning
which we are at variance. The moon is
shining brightly, and we shall be enabled
to pursue our investigation with ease.'—
'Agreed !' ejaculated Rogei; and they sallied
forth together.
"Hastening down the garden, they passed
out of the side door in the wall, and sped
along the border of the lake so as to make
its circuit and gain the opposite side. They
had proceeded some little distance and were
approaching the stone bridge, when they ob-
served a female form hurrying along in the
same direction; and as she threw an affright-
ed glance behind, on hearing the steps of
those whom she took to be pursuers, the
powerful moonlight revealed to their ryes
the countenance of Margaret. They were
'so astonished for a few moments as to bo
transfixed to the spot—both stopping sud-
denly short as the same idea struck them.
They thought they beheld a spirit in Marga-
ret's shape! Thanks to that superstitious
belief on their part, and which so abruptly
struck them motionless, the young damsel,
flying as if wings were fastened to her feet,
gained the bridge: and shrieking forth, 'My
father and cousin!' sank senseless into the
arms of her lover, who was already there.
"Sir Poniers Dunhaven and his nephew
Roger were near enough to behold what thus
took place, and even to catch the words which
Margaret had uttered: and drawing their
swords, they sprang forward to cut down the
in livid al in whose embrace she had thus


THE NECROMANCER.
147
feinted. At the same instant also they per-
ceived two colossal coal-black steeds fastened
by the bridles to the other end of the bridge:
and thus there could be no doubt as to the
motive which had brought Margaret thither.
But her lover, still retaining her clasped in
his left arm, waved his naked rapier with his
right, saying in a cold and even indifferent
voice, 'Back, back; ye cannot war against
me !'—' Ah !' exclaimed Sir Poniers, as both
he and his nephew Roger did fall back, re-
pelled as it were by an irresistible power; 'it
is Danvers, the hated Danvers! That look,
that scornful smile, those eyes, I know them
well! they are the characteristics of his de-
tested race !'—' Then let him perish !' thun-
dered Roger: and with upraised claymore he
bounded forward to cut Lord Ranulph down.
Not a pace did the young nobleman retreat;
but still holding the unconscious maiden with
his left arm thrown around her form, with his
rapier he thrust aside the heavy weapon of
the furious Roger, and then the next instant
sent his lithe thin blade through his conquered
assailant's heart. With a low moan Roger
fell back, stone dead; and the next instant
Lord Ranulph Danvers crossed the bridge,
sprang upon the back of one of the steeds,
still retaining Margaret in his arms—and
away sped the mettled courser with its bur-
den, and the other horse galloping by the
side.
"There is in this portion of the narrative a
mystery which cannot be altogether unravel-
led. Sir Poniers Dunhaven beheld his nephew
slain and his daughter carried off before his
eyes; and yet he made not the slightest at-
tempt to wreak his vengeance upon Lord
Ranulph—no, nor even to snatch Margaret
from the young noble's arms. Sir Poniers
himself could never afterwards explain how
it was that the valour of his arm was para-
lysed at such a moment, and that he was
teduced to powerlessness not only in the pre-
sence of his hated enemy, but even under cir-
cumstances which, apart from his hereditary
enmity, were of themselves sufficient to goad
him to desperation. Paralysed and powerless,
however, he did find himself at that moment:
a spell had suddenly fallen upon him, holding
him fast with its supernal influence, and de-
prii%:g him of even the will to act or speak.
It was not until the sounds of the retreating
steeds had ceased to reach his ear that the
spell was lifted from him, and he was master
of his own actions once again. Then he
rushed madly in the direction taken by the
fugitives; but after running a long distance,
he sank down exhausted and shed tears of
rage at the futility of his chase. Returning
to the bridge, he beheld his nephew still lying
motionless there, and found that the vital
spark had indeed fled for ever. Then he
hurried in frenzy back to the Hall, ind speed-
ing up to his daughter's chamber, ft/und Alice
there. The young girl, deeply anxious on
account of her mistress, had not as yet retired
to rest. She had heard the Knight and his
nephew go forth a very few minutes after
Margaret herself had stealthily issued from
the mansion; and naturally supposing that a
pursuit was taking place, she sat up to leam
the result. Now, on beholding Sir ^iniers
rush in with wild looks, distorted features, and
foam upon the lips, Alice threw herself upon
her knees and implored his mercy. She
thought that he had come to kill her as the
confidante of his daughter's flight. Her terri
fied looks, her suppliant attitude, and the
words which she uttered, at once betrayed
her knowledge of Margaret's escape; and the
infuriate Sir Poniers vowed that he would
slay her unless she told all she knew. She
accordingly revealed everything ; and her con-
fession, which was subsequently taken down
in writing at full length and in all its details,
served as the basis of this narrative. Indeed,
from no other source could the various cir-
cumstances connected with the loves of Lord
Ranulph Danvers and Margaret Dunhaven
become known. For never from that day
forth was Margaret seen or heard of more!
"The corpse of Roger Dunhaven was
fetched from the bridge and borne to the Hall.
Then, as it lay stretched upon the couch
where it was deposited, Sir Poniers Dunhaven,
standing by the side of that bed, and in the
presence of all his dependants, took a terrible
and a fearful oath, to the effect that ere the
bones of hit murdered nephew received the
rites of Christian sepulture, his death should
be fearfully avenged! Messengers were at
once despatched to the Knight's only survi-
ving nephew Euric, to acquaint him with all
that had taken place, and request him to repair
without delay to Dunhaven Hall. Sir Poniers
then lost no time in speeding to Glenmorris
Castle, the noble owner of which was almost
wild with rage on learning that the beauteous
damsel, whom he so much coveted as his
bride, had fled with a rival. As it was known
that Lord Ranulph had really no castle within
a few hours' ride of Lake Ennerdale. it was
supposed, notwithstanding the statements
made by Alice when repeating all she had
heard from her young mistress, that Danvers
had borne Margaret to his castellated mansion
on the adjacent eminence; and a general
gathering of all the feudal retainers of Lord
Glenmorris at once took place. Five hun-
dred stalwart men were thus assembled; and
in the afternoon of the day which followed the
night of Margaret's flight, this force, with
Lord Glenmorris and Sir Poniers Dunhaven
at its head, marched to the assault of Lord
Ranulph's castle. The sun was setting be-
hind the western hills as the serried armament,
having rounded the extremity of the lake,
ascended the eminence towards the castle;
but on arriving beneath its walls, the troooa


148
THE NECROMANCER.
of Glenmorris were received with such a
shower of arrows and such a hailstorm of
ponderous missiles, as to show full well that
the garrison was by no means weak nor un-
prepared, and that the fortalice was admirably
defended. The besiegers, thus baffled, fled
in confusion—their chieftain, Lord Glen-
morris, was slairrtiy an arrow—and Sir Po-
niers Dunhaven received a mortal wound from
the bolt of an arblast. The inmates of the
castle, contented with having thus put the
enemy to flight, sallied not forth to follow up
the victory ; and thus Sir Poniers Dunhaven's
immediate followers were enabled to bear their
wounded chief unmolested to the Hall.
"The Knight lived for two days,—indeed,
until his nephew Euric arrived at the mansion.
Then Sir Poniers, making the young man
kneel down by the side of his couch, address-
ed him aR follows ;—' Euric, I have sworn the
most sacred and solemn of oaths that the bones
of your murdered brother shall never receive
Christian sepulture until his death is avenged!
It is for you to ratify this oath as your own,
so that my soul may not be troubled with the
foul sin of perjury in another world.'—The
young Euric swore to fulfil his uncle's com-
mands, and Sir Poniers breathed his last. A
cunning leech, well skilled in anatomical pur-
suits, was sent for from Carlisle; and beneath
his scalpel and dissecting-knife, Roger Durir
ha?sn's flesh was separated from the bones.
The skeleton was bleached, and treated in
some peculiar manner so as to preserve it:
it was then deposited in a chest, and became
an heir-loom in thefaftnily of Dunhaven,—the
Knight's vow prohibiting the interment of
those bones until such day that the fullest
vengeance should have been wreaked upon
some scion of the house of Danvers!
"The body of Sir Poniers Dunhaven and
the flesh stripped from Roger's bones were
duly buried. As for the young damsel Alice
—well nigh heart-broken at all that had oc-
curred, she retired to a convent, where she
languished a few years and then sank into
an early grave. But during the remainder
of her short life she heard nothing more of
Margaret Dunhaven. Euric inherited the
little estate, together with the pecuniary diffi-
culties of his deceased uncle; and in the course
of a few years he was compelled to surrender
up the last remnants of his ancestral patri-
mony to the hands of usurers. From that
period the name of Dunhaven ceased to be
known in Cumberland. It was not, however,
extinguished altogether: but its subsequent
possessors inherited naught save the family
vengeance, the skeleton of Roger, and the
obligations imposed by Sir Poniers' vow."
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE IIU DOOR.
Such was the history which old Dunhaven
related to Gerald St. Louis, on the occasion
of the lattcr's re-visit to Deadman's Place.
The King's Private Secretary had listened
with an augmenting interest as the old man
proceeded: nor did he once interrupt the re-
cital, with either question or comment, until
it was brought to an end. Even then, at the
conclusion of the history, he did not imme-
diately speak, but remained absorbed in deel
thought for several minutes. During this in-
terval of silence, old Dunhaven sat with hii
elbow upon his knee and his hand support-
ing his head,—profoundly buried in the many
memories connected with his ancestry, which
had just been so vividly wakened up in his
mind.
"And you still cherish the family ven-
geance against the house of Danvers?" ob-
served St. Louis, at length breaking silence,,
and fixing his eyes with a sort of melancholy
expression upon the old man.
"Yes—it has descended to me together
with my name," was the response; - " and,
though you behold me here—a denizen of
this district of squalor and crime, and there-
fore in one sense unworthy to bear tho
whilome proud and haughty name of Dun-
haven—yet in another sense am I a true
scion of that race, inasmuch as I remain
faithful to the only heritage which has de-
scended to me from my ancestors—namely,
the oath of vengeance?"
"But if it wound not your feelings by
asking such a question," observed St. Louis,
"how came a man inheriting such a name
and so true a spirit, to be a denizen of this
sanctuary of crime?"
"Ah!" ejaculated Dunhaven, flinging a
quick and meaning glance upon the King's
Private Secretary, "is there naught in your
own career which might serve as a clue to
the unravelment of that enigma 1—have your
experiences failed to teach you how a dash-
ing gallant, who has ruffled it boldly andi
joyously for a time, becomes reduced to all
sorts of shifts when his pockets are empty
and his friends fall off! Suppose, Master
St. Louis, that when you were down in the
world some months ago—at that time, I mean,
when you came to borrow horses and weapons
of me,—suppose, I say, that no good fortune-
had turned up to pitchfork you into the
royal service, is it by any means improba-
ble that you would have been led to deeds
compelling you to make Deadman's Place
your home for the remainder of your
days?"
"Enough! I did not mean to offend
you," exclaimed Gerald St. Louis, liking as


THE NECJtOMANCER.
I4S
bttte as might be that allusion to his one
night's experience as a highwayman; " nei-
ther will I ask you farther relative to your
own circumstances. At all events you are
not poor now; and though compelled to live
in this sanctuary, are still in possession of
much worldly substance V
"Aye—and men repute me a miser,"
rejoined Dunhaven. "Perhaps I am—per-
haps I am: and if so, it may be that gold is
the only source of joy left to me upon earth.
When I first came to this sanctuary, hunted
hither by the bloodhounds of the law, I was
in poverty and rags—of fortunes so despe-
rate and with feelings so despondent that I
cared not what became of me: for the wife
of my bosom, whom I had loved fondly, and
to shield whom against want I had plunged
into crime, deserted me in my utmost need
and fled with some lordly seducer. Long
years have elapsed since then; and, as you
may suppose, there have been times when I
have stealthily gone forth from the sanctuary
and visited the somewhat more agreeable
parts of this capital. Otherwise, when first
hunted hither by the officers of justice, I
should not have been able to fetch to my
new abode, when one*, settled down in it,
those ghastly relics of my ancestor:"—and
thus speaking, the old man flung a look to-
wards the huge chest that contained the
skeleton. "Now," he continued, "I am the
last of my race ; and if our family vengeance
be not wreaked by my hand upon Lionel
Danvers, there is none to inherit the name
of Dunhaven and menace him hereafter.
There was a time—somewhat more than two
years back—when I did fancy that by my
means this hereditary vengeance was inflict-
ed"
"But when you had thrown Lionel Dan-
vers down your singularly contrived trap-
door," interrupted St. Louis, "wherefore did
you not give Christian burial to the bones
of your ancestor Roger Dunhaven V
"More reasons than one occurred," replied
the old man, "to make me hesitate ere 'adopt-
ing any measure to give those bones the rites
of Christian sepulture. I have ere now
hinted that in this sanctuary I am reputed
to be a miser; and it is known—or at least
suspected—that I have some hoard of wealth:
for during a long series of years have I car-
ried on a variety of transactions in this place,
—transactions by which some little wealth
has doubtless accrued to me, but not to the
extent which my neighbours suppose. How-
ever, of late years it has been difficult for me
to leave the sanctuary, even for a few hours,
no matter how stealthily——"
i But methought," interrupted St. Louis,
"that such a good understanding prevailed
rmongst ye dwellers in Deadman's Place,
that ye seldom if ever preyed on each other,
M
—your own penal code sufficing to maintain
the most rigid discipline?"
"Aye, true!" replied Dunhaven: "but
it is not to the fear of being robbed that I
made allusion. Can you not understand
that if it were known I stole out of the sanc-
tuary, information might be given to the
King's officers, so that my arrest being ef-
fected, the informant would receive half the
amount of all my property 1 For whatsoever
were found in my house, would devolve to
the Crown on my conviction for felony.
Thus, you see, I was compelled to wait for
a fitting opportunity to carry forth thorn
bones and give them Christian burial in some
churchyard; and such opportunity did not
present itself. Moreover, although in my
own mind I felt full well assured that Lionel
Danvers must have perished on that night
of storm when I flung him down the trap-
door, yet still at times there was a slight
misgiving which suggested the possibility cf
his escape ; and if he had so escaped, to give
the bones the rite of burial would have been
to falsify the oath sworn by Sir Poniers long
years ago,—that oath which became a herit-
age together with the pledge of vengeance
itself! And fortunate was it that these
various reasons should have delayed the in-
terment of Roger Dunhaven's bones: for you
may imagine my surprise — indeed you
beheld it—when you and Welford came
hither with the information some few months
back, that you had met Lord Lionel Dan-
vers!" -
"And now, Master Dunhaven," observed
St. Louis, "you have not told me how yon
managed to inveigle Lord Lionel hither oa
that night of tempest and of storm when you
made him issue from your dwelling again,
not through the door-way by which I pre-
sume he entered it, but by that strange
revolving trap of yours overhanging the
Thames. And were I to give additional rein
to my curiosity, I might perhaps venture to
ask for what purpose such a trap-door was
ever contrived at all V
"I am disposed, Master Secretary, to give
you my fullest confidence," replied Dun-
haven, "and will answer both your ques-
tions. But the latter one first. And there
fore, as to the trap-door, let me at once
inform you it existed when I took the house
some years ago. That such a contrivance
should be found in a place tenanted by des-
peradoes of all kinds, cannot be very wonder-
ful; and at the time it was made, the penal
code of the sanctuary may not have been
quite so stringent as it at present is. Suppose
some wealthy individual—maybe a lord be-
longing to the Court—was compelled to seek
refuge for a season in the sanctuary: then
suppose this house tenanted by murderous
ruffians, and that the refugee in question


160
THE NECRpMANCER.
either took up his abode here, or waa in-
veigled hither by some means or other:—in
•uch a case, to strip him of all he possessed,
even perhaps of his very raiment—make
•way with him, and thrust him down the
l rap-door,—such, in a few words, might be
mpposed as the summing-up of the whole
tragedy. But aa I am a living man, for no
«vil purpose has that trap-door been used
since the house fell into my hands—save
and except in the case of Lionel Danvsrs:
and if you are as faithful to the hereditary
vengeance of the family of St . Louis as I am
to that of the race of Dunhaven, you will
agree that it was no evil at all in seeking to
give Lionel Danvers his doom by means of
that trap-door V
"Well, but relative to the inveigling him
hither V cried Gerald St. Louis, evading any
comment upon that remark in which the old
man had just coupled the two family names
together.
"Ah! that was your first question," re-
turned Dunhaven, "and now I proceed to
answer it:"—then with a deepening solemn-
ity of tone and manner, he said, "I must
begin by informing you that it is about six
years ago that I first beheld Lionel Danvers.
It was evening, and I had been to call on
Master Landini, the banker in Lombard
Street, to ascertain whether the young lord,
who had then recently succeeded to the
family title and estate, was likely to visit
England. Master Landini, as you are doubt-
less aware, is the banker and agent for the
Danvers family. I received an unsatisfactory
reply; but as I was turning away from the
door of the bank an individual came forth;
and in the stream of the lamp-light gushing
forth from within, I caught a glimpse of him
ere he hurried away and disappeared in the
surrounding darkness. But that glimpse—
Oh! it was sufficient to tell me who the indi-
vidual was ; for but one style of beauty char-
acterizes the scions of the Danvers family—
that strange, wondrous, and almost preter-
human beauty which is as hereditary with
them as the family hatred is with us. Tall.
and slender—with hair dark as the raven's
wing—eyes of an uncommon lustre—the proud
lip curling haughtily—and with a look of the
loftiest superiority,—such were the traits
which marked the individual whom I then
knew to be Lionel Danvers. But, as I have
stated, he at once disappeared from my view,
and it were vain to follow him in the dark-
ness of the hour and the mazes of the streets.
A short time afterwards I beheld him again.
It was night, as on the former occasion; and
he was issuing forth from the house of a
merchant named Manners. Then also did
he at once speed away, neither appearing to
behold me nor affording me the slightest op-
portunity of addressing him. But, Oh! in
the transitory glimpse which I caught of hiu
on that second occasion, how full of a Satanic
mockery and devilish triumph was the smile
that curled his haughty lips! A few days
afterwards I learnt that he had eloped with
the merchant's daughter, and that she h«d
disappeared altogether—even as my ances-
tress Margaret had done with Lord Ra-
nulph I"
"And as my ancestress Arline did with
Lord Humphrey!" added St. Louis, in a
deep tone and with a gloomy look.
There was then a brief pause; at the ex-
piration of which old Dunhaven resumed his
narrative in the following manner:—
"Four years elapsed, and I neither heard
nor saw any thing more of Lionel Danvers.
One evening, in the month of March, 1514,
I paid a visit to Lombard Street, and re-
newed my periodical inquiry at Master Lan-
dini's. I should observe that I never told the
banker who I was, nor wherefore I was soli-
citous relative to the movements of Lord
Danvers; and I am certain that Master Lan-
dini on his side had no means of ascertain-
ing who I was. Therefore what I am about
to state becomes all the more extraordinary
and unaccountable, as you will soon per-
ceive. On the occasion referred to, I re-
ceived as usual a vague and unsatisfactory
answer from Master Landini, our interview
not lasting above a minute. It was about
nine o'clock; and I proceeded to spend an
hour or two at that tavern in the Old bailey
which Master Benjamin Welford was wont
to frequent, and where indeed I originally
formed his acquaintance. Having passed
some two or three hours at the tavern, 1
began to retrace my way homeward; but
scarcely had I reached the middle of London
Bridge, when the violence of the wind came
with so sudden a gust as well nigh to wrest
my mantle from around me. Indeed, tht
fastenings were riven by the fury of the gale;
and I was compelled to take refuge for a few
moments in the deep-arched doorway of one
of the houses on the bridge, for the purpose
of re-adjusting my garment. It was a night
of pitchy darkness: there was neither moon
nor star upon the vault of heaven; and the
winds were raging, and roaring, and rush-
ing with maniac fury over the inky waters
of the Thames. It was a night indeed to
make a man afraid if he had aught upon his
conscience ; and that my conscience was very
clear, I do not pretend to say. Were it so, I
should never have been an inmate of Dead-
man's Place. At that moment, as I stood in
the deep darkness of the doorway, 1 listening
my mantle around me as well as I could, all
the evil I had ever done in my life seemed
to rise up suddenly into my mind,—incident
after incident and detail upon detail crowd-
ing thickly and arraying themselves like a
troop of grim spectres in my imagination;
so that my brain seemed thronged with all


THE NECROMANCER.
151
the iiorrors of the prison-house and the church-
yard. I felt that the loneliness of the hour
and die place was awful to a degree; and I
•aid aloud,' Would that I had a companion
to cheer me for the rest of my walk!'—
althcugh indeed it was a bare ten minutes'
run frtm that spot on London Bridge to this
house in Deadman's Place. But scarcely
had I given utterance to these words, spoken
in a sort of involuntary soliloquy, when I was
startled, or rather filled with consternation,
on hearing a voice, speaking close by me,
exclaim,' I will be your companion !'—For a
few moments I was so completely transfixed
with terror that I could neither move nor
speak; but at length with a desperate effort
I thrust forth my hand, and it encountered a
velvet cloak.—* What? ' cried the same voice
that had before spoken, and now its tones
were filled with a strange mocking irony,
'do you doubt whether I am a being of flesh
and blood? Here, satisfy yourself at once!'
—and now my hand was grasped by one
that was soft and warm, feeling like that of
a young man who earned not his Jiving by
hard toil.—' Who are you V I demanded,
taking courage.—' One who, doubtless like
yourself, took shelter for a minute or two
against that gust which, more pitiless than
previous ones, swept across the bridge with
such terrific violence.'—While the individual
was jet speaking, methought I could per-
ceive the flashing of his eyes as if they were
of superhuman brightness; and again I felt
somewhat afraid, not knowing what snare
the Evil One might be laying for me.—■ You
expressed a wish for a companion,' he conti-
nued, 'and I offer myself to you as such.
Besides, if I mistake not, you will be rather
well pleased to have thus encountered me.'—
There seemed a strange lurking irony in
his accents: but his voice was of perfect
masculine melody, flute-like and deep, with-
out being either feminine or sonorous.—
'Yes, a companion,' I said hesitatingly, 'but
not without knowing who he is. Besides,
you would please me by explaining what
you meant by the remark that I should re-
joice at this encounter.'—' When a person,'
he responded, ' has been inquiring for an-
other, it is that he wishes to see him. Now
then do you comprehend me V—A suspi-
cion of the truth instantaneously flashed
to my mind; and with a thrill of exulta-
tion vibrating through my heart, I exclaimed,
'Is it possible? Lord Danvers !' — 'The
same,' he rejoined; 'and now come on.'—
So we continued our way across the bridge
together."
"Then he must have known you before?"
exclaimed St. Louis. "But even if he had
known you before, how could he recognize
you in the deep darkness of that place and
hour?"
"These things Save much pu'.zled me
since," answered Dunhaven: "but I did not
pause to think of them at the time, all my
ideas and all my feelings being so suddenly
engrossed in the one grand thought that at
length the hereditary object of an hereditary
vengeance was by my side—perhaps in my
power! How he knew me I cannot conjec-
ture; or if knowing me, how he recognized
me then, I am equally at a loss to conceive."
"Proceed, proceed !" exclaimed St. Louis,
much excited by the narrative. "This grows
marvellously interesting."
"Well," continued Dunhaven," we walked
on in silence. Indeed not a word was spoken
till we reached the entrance of Deadman's
Place: and then, fearing that he might hesi-
tate to accompany me any farther, I said,
'My lord, my humble habitation is in this
quarter: deign to proceed with me thither
and accept a cup of wine after this chilling
walk.'—' Go on, Master Dunhaven,' wag
Danvers' reply: 'I will follow you.'—Then
nothing more was said until we reached this
house; and I introduced his lordship into the
very room where you and I, Master St. Louis,
are now seated. But it was not until I had
lighted a lamp that I for the third time beheld
the countenance of this young man on whom
I had resolved to wreak a terrible though
tardy vengeance. I say lardy, because, though
during the many years of my life I had never
forgotten the heritage of vengeance, yet it
was not until very lately, and when I began
to find myself tottering towards the grave with
no heir to leave behind me, that I had begun
seriously to think of fulfilling the duty which
my ancestors had bequeathed unto me—"
"Spare so many comments, worthy Master
Dunhaven," interrupted St. Louis," and come
to the point at once. You had inveigled Lord
Lionel to this house—to this very room ;—
you had lighted your lamp—and you then
beheld each other. How looked he when, as
the lamp flamed up, you cast your eyes upon
his countenance!
"Ah ! that look—never shall I forget it!"
exclaimed Dunhaven. "For an instant it
sent a shudder quivering through my entire
form; and had not my hereditary hate risen
superior to my first feeling of terror, I should
have sunk down at his feet, with the thought
that he had detected my purpose in bringing
him thither and that his vengeance was about
to fall upon me instead of mine on him,—so
that I should have cried,' Pardon, pardon!'
—But I speedily recovered my firmness"
"And his look?" again demanded St.
Louis.
"It was fraught," replied Dunhaven, " with
all those terrors which sacred legends attribute
to the fallen angels—a look so full of ming-
led mockery, wickedness, and haughty scorn,"
he continued, " that it seemed as if he were a
man who felt himself privileged to trampls
upon all things human 1


152
THE NECROMANCER.
"The same, the same," muttered St. Louis
to himself, "as when we met that night in
the lane near Greenwich."
"What say you, Master Secretary V in-
quired Dunhaven, thinking that the young
man had made some remark the purport of
which he had not caught.
"Nothing. Proceed!" returned Gerald.
"What followed when you and your enemy
were alone in this room together?"
"There was at first a long silence," resumed
Dunhaven,—" but a silence intruded upon
however by the wild winds that were wailing
and howling, and shrieking, and crying with-
out; and to my ears those blasts seemed laden
with the voices of agonizing victims in the
last moments of murder, of drowning, and of
violent death. But still I was nerved with a
courage that surprised myself.—' Hark!' sud-
denly exclaimed Lord Danvers, raising his
finger with a warning gest;' what sound was
that? Heard you not a noise as of bones
rattling in their coffin ?'—Then indeed for a
moment did a mortal terror come over me;
for as the nobleman spoke, my ear had too
plainly caught the awful sound to which he
alluded. Yes, Gerald St. Louis," continued
Dunhaven in a firm voice, and with the air
of a man who speaks of things too solemn to
be made jest, " as true as you are there—as
surely as you hear me speak at this moment
aye, and as certain," he added more solemnly
still, " as there is a God above us, did I hear
the skeleton of Roger Dunhaven moving in
that chest!"
"Heavens! is it possible?" faltered St.
Louis, his countenance turning ghastly pale,
and a visible tremor agitating his entire form:
then, all in a moment becoming ashamed of
his fears, he cried, " Pshaw! it must have
been only fancy on your part. On my soul,
Master Dunhaven, were it not broad daylight,
and with the sun powerful enough to send its
beams even through that narrow dingy lattice
of your's, I should have grown quite pusil-
lanimous at your tale."
"Whether it were fancy on my part," re-
plied Dunhaven, his tone and look again
expressing the deepest solemnity, "you shall
judge for yourself presently. Meanwhile let
me make an end of my narrative. As I have
already declared, a mortal terror came over
me when those awful sounds of rattling bones
reached my ear; and then ineffable grew the
wickedness of Lord Lionel Danvers' coun-
tenance. But the expression that it wore was
not one which marred its wondrously hand-
some modelling, but gave to all its lineaments
the terrific beauty of Lucifer in his fall.—
'What V he said in a contemptuous voice,
'are you frightened at such sounds as those V
then immediately resuming his natural look,
and speaking in a cold careless tone, he add-
ed,* But you have inquired concerning me
this evening: for what purpose do you seek
me V—' How knew you, my lord,' I asked,
'that 1 was the individual who had thus in-
quired concerning you? how came you to
recognize me on the bridge in the depth of a
darkness which methought no human eyes
could penetrate V—' Let us not waste time
with trivial questions and answers,' was the
nobleman's reply ;' but tell me wherefore you
seek me and what you want V—' My lord,' I
immediately rejoined,' be pleased to follow
me, and I will explain myself more fully.'—«.
'Oh, if we cannot converse here, I have no
objection to go elsewhere,' be observed with a
calm indifference: * so lead on, Master Dun-
haven.'— I took up the lamp and conducted
Lord Danvers along the narrow passage ultoi
the room containing the trap-door; and hur*
rying on somewhat in advance, I reached that
part of the wall where the iron nob connected
with the spring is fixed. A ghtnee thrown'
over my shoulder, showed that Danvers. was
following me—most probably thinking that 1
was about to lead into some room farther on
still. Oh! never shall I forget the seniat:on
which I at that instant experienced, my
veins all in a moment seemed to run with
liquid fire—the wildest joy was flaming in my;
soul! Danvers, apparently unsuspicious, am'
with that dignified ease of bearing which give*
him a look at once so lordly and so graceful,
was advancing. He was now upon the midi
die of the trap-door—I touched the nob—the'
effect was instantaneous—the floor gave way
beneath his feet—and down he fell. If his'
lips gave utterance to a cry or word, it was
drowned in the rush of the rapid waters eddy-
ing beneath: and the next moment the trap-
door closed again. Then I exclaimed in tha,
fullness of my exultant joy, 'Margaret, my'
ancestress! thou art avenged! Sir Poniers,
thy vow shall be fulfilled! Roger Dunhaven,
thy bones may at length receive Christian
burial!' — Having thus spoken in a loud
voice, and with a sensation as if my veins
were still running liquid fire, I quitted that
chamber and returned hither—to Mi* room—a
where, a few minutes before, Danvers was
seated with me, but where I was now alone;
No, not altogether alone," added Dunhaven
in a deepening voice; "for I am never alone
so long as I hold companionship with tfiV
grim tenant of yon box!"—and he pointed
towards the chest.
There was another pause, during which'
Gerald St. Louis gazed earnestly and inqui-
ringly upon the old man's countenance, the)
expression of which indicated that he had'
something more to say.
"Yes—I came back to this room," he at
length continued, " having done, as I thought,'
the deed of vengeance, and accomplished th*!
traditionary vow which from generation to'
generation had descended unto me. I sat
down here—on this very spot where I am now
seated—and I gazed upon that chest. A no*


THE N.ECROM ANCER.
153
tropliising its ghastly tenant, I said, * Roger
ihou art avenged !'—and then it struck me
that I again heard the awful sound as of bones
rattling within. Starting up from my seat,
my first impulse was to fly in horror from
the place; but regaining my courage, I said,
'No, no, there is naught for me to dread!
For many long, long years have I made my
touch upon the coffin wherein those bones lie
hidJen, and they have never been a source of
fear to me until now. Nor shall they at pre-
sent !'—To convince myself therefore that the
sounds which I had heard could only be an
illusion of the brain, I opened the chest—took
dut all the things it contained above the false
bottom—and then with trembling hand raised
that also. But, Oh! how can I express the
mortal terror which seized upon me, when, as
I bent over the chest with the lamp in my
hand, I saw that the skeleton had shifted its
position, and that instead of lying flat upon
its back (as it was when last I beheld it) it
had turned completely round on its right side!"
"Old man, you are dreaming—you are en-
deavouring to frighten me!" said the King's
Secretary; but his countenance was again
ghastly pale, and he was actually shivering
from head to foot.
"It is true—solemnly true," returned Dun-
haven. "Wherefore should I deceive you >
—are these things fit subjects to jest upon 1
No, no. Master St . Louis: I dare not, even if
I wished, convert this awful topic into one of
bantering or jocularity."
The young man answered not a word, but
gazed with a sort of speechless stupefaction
upon Dunhaven, while the solemnity of look
which the latter wore, full well corroborated
his assurance that he was not jesting.
"Then do the very dead manifest an in-
terest," observed St. Louis at length, " in the
tows which the living have sworn to avenge
their wrongs?"
"It is even so," answered Dunhaven. "He
who proves faithless to such a duty will him-
self become the . object of vengeance—but a
vengeance emanating from the tomb and
wreaked upon him by the dead!"
"Yes—yes, I feel that it is so," murmured
St. Louis, evidently much troubled. "But
what think you, old man, of one who instead
of wreaking his revenge upon an hereditary
enemy, accepts boons from the hands of that
enemy—aye, and even serves him?"
"I think," replied Dunhaven, already sus-
pecting the meaning that lurked in the young
man's words, " that the day must come soon-
er or later wnen all bounties thus received
will turn into the most fearful curses. Gerald
St. Louis! speak out and tell me frankly—
have you proved treacherous and faithless to
the memory of your ancestress Arline? have
•ou received bounties at the hands of Lionel
Danvers?"
"I have, I have," answered the young man,
fearfully excited. "There was a time—aye,
and until very lately too—when I would hat e
given the best years of my life for the oppor-
tunity of avenging Arline's wrongs: but in >
moment of weakness, when rendered desper-
| ate by my position—penniless, rushing head-
long on in the mad career of crime, and
compelled to herd with such as Benjamin
Welford,—at that moment was it, I say, that
I yielded to the oilers of Lionel Danvers; and
it was through him that I obtained my post
at Court. But there I am a tool—a very
tool—the tool of Danvers too! I comprehend
not the intrigue—I cannot fathom the machi-
nations in which he plays the part of principal,
and I that of an instrument or puppet: but
this I know, that it is serious, it is dark—most
serious, most dark 1"
"Then if all this be the case," exclaimed
Dunhaven, his countenance expressing ming-
led joy and suspense, "doubtless the means
of vengeance are in your hands? Yes, yes
—I see by your looks that it is so. Then, by
the wrongs of Arline, whose history I have
read in your manuscripts, I adjure you, Gerald
St. Louis, to prove faithful to the legacy of
hatred and of vengeance which has come down
to you. Behold ! I have endeavoured to strike
the blow, and have failed. It is your turn
now. You cannot flinch—you dare not re-
fuse. Have not I, an old man well stricken
in years, and bearing the load of infirmities
upon my back—have not I, I ask, done my
dnty and proved faithful to the name I bear 1
Oh! I have disgraced it in a thousand other
ways—disgraced it by crime, by usury, by
meannesses, pettinesses, and rascalities of all
sorts—but in the one sacred sentiment of
hereditary vengeance, I have proved worthy
I of it! Shall you, then, a young man with
health, and vigour, and strength to sustain
you,—shall you, I ask, hesitate to deal the
blow which I, the old man, feared not to
strike! St. Louis, be not a recreant to that
cherished vengeance which should be regard-
ed as a worship, a devotion, and a faith! Do
you fear to lose the place which Danvers him-
self procured you? are you afraid of relapsing
once- more-into poverty! If so, I will set your
mind at ease on that account. Behold! I am
rich—yes, I am .rich—no matter how the
money has been made—you yourself are not
too nice nor delicate upon those points to re-
fuse it. Swear then that you will devote
yourself to vengeance—and from this moment
I constitute you mine heir."
The young man grew greatly excited while
Dunhaven was addressing him in this long
and fervid speech. Glancing down upon his
own person, he beheld himself tricked out in
a courtier's garb, and he felt the sickening
sensation that for the post whereof it was an
emblem he was indebted to a man whom in-
stead of regarding as a friend, he ought to
look upon as a mortal enemy. Then he fixed


151
THE NECROMANCER.
his eyes upon Dunhaven; and instead of
marking the sordid garments and the ignoble
as well as repulsive features of that individual,
ne beheld only an old man whose fervour and
enthusiasm seemed to make his form dilate
and his spirit soar high above the squalor of
a penurious life and the physical traits of a
miserly greed, and setting him a glorious ex-
ample which he dared not hesitate to follow!
"Dunhaven," exclaimed St. Louis, when
the old man had finished his speech, " you
have aroused within me a feeling which,
though it has slumbered for three months and
upwards, has not been extinguished altogether.
And now that feeling again flames up in my
soul; and I yield to your arguments—I re-
ceive inspiration from your hps—I accept
your generous proposals! Master Dunhaven,"
added the King's Secretary after a moment's
pause, "I swear to devote myself to ven-
geance; and from this day do I look upon
myself as your heir!"
Thereupon these two individuals,—that
young man in the splendid apparel of a Court,
and that old man in the sordid rags of miserly
penuriousness—shook hands together, and
their solemn compact was thus ratified.
"But now," continued St. Louis, resuming
his seat upon one of the rude stools and speak-
ing in a slow thoughtful manner, "let us
understand each other well relative to the
vengeance that is to be wreaked. Hath it
not occurred to you that these Danvers are a
race different from other men and seeming to
bear a charmed, life? HoW was it that Lord
Ranulph, when carrying away your ancestress,
was enabled with a slim rapier to ward off
the death blow from himself and deal the
stroke of doom to the powerful and warlike
Roger? How was it that the mighty Sir
Poniers, so terrible in battle and so famed in
border-strife, should have become paralyzed
and powerless at the very moment when, his
daughter being borne away before his eyes,
he should have stricken the youthful Ranulph
down? Peradventure, if we were acquainted
with all the minute details of other histories
and legends which rumour vaguely declares
to be associated with the several Lords of
Danvers, we might be led to mark additional
proofs of this unaccountable power which
they possess of defying the arm of death. At
all events, coming down to the most recent
period—within the last two or three years
indeed—we ourselves have had signal evi-
dence of that almost preterhuman power.
For by what miracle was it that Lord Lionel
escaped from the death which would have
overtaken any other mortal man when you
flung him down yon trap-door on the night
of storm 1 And I also have a tale of equal
wonder to impart to your ear; for on that oc-
casion when Welford and myself encountered
Danvers under the circumstances that you
partially know of, his life remained proof
against four pistol-shots fired at him po'n
blank in a manner which seemed to defy.
escape!" .
St. Louis then proceeded to sketch the de-
tails of that meeting with Lord Danvers in tha
lane near Greenwich, which had resulted in.
the offer of situations both to himself and
Welford. He also explained several import-
ant matters wherein he had been made the
tool of Lord Danvers since his nomination to
the office of Royal Secretary. Dunhaven
listened with the profoundest attention and
interest; and when St. Louis had ceased
speaking, they both reflected deeply for ser
eral minutes.
"It must be as you have said," at length .
observed old Dunhaven: "Lord Danvers
bears a charmed life! It were vain, then, to
renew any past attempts of violence against
him. Had there been hut one instance of
his escape final death—namely, that of tha
trap-door—we might account for it by natural
means,—either that he swam strongly, de-
spite the eddying of the waters, or that tha
current itself in its maddening violence threw
him upon the land. But when we consider
his subsequent escape from the double attack
made upon him by yourself and Welford, it
is scarcely possible to account for this by
natural means also. I*et our vengeance
therefore be directed to the frustration of his
schemes, the counterfeiling of his intrigues,
and the combining of circumstances in such
a manner as shall unmask him to the whole
nation and cover him with infamy, disgrace,
and shame. Perhaps, too, when proved a
traitor to his. King, he may not escape the
royal vengeance so easily as he has eluded
ours: peradventure the Tower may have a
dungeon strong enough to hold him, and the
headsman an axe sharp enough to do tha
work which my trap-door and your pistols
failed to accomplish!
In this manner did old Dunhaven and
Gerald St. Louis continue talking for soma
time longer, until they had come not merely
to a thorough understanding with each other,
but likewise to a full settlement of those pro*
ceedings that were to be adopted in order to
hurl the thunderbolt of ruin at the head of
Lionel Danvers.
It was late in the afternoon when Gerald
St. Louis took leave of old Dunhaven, and
mounting his horse, rode forth from Dead-
man's Place on his way back to the Royal
Palace at Greenwich.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE MTSTERIOUS YISIT0B.
It was about a week after the incidents
just related, that Gerald St. Louis was pacing


THE NECROMANCER.
155
to and fro, one evening in his own chamber,
at the Royal House at Greenwich, revolving
the many grave and important subjects which
were uppermost in his mind. It was the
Lour of sunset, and the last beams of the de-
parting orb were flickering through the lat-
tice of the young man's apartment, so that
they played fitfully upon his countenance as
each turn in his agitated walk led him to
approach the window. The vacillating un-
certain light gave to the workings of St.
Louis' features—pale with thought and anxi-
ety as they were—a somewhat ghastly as-
pect; and of all the young gallants who
envied the Royal Secretary his post at Court,
few would have consented to change condi-
tions with him, if once the secrets of his
heart were read.
"Yes — I am pledged to vengeance,"
thought St. Louis to himself; "and since
that day when I visited Dunhaven and heard
his tale, I myself have experienced all the
intenseness of a heart-felt longing to wreak
that vengeance upon the head of Lionel Dan-
vers. How many times within the past
week have I read and re-read—aye, and
brooded over—the manuscripts which con-
tain the narrative of Arline's wrongs! Yes!
my blood boils again at the mere thought
thereof, as it was wont to do (ere I sold my-
self as the vile instrument and grovelling toe
of a scioi. of the hatec house of Danvers!
But how wreak this vengeance 1 how fulfil
.ny pledge to old Dunhaven 1 how prove
myself worthy to inherit the immense wealth
which in the latter portion of our interview
he admitted himself to possess? how, in
short, prosecute all those plans which he and
I settled as we thought so admirably? Fool
that I was! I had forgotten that document
which I signed, and which at any moment
may be produced to brand me as a forger.
Yes: that bill—that fatal bill, which Sir
Edward Poynings made me put my hand to
—not with my own name—but to fabricate
that of Danvers—Oh ! is not this felon-made
bill an insuperable barrier in my path?
Malediction upon the diabolic cunning of
those who thus involved me in their treache-
rous web !—curses upon the foul conspirators
who thus succeeded in binding me hand and
loot! I dare not move farther in all this,
nor venture to betray a single syllable of
what I know. It is true that I might ruin
others by a full disclosure: but would not
the blow rebound upon myself? Ah, and
more!" ejaculated the young man, recoiling
with a sort of horror from the new idea
which at this moment suddenly struck him:
"they might deny the truth of all and every-
thing which I could proclaim—and Sir Ed-
ward Poynings, while branding me as a
forger, would triumphantly say to the King,
< Is it not evident that he who could fabricate
this bill for money, would likewise do all the
rest for his own private and special pur-
poses ?'—Such would be the question put;
and the King would heed not any thing that
I might say. O wretched young man!"
continued St. Louis, apostrophising himself:
"what wilt thou do? how wilt thou act!
Thy very life is in the hands of those whose
instrument thou hast become! A word—a
single word from Sir Edward Poynings' lips,
and away with thee to the gaol—away with
thee to the tribunal—away with thee to the
scaffold"'
Sorely troubled—and indeed cruelly racked
with these harrowing thoughts, Gerald St
Louis continued to pace to and fro in his
apartment, while the sun went down and
the gloom of evening gradually deepened
around him. Unmindful however of the
gathering obscurity, he continued to pace
to and fro, like a restless tiger chafing in its
cage; and though he no longer mused aloud:
yet were his thoughts as active as at first in
revolving all the circumstances of his posi-
tion. Suddenly he was startled from his
painful reverie by the opening of his chamber
door; and^n the twilight glimmering which
now prevailed in the room, he had litthi
difficulty in recognizing the person of the king.
"Is this you, St . Louis 1 and are you
alone?" asked the monarch, as he entered
the apartment with an evident stealthiness
of manner, and closing the door cautiously
behind him.
"My liege, it is I, your Grace's devoted
servant," answered the Secretary, sinking
upon one knee in the presence of the mon-
arch, whose somewhat portly person was but
ill-defined in the gathering gloom.
"Rise, rise, young man," said the King j
"I have business for you to perform—and no
time to tarry. But is it your humour thus
to be in the dark? or were you preparing
for rest when I entered? Yet metl.ought
that I heard you pacing to and fro as I open*
cd the door
"My liege, I was giving way to certain
reflections," answered St. Louis, so confused
that he scarcely knew what he said.
"Reflections—eh?" echoed the King, with
a good-humoured laugh. "But we will not
waste words, Master Philosopher"
"Shall I light a lamp, sire?" asked the
young Secretary.
"No—it is better for the room thus to be
enveloped in darkness," rejoined the King.
"And now listen. Throw your most capa-
cious mantle over your garments, so as to
escape particular attention; and hie you
forth from the private door of the palace.
You will pass the sentry by means of the
watchword, which is Plantagenet. Then
proceed straightway to the stairs at the laroV
ing-place in front of the terrace; and if the
boat that is expected be already there, good
and well: if no', wait you until it arrive*.


THE NECROMANCER.
A certain individual will give you the watch-
word of Plantugenet, which shall be a suffi-
cient guarantee for your further proceeding.
And this further proceeding is that you
forthwith conduct the individual alluded to,
into the palace by the private door, and es-
cort him at once to this room—observe!
this room—where I shall in the meantime
wait. Be expeditious—and what is more
important still, be prudent; for the mission
I am now entrusting to you must pass with-
out exciting observation. Now go."
"But is it not your Grace's pleasure to
have a light >" asked St. Louis.
"Again I tell you," replied the King,
"that it suits me better to remain here in
the dark. The conference I am about to
have with the individual whom you are to
escort hither, is of importance—as you
may well suppose by the secrecy of these
proceedings. Therefore the deeper the
veil that darkness throws over them, the
better. And now, once more, I bid thee
depart."
St. Louis said not another word; but en-
veloping himself in a large Spanish mantle,
and putting on a cap with a dark feather
which overshadowed his countenance, he
quitted the room. Threading the passage
on which it opened, he descended the stair-
case and issued forth from the private door.
He was now in that division of the enclosure
on which the royal apartments looked, and
which was therefore slrictly guarded by sen-
tinels placed at short distances. Giving the
watchword Plantagenet, St. Louis passed on
without interruption, and soon reached the
terrace on the bank of the Thames: but on
gnining the stairs, he could perceive no boat.
The night was very dark; but still there was
that dim halo or glimmering on the water
which makes objects upon its surface discern-
ible; and in a very few minutes the Royal
Secretary beheld a barge shooting in towards
the landing-place. There were six rowers,
who plied the oars so noiselessly that it
wemed as if they were muffled : for not the
■lightest sound of a ripple, much leRs a splash,
was heard. In the stern of the barge there
was a canopy, with drapery cloning all round
in the form of a tent; and St. Louis at once
felt assured that the individual whom the
King expected was one of no mean distinc-
tion.
The barge ran alongside the stairs, on the
lowest step of which St. Louis waited to re-
ceive the personage who was now arriving
under such circumstances of secrecy. Not a
syllalde was spoken by the rowers as they
threw up their oars perpendicularly between
Iheir feet. An individual then came forth
from beneath the tent-like canopy; and as-
sisted by St. Louis' arm, he at once stepped
ashore, giving utterance to the word Planta-
genet at the same time.
By the very manner in which he laid hi■
hand on St. Louis' arm—by the tone in which
he gave the watchword—and by Vhe way in
which he continued to lean on the young
Secretary, it was easy for the latter to con-
jecture that this personage was one of no
mean consequence. With becoming respect
therefore did he conduct him up the landing-
steps ; and so far as the deep obscurity would
allow him to form any idea of the stranger's
personal appearance, he seemed to be a man
of middle age, with a handsome countenance,
a somewhat portly figure, and of elevated
stature. He wore the cap of an ecclesiastic;
bat his form was so completely enveloped
in a large dark cloak that St. Louis was un-
able to judge whether the raiment thus com-
pletely concealed, was also of a clerical de-
scription.
In silence the Secretary and the visitor
walked side by side towards the private door
of the palace, passing the sentries without
interruption, as the former hurriedly whis-
pered the watchword in their ear. On en-
tering the building, the light that was burn-
ing at the foot of the staircase showed St.
Louis that the estimate he had already form-
ed as to the personal appearance of this
mysterious visitor, was a correct one ; but he
was now enabled to note the additional ob-
servation, that the countenance of the in-
dividual was pale—marked with wrinkU s,
evidently premature and indicative of pro-
found study rather than of age—and wearing
an expression the austerity of which was not
altogether unmixed with worldly-mindedness,
cunning, and sensuality.
On his side, the individual of whom we
are speaking, fixed his sharp piercing eyes
upon St. Louis, as if to read his character at
a glance,—saying at the same time, " I pre-
sume, young man, you hold a confidential
post about the King's person?"
'• I have the honour to be his Grace's
Private Secretary," answered St. Louis, in a
tone of the deepest deference: for there was
something so commanding and at the same
time so benevolently condescending in the
demeanour and voice of him who spoke, as
to confirm St. Louis' previous impression and
proclaim his companion a personage of exalted
rank. Indeed St. Louis was already con-
vinced that he must be some high dignitary
of the Church.
They now ascended the staircase; and St.
Louis conducted the visitor to the chamber
where King Henry was waiting.
"Is that you, my lord ?" asked the monarch,
speaking from the darkness of the room the
instant the door was opened.
"It is I—your Grace's devoted and duteous
servant," was the response, delivered with a
bland and courtier-like tone rather than with
the solemn gravity of a high churchman.
St. Louis, wait you in the passage," said


THE NECR
157
OMANCER.
the King, "and see that no one intrudes
hither. Devise what excuse you may if you
be seen loitering about in the corridor; but be
careful that no one enters this room. Come,
my lord, give me your hand and I will conduct
you to a heat."
These lust words rrere addressed to the
high personage whom St. Louis had just in-
troduced into the palace; and immediately
afterwards ilie door was shut.
The young Secretary had remained, as the
reader will observe, in the corridor, which
was but very feebly lighted by a lamp at one
end, and was prelty nearly enveloped in dark-
ness at the spot where he was now standing.
But still it was light enough for any one pass-
ing that way to notice him; and if thus
noticed, what excuse could he make for being
seen lounging about at that hour, when,
according to the custom of the time, the de-
pendants of the Royal Household were sup-
posed to retire to rest:—for it was now past ten
o'clock. The King had left it to his inven-
tion to devise some excuse, if observed there;
but this he felt would not prove so easy,
should the emergency arise—while, on the
other hand, it would be as much as his
head was worth to proclaim the truth to
any questioner and reveal the royal proceed-
ings. It was therefore clear that St . Louis
must not remain in that passage. Besides,
hi' was inspired by an immense curiosity to
ascertain what could be the meaning of this
visit, paid under circumstances of such mys-
tery and precaution—and who the visitor
himself was. Suddenly he remembered that
the adjacent room was at the moment unoc-
cupied, and that there was a very thin door
of communication between the two. With-
out another instant's hesitation St. Louis
passed into the empty chamber leaving the
door which communicated with the passage
wide open, so as to be ready to afford him
instantaneous egress whenever the conference
between the King and the visitor should break
up and his services should be needed to con-
duct the latter back to the boat. Then, plant-
ing himself at the partition door-way, St.
Louis held his breath while listening to the
conversation that had already commenced in
the adjacent room, and every word )f which
he could distinctly hear.
CHAPTER XXXV.
THK COKVERiKCE IS THK DARK.
"And so, my Lord Archbishop," the King
iras saying at the instant when St. Louis
thus commenced his eavesdropping, "you
agree with me that the circumstances under
which your lordship has been brought hither,
are sufficiently consistent with caution and
prudence? But assuredly, if any of thess
circumstances—such for instance as receiving
you here in a dark room—should appear dis-
respectful to your lordship, you have but
yourself to thank for it."
'• Gracious King," replied Wolsey, Arch-
bishop of York,—for such indeed was the
eminent personage now in such strange con-
ferenco with Henry,—" ne circumstances un-
der which your Highness might deign to
receive me could be deemed disparaging to
my personal dignity or my ecclesiastic rank.
But, as your Grace has said, it was I myself
who craved that this audience should be of
the strictest privacy, so that neither curiosity
might be awakened nor espial risked."
"And moreover, in the private despatch
which your lordship sent me yesterday, be-
seeching this audience," observed the King,
"you enjoined me to envelop it with as much
mystery as possible—lest, as you observed,
'the very walls should have eyes and ears for
what was to take place. At first I was puz-
zled how to meet your wishes and arrange an
interview under such peculiar circumstances:
for, as your lordship is doubtless well aware,
when a King surrounds himself with cour-
tiers it is but so many spies whom he plants
upon his actions—and the more courtiers the
more spies. However, after some delilieration
with myself, I resolved to make a confidant
of my youthful Secretary: it was he there-
fore who conducted your lordship hither,
—and this is his chamber. I would not
have the lamp burning, because the light seen
through the lattice at this hour might chance
to attract the very notice your lordship is so
anxious to avoid. Have I done wisely? and
have all these arrangements been carried out
well?"
"Most dread Sovereign," answered Wol-
sey, " your Grace does everything both wisely
and well."
"Humph!" said the King, with a tone
proving that he could not help thinking the
courtier-like churchman had his own private
reasons for dealing in flattery. "But now,
without farther waste of words, your lordship
will be pleased to explain what pressing and
urgent matter it is that you have to treat
upon?"
"Pardon me," returned W olsey," if I open
what may be termed the business-portion of
our conference, by hinting that if your Grace
will at once fix your thoughts upon the most
serious, most important, and most solemn act
which you have lately performed, it will spare
me much unnecessary and even painful pre-
face, by immediately affording your Grace a
clue to the purport of my visit."
"Eh,my lord! is it to deal in enigmas,"
exclaimed the King somewhat angrily, " that
you have come all the way from your palace
at Westminster this night, and under such
clouded and mysterious circumstance* V


158
THE NECROMANCER.
Forgive me, sire, if I came not to the
point at once," said Wolsey, in a humble and
deferential tone: " but although heaven knows
the welfare of your Highness is uppermost in
mr heart, and would at all times embolden
me to speak frankly and candidly, the busi-
ness which hath brought me hither is some-
what difficult to approach. Again therefore
do I beseech your Highness to throw out a
few words—even one word—to show that you
have already obtained a clue to my meaning,
so that f may lie encouraged to proceed.*'
"Well, well, then," ejaculated the King,
still somewhat impatiently, " if it bo necessary
to prove that I divine your meaning, and have
perhaps an inkling of your motives,—in order
to encourage you to proceed,—you shall find
me pretty frank and candid. But mark, my
Lord Archbishop of York! if your object be
such as 1 conjecture, and if you have given nil
this trouble and created all this anxiety and
suspense on my part for the bare purpose of
reaching mv private ear in an underhand fash-
ion, you will find that 1 am not likely to remain
well pleased at the proceeding. However, I
suspend furiher comment thereon until I hear
your explanations. As for my suspicion or
conjecture relative to the purport of your visit,
you shall at once learn what I think. At
present," continued Henry, in a sarcastic tone,
"Lord Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury,
is the High Chancellor and Prime Minister
of the Kingdom; and there is a certain Lord
Wolsey, Archbishop of York, who longs to
rise to that post. Now, my lord," asked the
King, with a still more biting irony, "have I
conjectured the truth!"
"No, your Highness—no!" was Wolsey's
firm and even somewhat indignant answer.
"Had my purpose, been one of underhand po-
litical intrigue and base selfish manoeuvring, I
should indeed expect to draw down upon my
head your Grace's direst indignation. Besides,
by virtue of my rank I possess the privilege of
approaching your Grace at proper times, and
under ordinary circumstances could solicit a
private audience on Court-days in the wonted
manner. But this is no ordinary circumstance;
and hence the mystery, the secrecy, and the
precautions with which I deemed it prudent
that my present interview with your Grace
should be accompanied."
"Then speak out frankly at once," exclaim-
ed the King, impatiently.
"I will," rejoined Wolsey : "and therefore,
without further preface, I will mention to your
Highness the name of Father °aul, Superior
of the Monastery of Twelve."
"I have heard of that establishment," an-
swered the King, " and believe it to be one ef
good repute. But who the Superior may be
is ■ matter with which I am unacquainted:
nor do I trouble myself thereon."
"Reflect, consider, great King," urged Wol-
sey, « whether the name of Father Paul bi
indeed altogether unfamiliar to your ears?"
"Totally unfamiliar," rejoined Henry. " But
what of this ecclesiastic of whom you speak?"
"A fortnight hack," answered Wolsey in a
solemn voice, " Father Paul, the Superior of
the Monastery of Twelve, was found dead at
the foot of the altar in the church belonging to
that establishment."
And what have I to do with a dead monk V
asked Henry, in a tone that seemed half care-
less and half impatient.
"Permit me to continue," said Wolsey.
"Indeed, I must crave your Highness's pa-
tience to listen to a short narrative. Itwill not
occupy many minutes, and is of importance."
"Then in heaven's name, proceed !" ejacu-
lated the King.
"I will, sire. On the evening of the 13th
of this month—namely, the month of August,"
continued Wolsey with solemn sententious-
ness, " Father Paul issued instructions to his
eleven brethren to repair to their cells, and not
to stir thence until the peep of dawn should
announce the time for matin-prayer. Accus-
tomed to obedience, the eleven monks shut
themselves up in their respective cells, without
seeking to learn the motive for which the order
had been given. Soon after ten o'clock, it
appears, some of them heard the sounds of
horses approaching the monastery; but they
gave no rein to undue curiosity. A little later
on that night, a tremendous storm broke forth
Your Highness may perhaps recollect,"
added Wolsey, with an evident meaning in
his accents, "that such was the case V
"I recollect the storm well," answered the
King. "It was a fortnight back, as you hava
said; and the thunder shook this palace to iU
very foundations. But go on. my lord."
"The eleven monks who had been consigned
to their cells," continued Wolsey," prayed with
a devotion well becoming their own sacred
character and the awful solemnity of the hour.
Some of them heard the sounds of horses'
hoofs again, but this time in rapid retreat from
the Monastery. Not until the first glimmer
of the dawn began to peep into the cloisters
and through the loop-holes of the cells, did the
eleven monks come forth from their stone tene-
ments; and then they repaired in procession
to the chapel to oiler up their matin praise to
heaven. On entering the sacred place, thev
beheld lights Bickering upon the altar-piece;
the tapers had been evidently burning all
night, and were now sunken down into their
sockets. As the holy men advanced, they per
ceived their venerable Superior, Father Paul,
kneeling upon the steps of the alia/, hut with
his bead bowed down in such a manner that
bis brow rested upon tho cold marble. They
thought he was praying devoutly and in silence.
They drew nearer still; but gradually a cold
trt.ici t crept ovei them like a presentiment, aa


THE NECROMANCER.
159
they observed how still and motionless he re-
mained. They advanced to the steps of the
altar—hut lie arose not o give them his bless-
ing ; he made no sign of life. They raised him
—he was stone dead. The corpse was cold—
the limbs were rigid—it was but too evident
that the breath had left his body many hours."
Here Wolsey paused—most probably to as-
certain what effect his narrative would produce
upon the King; but the room being dark, he
could not of course see the monarch's coun-
tenance; and his Highness did not immediately
speak.
"There is something in the tale solemn and
awful enough, no doubt," at length observed
the monarch; " but it was not merely to tell
me this history, tragic though it be, that your
lordship has this night come all the way from
Westminster? There must be more behind;
aol [,ray thee proceed."
"I will, sire," returned Wolsey. "When
the corpse was borne from the church into the
Monastery, it was placed upon the humble
pallet where the living anchorite had been
wont to sleep; and the good monk who was
deputed by his brethren to perform the last
offices for the dead, discovered a slip of parch-
ment amidst the folds of the deceased's gar-
ments. Mark, my liege ! a slip of parchment!
Am 1 to proceed 2—or have I said enough?"
"By heaven, my lord!" ejaculated the
King angrily ; but immediately checking him-
self, he said, "Go on—go on ; I will hear you
out. 'Twere perhaps better—although
but go on!"
"I will do so, then—since such is your
Grace's command," observed Wolsey, with a
sort of subdued wonder in his accents; as if
the King's conduct amazed him much—more
indeed than by his voice he dared show. "On
perusing the contents of that parchment-slip,"
he continued, " the worthy monk who had dis-
covered it, was stricken with the profoundest
astonishment; and he at once understood why
he and his brethren had been consigned the
night before to their cells. But he also saw
the necessity of keeping the secret which acci-
dent had thus revealed to him; it was his late
Superior's secret—and it had fallen into his
hands like a heritage from the dead! He
therefore said nothing of the circumstance unto
his brethren, but kept the parchment-slip safe
about his own person. The very next night
the monk dreamt that he beheld the spirit of
Father Paul standing by the side of his pallet,
and gazing down upon him with a look of
mingled mournfuluess and reproach. For se-
veral successive nights was this dream repeat-
ed—until at length the monk resolved to
consult the new Superior, who had just been
elected from amongst his brethren.' He did
so; and the Superior at once advised him to
place the parchment certificate in the hands
of one of the high dignitaries of the church.
The monk, acting upon this counsel, lost no
time in proceeding to Lord Warham's resi-
dence at Greenwich ; bi t his lordship was ab-
sent at Canterbury. Thereupon the worthy
monk bent his steps to Westminster—sought
an interview with me—narrated all these par-
ticulars—and placed the parchment in my
hands. I enjoined him to maintain the strict-
est secrecy, sending a similar message through
him to his Superior. This occurred yesterday
morning: and after due deliberation with my-
self, I resolved to seek an early audience of
your Highness—but an audience clothed in the
deepest mystery, veiled in the profoundest
secrecy, and accompanied with all possible
precautions."
Wolsey stopped, evidently awaiting some
observation or comment from the lips of the
King; but Henry spake not for nearly a mi-
nute :—and then he said, in a tone which
seemed filled with blended, astonishment and
impatience, "Well, my lord, why tarry you
thus? Proceed with your tale; for as yet I
am at a loss to conceive how it hath anything
to do with me."
"Great King," resumed Wolsey, with the
deepest solemnity, " this transaction is assu-
redly not one that may be trifled with. The
parchment slip which I received from the monk,
and which I have now about my person, speaks
of a Papal Bull issued at a very recent date,
and granting certain licenses and dispensations.
Now, most potent Sovereign, be not offended
with your faithful servant—but pardon my
boldness, I conjure you—when I remind your
Highness that I, though a most unworthy ser-
vant of the Sovereign Pontiff at Rome, do ex-
ercise the functions of his special Legate at
this moment in your Grace's dominions; and
every document emanating from Rome, stamp-
ed with the keys of St. Peter, and having the
three leaden seals appended, must of necessity
pass through my hands, and be duly recorded
in the archives whereof I am the custodian.
Shall I continue, sire ?—do you wish me to
proceed?"
"Instead of asking my permission," quick-
ly responded the King, "you recoive my com'
mand to do so. And now delay not: for I
am crowing weary of this long discourse, my
lord/*
"God keep you» Highness!" said Wolsey
with a deep solemnity of tone: "and again
I must take leave to observe, even at the
risk of offending my beloved monarch, that
this is no matter to trifle with. Ah! will
your Grace compel me to speak out plainly,
and to declare that the Papal Bull mentioned
in the slip of parchment which I received
from the monk, never emanated from Rome
—never passed through my hands—but
though most cunningly devised and skilfully
confectioned, is but a fabrication and a for-
gery t"
"By heaven! this grows too tedious ret
even the patience ol a saint!" ejaculate*


16C
THE NECROMANCER.
King Henry "Here! what, ho! St. Louis,
come quirk!' he shouted forth at the top of
his powerful voice.
The young Secretary bounded away from
the partition-door at which he was listening;
and the next moment entered his own cham-
ber, where the King aod Wolsey had been
conversing.
Lijht the lamp. Master Secretary!" cried
the King, still speaking in a load and angry
tone. "Were the eyes of all my Court fixed
upon the lattice of this room, and able to pen-
etrate, we would have alight! Be quick, I
say—be quick!"
"Has this young man been listening to our
discourse, my liege," asked Wolsey, "that he
responded so quickly to your Highness's sum-
mons?"
"No—he would not dare!" answeied the
King. "But I raised my voice aloud—and
being in the passage, he was quick to fly to
the summons. Haste, St . Louis—the lamp,
the lamp! I see it is the only thing to throw
light upon his lordship's story!"
"But, great Sovereign," urged Wolsey,
"will you admit this young man to our confi-
dence?"
"Silence, my lord !—not another word!"
interrupted the King petulantly; and he was
heard to stamp his foot violently upon the
floor.
The next moment the lamp flamed up,—
the strong spirituous oil caicmng the match
which St. Louis applied to the wick; and the
three persons who were in the apartment—
namely, the King, Wolsey, and the Private
Secretary—were in a moment revealed to each
othel's eyes.
"Now, my lord, the parchment—the parch-
ment!" said the King. "Come—give it
quickly—fumble not thus beneath your gar-
ments—quick, I say—there !—at last!"
The King snatched the slip of parchment
from Wolsey's hands, and nastily ran his
eye over its contents. An extraordinary ex-
pression rapidly spread itself upon his coun-
tenance; and turning aside for an instant,
he seemed to deliberate what course he should
pursue.
"Up to the very last moment," muttered
Wolsey to himself, "did the infatuated mon-
arch hug the belief that the document might
not reveal the whole extent of his imprudence;
and now"
"St. Louis!" cried the King, suddenly
turning towards the young Secretary, "go
you down to the stables—prepare two horses
—have them in readiness at the private gate
—and in ten minutes I will join you there,
ifou will accompany me to the place whither
I am going."
St. Louis hastened away to execute his
royal master's orders, and the King remained
alone with the Lord Archbishop of York. What
more passed between the monarch and Wolsey
—who was already intriguing to raise hia»
self to power—we need not pause to describe
Suffice it to say, that after a few more words of
brief and hurried discourse, Wolsey returned
to his barge,—while the King hastened id'
join St. Louis, whom he found ready with the
two horses at the private gate of the palace-
grounds.
CHAPTER XXXVL „
X XiET1KG. „;:i,.
Ok the same evening of which we hava
just been writing in the previous chapter,-^
but a couple of hours earlier than when the
King first went to St. Louis' apartment in the.
Royal House,—Musidora was walking alone
in the garden of Grantham Villa. The sun
was then bright, though descending toward*
its western home: the air was filled with the
warmth of the glowing autumnal season—the
borders and parterres, amidst which the gravel
walks meandered, were beiutiful in all the
myriad varieties of floral hues—and the ripe
fruits clustered upon the laden boughs of the
trees.
Musidora was clad in a dark dress that set
off the alabaster fairness of her complexion to
its fullest advantage, and developed the grace-
fully voluptuous contours of her splendid form*.
The masses of her hair, shaming the most
lustrous hue of the raven's wing, fell in lux-
uriant ringlets over the ivory shoulders and
on the proud bosom which the low-cut cor-
sage of her dress half revealed;—and even
below the slender waist did the rich tresses
descend, floating heavily around her, like a
veil which the warm sluggish breeze can but
languidly agitate. Her countenance was mora,
than usually serious. That smile, which in
its coll brilliancy was wont to linger upon
and soften the lower portian of her coun-
tenance, was not there now; the features of
chiselled marble were well nigh as rigid
as the marble itself, though not altoge-
ther expressionless, but profoundly solemn.
Neither proudly radiant nor coldly proud at
this hour, Musidora appeared as if there were
a deep and painful pre-occupati»n of all her
thoughts, and as if she were seriously and
deliberately endeavouring, not merely to ana-
lyze feelings of which she was conscious, but .
also to read the meaning of others which
dimly and vaguely, yet oppressively haunted
her.
Her step was slow, and seemed measured ,
to the mournful tenour of her thoughts; her
large dark eyes, though not absolutely cast
down, had their looks inclined; her arms,
white and dazzling as modelled alabaster, and
bare to the shoulders, were curved in such a
manner that the wrists crossed as if listlessly


THE NECROMANCER. 161
thrown the one over the other, at the peak of
the stomacher: while the gentle inclination
ojf the head gave a most graceful arching to
the neck; so that there was something ele-
gantly statuesque, mingled with a soft aban-
donment, about her entire form.
The long skirt of her dark dress swept with
a slight rustling sound over the gravel path-
way; but being shorter in front, the flowing
drapery concealed not the admirably shaped
feet and ankles, as the lady slowly pursued
her way towards a shrubbery at that extremity
of the garden which was farthest from the
villa.
Seldom was it that Musidora gave audible
utterance to her thoughts; rare were the oc-
casions on which her habitual caution, and
the strong control which she was wont to ex-
ercise over herself, were so far forgotten as to
lead her to run the risk of being overheard by
any curious listener who might happen to be
near. But now, in that same serious mood
which had thus as it were beguiled her with
its mournful influence to abandon somewhat
of the glacial dignity of her demeanour to a
slightly drooping gait, was she also led to
allow her thoughts to flow in audible musings
from her lips, and she the while unconscious
of the proceeding.
"I might have seen—I might have known
that this marriage would not merely fail to
secure my happiness, but that it would even
stamp my misery. Happiness !—no, no;
that is what I never could have hopei'- for!
The green returns not to the withered leaf,
nor the delicate bloom to the blighted flower;
still less its early poetry to the heart. I have
sacrificed myself—I feel that I have done so.
But wherefore did I accept this destiny?
Was it through ambition? Yes—a lofty,
towering ambition! And yet God knows it
was not ambition all! No—it was for my
beloved father's sake as well. Yes—and
more than this likewise—that I might have
the power of dispensing benefits to the poor,
the wretched, and the down-trampled mem-
bers of the human race. If then ambition be
an evil, my motives in accepting the dignity
of Queen of England were noj all evil;
for besides ambition there were some softer
and gentler if not nobler sentiments. But am
I Queen of England 1 Ah! now I have
asked myself a question that seems to ijuch
the chord which, hitherto unknown, has been
vibrating with a mysterious pain in my heart.
Yes—and at this moment while giving sub-
stance and shape to the doubt itself, and call-
ing up into palpable existence that misgiving
which has hitherto lurked in the darkest
depths of my soul, I feel a dull sickening
sense of terror come over me. That feeling,
which for some days past has haunted me
like a weird presentiment of evil, now as-
sumes the shape of a real phantom in my
path. Then, am I Queen of England?" ,
Asking herself this question in a louder
tone than that in which she had previously
been speaking, Musidora stopped short; and
while a more than ghastly pallor sat upon her
features, a strange feverish lustre shone in
the depths of her superb dark eyes, and the
next moment an expression of mingling an-
guish and bewilderment swept over her coun-
tenance.
"Yet why do I put that question to my-
self?" she suddenly resumed, still speaking
audibly, and at the same time continuing her
slow and seemingly measured walk through
the shrubbery. "Were not all the ceremonies
complete? was not the papal bull read ! were
not the witnesses present? was not the priest's
blessing given? was not my hand united to
the King's 1 and is not the certificate here—
yes, here in my bosom V
Thus speaking, she again stopped short:
and drawing forth the slip of parchment from
its resting-place in her corsage, she opened it
and slowly read its contents: then folding it
up again she returned it to her bosom.
"Yes—all the proceedings were regula
and legitimate. Then wherefore this strange
and wildering uncertainty! why this gloom
that creeps in upon my spirit? why this pre-
sentiment of evil that takes possession of my
soul? Only fourteen short days have passed
since that night—may I not even say, that
dreadful night ?—on which the bridal cere-
mony took place; and from all the King has
told me, is it not plain enough that it were
dangerous for him to proclaim immediately
this secret marriage? Wherefore, then, should
I be already impatient for the public recogni-
tion of that rank which is assuredly mine?
Is it that my soul still trembles and my brain
still reels beneath the influence of those omens
which seemed to mark the evening of our
bridal? or is it that the memories of the past
have been vividly re-awakened within me'
No, no; those memories needed not arousing;
they never slumbered!"
And as Musidora gave utterance to these
last words with a strange, a wild, and yet a
deeply concentrated emphasis,—again did an
expression of anguish sweep over her coun-
tenance; and, stopping short, she covered her
face—that ghastly pallid face—with her deli-
cate white hands. Thus she stood for up-
wards of a minute, still and motionless as a
statue. No tears trickled between her fingers
—no sobs broke from her lips—no sighs con-
vulsed her bosom; all that passed, was pass-
ing inwardly—and deep indeed, mysterious
too as deep, was the lady's unutterable woe.
At length she slowly withdrew her hands
from her countenance, and resumed her walk
as well as her audible musings.
"No, no—such memories as those never
slumbered !" she said, thus again giving utter-
ance to the thought that was uppermost in
her mind. "Besides—that day, six weeks


162
THE NECROMANCER.
previous to the bridal-evening, when old Lan-
dini whispered certain words in mine ears
—Ah ! they indeed would have caused all
the past to flame up into a vivid glare before
me, even if the dark shades of forgetfulness
had ever for a single moment begun to en-
velop it! And during that interval of six
weeks, what strange fancies tortured me—
what wild and frightful visions haunted me!
No wonder that my moods were versatile as
those of the most capricious girl who knows
not her own mind from on; instant to another!
—no wor.ier that my conduct towards the
King was marked by as many variations as
the tenour of my inward thoughts! Oh!
there were moments when the idea fastened
upon my soul that a hideous deception was
being practised towards me; and being tor-
tured by the fiery agonies of that suspicion,
did I often find myself gazing upon the King
to acquire the certainty that it was really he,
and not some demon taking his place. At
other times the fancy would seize upon me
that he himself must be made the sport of
malicious fiends who were filling his mind
with the delusion of love, only to dispel it
again when it should reach the point at which
retreat was impossible, but aversion and re-
gret most certain! And, O heavens! how
arduously did I struggle against those tortur-
ing dreams—how fiercely did I battle against
those frightful misgivings!—and in my zeal
to conquer them, to what strange moods of
unnatural mirth and buoyant spirits did I
seem to abandon myself! My conduct must
have been most singular;—and yet the King
appeared to notice it not. But why?" she
suddenly exclaimed, "do I thus give way to
these painful thoughts 1 why do I now recall
every fitful fancy that tortured me during
those six weeks? Musidora, Musidora !" she
said, apostrophizing herself in a reproachful
tone, "all this is unworthy of you! You,
who for three long years and upwards en-
tombed the past as it were so deeply in your
heart's sepulchre, and covered that grave of
perished feelings, not with the flowers of arti-
ficial smiles, but with the snows of a cold and
frozen mien !—you, who until the last few
weeks had exercised such sovereign sway
over every sentiment of the soul and emotion
of the mind, that not even ablush could rise to
your checks against your will, nor an unpre-
meditated glance flash forth from your eyes!—
you who had thus succeeded in converting your-
self into a statue, and rendering your very
countenance as inscrutable as the mystery
itself which lay deep buried in your heart!—
you, Musidora," she continued, still reproach-
fully addressing herself, "are now becoming
weak, nervous, and apprehensive as the silliest
girl,—torturing every passing shadow into a
phantom of fear, and brooding upon every
transient image until it assumes the shape of
» palpable spec'.re. Musidora, Musidora ! you
must take courage—you must be firm—yos
must become yourself again!"
Inspired •■ it were all in a moment with
the very aourage which she sought thus to
summon to her aid, and animated with the
fortitude which was natural to, her soul, Mu-
sidora suddenly raised her head—stepped out
with a finner pace—and assumed a look of
mingled hauteur and defiance, as if she were
prepared to combat even destiny itself. Back
to her countenance came that smile of ice-like
brilliancy which she was wont to wear; hef
eyes flashed strange and living fires; she put
back the cloud of raven hair which had some-
what obtruded over the alabaster expanse of
her brow; and her fine bust seemed to swell
into nobler contours as if queenly thoughts
were springing up within. Proudly now she
walked—proudly too she looked; but combi-
ning elegance and grace in every movement
and in every gesture, and with that cold gla-
cier-like brilliancy shining over all, she seemed
the Queen of Winter transported from the
frozen regions of the north to the warm sun-
shine of that garden-scene!
At the very instant she had thus resumed
this icy calmness of demeanour, which, if not
exactly natural to her, at least had been her
habitual bearing for nearly four years,—she
heard the sounds of footsteps advancing from
behind. Deliberately turning round, she sud-
denly started—and something like a suppressed
shriek seemed to escape her lips, as she found
herself face to face with an individual who
thus appeared no stranger to her.
This was Lionel Danvers!
The nobleman was apparelled, according to
his wont, in dark raiment, but of the costliest
materials and most elegant fashion; and no-
thing could be better adapted to set off his
tall, slender,and faultlessly symmetrical figure,
than the costume of that age. The cap, with
its gracefully drooping feather, seemed to sit
proudly upon the masses of his long curling
raven-black hair, and above his forehead of
noble height. His splendid dark eyes, glo-
rious as Musidora's own, flashed forth fires as
bright though far more sinister; and upon his
classically xut lips, shaded by the thinly but
darkly pencilled moustache, sat that half-scorn-
ful half-disdainful smile which seemed to have
been a characteristic of all the scions of the
Danvers race, but more especially of Lord
Lionel.
The excitement which seized upon Musi-
dora at this meeting, evidently so unexpected
and so unlooked for, disappeared as quickly as
it came ;—and all in an instant resuming hoi
dignity of mien and her glacier-like look of
haughty beauty, she said in a cold passionless
voice, as if her very words were ice, " What
would you with me?"
"Will not the fair Musidora honour me with
a brief interview V asked Danvers; then, withi
'•it waiting for her assent, he plared himself


THE NECROMANCER. 163
by her side on her right hand, and with an
easy but graceful gesture, went on to observe,
"Do not let me interrupt your walk; but suf-
fer me to become the partner of your ramble
in this delicious garden for a few minutes.
Behold ! the sun is sinking towards the west-
ern horizon; in half-an-hour or »o he will dis-
appear from our view. Grant me, then, the
interval which will thus elapse ere the twilight
commences?"
"Mut for what purpose this meeting ?" ask-
ed Musidora ; and though her words and looks
were still calm—nay, more than calm—cold
(-yen unto freezing point—yet was it evident
ti, the eye of Lord Danvers that it cost her an
almost superhuman effort to sustain such an
unnatural composure.
"Did you think, Musidora," he asked, fix-
ing his eyes with a strange searching look upon
her, *' that we were never to meet again? did
you believe that when we parted last—I need
not allude (o the how or the where—"
"No, no!" suddenly ejaculated Musidora,
her eyes flashing a wild fire, and a look of
anguish sweeping over her countenance, as if
Lord Dnnvers' words had suddenly conjured
up a crucifying remembrance: but again, the
next instant, did she conquer her emotions and
resume the cold hauteur of her looks.
"You see, Musidora," observed the noble-
man, with a slightly perceptible irony in his
words, and an expansion of the mocking smile
upon his lips, " that I have but to breathe a
few syllables to your ear in order to startle you
from this icy inanimation of your's, and send
the torrent of a living fire pouring through
every vein."
"My lord," responded Musidora, her deep
3yes glowing with a strange unnatural lustre,
and her lips blanching as she spoke, "your
words may conjure up memories that are tor-
turing to a degree : but is not my conscience
pure? Whatever fearful mystery there may
be in those past circumstances to which you
have alluded—yet if crime be connected
therewith—if awful horror lurk in its scarce-
ly fathomable profundities—surely it is you,
my lord, who should tremble more than 1V
"Think you, Musidora," asked Lionel
Danvers, now suddenly becoming strangely
excited himself, and glaring down upon her
as if with those fierce and fiery looks of his
he could pierce into the depths of her soul
and fathom its most secret thoughts,—"think
you, Musidora, I ask, that you have ever,
even in the wildest flight of your imagination
or in the loftiest soaring of your conjecture,
penetrated the tremendous mystery to which
we are both alluding V
"May God have mercy upon you, Lionel
Danvers!" suddenly answered Musidora, in
\ angularly earnest and impressive tone:
then as, if all her unnaturally assumed cou-
rage and calmness abruptly broke down in a
moment, she literally wrung her hands, cry-
ing, "Oh ! it is impossible that I can conti
nue to regard you without emotion, knowing
what I do know and thinking what I do
think!"
"But that emotion, Musidora V exclaimed
Danvers: and in his dark eyes shone still
more brightly and more glowingly that
strange lustre which shot forth fires terriblo
to encounter.
"That emotion V repeated Musidora, bcr
blanched lips quivering and her whole form
trembling likewise, as if she were now actu-
ally shivering with a real and not an as-
sumed glacial coldness: "do you ask me to
explain what that emotion is? I will then.
It is a pity—a commisseration boundless,
Oh! boundless as the illimitable immensity
of that ill which, heaven knows how or why,
you have wrought unto yourself!"
"Ah!" ejaculated Danvers, an awful ex-
pression of mingled rage, and hate, and dia-
bolic malignity suddenly distorting his su-
blimely beautiful countenance: « have you
then so far penetrated my wild and wondrous
secret as to make me the object of such gro-
velling, despicable sentiments as those'
Perish all pity!—beneath the heel of con-
tempt do I crush all commisseration! Sucl
as my destiny is, do I follow it: such as my
fate is, do I pursue it"
"But your da*m—your final dqom, un-
happy man?" exclaimed Musidora, her
whole appearance so full of convulsing hor-
ror and wild affright, that she seemed not
the same being she was when clothed in her
ice-like dignity a few minutes back.
"My doom, Musidora !" returned Danvers,
his voice suddenly sinking to a tone awfully
low, and yet filled with the accents of fierce
despair: "speak not to me thus ! dare not to
breathe that word in my ear! Besides,"
he added, in a wild voice of passionate vehe-
mence, "you are wrong—you err deplorably
—your conjecture has misled you—you ha-«
followed the promptings of a fevered fancy
"Would to heaven that I could think so,
Lionel!" responded Musidora quickly: then
appearing suddenly to recollect that she was
speaking in a tone and likewise in terms all
too familiar for her position as a married
woman, especially a bride in the first days
of the honeymoon, she went on to say with
a graver look and colder voice, " Lord Dan-
vers, do not mistake my meaning. Attribute
not the words I have uttered, to any revival
of the sentiment of other times. No—ihat
has perished for ever! But when I express-
ed myself so vehemently—perhaps too warmly
in behalf of your welfare—it was as a fellow-
creature that I regarded you: and to any
other human being whom I fancied or feared
to be similarly situated, should 1 have spoken
in precisely the same terms. But enough
of this, if it offend you. And now perhaps,


.64 THE NECROMANCER.
my lord," she added with a still more digni-
fied manner and even in a tone of command,
"perhaps you will be kind enough to inform
me for what purpose you have sought me
here this evening?"
"Let the course of conversation tarry us
naturally on to the issue of explanation,"
observed Lord Danvers, who had now reco-
vered not merely his wonted equanimity, but
likewise his haughty ease of manner, his
scornful smile, and his slightly mocking tone.
"From what you have ere now said, I cannot
flatter myself that you are particularly well
pleased to behold me?"
"My lord, we never ought to have met
again—and you know it!" was Musidora's
calm but resolute reply.
"Ah! the disdainful beauty means to dic-
tate to me!" said Lord Danvers, his accents
becoming bitterly mocking.
"My lord, are you coward enough to in-
sult me ?" demanded Musidora, stopping sud-
denly short, and bending upon him all the fire
of her magnificent eyes.
"Really," responded Lionel, with a sar-
donic laugh, " this is not the language which
you, of all women, should hold to me."
"My lord," answered Musidora, still speak-
ing with dignity but firmness, although a
hectic flush, like that of suppressed indigna-
tion, suddenly appealed upon her cheeks,
which, were wont to by of such marble puri-
*-; " you have no right to revert to the past.
It is not only ungenerous, it is even mean
and dastardly. Besides," exclaimed Musi-
dora, suddenly raising her head proudly,
"if we look each other in the^face, who
ought to blush and be ashamed for the past?
whose eyes ought to quail before those of the
other?"
"All the solemn vows, the oaths, the pro-
testations," returned Lionel Danvers, with
bitter accents and diabolically mocking looks,
—" where are they? what became of th°m?
List! there is a breeze passing gently amidst
these verdant evergreens, those shrubs, and
those trees—but it is not more fleeting nor
more idle than the vows, the pledges, and
the protestations to which I allude. Again,
those sunbeams which are now flickering
above the western horizon, are not so tran-
sient nor so evanescent, as that same cata-
logue of promises and protestations!"
"Lord Danvers," interrupted Musidora,
"is it possible that you can dare address this
language to me? Just heaven!" she cried,
stamping one of her delicate feet fiercely
upon the ground, "with whom lay the de-
ception! with whom the foul treachery 1
O God!" she continued, now clasping her
hands wildly together, as the whole train
of torturing memories swept back like a
flight of fiery arrows through her mind:
'from what appalling fate was I not res-
cued? I shudder—Oh! I shudder at tba
bare idea—it is fearful to contemplate!"
"Ah! you escaped me then, it is true!"
cried Danvers, with accents so savagely
bitter that Musidora quailed and shrank
back.
"Yes,"' she murmured in a low and half
bewildered tone—for her thoughts seemed
falling into confusion beneath the influence
of consternation and dismay: "I escaped
you then—and heaven grant thtt I may es-
cape you for ever I"
"Yol escaped me !" echoed Danvers, his
lip curling with fiendish scorn and diabolic
mockery. "Yes, in one sense you have in
deed escaped me: but—"
And suddenly checking himself, he sur-
veyed the affrighted Musidora with a look of
such ineffable sardonism and malignant tri-
umph, that she felt the maddening sensations
of wildest terror springing up like living
flames within her.
"Tell me what you mean?" she said,
with short quick gaspings. "Your words
are vague—Hit your looks—O God! your
looks are full o/ direst omen !—Lionel—my
lord—Danvers—for heaven's sake I conjure
you, regard me not thus! Whatever your
power may be—and I fear it is great—I dare
not think how great, nor to what extent of
mischief it may be exercised—but I beseech
you, my lord, to spare me!"
Frenzy had collected in her wild dark eyes
as she thus spoke; and the hectic on her: heeks
had gathered into two crimson spots, which
seemed to burn upon that countenance * horn
the marble's paleness was wont to dwell:
and so vivid indeed were these spots that
they appeared as if all the heart's blood had
been suddenly concentrated there.
"Musidora," said Lord Danvers, in a deep
penetrating voice, "calm "-urself, if you car.,
—and listen to me. You .iave said that you
believe my power to be great; but whatever
it be, I am compelled by its influence at this
moment to reassure you so far as to declare
that I have no wish to deal with your life
it
"My life?" echoed Musidora. "But my
happiness—all that remains to me of wha
the world call happiness—all that you have
left—can you deal with that?"
"Aye, by the Power to which we have
both alluded, can I!" exclaimed Lord Dan-
vers, in a swelling voice of malignnnt tri-
umph. "Your happiness, Musidora —see I I
hold it in my hand, and can crush i thus in
my grasp!"
As Lord Danvers spoke he plucked i pear
from the overhanging branch of a tree, and
crushing it so that the juice spirted out upon
his garments from its ripe pulpiness, he tossed
it away; and where it fell upon the gravel-
walk it seemed as if a wheel or a heavy boot


THE NECROMANCER.
165
had passed over it. Then calmly wiping his
hand upon a beautiful worked kerchief, he
«id in a quiet tone, hut full of an implacable
wickedness, "Now, Musidora, what think
you of my power over your happiness, since
t any moment I can crush it even as I have
crushed that fruit 1"
No words can describe the appalled and
-ireary look of mingled consternation and de-
spair which Musidora filed upon Lionel Dan-
vers as he crushed the fruit and addressed her
in those terrible terms. Gone was all her
wondrous power of self-composure !—gone
that mask of ice with which she had been
wont to cover her countenance!—gone that
glacial serenity beneath which she had for
yenrs concealed the harrowing memories of
the past! Unhappy Musidora! she was now
experiencing an ordeal of the most frightful
and excruciating description: it seemed as if
fingers of red hot iron were tearing in her
brain and grasping at her vitals s it was an
awful moment, full of horror, anguish, black-
ness, burning!
"Proud soul of ice f exclaimed Lord Dan-
vers, "have I moved you now? But listen,
and hear what I have to say. Doubtless when
wc parted nearly four years back—you well
remember when and how—you thought that
it was for ever; you imagined that ne'er
again should we meet upon earth- But,
O insensate fool that you were, to hug
tho hope that when the love of a Danvers
was rejected, it would not turn to deadliest
hate!"
"Love, love!" shrieked forth the agonizing
Musidora: "desecrate not thus the name of
love! That love was mine, not your's. It
was I who cherished your image as the bea-
con of life's hope— the guiding star of my
destiny. But you—you, false treacherous
man!" she continued, her countenance now
flushing with sudden rage ; " it was you who
would have made me a victim—it was you
who sought to sacrifice me to that same tre-
mendous mystery which had previously en-
gulfed Clara Manners!" .
"Yes," observed Lionel, with a strange
mocking smile, and a bitter irony of tone,
'• I know full well that you are acquainted
with that history. I watched your features
when the old man related it word for word,
some three or four months back in yon
villa"
"You!" exclaimed Musidora in utter
amazement; and all the flush of recent indig-
nation faded into more than the wonted pale-
ness of her countenance : " you! What, were
you present—or were you near—upon that
occasion V
"Yes—I was present on that occasion,"
returned Danvers, gazing upon ber as if Luci-
fer himself were looking out of his eyes, so
diabolic was their expression. "I heard all—
I beheld all. Remember you, that in your
sympathy for the poor old ruined merchant,**
he continued with withering sarcasm, «yo*
handed him a cup of wine ere he commenced
his history ? and when he had brought it to a
conclusion, you expressed your sorrow ami
your cominisse ration. Ah! but when he im-
plored you to intercede against that cruel,
pitiless Danvers—those were his very words
—your countenance became ghastly. I saw
it all, I tell you: yes, I beheld it all: and it
was not difficult to read what was psssing in
your mind—for in proportion to tho sympathy
which you bestowed upon old Manners, was
the sentiment of loathing and execration with
which you thought of me?" '-
Again in utter dismay and with an appalled
look did Musidora gaze upon Lionel as he thus
spoke; then as he ceased, she said, while a
cold shivering passed visibly over her form,
"You tell me that you saw eveiything that
night? Dreadful man—but as incomprehen-
sible as you are dreadfel—was it at the case-
ment or behind the tapestry that you were
listening? or am I to believe that you have the
facility of rendering yourself unseen—invisi-
ble'"'
A smile of ineffable malice and triumph, bat
wicked beyond the power of language to des-
cribe, wreathed the haughty lips of the noble-
man as Musidora thus addressed him: but with-
out answering her question, he said in taunting
accents, " Perhaps the history of Clara Man-
ners is not the only one into which your
curiosity has led you to penetrate? and it
may be that yon intend to follow up your re-
searches with regard to each and all of those
names which yon beheld—"
"Enough, enough! you are driving me
mid !" shrieked forth the wretched Musidora,
pressing both her hands to her throbbing
brows.
"The history of Clara Manners," purged
the implacable Danvers, aa if he revelled in
the tortures which he was thus inflicting, "is
known to you: that of Bianca Landini is also
known to you; and perhaps in process of time
you will glean the histories of Margaret Dun-
haven—Dolorosa Cortez—and Arline de 8f.
Louis V
"Oh heavens! is not yours a fearful race V
exclaimed Musidora: "and, Oh! what \
fearful destiny that makes you tread in the
path of your ancestors—like them, seeking
victims!"
"Ancestors!" echoed Lionel: and again
did that terrible smile of wickedness and
malice, mingled with haughty scorn, expand
upon his countenance. "But time is passing
—the sun is sinking to its western home—and
its expiring rays are now flickering over yon
trees. Our present interview shall not exceed
the limit which I prescribed at its commence-
ment."
11


166
THE NECROMANCER. t
"Our present interview?" repeated Musi-
iora, recoiling with fresh terror from the obser-
vation : "are we then to meet again •"
"Yes—and shortly too Very, very
shortly," rejoined Danvers. "But listen, I
•ay, while I give utterance to a few more
words of explanation. Musidora, we once
loved each other; but thia lore on your part
has turned to abhorrence, hatred, and loathing
—while with me it has changed to the craving
for an implacable vengeance. Nearly four
years have elapsed since we parted—I need
not say where nor how; but when we did
thus part, it was with the determination on my
side to make you sooner or later feel that
power from which at the time you so miracu-
lously escaped. During the three years and
nine months which have elapsed since that
memorable night when we parted, I have
watched you—I have kept my eye upon you—
and you the while unconscious that you were
thus observed! I beheld you seeking to con-
ceal all the memories of the past beneath that
air of glacial sereneness and freezing dignity
which almost became a second nature, so well
did you wear your mask of ice! But I laughed
within myself as I thought that the time must
come when I should be enabled to thaw all
this coldness on your part, and make your
marble frame feel as if liquid fire were gushing
in your veins—yes, and melt that proud soul
which had learnt to pride itself upon its power
and strength, and break too that spirit which
to the world seemed characterized with an
adamantine firmness! Now, Musidora, you
understand me well—you know me better
than ever you knew me before; and the deep
terror which sits upon your soul makes you
feel—aye, and deeply feel, that your happiness
is but too surely in my grasp, to be treated at
any moment as that bruised and crushed fruit
which lies there .'"
'As these last words fell from the lips of Lio-
nel Danvers, the expiring sunbeams disappeared
behind the trees. Musidora, filled with con-
sternation and horror, passed her hand over
her eyes as if to dissipate any illusion that
might be upon her brain; for she could scarcely
believe that all that was now passing could be
aught more than a frightful vision: but when
she looked again at the spot where Danvers
had an instant before stood in her presence,
she beheld him not—he was gone, having dis-
appeared like a phantom that vanishes into the
thin air.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
TUE KIRS.
For upwards of a minute did Musidora re-
main standing where she was, in a a rt of
dream-like amazement, blended with dismay.
Her cyea were dilated and vacant— her fea-
tures were rigid—her form was still snd mo-
tionless as marble. The colour had even left
her lips; and there was no vital hue upon her
countenance. She seemed like a statue per-
sonifying consternation and despair.
Was it all a dream—a terrible illusion
through which she had lieen passing? Clutch-
ing greedily at the thought, she exclaimed,
"Yes, yes—it must be!"
But at that instant her eyes fell upon the
crushed fruit which lay on the gravel-walk;
and then she clasped her hands together in a
new paroxysm of wildest anguish. The hot
tears gushed over her alabaster cheeks—scald-
ing, burning tears that might have left searing
marks even upon the marble whose paleness
those cheeks resembled. It is a terrible thing
to contemplate the rending anguish thus en-
dured by one of such grand and marvellous
beauty, and who, judging from what she her-
self had ssid during her discourse with Dan-
vers, deserved not so wretched a fate!
All of a sudden a thought struck her. The
sun had set—it was the hour when the King,
her husband, would arrive at the villa—and
she must return in-doors to receive him! Oh,
not for worlds must she suffer him to notice
the terrible traces of that poignant anguish
which she had been enduring, and was endur-
ing still! If he were to mark the evidences
of her grief, what explanation could she give?
What could she possibly say to account for
the desolate dreariness of her looks? Again
did the lady exert a wondrous—nay, almost
preternatural effort to resume her wonted air:
and more than ever did she experience the ne-
cessity of veiling the tortures of her harrowed
heart beneath that mask of ice which she had
been wont to put on. In proportion to the
utter need of the emergency, so did her power
of concealment appear to come back to her
aid;—and once more with the glacial dignity
of bearing—once more too with the cold re-
finement and icy elegance of mien, did she re-
enter the villa.
She ascended to her chamber, to make some
little alteration in her toilet, and likewise to
rest herself for a few minutes, the more effectu-
ally to regain the full measure of outward
composure that was requisite for her meeting
with the King. Annetta was in the room;
and s perfumed lamp was lighted upon the
toilet-table. Then, except for the increased
pallor of Musidora's checks as the flame of the
strongly-burning lamp cast its glare upon her,
—and except too for the partial drooping of her
richly-fringed eyelids,—Musidora's counte-
nance revealed not a trace of the crucifying
agonies through the ordeal of which sh*: had
just passed. The faithful Annetta merely ob-
served that her beloved mistress spuke in a
somewhat lower and more bewildered tone.


THE NECROMANCER.
167
and that there was the slightest amount of ab-
straction in her air—but perhaps even a kinder
soilness towards the abigail herself.
The reader has seen that during the last
hour some of the strongest of all human feel-
ings had not merely been excited within the
bosom of Musidora, but had struck as it were
upon her heart like so many successive blows.
Considering therefore how quickly these sud-
den shocks had followed one upon another,
and all within so comparatively brief a space
OJ time when viewed in reference to their vio-
lence and their fierceness, it must seem aston-
ishing that Mutidora had not completely suc-
cumbed beneath their tremendous influence.
But certain it is that she now gathered a pre-
ternatural strength from, the very necessity of
concealing all that had taken place; and this
circumstance affords the most striking illustra-
tion we can adduce of the wondrous power with
which Musidora's mind was naturally endowed.
But let it not be thought that she had been
enabled to banish from her soul any of the
impressions which her interview with Lord
Drivers had left upon it. No: there they
were stamped as it were with a red hot iron—
seared as indelibly upon that soul as the mur-
derer's brand was upon the bflow of Cain!
And yet there was this tremendous difference
—that Musidora suffered innocently, with
these frightful traces of imperishable agony
upon her heart; while the first murderer had
suffered righteously, with the open stigma upon
his forehead.
Of all the incidents of her interview with
Dauvers, none was more deeply impressed,
amidst those searing marks upon her soul,
than the frightful illustration of the crushed
fruit. Nor less did she remember with the
most vivid keenness, how ho had declared that
they were to meet again shortly—very thorlly:
and that assurance, given by one who was but
too capable of accomplishing all he menaced,
filled her with the direst dismay. But this, as
well as every other feeling which she expe-
rienced or emotion that had been excited, was
now veiled beneath the habitual serenity which
she bad again put on. .
Thus armed with that most unnatural forti-
tude, she suffered Annetta to arrange her hair,
and then to deck her person with the resplen-
dent gems that were the King's gift, and which
be so much loved to see her wear.
"Your Majesty does indeed look like the
Queen of England!" were the words which
the faithful Annetta ventured to breathe softly
in the ears of her mistress when her toilet was
concluded.
This was the first time that the abigail had
ever addressed Musidora by her royal titles:
for tha the secret of the marriage might be
the moie effectually kept, in compliance with
the Kings wish, Musidora had desired that she
might be spoken to in the same terms as before
her union,—lest the very walls might have
ears to catch up those swelling titles and pro-,
claim the mystery to the world. She therefore
started as Annetta thus spoke in venial diso-
bedience of the standing order; and it appeared
to Musidora as if she had just been addressed
by a strange name. Then, at the same instant,
a thought struck her! Was not the secret of
her marriage most probably known to Danvers?
had he not discovered it! in short, was it not
certain to be very far from a mystery to him?
That he possessed the faculty of rendering
himself invisible, and thereby penetrating
whithersoever he chose, Musidora was fully
convinced: and as he himself had declared that
he had kept watch upon her actions, was it
likely that the circumstance of her marriage—
one of the most important incidents of her life
—should have remained unknown to him?
This thought filled her with a new presenti-
ment of approaching evil. The knowledge of
such a secret might furnish to his unscrupu-
lous hands a weapon that bis vindictive 'eelings
would love to wield. And might he not use
it to prejudice the King against her? might he
not suffer the monarch to believe that it waa
she herself who had betrayed a secret which
his Highness had fur the present so many
reasons to wish inviolably kept?
All these reflections, sweeping hurriedly
through Musidora's brain, aggravated if possi-
ble the dismay already harboring in her soul;.
and Annetta could not help noticing an ex-
pression of anguish flit across the countenance
of her mistress. But it disappeared again as
rapidly as it had sprung into existence; and
the faithful dependant ventured upon no com-
ment. ,
"If Lionel Danvers in his fearful wicked-
ness," thought Musidora to herself, " should
attempt anything to alienate from me the re-
gard of the King, or alter my position from
what it ought to be, and from what it must be
made when once this marriage is proclaimed
to the world,—1 will deal frankly with my
husband and tell him everything. Perhaps it
was my duty tu have done so at the very out-
set; perhaps it would have been better for us
both! At all events, if the dreaded emergen-
cy should arise and the necessity should pre-
sent itself, I will not hesitate any more but
will deal candidly with my royal husband at i
once! Lionel Danvers has been compelled
to admit that he dares not practise u|H,n my
life; let me see if I cannot shield my happi-
ness—or at least, as much of happiness as he
has left me—from the influence of his terrible
power!"
Consoled, or rather strengthened, by these
reflections which she hurriedly made to her-
self, Musidora descended to the saloon where
she was wont to receive her royal husband.
Since the marriage, the Earl and Countess of
Grantham were in the habit of leaving them
alone together on these occasions, except when
the evening repast was served up. The King


168
OMAN.ER.
THE NECR
h»J jimI arrived as Musidora entered that
apartment; and with all his wonted afiectioa
of manner he hastened forward to strain her
in his embrace.
"How tares it with my sweet spouse this
evening?" he asked, as he conducted her te a
sest upon an ottoman: and placing himself by
her si*le, he passed one arm round bar waist,
and with the other hand played with the long
rich tresses of her shining hair. "Tell me,
sweetest, are yeu pleased to see me? tie you
think of me when I am away?"
"In nil respecte your Grace will ever fad
me a dutiful wife," answered Musidora.
"Eh! but this is parrying with my ques-
tion," exclaimed the King, with a good-hu-
mored smile. « Come, tell me charmer, do
you think of me during the day, when I am
absent from you V
"Can you ask me such a question ?" re-
joined Musidora, in a tone of gentle reproach.
"Think you. my royal husband, that I am un-
mindful of him who has lavished all bounties
upon my family, and who has bestowed such
especial favor upon myself?"
- Then tell me, Musidora, are yon happy?
are you altogether happy?" inquired the
King: and he gazed upon her with a pene-
trating earnestness.
"Would it not savor of ingratitude were I
ko answer otherwise than in the affirmative?"
"But I require you to answer me truly,"
he insisted, though mildly and gently.
"There is no condition of life, my liege
lord and husband," returned Musidora, "with-
out its care in a greater or lesser degree. But
tell me in your turn," she asked, bending upon
him her sweetest smile, " whether you your-
self are happy V
"Yes—you know not how happy in hav-
ing won you !" answered the King. "You
are aware that from the very first moment I
saw you I loved you devotedly and fondly;
and had it depended upon me, our hands
would have been united some weeks before
they were."
"And then you would have thought all the
less of me," rejoined Musidora. "But per-
mit me to ask s question"
"Ten thousand if you will, my sweet
queen," was the response. "Proceed."
*' How is it that your Graee contrives so
Well to esrnpe the observation of all that host
of domestirs, courtiers, and dependants who
throng at the palare f It is a circumstance
that has often bewildered me; and seeing the
many grave reasons which your Highness has
advanced for keeping our marriage secret yet
a few months, I am constantly trembling lest
by some accident it should be discovered."
"Do not make yourself uneasy on that
sccre," replied the King. "I know full well
how to elude the observation of my depend-
ants. Besides, dearest Musidora, love sharp-
ens the wit sad gives a wondrous keenness Is
the ingenuity. Think you that jroat own
hand-maiden Annette, and the old house-
keeper Dame Bertha, are as guarded and as
prudent as we could wish them to be in keen-
ing this secret?"
"I am convinced of it," returned M Isidore.
"And now, what of your father r. the Isle
of Wight ?" proceeded the King: "how fares'
the worthy old gentleman V
"I showed you, my liege husband, the let-
ter which I received from my father in reply to
the one I wrote acquainting him with my
marriage: but I have received no communi-
cation since. Indeed, there has been no time
for farther correspondence between lis."
"Truly not!" remarked the King: "oar
marriage is as yet but a fortnight old. Your
sire, sweet Musidora, seems well pleased with
that Dr. Bertram whom I sent to be his com-
panion?"
"Yes—my father has always written, since
the first day Dr. Bertram became his guest, in
a cheerful strain of gratitude concerning him.
"And that cousin of yours. Master Percy'
Rivers—or as I ought rather to call him. Gov-
ernor Rivers!"
"I have not heard from him since he was
here at the villa," replied Musidora: "hut iii
the letters which I have received from my
father, I learn that he is most assiduous in h.a
duties, and by various administrative measun a
which he has adopted, has given great satis-
faction to the people of the Isle of Wight.
But of course your Highness knows all these
things much better than I."
"To be sure," rejoined the King. "Antf
now tell me, Musidora. do yon not look for-
ward with some degree of impatience to that
day when the public recognition of our mar-
riage is to take place, and when you will be
saluted with acclamation as Queen of Eng-
land V
"It would be a miserable affectation on my
part," returned the lady, "and one which
would serve to render me contemptible in
your Grace's eyes, were I to deny that I do
anticipate with much joy and hope the hour,
when it shall sail your sovereign pleasure tc,
acknowledge me as your wife. But do no
think, my royal husband, that it is altogethe'
from mere ambition that I entertain this fee),
in),, it is that I long to have the opportunity
of doing good—an opportunity for which tLe
station whereunto you will elevate me, must,
prove most favorable." t
At this moment the Earl and Countess of
Grantham made their appearance to pay thei*
respects to the King; and shortly afterwards
it was announced that supper was served up.
To the banquetting-room did the party accord-
ingly repair; and when the repast was over,
the King and Musidora went back to the sa-
loon where they had previously been discours


THE NECROMANCER.
1G9
log, and where they were wont to pass an
nuur together in conversation ere retiring to
rest
.
"What topic were we talking upon when
your relatives interrupted us just now ?" asked
the King, as soon as he and Mnsidora were
again by themselves. "Ah! I remember—
We were speaking of the time when your pub-
lie recognition as (jueen of England will take
place. Musidora, that will be a proud day for
y■u! Apparelled in your most splendid rai-
meni—glittering with jewels—but the light
nf your own magnificent beauty shining above
all—you will be at once the envy and the ad-
miration of the highest-born ladies in the land.
Will not that be a glorious day for you, Mu-
sidora?"
"It will be a happy day, and a proud one,"
she answered. "But wherefore, my royal
husband, do you dwell upon this topic to-
night—so much more than usual?"
• Is it not a topic which we ought to speak
upon !" asked the King; and it struck Musi-
dora at the moment that there was something
peculiar in his smile.
"Are you able as yet to calculate the day
when publicity shall be given to our mar-
riage! she asked, with a slight glitter of
uneasiness in her eyes.
"No—not yet," he answered ; and she fan-
cied that the cause of her temporary appre-
hension must have been a mere passing
illusion, for the King's look had instanta-
neously resumed its wonted appearance.
-' Why did you gaze upon me in so singular
a manner for a moment? Surely my Musi-
dora does not entertain any suspicion of my
honour—my good fiith—my love?"
"No, no—heaven forefend!" she cried,
with a sudden outburst of passionate vehe-
mence.
"I thought you could not—I 0attered my-
self that it was impossible," he whispered,
drawing her towards him and covering her
countenance with kisses.
At this moment the quick trampling of
steeds, as if horsemen were furiously gallop-
ing towards the villa, reached the ears of Mu-
sidora and her husband. In a few moments
the sounds ceased, and then the bell at the
gate was heard to ring violently.
"What can this mean? what can this be?"
muttered the King in a low and hasty, but
■till audible tone: then rising from his seat,
he stood calm, cool, and resolute, as if the
consciousness of sovereign rank enabled him
to triumph over every feeling of apprehension.
But Musidora, seized with a sudden and
terrible presentiment of evil, clung to his arm,
and gazed up into his countenance as if to
watch what was passing there, and gather
from his looks the means of tranquillising and
reassuring herself.
In another moment the Earl of Grantham
lushing into ♦he room, exclaimed, " Did your
Highness hear that ring! Two persons on
horseback — I could just distinguish their
figures from the hall window through the
darkness—''
"Go yourself, my lord," interrupted the
King, " and give them admittance. Bid your
servants retire to their own apartments, so
that if anything disagreeable be about to hap-
pen, there may be no unnecessary witnesses
of the scene."
The Earl rushed out of the room into the
hall, closing the door behind him;—and Mu-
sidora, still clinging to her husband, while a
sickening sense of terror crept in upon her
soul, murmuringly asked, "Do you really
apprehend anything unpleasant! What can
be done 1 what would you have me do?"
• Nothing, nothing—but remain here with
me," was the response, given almost sternly.
Musidora gazed more intently still up into,
her husband's countenance; and its expression
augmented her terrors. It was fierce, haughty,
and implacable—seeming to portend the in-
ward conviction that some crisis was at hand.
Meanwhile the Earl of Grantham, having
hastily dismissed the porter from the hall,
unfastened the front door; and the two horse-
men who had just alighted from their steeds
outside, immediately entered the villa.
Hark ! what was that ejaculation of ming-
led consternation and dismay which at this
instant reached Musidora's ears? It was a
cry that burst from the lips of Lord Gran-
tham. The very next moment a voice—
another voice—addressed a few quick bti
peremptory words to the Earl. But that otker
voice—heaven! why did it sound like the
knell of doom upon Musidora's ear? A sen-
sation of sickly horror seized upon her;—she
looked up to her husband and beheld so strange
an expression upon his countenance, that in-
stead of cheering her, it enhanced her dis-
may. She tried to speak, and could not—
1 but rushed towards the door and then stopped
suddenly short without opening it, as that
voice which had thus filled her with conster-
nation was speaking again. With one hand
she- held back the luxuriant tresses of her
raven hair—her lips, colourless as her coun-
tenance, were parted—pale and statue-like
she stood—and listened. That voice was
speaking still: but she could not gather the
words it said.
Again she turned towards her husband: but
at that same instant the door was flung vio-
lently open; and the two horsemen who had
just arrived, rushed into the room. Yes—
they entered thus abruptly: and a wild ter-
ror shot into Musidora's eyes; for she at once
perceived—eternal heaven ! could it be pos-
sible 1 that the foremost individual was
the exact resemblance of her husband'
To that husband she flung her frantic looks:
but in this one wild glance of agony was re-
vealed to her the terrible astounding fact, ttiat


170
THE NECROMANCER.
he whom she knew as her husband had in a
moment changed to the form of Lord Lionel
Danvers!
A thunderbolt falling upon her head, would
nave been mercy at that moment: she placed
her hands before her eyes—shrieked aloud—
and as a mocking laugh rang in her ears,
dropped senseless upon the floor.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LIOKEL DANT EBS.
It would be Tery difficult to convey an ade-
quate idea of the singularity, together with the
awfulness and the terror, of the scene so ra-
pidly sketched at the end of the previous
chapter; but though so hastily hit off, no words
were quick enough to keep pace with the ce-
lerity of the actions themselves. The sudden
bursting in of the real King and his Secretary
—the instantaneous transformation of the falte
King back to the real shape of Lionel Danvers
—the wild cry bursting from Musidora's lips I
as the whole ghastly truth flashed like searing
lightning to her comprehension—then her
falling down in a death-like trance,—all these
circumstances constituted a scene to which no
powers of language can do justice. But now
survey the group! Lionel Danvers, drawn
up to the full height of his slim and graceful
figure, and his handsome countenance bear-
ing the Lucifer-like reflex of that diabolically
vindictive feeling which also found expression
in his mocking laugh,—the King, who on
bursting into the room had caught sight of the
exact image of himself, and then the next mo-
ment, quick as the eye can wink, beheld Lord
Lionel Danvers upon the same spot,—the Earl
of Grantham and St Louis, who had likewise
witnessed the astounding transformation and
were paralyzed with horror—and last of ail,
Musidora lying stretched senseless upon the
floor, pale as marble, hut with the bright gems
shining upon her raven hair, her bosom, and
her arms, as if in mockery of the corpse-like
form which they now embellished,—such was
the picture the full effect of which our readers
mu»t exert all the powers of their imagination
to conceive!
"Let this lady be attended to!" said the
King, recovering his presence of mind before
the Earl of Grantham or St. Louis had even
begun to surmount their first sensation of hor-
ror at what they bad srei minister unto
this lady, I say: for it is clear that some as-
tounding treachery has been practised towards
her. But perhaps she is dead?"
"I will place her upon this ottoman," said
Danvers; and raising Musidora in his arms,
he bore her to a sofa: but while so doing, he
rapidly took from her bosom the marriage-
certificate which-she kept treasured there.
"My lord, do you hear me speak V ex-
claimed the King, addressing himself in a
fierce and angry voice to the Earl of Gran-
tham. "/That lady may be dead, I say; or
at least she will die unless timely succour be
afforded her. Lead the way to some othejr
room where we may converse; and send her
handmaids without delay to minister unto
her."
The Earl .of Grantham, recalled by the
King's words from the torpor of consternation
—but still feeling like one under the influence
of a confused somnambulistic dream,—opened
the door,, and was leading the way to another
apartment, when he encountered his wife and
Annetta in the hall,—Musidora's piercing
scream having brought them thither. Being
utterly unconscious of what had occurred,
they of course regarded the King as Musi-
dora's husband, and fancied whatever extra-
ordinary had taken place must be connected
with the presence of Danvers and St. Louis.'
"Go quick to Musidora," said the Earl, in
a confused manner and with bewildered look.
"When she recovers—if she ever do—keep
her quiet: let her not move—or rather con-
vey her up at once to her own chamber—
and let her have speech with none but^your-.
selves. Whatever may happen — whatever
danger may seem impending—send not for
a doctor: no stranger must have access to
her! The ears of yourselves alone must
receive the first words to which she will
give utterance. I will explain all pre-
sently."
Both the Countess and Annetta saw that
something dreadful had indeed occuired;
and they noticed that the countenance of the
King was filled with a sort of gloomy indig-
nation. But Lady Grantham dared w t
pause to ask her husband for any further
explanation now: for he waved her peremp-
torily away, urging her and Annetta to trt -
ten to the succour of Musidora. Ere the
Countess and the abigail, however, passed oh
to the room where the unfortunate yonnr
lady lay senseless upon the sofa, they cauglit
a glimpse of the countenance of Danvers—..
that countenance of such dark and fearfu
beauty !—and without knowing who he was,
they felt stricken with the deepest terror, sa.
if instinctively aware that they were in th*r
presence of some being of no common order.
Then they hurried on into the saloon where
their services were required; while the Earl
of Grantham continued to lead the way to
another apartment, followed by the Ku*«»
Lionel Danvers, and St. Louis.
On entering this room, which was lighted
by a chandelier suspended to the ceilinr. the
Earl of Grantham said in a faint treixltling
voice, " Where will it please your Hip ineM
to be seated?"
"Here," answered the King, j iciia*


THE NECROMANCER.
171
himself in a large arm-chair near the central
table.
The Earl of Grantham took his stand
upon the monarch's right, while St. Louis
placed himself behind the chair. But Lord
Danvers, without even doffing his plumed
cap, or in any way testifying the slightest
obeisance towards King Henry VIII, leant
his elbow upon a projecting image sculp-
tured on the upright part of the huge over-
hanging chimney-piece; and with the other
band upon his hip, he lounged there with a
sort of graceful ease and elegant indolence, as
if all that had taken place or that still might
occur was a matter of the most perfect indif-
ference to him.
"Lord Danvers," said the monarch, in a
tone full well evincing the latent terror that
was mingled with the other feelings which the
recent scene had conjured up, " you must be
conscious of some wondrous power thus to
bear yourself in the presence of your Sove-
reign. But tell me, Lord Danvers—was it
really true—or did my eyes deceive me—"
- And the King stopped short; as if, with a
sudden return of convulsing terror, he was
altogether unable to give utterance to the
question he was about to put.
"It if not ii. my habit to be discourteous to
those whom the world has invested with a
rank above mine own," said Danvers, slowiy
and leisurely taking off his cap, but replacir g
upon his hip the hand in which he held it, so
that the plume branched out from behind his
curved arm f and altogether there was an un-
speakable air of elegance and grace investing
that man of wild and wondrous destiny.
"I claim not courtesy from you, Lord Dan-
vers," said the King, still in a moody voice,
as if well nigh afraid to speak, yet compelled
to do so, at any peril, in vindication of his
sovereign rank : " nor do I ask for homage at
your hands; for it is clear enough that all King
though I be, you are in one sense invested with
a power enabling you to defy mine—perhaps
even But no, I will not think that you are
capable of working me an injury."
"Monarch," answered Danvers, "I never
seek to work wanton harm upon any one. I
deal only with those who in the first place
are necessary to my purposes, or who in the
second place by their own deeds have pro-
voked my vengeance. I know what question
you were about to put to me ere now; and I
:will answer it. Yes," he continued, slowly
raising himself up from his leaning posture
and assuming an attitude full of dignity, hau-
teur, and conscious power," I took your shape,
O King, for the purpose of melting the proud-
est soul of ice that ever sought to defy the in-
fluence of human passions and human feel-
ings—to bend the pride of the haughtiest
female beauty that ever enshrined itself in a
temple hewn from a glacier—to melt the cold-
est virtue that ever took refuge amidst the
snow-drifts of an Alpine height! This I
have done—my triumph is achieved—and I
regret not that the catastrophe has come so
soon. Of course I well knew that the deceit
could not last for ever: nor did it suit my pur-
pose that it should so. Within a few days
should I myself have proclaimed the tremen-
dous truth to the ears of Musidora, and over-
whelmed her by the sudden assumption of
my own shape while she fancied that it was
the King whom she was clasping in her arms.
But it appears that by some accident you, O
Monarch, have been led hither this night.
Perchance that youth who stands behind your
chair'
"No—I learnt nothing from his lips," in-
terrupted the King; " and if he had the pow-
er to betray you, he has not exercised it."
"It is well then for his sake," rejoined Dan-
vers; and still in the same calm tone of self-
possession as before, he went on to say, " As
I was observing, some accident, for the nature
of which I care not, brought your Highness
hither this night, thus precipitating somewhat
the catastrophe which sooner or later was to
ensue. It is now for you, O King, to decide
what amount of publicity you may choose, to.
give to the affair: but for my part I am indif-
ferent—and having no farther need to terry
here, bid ye all farewell."
"No, by heaven !" ejaculated the monarch,
now suddenly inspired with all the courage
of his race, and feeling the hot blood of the
Plantagenets boil up in his veins; "the mat-
ter cannot end thus! I were a very coward
to let you escape the law which you affect to.
trample upon. The foulest forgeries have
been committed—the most damnable treach-
eries practised! At all risks I make thee my
prisoner!"
Starting from his chair as he spoke, King
Henry drew his sword from its sheath: bright-
ly it flashed in the glare of the overhanging'
lamps—and the next instant it was pointed at.
Danvers' heart, the very tip penetrating his
doublet,— while the monarch's left hand
clutched him forcibly by the arm. V
"Be quiet, foolish King—I near a charmed
life!" said Danvers: and without any appa-
rent effort he shook the monarch off.
"Ah! this to me, your King ?" ejaculated
the now infuriate Henry. "Draw and defend
thyself! I would not like to murder thee in
cold blood!"—and he placed himself in an
attitude of attack.
Lord Danvers drew his rapier from its,
sheath—not hastily, as one does who feels
that his life is in danger—but with a cool and
leisurely deliberation, as if there were not the
slightest necessity for exertion on his part.
The King, fearfully exasperated, and in his
boiling rage losing sight of all the circumstan-
ces which should have convinced him of Dan-
vers' superhuman power, aimed a tremendous
blow at the nobleman: but the rapier catching.
S


1T2
THE NECROMANCER.
the massive sword, seemed to twist and twine
its thin blade like a coiling snake all in an
instant round the heavier weapon, and thus
literally tore it from the King's grasp.
"Now I give you your life," said Danvers,
Ms lip curling with scornful triumph: " for we
war not upon equal terms."
*' Traitors! villains! dastards !" thundered
the King, turning furiously towards the Earl
of Grantham and St. Louis: "will ye stand
idly by and see your monarch thus treated—
thus insulted! On your allegiance, I com-
mand you to aid me in arresting this man,—
whose punishment is required alike by the
laws of humanity and of heaven!"
But the Earl of Grantham shrank back
with a horror which he could neither conceal
nor subdue; while on the other hand St.
Louis, drawing his sword, sprang towards
Danvers, exclaiming, " I obey my King; but
it is my life that I am giving him!"
"No, no—foolish boy," said Danvers, not
even condescending to use his rapier now,
hut pushing back St. Louis' weapon with his
hand: "I do not want your life. I seek not
tives when they are worthless to me. No,
no—I do not!" he exclaimed, his voice sud-
denly thrilling with the excitement of some
horrifying emotion which flamed up within
him; and at the same instant an expression
of unutterable anguish passed over his coun-
tenance.
St. Louis' sword dropped aa if the hand
which had just held it were stricken with sud-
den palsy; and then Danvers, returning his
own rapier to its sheath, and slowly replacing
bis plumed cap upon his head, moved towards
the door.
. " O terrible man!" said the King, all his
mi*4dened rage having subsided again beneath
the influence of an overwhelming horror;
"you are not as other men are !—you are
either infinitely above or below them !—you
must be in league with the Evil One!"
Lionel Danvers turned at this moment,
just as he reached the door; and no words
ran describe the look—the awful look—which
he bent upon the King;—a look which while
it lit up his countenance into a perfect blaze
of superhuman beauty, at the same time ex-
pressed that undefmable mingling of triumph,
anguish and horror which the great masters
have given to the features of Lucifer when,
even in the hour of his fall, still hurling defi-
ance against the Majesty of Heaven. Dan-
vers passed slowly out of the room; and for
several minutes after he had thus disappeared,
■ it a word was spoken—not a soul moved—
but the King, the Earl of Grantham, and
Gerald St. Louis stood statue-like, transfixed
with horror by that awful look which had
been bent upon them.
At length the King, suddenly breaking as
it were from the attitude in which it was spell-
bound, said. " It is a relief thus to be rid of
the presence of that dreadful man. My lord
of Grantham, order your menials to bring
wine hither."
The Earl issued from the rocm with trem-
bling steps; and as he traversed the hall, he
flung frightened glances around, lest the
dreaded form of Danvers should emerge from
some dark nook or from behind some marble
column, armed with terrors of a more crush-
ing nature than any he had yet displayed.
But his 'appiehensioni were not realized ; and
having ordered a domestic to carry a silver
tray with wine and other refreshments into
the room which he had just left, he hastily
sped up stairs to Musidora's chamber. On
knocking at the door the Countess came forth,
terror and dismay depicted upon her coun-
tenance. Few and hurried were the worda
that passed between the Earl and his wife in
the passage outside Musidora's apartment.
It appeared that the unhappy young lady had
recovered once from her deep trance, and had
given utterance to lamentations and cries
which, though generally vague and incon-
gruous, still were just intelligible enough to
afford the bewildered and affrighted Countess
and Annetta an idea of what had passed: but
then she had relapsed off into a swoon again.
The Earl, in a low deep voice full of terror
and dismay, confirmed the dreadful suspicion
which Musidora's incoherent words had al-
ready excited in her ladyship's mind; and as
the last faint hope that what Musidora had
said might be mere delirious raving, was de-
stroyed in the bosom of the Countess, she
clung to the bannisters for support.
"Heaven only knows how it will all end!"
said the Earl, trembling from head to foot, as if
shaking with the palsy. "Oh, what a night
of horror! But whatever may be the issue,
there is one thing that must be religiously ob-
served—and that is tecrecy! At all events
let none but yourself, Annetta, and of neces-
sity Dame Bertha, know of these thing■. If
Musidora should survive, it will be for ye
three to take turns in watching her. But
heaven only knows," repeated the unhappy
nobleman, seeming as if almost crushed by the
incidents of the evening. " how it will possibly
end! It is for the King to decide in some
sense; and I now return to him." M
The Earl accordingly hurried away, and the
Countess re-entered Musidora's chamber. Re-
tracing his steps to the apartment where be
had left the King and St. Louis, he found Ibe
former drinking deep draughts of wine, and
the latter also refreshing himself with a goblet
which the monarch had bade him take. But
beyond the few words conveying this invitation
to partake of the wine, the King had not spoken
a syllable to St . Louis during the ten mirutes
that the old nobleman was absent
.
"How fares it," asked the monarch in ■
deep gloomy voice, " with the unhappy Must
dura now 1"


THE NECROMANCER.
"She is still in a grievous plight, my liege,"
inswered the Earl of Grantham; "and I fear
me it will be the death of her—especially if
the shnine that will redound upon her from
this mock marriage be published to the
world."
«Tell me. ray Lori G.-xnt arc." said the
King, "everything that has occuirei (Km £:ci
to last—when this imposture commenced—
how it has been sustained—fn shott pro re to
me that ye have indeed been all the victims
and the dupes of the most detestable of cheats,
and none of ye accessory to it,—and ye may
rest assured that I will consult your feelings in
the course that I may hereafter pursue with
regard to it."
The Earl of Grantham accordingly sat down
and gave the King a circumstantial account of
all those incidents with which the reader has
been made acquainted,—how Danvers, in the
guise of the royal person, first introduced him-
self to Musidora, and how he became a regular
visitor of an evening—how on one occasion
Musidora wrote a letter to the King, request-
ing a favour on behalf of Percy Rivers—how
this letter was duly forwarded to the palace at
Greenwich—and how it was productive of the
double appointment of Musidora's cousin and
father respectively to the Governorship and
Rangership of the Isle of Wight,—how the
marriage had been celebrated in the chapel of
the Monastery of Twelve—and how Danvers,
exercising the privileges of a husband, had
since passed each night with his bride at Gran-
tham villa.
King Henry did not listen to this narrative
without frequent demonstrations of anger and
excitement. Had it been under ordinary cir-
cumstances, his rage would have known no
bounds: the inflammable materials of his
temperament would have blazed up into the
fiercest conflagration: but now, although Dan-
vers was no longer present, yet did a certain
lingering terror overhang the monarch's mind,
like the influence of a hideous nightmare even
after the dream itself has passed away. Still,
as we above hinted, the King did occasionally
interrupt the Earl of Grantham's recital with
sudden starts of impatience and half-subdued
ejaculations of rage—especially at those points
which descrilied how the false King—or rather
Lionel Danvers personifying the King—had
bestowed the appointments upon Sir Lewis
Sinclair and Percy Rivers.
"Your lordship t?lls me," said the monarch,
when the narrative wat brought to a conclu-
sion, " that Father Paul, the Superior of the
Monastery, gave a certificate of marriage, and
that Musidora has it? Go and fetch it to
me."
The Earl accordingly left the mom a second
time; and the moment the door closed behind
him, St. Louis threw himself at the King's feet,
saying, " My liege, pardon me—pardon me—
foi the treacheries and duplicities in which I
have been a sharer! There are many things
in the narrr.tive of the Earl of Grantham
which are still involved in mystery, but on
which I can throw some light."
"Rise, young man," said the King, rather
in a compassionating ton>j of voice than other-
wise. "I saw frcm a certain observation
which Lord Dr.nvers maic, that you were to
come exte-t in Lis cj.nudence. but I mean to
hen.* yju Sra> ere I condemn. I have this
nigh; seen surSiie.it of ite wondrous power
cf :hat dieidful man to feai a^s'ired that over
whams evt' in cbecsas to enthral, he must
necessarily txercise a iejirfjl influence. Rise,
then, I say; end when we re;urn to the palace
presently, you shall tell me everything. Then,
if I see that you also tcve been made a victim
and a dupe, and have become entangled in the
meshes of this diabolical enchantment, 1 will
not deal harshly to you. Besides," muttered
the King to himself, " I shall take very good
care to do nothing that will draw down upon
me the vengeance of this all-powerful Danvers:
and there are other considerations too that
mast make me deal with becoming prudence
and policy in these things."
While the King was thus musing to himself,
St. Louia rose from his knees, considerably
cheered by the manner in which his royal
master had spoken: and almost immediately
after this little scene, the Earl of Grantham
returned to the apartment.
"My liege," he said, with trembling voice
and the direst apprehSnrkn in his looks, " I
cannot find the marris.g3-cir:i£rate given by
Father Paul."
"Not find it!" ejtcultted the King angrily.
"Such is the trcth, sire, as I have a soul
to be saved!" answered the Earl of Gran-
tham. "Annettr, Musidora's handmaiden,
declares that h»r mistress was wont to carry
that marriagi-certificate in her bosom; and
the girl d-o'vfs positively that when Musi-
dora performed hei toilet this evening ere de-
scending tn '.he supper-room, she as usual
deposited the certificate in the body of her
dress: but vLor. the Countess and Annetta
ere now disapiursllcd Musidora on bearing
her up to her rv-im, that certificate was no-
where to be fouTiX"
"May it plessa your Highness," St. Louis
ventured to sic; esr, "was there not some-
thing strangely zt' Joss and suspiciously over-
strained in the u,vd of Lord Dtuivers when
he lifted to the sofa thu poor lady whom hi*
own treachery had phrgad into that death
like trance? It was not probable that after
seeking so terrible a vengeance up-.»i her, he
could have been moved by her swooning
state."
"You are right, St. Louis V ejaculated the
King: "it must be so! Danvers behavea
thus to Musidora in order to have tbe oppor-
tunity of pilfering back the marriage-cirtificate
—the onlv barrier which perhaps in gl.t,under
-


174
THE NECROMANCER.
eventual circumstances, stand between her
and fullest shame!"
"Your Grace's Secretary has doubtless fur-
nished the clue to the mysterious disappear-
ance of the marriage-certificate," observed the
Earl of Grantham. "And now, may I ven-
ture to beseech yur Higt.n*n» ti relieve mi.
from the acutest sujur.i.sg -"
"In what respect?" demanded tho Kirn
abruptly.
"In this, my liacn," tMj.'iutd the Kul, —
"that the CojuuxKf nnd mvtelf u»e as yet ut-
terly uncertain :eg a/ding the mkiw lo which
the terrible uccunel-iwe of this uight may
lead."
"I acquit you nnd your Countess of being
in the slightest degree &cc*ssary to the base
perfidy of Danver«," answered the King;
"and it by no means suits my purpose that
publicity should be given to the affair. Were
it known that any man in my dominions pos-
sesses the power of assuming any shape he
chooses—and chiefest of all, mine—heaven
alone knows to what extent it might impair
my royal authority. Therefore, mark you
well, my Lord of Grantham! let all these
transactions be consigned as much as possible
to oblivion: at all events let them be pre-
served as inviolable secrets. For the sake of
that poor unhappy lady who has been the vic-
tim of so much treachery, do I confirm her
father and hsr cousin in their appointments,
respectively ls f-LT.ger and Governor of the
Isle of Wight IT u told me, I think, that
this Perc; hi,us Knew not of the mock-
marriage'!--did joj I tot say so erenow in
your narauvt V
"I did, rny liege," u owered the Earl of
Grantham.
"Then mind he never d^es hoar of it. But
Sir Li ui« Sinclair and that physician who is
with hiui,—doubtless a creator., whom Dan-
vers sent to amuse the old ma", —have been
duly informed of the rcarrisgt, vr rather of
the hideous treachery which i'>m sport with
the solemn nuptial right?"
"It is even so, grcot Kiuj,,' i(joined the
Earl. "Sir Lewis and M:. L^rtram are ac-
quainted with the so-called lcuiriage."
"Then see that they are cLabused by some
means oi° that belief," lonthiiiot. Henry. "But
all this I leave to Musidora herself to regulate
in the manner that shull slit her best, when
she recovers from the shtck sustained from
this night's ocourrciitbf. Tell me, how fares
she now, a* you htivc again so recently visited
her chcn.U.11"
"Hei . ei scs have come back again—she is
no lot ger in a swoon," replied the Earl;
"but an awful stupor is upon her. She seems
thoroughly crushed and broken by the tre-
mendous blow she has this night received."
"Then, at all events, the assurances I have
given your lordskip," said the King, "relative
to the appointments of her father and her
cousin, will be to some little extent a source
of solace. If she hesitate to allow her relatives
to retain situations so fraudulently bestowed,
I will issue fresh letters-patent confirming the
appointment or rather conferring them all
over again. But upon this subject you can
cnmm iiiicato -tith me in a few Hays, when
<hu U}.hapi,y young lady shall be in a better
tram.; of miudfai converse with your lordship
itjpWi that subject."
"Most xinccrely do I thank your Grace for
all the bounteous words that have issued from
your royal lips: and these thanks are tender-
ed," continued the Earl of Grantham,' "not
merely on my behalf, but likewise on that of
the Countess and the hapless Musidora."
"See you, my lord, that the most religious
secrecy be observed; and I shall not regret
having spoken thus kindly to you. And now,
St. Louis, we will take our departure."
The obsequious Earl of Grantham flew to
open the doors for the royal egress; and the
King went forth, accompanied by his Secre-
tary. Remounting their horses, they gallop-
ped back to the Royal House, and entered
that palatial dwelling unperceived by any one
save the sentinel at the gate.
"Take you the horses to the stables," said
the King to St. Louis; "and see that you
disturb not the grooms. Use all possible de-
spatch ; and then rejoin me in your own cham-
ber, to which I shall proceed."
cc
CHAPTER XXXIX.
FARTHER EJPHXATIOJS.
c 0
The reader might fancy, from the latter
portion of the preceding chapter, that King
Henry possessed a generous and compassion-
ating disposition, and that in so readily con-
firming the appointments bestowed by forgery
and fraud upon Sir Lewis Sinclair and Percy
Rivers, he sought to indemnify Musidora for
the villany of which she had been the victim.
But his Highness was totally incapable of
such benevolent sympathy; and for anything
that he would have cared, Musidora and all
her relations might have been plunged into
shame, poverty, and ruin, as the result of the
transaction, ere he would have stretched out
a hand to help or uttered a word to console
them. The real truth is, that the King acted
throughout his seeming benevolence under
the influence of terror: and this terror was
twofold.
In the first place the King reasoned with
himself that if the two appointments wert
suddenly cancelled, inquiries and investiga-
tions would ensue as to the cause,—if not on
Sir Lewis Sinclair's part, at least on that of
Percy Rivers; and the result would inevitably
be the making public of the whole transactions


THE NECROMANCER.
fn this ca.se the world would not for an in-
ttant believe that a necromancer had assumed
the likeness of the King, but would very natu-
rally jump to the conclusion that the King
himself had seduced a young lady of virtue by
means of a fraudulent marriage, to aid which
•ren the very signature of the Pope had been
forged; and if such a belief as this were to get
abroad, it would heap an odium upon Henry's
name which he shuddered to think of. In the
second place, the King reasoned that if publi-
city were given to the whole affair, and even
if the public did believe in the preternatural
power of Danvers, the discontented nobles of
the land (and there were many at the time)
might get hold of Danvers, inducing him to
assume the royal likeness and declare that he
was the real Henry Plantagcnet—an impos-
ture which his superhuman resources, backed
by the enormous wealth he was known to
possess, would be pretty sure to render suc-
cessful. These were the considerations which
prompted the King, to do his best to hush up
all that had occurred; and therefore had he
not only spoken in terms of sympathy with re-
spect to Musidora, but had also confirmed the
appointments of her father and cousin. For
the same reason had he borne himself in a
conciliatory manner towards the Earl of Gran-
tham, and had also held out hopes of forgive-
ness to Gerald St. Louis for whatsoever faults
he might have committed.
But there was another person to whom it
would he necessary to enter into the fullest
and completest explanations: and this was
Wolsey, Archbishop of York. The reader
will remember that after the Kinghad perused
the parchment-slip which Wolsey showed him,
they hat some little private discourse together
while St. Louis went to get the horses in read-
iness. During this brief and hurried colloquy
the King had emphatically sworn to Wolsey
that he was altogether innocent of whatsoever
treachery had been practised towards Musi-
dora Sinclair, and that therefore somebody
must not only have forged the Papal Bull, but
also have personated himself. Wolsey was
thus so far initiated into the secret that it
Would lie impossible to avoid telling him the
rest; and therefore the King suddenly found
himself, for all the reasons above specified,
under the necessity of purchasing the secrecy
* of the ambitious Wolsey at any price. The
reader is thus in possession of the key to that
sudden rise which the haughty prelate was
now on the point of experiencing in the favour
of the monarch.
Having given these necessary explanations,
and shown how Henry was swayed by a two-
fold terror in hushing up the transactions
which had been so strangely brought to his
knowledge, we resume the thread of our nar-
rative. Ascending to his Private Secretary's
chamber in the palace at Greenwich, he waited
with some degree of impatience till St. Louis
made his appearance. A quart) r of an hour
thus elapsed; for the young man had to un-
saddle the steeds and stable them ere he could
ascend to the room where the King was tar-
rying. At length he hurried thither; light-
ing the lamp—(the King having remained the
while in the dark)—he awaited with fear and
tiembling to be questioned by his royal mas-
ter; for notwithstanding the forbearing man-
ner in which his Highness had ere now spo-
ken to him at Grantham Villa, St. Louis was
afraid, because he well knew not only that the
treacheries he was about to recite were of a
very black character, but also that the King's
mood was apt to change as frequently as a
weathercock.
Placing himself at the table, the King said,
"Sit down, young man, and speak out with
candour and frankness. Upon the sincerity of
your words and the fulness of your avowals,
will depend the manner in which I purpose to
deal with you. Let me be assured that you
tell me the whole truth without reserve or
suppression : and I promise you an uncondi-
tional pardon. But if I detect you in the
least duplicity or deception, I shall not fail to
visit you with condign punishment."
"I will speak frankly and candidly, sire,"
replied St. Louis, much cheered by the words
just addressed to him. "Does your Highness
recollect that when you came to my chamber
this evening, your Grace found me walking to
and fro in the dark; and I declared that I
was giving way to my reflections' Ah, my
liege! I was pondering upon the best means
of making your Highness acquainted with all
that was going on in respect to these frauds
and forgeries. But of the object for which
they were intended I was altogether ignorant:
nor until to-night was I ever aware of the tre-
mendous fact that Lionel Danvers possessed
the power of assuming the shape of another.
As I was however saying, my liege, I had re-
solved to throw myself at your royal feet and
confess the treacheries of which I was a vile
instrument and tool."
"And wherefore', then, did you not do so at
once ?" asked the King. '• The moment I en-
tered the room, why did you not obey the
impulse of those resolutions which you state
to have been uppermost in your mind? why
did you not throw yourself at my feet and
confess everything V
"Ah I sire," responded St. Louis, " there
was one consideration—one fearful considera-
tion—which made me hesitate; and this was
because not only my honour, but also my very
life, is in the hands of those who originally
placed me about your royal nerson!"
« Those V echoed the King. "To whom
do you allude 1—are there many in this,
plot?"
"I mean, sire," answered St. Louis," that
Sir Edward Poynings is the creature of Lord
Danvers as well a> I am—but with this diner


176
THE NECROMANCER.
ence, that it is I who am made the vile instru-
ment and tool of the villanies which they sug-
gest. It is I also who have had the dangerous
part to perform, and have been urged on step
by step in this nefarious career by the terror
of exposing myself to infamy and disgrace—
perhaps death upon the scafl ild, if 1 dared
refuse to do the bidding of my masters'."
'•Ah! Sir Edward Poyninga is a traitor,
then ?" observed the King, with an increasing
gloominess of look; for he thought to himself
that there was now another person whom, in-
stead of punishing, he would have to concili-
ate. "But think you." he demanded, after a
brief pause," that Sir Edward Poyninga is al-
together in Lord Danvers' secrets ?—think
you that he is aware of the course this dread-
Ad man was pursuing towards Musidora!"
"No, sire—I am convinced that he was
not," replied St. Louis. "He, as well as I,
have been kept as much in the dark as possi-
ble respecting the real object for which the
various frauds and forgeries were intended;—
and by many an expression which haa fallen
from the lips of Sir Edward Poyninga, am I
certain that he knew but little more than my-
self. As for the fact that Lionel Danvers was
assuming your royal likeness, and thus practis-
ing his diabolical treacheries towards Musi-
dora, I can positively assure yoar Grace that
Sir Edward knew naught thereof."
"Well, well—so much the better," observed
the King. "But I think that without any
farther parley, you had better enter at once
upon a continuous narrative of such matters
aa you may have to reveal; and I will listen
with all due attention."
"Most potent Sovereign," answered St.
Louis, " I shall commence at once ; but with
the earnest hope not only that I may receive
your royal pardon for the share 1 have taken
in the things whereof I am about to speak,
but likewise that your Grace will command
Sir Edward Poynings to surrender up to me,
or burn before my eyes, a certain document
which he holds, and which places me so com-
pletely in the power of himself and Lord Dan-
vers."
"Be frank and candid, St . Louis," rejoined
the King, " and ynu will have nothing to fear.
Not only will ( use forbearance towards you,
but will see that you are emancipated from the
terrorism of the document which so deeply
menaces you."
"I must commence by informing your
Grace," began St. Louis, "that some four
years and a half ago, a worthy uncle of mine
departed this life, bequeathing to me a hand-
some fortune. But on his death-bed he placed
in my hands a certain casket, which I will
presently show your Highness, and which
contains the portrait of a great-aunt of mine,
together with certain manuscripts describing
bow Arline—for so the ancestress alluded to
*a■ called—became the victim of Lord Hum-
phrey Danvers, father of the present nohlemaa
The history of my ancestress was well known
to me previous to that death-bed scene wheat
my uncle placed the casket in my band; but
he bade me receive that casket, and treasure
it as a aad memorial of Arlinc's wrongs—those
wrongs which he solemnly enjoined me to
avenge either upon Lord Humphrey, if he were
still alive, or upon his descendants. I swore la
obey the old 'man's command; and upon that
condition did he leave me the heir to his prop-
erty. Immediately after the funeral I made
inquiries respecting the Danvers family, and
ascertained that Lord Humphrey had been
dead a few years, and was succeeded by Lord
Lionel, who was then abroad. Instead of
proceeding to the Continent in search of hint
—which, having youth, vigour, and courage om
my side, I ought to have done—I gave way
to dissipation and debauchery. Into these
vile courses, however, I did not fall of my own
accord; but happening at the time of my
uncle's death to form the acquaintance of a
certain Benjamin Welford,—by profession a
medical doctor, but in principle the most fin-
ished of scoundrels, —saving your Highness'■
presence—I was initiated by him into those
ways which I now blush to look back upon.
Following his example with an infatuation
which can only be accounted for by my youth
and inexperience, I led for four years a life of
profligacy and extravagance; so that at the end
of the period my fortune was gone. Welford
then suggested the most desperate of pursuits
in order to replenish our purses; and without
entering farther into detail, I may proceed 18
state that one night, when we had sallied
forth to put our concocted projects into exe-
cution, we encountered Lord Lionel Danvers
in the lane which runs behind the grounds uf
Grantham Villa. Comparing the date of that
nignt with the particulars which the Zarl of
Grantham ere now gave your Highness, it is
plain enough that when I and Welford thus
met Danvers, it must have been at the.very:
commencement of the intrigue which, in the
shape and form of your highness, he has been
carrying on in respect to Musidora Sinclair.
On that night he escaped in the most marvel-
lous manner from the attack which Wellord
and myself made upon him; four pistols, fired
point blank, had no effect; and our swords
were equally unavailing. Ah, it was no won-
der !" added St. Louis; "for that wicked no*
bleman must have made some compact with
the Evil One, and bears a charmed life."
"It ia dreadful to think of," observed the
King. "But proceed."
"Ijtird Lionel Danvers." continued Gerald
Su Louis, " appeared anxious to return good
for evil; and under the pretence of offering
atonement to me for the foul wrong which hi*
father had done towards my ancestress Arline,
he proposed to befriend me. What could I
do! In desperate circumstances—a reckless


THE NECROMANCER. 177
tdventurer—without money, without credit,
■ad almost without a home,—I yielded to hit
insidious offers, and accepted hie bouuty. But
this was not all. He likewise undertook to
provide for my companion Welford, whom be
arranged to soe on the following morning."
"And that Welford," observed the King,
"is no doubt the Dr. Bertram who, as Lord
Grantham ere now told us, was despatched to
keep old Sir Lewis Sinclair company in the
Iste of Wight."
"Beyond all doubt, my liege," replied St.
Louis. "With respect to myself, it was ia
consequence of the instructions which I re-
ceived from Lord Danvers, that I made appli-
cation to Sir Edward Poyninga for the post of
Private Secretary ia your Grace's household.
Without entering into details respecting the
conversation that took place on the occasioB
between Sir Edward Poyninga and my sell
suffice it to say I was given to understand that
I could only be inducted into the wished-for
office on condition that I placed myself
altogether in Sir Edward's power. Not only
with regard to my honour and my reputation,
hut also my very life, was I thus to be at the
mercy of the Comptroller of your Grace's
household."
"By my crown and sceptre, this is beyond
all endurance!" exclaimed Henry, his cheeks
flushing with indignation, and his blood boiling
with all the ire of the Plantagenets. "Sir
Edward is a traitor—But go on, go, on, young
man,'' he added, suddenly checking himself,
as the necessity of pursuing a conciliatory
course recurred to his mind.
"The desperate condition of my fortunes, to
which I have before alluded," continued Gerald
St. Louis, "constrained me to fall entirely into
the views of Sir Edward Poyninga, who
played his part so skilfully that I was led at
the moment to fancy it was in hia power I was
to place myself, and not in that of the prime-
mover of all who kept in the back-ground. To
be brief, Sir Edward Poyninga suggested to
me that ( should place in his hands a forged
bill, which would thus furnish him with the
means of exercising a constant terrorism over
me. I did so—and at his suggestion forged
the name of Danvers. This bill for one hun-
dred pounds sterling, purporting to be payable
at the banking-house of Master Landini in
Iioinbard Street, is now in the hands of Sir
Edward Poynings; and it is against the power
—the awful power which the felonious docu-
ment gives him over me, that I beseech your
Highness's shielding protection."
"You shall have it—you shall have it," re-
sponded the King. "I have already promised
you as much: and ere you retire to rest this
night, that document shall have ceased to
trouble you. Proceed."
"No sooner had Sir Edward Poynings pos-
sessed himself of the paper and presented me
to your Highness, when he took the earliest
opportunity to let me know that Lord Danvers
had merely procured me the situation through
his (Sir Edward's) influence at Court, in order
that I might become the slave, the instrument,
and the tool of that nobleman's private interest
It being a part of my duty to receive and open
all despatches or letters addressed to your
Gtfaee- in a private manner, I was. instructed
by Sir Edward Poynings to suppress, or rather
to keep back any letter or document which
might at any moment come from Grantham
Villa, or that any one might seek to deliver
under circumstances of evident privacy and
secrecy. Accordingly, when one day a mes-
senger arrived with a letter which he earnestly
requested might be at once placed in youi
Grace's hands, I took it to Sir Edward Poyn-
ings, who applauded my fidelity in olwying hit
instructions, and bade me return to his apart-
ments iu about an hour. I did so—and found
Lord Danvers with him. I was then told to
sit down, and carefully draw up two documents
in the style and phraseology that Lord Dan-
vers would himself dictate. This I also did-
but when I began to discover the nature of
those documents, I hesitated to proceed. Thee
was I threatened with exposure, arrest, trial
and condemnation on account of the forged
bill. I was therefore compe lled to proceed.
Both those documents were letters-patent,
drawn up in your Highness's nsme,—the one
conferring the appointment of the Governor-
ship of the Isle of Wight upon Master Percy
Rivers, and the other bestowing the Ranger-
ship of the woodlands in the same island upon
Sir Lewis Sinclair. When the task was com-
pleted, Lord Danvers addressed me, saying,
'You have doubtless several documents in pre-
paration which you will have to submit in the
course of the day to the King, in order to re-
ceive the royal signature; and you will there-
fore contrive to thrust these papers in amongst
the rest, so that they may be likewise signed
by the royal hand."'
"By heavens!" ejaculated the King, start-
ing from his seat and laying bis fingers upon
hia sword. "But no," he added, again sud-
denly checking himself: "I must be calm:"
—then sitting down once more, he said in a
moody tone, " Proceed."
"Your Grace," resumed the Private Secre-
tary, who had been for the moment terribly
frightened by his royBl master's manner, "need
scarcely be reminded that when I was wont to
submit divers letters and papers for your sove-
reign signature, your Highness never read
them, but was contented with such hurried
description as I gave your Grace of each suc-
cessive one in the order in which they occurred
It was therefore by no means difficult for me
to obtain your royal signature to the two letters-
patent which, under Danvers' dictation, I had
drawn up. And those signatures were given.
Then I affixed your royal seal to those as well
as to all the others; and when the work was


THE NECROMANCER.
179
fret clae, which, being followed up speedily,
led me on to the unravelment of this compli-
cated weo of treachery. Then, seing that the
leading features were discovered, St. Louis
confessed the remainder."
u Spare me, O King!—spare me, I beseech
your Highness!" exclaimed Sir Edward
Poynings, falling at the monarch's feet: and
he began to pour forth the most piteous la-
ment -^icns.
"Rise, sirrah," said the King, "and ex-
plain to me how you fell into the power
of this Lord Danvers. Be candid as St.
Louis has been; and I will deal mercifully
with you."
"My liege, I will speak the trutn," an-
swered Sir Edward Poynings, rising up from
his suppliant posture. "Some few years
ago accident made me acquainted with Lord
Danvers. It was at tho time he visited Eng-
land after his father's death, and when he
came to prove his own rights and titles to
the peerage which he inherited. During his
short stay in London on that occasion, a
friendship grew up between us; and as I was
in embarrassed circumstances at the time, he
advanced me a considerable sum of money.
Suddenly he disappeared from the metropolis,
and I saw him no more until between three
and four months back. He then called upon
me at this palace ; and in the course of con-
versation I expressed my regret at being un-
able for the present to return the money he
had lent met some years ago. He pressed
me for the reasons; and I was led to admit
the truth—which was that although holding
so good and excellent a situation in the
Royal Household, I had nevertheless fallen
into arrears, and was deficient in the monies
entrusted to me by your Highness for the
management of your establishment. There-
upon Danvers probed me to the very bottom
of my heart, and discovered—alas! that I
should be compelled to confess the ignomi-
nious truth—that the gaming table had occa-
sioned these defalcations which I was fearful
that every day would bring to light . Dan-
vers at once proffered me all that a seeming
friendship could suggest, and volunteered to
place large sums of money at my command,
not only to supply the deficiencies in my ac-
counts, but also to purchase an estate which
I had for some time longed to possess. I
yielded ; and he got me into his power,—the
condition of his seeming generosity being that
I should induct a nominee of his own into the
post of Private Secretary, at that time vacant.
That nominee was St. Louis. Your High-
ness can now full well understand how a
■tern necessity has rendered me the slave and
tool of Lionel Danvers."
As a reward for. your frankness," answer-
ed the King, "I forgive you. Indeed the
humiliation of having to reveal this tale to my
ears, and in the presence of Gerald St. Louis,
is almost a sufficient chastisement for a per-
sonage of your rank, family, and station. But
I pardon you, Sir Edward, only on condition
—that you immediately give up to this young
man a certain forged document which you
hold that is to say, if you do indeed still
hold it."
"Yes—it is in my possession," answered
Sir Edward. "Lord Danvers bade me keep
it to serve as a source of terrorism in respect
to St. Louis."
Thus speaking, the Comptroller of the
Household took up the lamp, and begged the
King to accompany him into the room which
served as his office. Thither also did St
.
Louis follow; and Sir Edward Poynings pro-
duced the forged bill from the iron safe, where
he kept the cash books and accounts con-
nected with his high post at Court.
"Take and burn it," said the King, address-
ing himself to St . Louis.
The young man lost not a moment in
obeying the command thus given; and as he
lighted the felonious document by the flame
of the lamp, it seemed as if an immense weight
were gradually passing away from his soul.
Throwing it into the grate, he watched it
burning; and when it was consumed, the ani-
mation of unspeakable joy shone upon his
countenance as he tendered his gratitude to
the King.
"Now, Sir Edward Poynings," resumed
the monarch, once more addressing himself
to that individual, who still stood pale and
trembling before him,—" you must be well
convinced that after all which has taken place,
it will be impossible for you to continue in
the post of Comptroller of my Household.
But inasmuch as I wish to deal kindly to-
wards you, and furnish you with every oppor-
tunity of atoning for your past errors, I have
resolved upon placing you in another office as
high as that which you have hitherto enjoyed,
—or it may be of a more elevated rank srilL
I mean the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland.
Now, Sir Edward Poynings, summon your
grooms—take horse at once—and depart!
Some excuse shall be found for the urgency
and precipitation of your withdrawal from the
palace. Moreover, messengers shall be de-
spatched after you to-morrow, bearing the
necessary documents for your appointment."
Sir Edward Poynings again fell upon his
knees at the King's feet, to thank him for this
(as he believed) most generous demonstration
of mercy and forbearance; but the monarch
bade him rise with renewed injunctions for
prompt departure.
"And, ah! while I bethink me," said the
King, "immediately on your arrival in Ire-
land, you may proclaim to my loving subject!
in that kingdom, that Lord Warham, Arch-
bishop of Canterbury, is no longer High
Chancellor and Prime Minister of these realms,
but that the great seal has been transferred


180
THE NECROMANCER.
from his hands to those of Lord Wolsey Pri-
mate of York."
Sir Edward Poyninga bowed in humble
intimation that he would not fail to promul-
gate the intelligence on his arrival in Ireland;
and the King quitted the ex-Comptroller's
apartment, followed by St. Louis.
"Now, young man," said the monarch,
when they were once more alone together in
the Private Secretary's chamber, " you spoke
to me of a certain casket, containing a por-
trait and written papers. My curiosity is ex-
cited in all that seems to relate to the family
of Danvers; and I will thank you to fulfil
your promise by showing me that casket."
St. Louis hastened to a cupboard behind
the flowing tapestry of his chamber, and drew
forth his cherished casket of sandal-wood in-
laid with gold—that casket which through all
his spendthrift follies and consequent embar-
rassments he had managed to keep. The
King opened it, and beheld the portrait of a
lovely female set in the lid. It represented a
sweet creature of about eighteen, with mag-
nificent auburn hair and deep blue eyes.
Beneath it was the following inscription:—
"Arline de St. Louis, Victim of Lord Hum-
phrey Danvers, in the year 1463."
The King gazed for several minutes upon
the portrait which thus rivetted his attention
with its exquisite fascinations; and his curi-
osity being still more deeply excited, he at
length said, " I presume there will be no in-
discretion in demanding leave to peruse this
manuscript which the casket contains?"
St. Louis bowed assent; and the King weat
on to say, " After all that has occurred this
evening, I feel but little inclination to sleep;
and will therefore while away an hour or two
in the perusal of these documents. To-mor-
row I will return you your casket, and will
then decide in what manner I mean to act
towards yourself. But rest assured that, as
in the case of Sir Edward Poyninga, if I make
up my mind to banish you from any farther
service about my person, I will provide you
with an equally honourable and lucrative si-
tuation elsewhere."
Having thus spoken, the King repaired to
his own chamber, where the lamps were burn-
ing; and seating himself at a table he com-
menced the perusal of the manuscripts, the
contents of which will now be laid before the
reader. i
CHAPTER XL.
THE HISTORY Or ARLISE ST. IOT/IS.
"Thi present narrative opens in the year
1463. At that time an old and gloomy-
looking tower, on the verge of one of the vast
forests of Normandy, was inhabited by a bro-
ther and sister of the name of St . Louis
They were the remaining scions of a family
that had'been once powerful and rich; and
their decaying tower was the only relict ot
the immense possessions that in former times
had belonged to their ancestors. Scarcely an
acre of land pertained to it; and this was a
flewer-gardea, where the sister, whose name-
was Arline, was wont to while away the hours
in the genial season, when her brother was
occupied in the chase. We will speak more
particularly of him first. His christian name
was Philip : he was about twenty-eight years
of age, of tall athletic form, and remarkably
handsome countenance. His disposition was
generous and good: his humanity and his
charity, to the extent of his means, had never
been vainly put to the test; while his affec-
tion towards his beauteous sister had become
proverbial throughout the district. He was
devoted to the sports of the forest—was of
tried bravery—at d excelled in all manly ex-
ercises. Indeed, he was the most dauntless
ae well as the most indefatigable huntsman
ever known in that part of the country; and
while pursuing the ardours of the chase in
company with other inhabitants of the dis-
trict, he would often laugh at their fatigues
when evening came; ami instead of riding
home to his tower, he would pass the night
in the forest, so that he nught mount again
at the first glimpse of dawn and renew the
exciting sport
.
"It was frequently whispered-amongst the
dwellers in those parts that it was not alto-
gether through mere love of the chase that
Philip de St . Louis prosecuted it thus devo-
tedly; but that the narrowness of his pecu-
niary circumstances rendered the produce of
his hunting exploits very desirable additions
to the household requirements at the tower.
Indeed, Philip himself hesitated not to say
that his fortunes were so broken that if it
were not for the bounty of a wealthy friend
of his deceased father—living at Rouen, the
capital of Normandy—he should find himself
altogether without pecuniary means. It was
understood that this kind friend, who had
known the family in better days, was wont
to allow the brother and sister a half-yearly
stipend ; and accordingly, at Midsummer and
at Christmas, did Philip visit Rouen to receive
the income so generously bestowed. The
distance from the tower to the old capital
city of Normandy was not above two days'
journey; and thus, as the brother's absence
was never very long, and he journeyed quick
on his good steed in order to save the ex-
penses of travelling as much as possible, his
sister Arline was wont to remain at the tower
on the occasions when her brother was thus
away.
"It is true that some people wondered how
a high-spirited, brave, and chivalrous young
man like Philip de St. Louis could condescend


THE NECROMANCER.
lb
to live as it were upon the bread of charity,
instead of going forth into the world and
carving out his fortunes with his sword. But
he himself, doubtless with a delicate pre-
science of the comments that public opinion
might make upon his dependent position,
frequently met the objection by volunteering
an explanation to the few friends with whom
he was intimate. He was accustomed to say
that if it were not for his beloved sister Arline
he would cheerfully go forth into the wide
world and seek by his own endeavours to
place himself in an independent position: but
were he to do so, what would become of her!
He dared not abandon her, young and beau-
tiful as she was, to the loneliness of that
gloomy old tower upon the verge of a forest,
*md in a very thinly populated neighbour-
hood. Besides which, the difference that
existed between their ages—she being
nearly ten years younger than he—made
her look up to him as a child clings to its
parent, rather than as a sister looks up to a
brother.
"Such indeed was the affectionate and
confiding disposition of the beauteous Arline;
and it would have broken her gentle heart
to be separated from that brother whom she
loved so fondly. She knew full well the
sacrifice of pride and every lofty feeling
which her brother must be making in order
to accept this dependent position for her
sake, rather than hie away to the distant
scenes of warfare in which fame was to be
won and gold earned: but if ever she ven-
tured to address him upon the subject, he
invariably avoided the topic and compelled
her to speak of something else. For this
delicate regard which he paid to her feelings
she loved him all the more fondly ; and never
was huntsman welcomed with more winning
smiles and cheerful looks than was Philip de
St. Louis, on those occasions when after a
day or two's absence at the chase, he re-
turned to his tower laden with the spoils of
the forest. Then that old tower no longer
seemed gloomy in his eyes : it was lighted up
with the radiant smiles and sunny looks of
the lovely Arline. Beauteous indeed she
was too! Her hair was of the richest auburn
—of that precious hue which the sunbeams
love to sport with, and which seems to impri-
son their rays to increase the glory of its own
effulgence. Her eyes were of the deepest
blue, a heavenly lustre shining in their
depths, and reflecting the innocent purity of
her soul. Her complexion was beautifully
fair, with a rich carnation glow upon the
cheeks; and her lips, of the brightest vermi-
lion, revealed teeth of pearly whiteness. She
was not above the middle height, but exqui-
sitely modelled, and with just that sufficient
fullness of contour which was neither too vo-
luptuous on the one hand nor detrimental to
'he sculptural elegance of symmetry on the
other. Her disposition, without being abso
lutely buoyant, was naturally happy: yet at
times the idea of the sacrifices which her.
brother was making for her sake, would
throw a tinge of sadness over her features—
especially when he was absent. But, gene-
rally speaking, when he was at home, at
the tower with her, she was all gaiety and
smiles.
"At the period, however, when we thu»
introduce Philip de St. Louis and his beau-
teous sister to those who may peruse this nar-
rative, the tinge of sadness was beginning to
appear more frequently upon the countenance
of Arline, and likewise to remain longer when
it did overshadow her. This was caused by
a deepening anxiety on her brother's account
—not altogether, now, because he was sacri-
ficing the best years of his life to her, but also
on account of his personal safety. For cer-
tain rumours which had been vaguely current
for some years past relative to the existence
of banditti in the forest, had latterly be-
come more rife as well as more positive, and
had assumed a graver aspect. At first, when
these rumours originally commenced, it was
merely an occasional traveller who was plun-
dered in the forest; and these cases were at very
long intervals, so that either the stories were
disbelieved altogether, or else it was imagined
that the robber, whoever he was (for there
never appeared to be more than one thus
spoken of) did not habitually haunt the
forest, but merely paid it an occasional visit
from a distance. Latterly, however, the re-
ports of this kind of outrage had become more
frequent and more defined, the instances oc-
curring at shorter intervals: but still there
was no evidence to warrant the belief that
the forest was infested by an extensive gang,
as in every case, it was a solitary traveller
plundered by a single robber. At last the
statements of the plundered seemed to furnish
more circumstantial details relative to the
daring bandit whose existence in the forest it
was no longer possible to doubt or disbelieve.
He was represented as a most terrible look-
ing object, clad entirely from head to foot in
the hairy skins of wolves, with a mask of the
same material over his countenance, and his
eyes glaring fiercely and brightly through the
openings made for the convenience of vision.
He was said also to be mounted on a colossal .
steed, of immense power and extraordinary
swiftness: but in no instance was it stated
that he ever used more violence than wa»
necessary to accomplish his purpose, and that
he prevailed rather by the terror which hie
appearance excited than by anything like *
savage assault. As for taking life or shedding
blood, no such allegation was ever made;
but on the contrary, it was asserted that he
was in reality a dastard and a coward, not
daring to remain and fight when resistance
was offered; but that if the terrific nature of


THE NECROMANCER.
his appearance did not at once produce the
desired effect, he would wheel his horse
round and disappear like lightning amidst
the depths of the forest.
"At the time when this narrative opens,
the rumours thus hastilv sketched had as-
sumed an alarming aspect: for there were
very few who believed in the alleged coward-
ice of the bandit. On the contrary, it was
supposed that in the two or three instances
which were reported of this wheeling round
of the colossal steed and precipitate flight, the
•ircumstance might be accounted for by the
bravado of the travellers who related the tale
rather than the cowardice of the robber who
was the subject of it. Certain it is, that the
rumours had lately filled the entire district
with terror—not so much because the pre-
sence of a single bandit was in itself calcula-
ted to frighten men who generally went out
in large parties to hunt; but because super-
stition lending its aid to enhance the wild
interest of the whole circumstances, it was
confidently whispered that the supposed bri-
gand was some fearful demon, or else a wehr-
wolf. The belief in wehr-wolves had always
been popular in the French forests,—the idea
of a wehr-wolf being that of a man compelled
periodically by some infernal destiny to as-
■ume the form of one of those much dreaded
animals.
"Arline de 8t. Louis, though gifted with a
strong intellect, was by no means free from
;he superstitions prevailing in those forest-
regions; and the alarming aspect which the
above-mentioned rumours had of late as-
sumed, were but too well calculated to render
the affectionate girl uneasy on her brother's
•ccount. But he only laughed at her fears,
—declaring that if the bandit were really a
human being, he was but a solitary enemy
and therefore not to be dreaded : but that if
he were a wehr-wolf, he would have no
power against one who had done no harm
and wore a cross-handled sword. Never-
theless, Arline was not pacified by these re-
presentations; therefore each time that she
saw her brother go forth to hunt in the forest,
she charged him not to separate from his
companions; and when he did so,—remain-
ing in the wild depths of the wood after they
had returned to their homes,—she invariably
eluded him so soon as he came back. Mean-
while the cases of robbery in the forest grew
more frequent; and instances were now con-
stantly reported of solitary travellers being
despoiled of the gold they might have about
them. Several parties of the huntsmen in
the district were formed to scour the forest
and catch the plunderer, if possible; and on
all these occasions no one was more zealous
in the undertaking nor more arduous in the
search than Philip de St, Louis. But all was
af no avail; an d the robber, were he man or
wolf, baffled all the endeavours thus insti-
tuted for his capture.
"Such was the state of things in the vi-
cinage of the great forest of Normandy at
the time when this narrative opens ; and noW
we have to record an incident which was to
exercise a material influence upon the life of
Arline de St. Louis. One day, in the middle
of January, 1463, when Philip was' nunting
in the forest, a cavalier, mounted upon a
horse as splendid in appearance as its capar-
isons were rich, rode up to the gate of the
tower to make some inquiry. He was at-
tended by a suite of six pages, also mounted
upon beauteous steeds covered with gorgeous
trappings. The cavalier himself was of strik-
ing appearance,—tall, slender, and admirably
formed,—his figure united elegance with dig-
nity, gracefulness with lithe and supple
vigour. His hair, dark as night, but glossy
as the raven's plumage, was worn long; and
parted above a high and open forehead, it
clustered in rich natural curls around the
well-shaped head. His complexion was dusky,
but clear and healthy: his eyes were large,
dark, and luminous; and his look, though
haughty and not untinged with a natural
disdain, was nevertheless full of chivalrous
generosity. His moustachio, black and glossy
as his luxuriant hair, set off the short upper lip,
and made the ivory teeth shine all the more
brilliantly with the contrast. He had ho
whiskers nor beard; and thus the term
beauty might be all the more appropriately
used in reference to the singularly interesting
appearance of this individual: indeed a more
perfect masculine beauty was perhaps never
seen. His age seemed to be about two anil
thirty; and his aspect, his apparel, and his
suite, all bespoke him to be a personage of
rank and consequence.
"The inquiry which this elegant individual
paused at the old tower to make, was re-
specting the road to the castle of the Count
de Montauban, which ancient feudal fortalire
was situated at a distance of about fifteen
miles from the tower. It was a splendid
day, the sun shining brightly; yet the ground
was hard as marble, and the frost gleamed in
its transparent net-work upon the skeleton
boughs of the trees. Arline was taking exer-
cise in her garden at the tune when the
cavalcade rode up to the tower; and imme-
diately supposing that the chief horseman
was some acquaintance of her brother's, she
hastened forward to give such greeting at
might be suitable. But when she beheld a
handsome cavalier who was utterly unknown
to her, she shrank slightly back with a na-
tural maiden modesty; and the carnation
deepened upon her cheeks. Supremely beau-
tiful did she appear at that moment; and the
cavalier was evidently at once struck by her ap
pearance. The groom and the old housekeeper


•IHE NECROMANCER.
183
—who were the only domestics that the cir-
cumstances of Philip de. St. Louis allowed
him to keep,—had come forth from the tower
on hearing the sounds of so many horses'
feet; and, as they on a subsequent occasion
declared, they noticed the sudden look of
mingled ardour, interest, and adoration which
the handsome cavalier bent upon the lovely
Arline, as she thus stood bashfully in his pre-
sence.
"i Lady,' he said, doffing his plumed cap,
and addressing her in a soft voice and with
courtly manner, • pardon me that I have
given you the trouble to come forth from the
grounds where you were walking. My ob-
ject in approaching your habitation, was to
learn the most direct path to Montauban
Castle.'—Although the cavalier spoke the
French language with perfect fluency, yet
was it evident from a slight accentuation, as
also from his general bearing and appearance,
that he was nut a native of France, but
seemed to be an Englishman. Arline de St.
Louis, replying in the silver tones of her fluid
voice, gave him the necessary directions
which he sought; and the cavalier, with a
graceful salutation, thanked her for her
courtesy. He then moved away at the head
of his retinue, but slowly and as if reluc-
tantly; and when at a little distance, he
turned to look back, Arline was still standing
where he had left her, gazing in a kind of
abstraction—or was it with an irresistible
fascination ?—after him. He again raised
his plumed cap in graceful salute; and she,
turning somewhat abruptly away, appeared
vexed with herself that she had thus seemed
to be bestowing any particular interest upon
him. She hastened up to her own cham-
ber, while the groom and the old housekeeper
exchanged significant looks, as much as to
imply that the handsome English stranger
would make a suitable bridegroom for their
lovely young mistress.
"The Count de Montauban, who has just
been mentioned, was a powerful feudal chief*
possessing immense domains in that part of
Normandy. But for some years he had resided
on another estate which he possessed in a more
southern province; and it was only from time
to time, at long intervals, that he visited Mon-
tauban Castle. Even on these occasions he
remained but a few days, for the purpose of
inspecting his steward's accounts, and attend-
ing to such affairs as his vassals might have to
submit to his consideration. Then, so soon as
these duties were performed, he would speed
away again to his southern estate, where, as
rumour alleged, he was wont to pass his time
with the gayest company and in voluptuous
pleasures. He was a man of about forty-five
years of age, of dissipated appearance, (hough
not altogether ill-looking; but with a constitu-
tion enfeebled and impaired by the course of
Ufe that he led. Thus, a countenance that
had once been handsome, was rendered pre-
maturely old in appearance by the effects of
debauchery; and a frame, originally athletic
and well-knit, was slightly bowed by the ener-
vating influence of dissipation. Such waa
the Count de Montauban. He was unmarried,
and possessed no heir to his vast estates; but
it appeared that, at the very time of which this
narrative is now treating, he had quilted his
southern domain, so that he might shake off
his boon companions, and had come to settle
down at Montauban Castle—there to pursue
a more steady life, and recover, if possible, a
portion of his lost health and strength. He
had returned thither a week or ten days pre-
vious to that morning on which the cavalier
and his retinue stopped to make inquiries at
St. Louis' tower; and it was therefore sur-
mised by the groom and the housekeeper that
the gallant Englishman was proceeding to
Montauban Castle, to become (he guest of the
Count
.
"W hen Philip de St. Louis returned homs
from the chase in the evening, Arline men-
tioned the incident of the forenoon; but the
moment the name of Count de Montauban
passed her lips, she could not help observing
that her brother's countenance grew suddenly
troubled. She looked surprised, and was
evidently on the point of inquiring the rea-
son; when Philip, immediately recovering
his wonted gaiety, began to describe the suc-
cesses he had experienced in the forest—so
that Arline no doubt speedily forgot the little
incident which had for a moment astonished and
even alarmed her. About a week afterwards,
as she and her brother were rambling together
in the vicinage of their tower, they observed a
horseman approaching; and as he drew near,
the damsel at once recognized the English
cavalier. He was alone—not even attended
by a single page; and as he advanced towards
the brother and sister, he doffed his plumed
cap in graceful salutation to the young dam-
sel. He then proceeded to observe thai,
having ridden forth alone to inspect some
Roman ruins which existed in that neighbour-
hood, he had lost his way, and was uncertain
how to proceed until he saw the tower which
he remembered to have passed when journey-
ing to Montauban Castle. Philip de St.
Louis invited him to enter the tower and par
take of such hospitality as it was able to afford
and the Englishman at once accepted the
courteous offer. Leaping from his horse, as
if he thought it ungallant to continue riding
while the lady was walking, he led the noble
animal by the bridle, and then began to con-
verse in a strain of such courtly ease, but at
the same time in so affable and unpretending
a manner, that he speedily ingratiated himself
into Philip's favour—that of Arline he no
doubt already possessed! He informed them
that his name was Humphrey Danvers—that
he was an English nobleman—but that he


184
THE NECROMANCER,
owned * castle and estate in Normandy,
which had been purchased more than seventy
years back by his ancestor Lord Walter. The
name of Dan*en was already known by re-
pute to Philip and Arline, as they were aware
that there was a fortalice and a domain be-
longing to an English family of that title on
tlie southern confines of Normandy, and there-
fore at a considerable distance from their own
tower. It farther appeared, frr>m what Lord
Humphrey Danvers then said, that being ac-
quainted with the Count do Montauban, he
had received an invitation to pass a few months
with that nobleman; and he concluded his
remarks by gallantly observing that he felt
itoubly indebted to the hospitable friendship of
the Count, inasmuch aa the invitation had
been the means of procuring for him the
pleasure of forming the acquaintance of Arline
de St. Louis. The maiden blushed and
looked confused at the compliment; of which
her brother however took no particular notice,
as it was perfectly consistent with the bearing
of courrly gallants towards lovely maidens in
those times.
"On reaching the tower, the groom came
forth to receive Lord Danvers' horse; and as
Philip and Arline conducted their guest into
their gloomy-looking and shabbily-furnished
sitting-apartment, they both made apologies
for the rudeness of the hospitality which they
were enabled to offer But Danvers, in the
most affable manner possible, at once placed
them at their ease on this account,—declaring
that the pleasure of forming their acquaint-
ance rose above every other consideration in
his thoughts, and that since they had once
tempted him into their abode they must expact
that he should regard it as a permission to re-
turn and pay his respects to them on a future
occasion. A substantial meal, consisting of
venison dressed in several ways, and with a
fine boar's head in the centre of the table, was
served up. Wine and cider were also placed
upon the board; and Danvers did justice to
the fare, finding everything excellent. In a
word, by his affability—his generous readiness
to gloss over everything that was rude, hum-
ble, or deficient in the domestic economy of
the tower—the brilliancy of his conversation—
the interesting anecdotes of adventure and
travel which he related—and by his whole
hearing, he completely won Philip's heart;
while the lovely Arline listened in silent rap-
lure to the discourse that flowed in the melody
of a fine masculine voice from the lips of the
guest. The time passed away with astonish-
ing celerity; and it was late in the after-
noon ere Lord Danvers thought of taking his
departure. Then, as he rose to bid farewell
to his kind entertainers, he requested Arline's
permission to call again on an early day. The
question was somewhat pointedly put to her
instead of her brother; but with a blush upon
ber cheek, she glanced towards Philip, as
much as to imply that it was he who must an
swer for her. The response which he gavs>
was not merely courteous—it was friendl);
and ■ glow of delight overspread the olive-
complexion of the handsome Danvers as he.
declared that he should not fail to take ad-*
vantage of the permission thus hospitably
accorded.
"Aa he was about to mount his horse,
Philip de St. Louis said, 'My lord, it want*
but an hour to sunset, and darkness may
overtake you before your good ateed's hunts
shall clatter over the draw-bridge of Montau-
ban Castle. If your lordship thinks fit, I
will gladly guide you to within such a distance
of the Count'■ fortalice that you will readily'
achieve the rest of the way unaided.'—But
Danvers, thanking him for his courtesy', de-
clared that he had no apprehension as to
missing his path any more. 'On the contrary,'
he added, 'I am now so well acquainted witW
it, that it will not be long ere I retrace it lor
the purpose uf visiting you again.' 'My lord,''
aaid Philip, in a low and somewhat deep voice*
as if he were inwardly troubled, • I have a
parting request to protier to your ear. Most
welcome will your lordship ever be at this hum-
ble abode of mine; but I beseech your lordship
on no account to breathe a syllable to the Count
de Montauban which may excite his interest
or raise his curiosity relative to any inmate of
my habitation. The Count is a friend of
your lordship's; and therefore, through deli-
cacy, I say no more.'—' I understand you
fully,' replied Danvers; 'and also tor the
same reasons which are at this moment up-
permost in your mind, should I studiously
refrain from mentioning to Montauban that
this tower is graced by the presence of an an-
gel in female shape. Do not think however,
that because as society is constituted, I am to
some extent compelled to maintain intercourse
with such nobles as the Count de Montauban;
that I myself sympathise with their licentious-
ness or even join in their debaucheries. Mo,'
added Humphrey Danvers, drawing himself
up with a proud dignity and lolly bearing, *1
loathe and abominate their vices and depravi-
ties.'—' I have already seen ton much of your
lordship, though our acquaintance is but ol a
few hours' duration,' rejoined Philip, 'not to
be convinced of the truth of this averment iin
your part.'—They then separated, Lord Hum-
phrey Danvers galloping away in the direction
of Montauban Castle; and Philip de St.
Louis re-entering his tower to converse witn
Arline upon the brilliant qualifications and
varied merits of their new acquaintance.
'Four mouths passed away—it was now
the middle of the smiling May season,—and
along the outskirt of the thick lores*, once
again clothed in richest verdure, Lord Hum-
phrey Danvers and the beauteous Arline were
walking together. His arm lightly encircled
her slender waist; and with downcast eves


THE NECROMANCER.
185
■n*l blushing cheeks she listened to the soft
music of love's delicious language which he
was breathing in her ears. FVom a window
in the tower Philip beheld them, and was re-
joiced. During the past four mouths Dan-
gers had been a frequent visitor at the gloomy
•>id habitation,—gloomy not however for him,
but irradiated by the halo of beauty, inno-
cence, and purity that invested the lovely
Arliiie. During that interval Philip had ob-
served, with increasing satisfaction, and hope,
and joy, the attentions which Humphrey
Danvers paid towards his sister: and now, as
he beheld them roving together in a manner
which indicated that the nobleman had at
length avowed his love and was making ho-
npurable proposals to Arline, for to none other
was it possible she could listen, Philip expe-
rienced feelings of indescribable exultation.
And all that Philip supposed and depicted to
himself, was indeed taking place. Humphrey
Danvers was telling the tale of love to the ear
of Arline, in strains which sank down soft
and low, like a heavenly harmony, into the
depths of her soul. He ottered her his hand
—he declared that it would be the proudest
day of his life when he could bear her as his
bride to his castle and present her to bis
friends as the sharer of his brilliant rank and
his immense fortune. And what said the
gentle Arline? She spoke not: hut her
downcast looks and the blushes which suf-
fused her cheeks, were a reply more elo-
quent than words could have been; and when
■be withdrew not her waist from the arm
wherewith her lover encircled her, he could
not doubt for a moment but that his suit was
accepted. When they returned into the
tower together, Lord Danvers frankly ex-
| 'allied to Philip de St. Louis all that had
last taken place between himself and Arline,
and demanded the brother's assent to his
suit. This was cordially given: and unspeak-
able happiness prevailed that day at the
tower. In the course of conversation with
Philip, when Arline had temporarily retired to
her chamber, Lord Danvers said, 'To-morrow
I' shall take leave of the Count de Montauban,
and return to my own domain, in order to
make preparations for the approaching bridal,
which I venture to hope will be allowed to
take place two months hence. But m the
meantime, as I wish to be separated as little
from my beloved Arline as possible, it will
afford me pleasure if you will bring her to
pass a month at the castle, so that she may
have the opportunity of superintending such
arrangements and preliminaries as under cir-
cumstances are now required.'—Philip cheer-
fully accepted this invitation; and it was set-
tled that in ten or twelve days Lord Danvers
should send a fitting escort to conduct his
intended bride and her brother to his cas-
tle. He then took a temporary leave of
Philip and Arline, and mounting his horse,
rode away.
■ When Philip de St. Louis mentioned to
his sister Arline the arrangement thus made
with Danvers, a shade fell upon the damsel'■
countenance, and as she instinctively glanced
down at her apparel, her brother compre-
hended what she meant: for her raiment,
although plainly neat and simply elegant,
was yet altogether unfitted for one who was
about to become the bride of an opulent noble-
man. Moreover, as there were likely to be
guests and visitors at the castle, it seemed
almost indispensably necessary that both she
and her brother should appear in suitable gar-
ments. Philip bade her be of good cheer, as
he would at once set off for Rouen, and repre-
sent to his kind friend there the position in
which they were placed. He accordingly
mounted his horse, and commenced his jour-
ney at once. While he was absent, a little
incident occurred, which for the moment
somewhat perplexed and astonished the gen-
tle Arline. This was nothing else than the
discovery which she made of a tolerably large
sum of money, in coins of all species, con-
cealed in the depths of an old cupboard in her
brother's apartment. That he must be aware
of the existence of the little treasure, was be-
yond alt doubt; inasmuch as it was buried
beneath a heap of his own clothing. Where-
fore, then, had he not taken some of that mo-
ney to make purchases in the nearest town,
instead of going all the way to Rouen to ask
for succour at the hands of a friend who, as it
seemed, had already done so much for him?
But then, Arline thought to herself, this mo-
ney in the cupboard might be a sacred deposit
entrusted to him by some friend, and which
he would not violate. This was the only so-
lution of the mystery; and therewith th«
damsel satisfied herself. Indeed, the disco-
very of the treasure soon slipped out of her
'mind'; for she was in love—and the image of
Danvers engrossed all her thoughts. In five
or six days her brother came back, attended
by a young page whom he had taken into hi■
service, and who was mounted upon a hand-
some steed. They led two other steeds, also
newly purchased, and which were laden with
bales and packages; so that the delighted
Arline at once perceived her brother's mission
to Rouen had not been in vain. The pack-
ages contained elegant apparel both for Philip
and herself,—that portion of the wardrobe
which was destined for her own use, compris-
ing many costly stuffs, and also such jewellery
as would best befit her style of beauty. Over-
joyed at her brother's safe return, she poured
forth her gratitude for the splendid presents
he had brought her; and diligently did she
ply her needle so as to adjust the various arti-
cles to their uses and purposes.
"At the end of ten davs, and in pursuance


1S6
THE NECROMANCER.
of the arrangement already made, a brilliant
escort of pages, grooms, and genllemen-at-
arms, consisting altogether of twenty persons,
arrived at the tower; and the brother and
sister were duly conducted to the castle be-
longing to Lord Danvers on the southern con-
fines of Normandy. The edifice was spa-
cious; and the state-apartments were sump-
tuously furnished. On every side were the
evidences, not merely of the colossal wealth,
but also of the refined taste of the noble pro-
prietor of this habitation, which united feudal
strength with palatial magnificence. Several
guests—great barons and titled dames, who
dwelt in the same neighbourhood—had been
invited to meet Lord Danvers' intended bride
and her brother; and preparations were being
made, with all the despatch that ample means
could ensure, for festivities, entertainments,
pageants, and dramatic exhibitions, on the
most varied and extensive scale. Thus the
time passed happily enough,—Arline receiv-
ing the most assiduous and delicate attentions
from Lord Danvers. Amongst the various
persons of a professional character who had
been engaged to contribute to the more refined
amusement of the guests assembled at tho
castle, was an eminent painter; and at the
request of Philip he undertook to delineate
in a miniature-form the charming countenance
of Arline. For Philip said to him, ' When
my sister becomes the wife of Lord Danvers,
it ia ray intention to travel into distant lands;
and I would fain take with me the portrait of
her whom I love so tenderly.'—The miniature
was accordingly executed, to the admiration
of all who saw it and who had an opportunity
of comparing it with the beautiful original.
"During the month which was thus passed
by the brother and sister amidst the festivities
at the caatle, Lord Danvers was, as we have
above stated, unremitting in his attentions to
Arline; and all the time that could be spared
from the entertainments and pageantries was
passed by the fond couple in rambling through
the spacious grounds attached to the fortalice.
The more Arline saw of her lover, the more
deeply did she become devoted to him; and
though there were times when his eyes seem-
ed to flash with strange fires and his lips to
wreath into a singularly scornful smile,—yet
these circumstances failed to make any serioua
impression upon the mind of the innocent and
unsuspecting girl. Occasionally Philip de
St. Louis himself noticed that wild flashing
of the eyes and that haughty scornfulness of
look: but he conceived these mental indica-
tions to be merely the expression of a con-
scious superiority on the part of a man of
large experience, rare intelligence, and bound-
less wealth. In short, the month passed away
most pleasantly for all who were gathered at
the castle; and at the expiration of that time
Arline took a temporary leave of her lover,
and returned with "Philip to the tower,—there
to pass with him the three weeks which were
now to elapse ere Danvers would come witn
a princely escort and fetch her away as bis
bride.
"No doubt the old tower seemed particu-
larly gloomy in the eyes of the brother and
sister after the splendours of the castle: but
its sombre aspect and mean interior produced
no disagreeable influence upon their minds,—
for Arline felt assured that ber's was to be a
brilliant and a happy destiny—while, on hia
side, Philip was rejoiced that his beloved
sister should have won the affections and was
to be the cherished bride of such a man as
Danvers.
"A fortnight elapsed, during which interval
Philip bad not once gone forth to hunt in th■
forest: for he resolved to devote all his time
to his aister, until the wedding-day should be-
come the signal for their separation. One
evening—soon after sunset—it being now the
beginning of July, in that year, 1463, of which
this narrative treats—Philip and Arline had
just returned from a ramble in the vicinage
of their abode, and were sitting down to their
repast, when the quick trampling of many
steeds suddenly reached their ears, Those
sounds ceased at the gate of the tower; and a
violent knocking immediately followed. The
young page hastened to answer the sum-
mons; and half-a-dozen individuals, having
leapt from their horses, at once crowded into
the vestibule, tearing amongst them one who
seemed to be either seriously ill or else dan-
gerously hurt. Philip and Arline came forth
from their sitting-room to see who the arrivals
were; but scarcely bad they thus made their
appearance in the vestibule, when an ejacula-
tion of mingled anger and surprise burst from
the lips of the chief of the party that had just
entered. For a moment Philip de Si. Louis
seemed stricken with dismay: he became
ghastly pale, and staggered backward. Arlina
gazed upon him in wonderment and terror:
for she was at a loss to conjecture the cause
of this strange emotion on his part.—• My
Lord Count of Montauban,' said Philip, sud-
denly recovering himself and advancing to-
wards the nobleman,' I humbly beseech a few
moments' private conversation with your lord-
ship.'—The Count seemed to hesitate fur au
instant: then making up his mind how to act,
he said in a cold haughty tone, 'Be it so:
I will accede to your request. But first you
will give orders that my dependant here, who
has been thrown from his horse and is severely
injured, receives all requisite attentions.'—
'Arline,' said Philip, turning to his sister,
who with continued misgiving observed that
he was still ghastly pale, 'see you to his
lordship's servant.'—He then took a lamp, ap4
conducted the Count de Montauban into an
apartment, the door of which was immediate!"
closed behind them.


THE NECROMANCER. ,
187
CHAPTER XLI.
CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORT Or ARLIXl DC
ST. LOUIS.
"Ailinx de St. Louis was much troubled
with her brother's looks: for she could not
possibly conceive wherefore he should thus
have been stricken with consternation and
dismay on meeting the Count de Montauban.
She, however, with the ministering spirit of
woman's angel character, lost no time in pay-
ing attention to the injured servant, who was
at once conveyed to a bed-chamber, and the
old housekeeper was appointed to nurse him.
Arline then directed ihe groom and the young
page to serve up refreshments to the rest of
the Count's dependants; while she herself
hastened to make such additions to the sup-
per-table as the state of the larder and cellar
permitted, in anticipation that the Count him-
self would most probably partake of the meal.
Half-an-hour thus elapsed; and the excite-
ment of all these preparations somewhat ab-
stracted Arline's thoughts from the disagreea-
ble topic which nevertheless still remained in
her mini'. But scarcely had she sat down
and again begun to reflect deeply and serious-
ly upon her brother's conduct, when he and
the Count made their appearance. It has al-
ready been said that his'lordship was a man
of about forty-five years of ago, with looks
marred and a countenance impaired by the ef-
fects of dissipation: and though he possessed
the manners of a courtier, yet he could also
assume when he chose the rakish air of an in-
solent gallantry. It was something of this
sort of appearance that he wore as he advan-
ced towards Arline, and taking her hand, be-
gan to pour forth a tirade of empty compli-
ments such as would at no time have been
palatable to the pure and innocent maiden,
but were still less agreeable now that she was
the affianced bride of another.
'"She could not conceal her displeasure, nor
did she attempt to do so, as the Count de
Montauban gave vent to this string of fulsome
gallantries; and snatching away her hand, she
turned her eyes upon her brother as if to be-
seech that he would relieve her from importu-
nities which she could not tolerate. But to
her surprise and grief she observed that Phi-
lip's countenance was clouded with a sombre
tnournfulness, his looks being wrapped in
gloom such as she had never seen them wear
before.—' His lordship,' he said in a voice
which was deep and hollow, despite his en-
deavour to use its natural tones,' will honour
us with partaking of a morsel of food and
drinking a cup of wine.'—' His lordship is
welcome,' said Arline, in a somewhat cold
voice, for she observed the Count's gaxe fixed
with a sort of libertine boldness upon her
countenance: 'but I must leave you, Philip,
to entertain our noble guest, as it is incum-
bent upon me to assure myself that the injured
horseman is properly cared for.'—' Leave my:
lacquey to those whom you have doubtless
placed around him,' said the Count; 'and do
you, fair lady, remain here to grace the boird, *
the hospitality of which I shall accept upon
no other condition.'—' Your lordship will ex-
cuse me,' said Arline firmly; 'but we are not
so rich in mentals as your lordship's castle
doubtless is, and therefore I have household
duties to attend to.'—' Nay, by heaven! this
pretext will not serve thee, beauteous Arline,''
exclaimed the Count:' who ever heard of ths;
lady-mistress of a dwelling thus abandoning
the table at the moment when it best becomes,
her to preside at its head, while I, as a most
obedient gallant, am prepared to seat myself .
at your right hand ?'—Thus speaking, the j
Count placed himself before Arline in such a-
manner as to bar her way to thn door; and'
then the young girl, with blood mantling on
her cheeks and the fire flashing for the first
time in her beauteous eyes, exclaimed,' My:
lord, this conduct is most unknightly on your
part!'—' Sweet lady, you must positively and •
truly remain* here to favour me with y'oui -
presence,' persisted Montauban, again endeav-
ouring to take her hand. .'
"Arline, drawing away that fair hand with
greater indignation than before, threw ber-
looks upon her brother in the natural expeo
tation that he would at once interfere to save -
her from this continued rudeness; but she lie*
came as it were aghast on perceiving how tru* -
ly woe-begone and distressed he looked. lui
stautaneously forgetting the Count's presence-
altogether, she flew to her brother, and threw'
her arms round his neck, crying in a tone of
mingled endearment and intreaty, ' What is
it that has thus altered you so suddenly, my *
beloved Philip ?—* Nothing, nothing, Arline.''
he whispered in strange hoarse tones, while
his looks also showed that horrible teeiings. -
were agitHting within his breast; 'I can ex-
plain nothing now; I will tell you everything -
to-morrow; hut do for my sake sit down'at.
table and endeavour to be as civil to his lord-
ship as you possibly can.'—These last words
were uttered in the lowest whisper; but as
they fell upon Arline's ear, she started back
in dismay, her looks inquiring with all theelo.
quence of her astonished and frightened feel-
ings, what mysterious power it was that ths
Count had so suddenly obtained over her
brother? Philip however gave no answer to
that appealing look, but led her to the seat at
the head of the table,—she mechanically suf-
fering him to do so; for she was too bewil-
dered and distressed to offer any farther re-
monstrance. The Count de Montauban
placed himself at her right hand, while hec
brother took his seat in a moody manner at a.
distance. The nobleman then resumed thai
complimentary style of conversation which


« THE NiCROMANCEK.
though not transgressing the actual hounds of
delicacy, was yet of too fulsome a character
In excite any other feeling than annoyance
or disgust in the bosom of the gentle Arline.
'Reared in that forest, she had seen too little
of aristocratic life to take with simperings and
roqueltiah smiles, as high-born ladies were
wont to do, the flatteries and sofl nothings—
those sugar-plums of conversation—which con-
stituted the stale topics of courtly life; and
feeling herself in a manner abandoned by her
own brother to the company cf the Count, she
could only testify her disagreeable sensations liy
the alternating distress or anger of her looks,
lie Montsuban seemed little to reck these de-
monstrations on her part, hut continued to
throw off flattery after flattery, and compli-
ment after compliment from his tongue, as if
his speech derived fresh glibness from the
deep draughts of wine which during his pauses
he imbibed. Not once did he address a syl-
lable to Arline's brother, nor even turn his
looks in the direction where he was seated;
but appeared to behave as if he were disdain-
fully unmindful of the presence of such an in-
dividual in the room at all. On his part,
Phi ip remained wrapped up in a gloomy si-
li-nce, neither eating a morsel of food nor
touching a drop of wine; but with his elbows
resting on the table and his two hands sup-
porting his head, he kept his eyes bent down
a* if not to be compelled to notice his sister's
distress at her unpleasant position.
"' And so, fair lady.' said the Count pres-
c ntly, when his string of compliments appeared
at length to be exhausted, 'I understand that
you have pledged yourself to become the bride
of- my friend Lord Danvers! It was really
most ungenerous of him not to invite me to
be a partaker of the festivities at his castle;
but he doubtless had his reasons. The intel-
ligence that such festivities had taken place
and that he was engaged to be wedded to a
fair damsel of this district, never reached me
until a day or two ago; and then, on hearing
those things, I paid but little heed to them.
Thanks however to the accident which my
lacquey has sustained, and which, whether he
die or recover, I must henceforth regard as a
must fortunate occurrence in respect to my-
self, I have this night had an opportunity of
judging of Danvers' good taste. By my
tordly title! I had not an idea that so charm-
ing a flower was blooming in such a hiding-
place on the verge of the forest. Beautiful
Arline. I drink another cup of wine in honour
to thee !'—This speech, commingling as much
brutality as flippancy, disgusted the young
damsel ninre than any thing else the Count
de Montauban had yet uttered, her checks
grew rapidly red and pale by turns—there was
even a moment when her distress was so
great it see tied as if she were about to burst
■ritoteais; but conquering this weaker emo-
tion, she assumed all the indignant pride of
maiden dignity, and rising from her seat, said,
'My lord, you will excuse me if I decline to
remain any longer in the presence of one who
makes a servant's serious injuries, perhaps his
death, a subject for self-congratulation.'—• No,
haughty beauty,' exclaimed the Count, also
rising from his seat and again barring her pro-
gress towards the door, 'you shall not escape
me thus. There! now you look ten thou
sand times more lovely in your indignation,
adore a woman of spirit: but it is doubly
adorable when manifested by a girl of you!
youthful age.'—' Unhand me, my lord !' cried
Arline, her countenance now suffused with
the deepest crimson; for Montauban had once
more seized, and with some rudeness too, upon
her delicate taper fingers.—' No,' he returned,
violently retaining that fair band in his grasp,
'you shall resume your seat!'—* My lord, is
it possible that you, a nobleman and a courtier,
are guilty of this unheard-of inaolence?' and
with a sort of struggle she succeeded in snatch-
ing away her hand.—* But you shall stay all
the same,' he cried passionately. 'I have not
half done talking to you yet.'—' Philip!' cried
Arline, in a voice of reproach, * is it possible
that you can sit tranquilly by and behold your
sister subjected to this cowardly treatment ?—
'Your brother, beauteous Arline,' said De
Montauban, in a tone of such triumphant con-
fidence that it almost sounded as if accentuated
with a mocking laugh, * will bid you resume
your seat.'—' No, no, he will not; he cannot!'
cried Arline, cruelly distressed at this scene.
'Philip, Philip, why do you not speak?'—
'Because I am well nigh driven mad !' he ex-
claimed, suddenly, stariing up and striking the
table furiously with his clenched fist. But the
Count de Montauban threw upon him a look
which, though only momentary, and instan-
taneously withdrawn, had the effect of cowing
him completely, as a rebellious child is sud-
denly over-awed by- the glance of a stern
father.—' Philip, Philip.' almost shrieked forth
Arline,*1 beseech you to tell me what means
this horrible mystery ?'—' My lord,' sain; the
brother, not daring to look at his sister, hut ad-
dressing the Count with a tone and manner
of the most grovelling humiliation, 'I do be-
seech your lordship in mercy's sake to let Ar-
line seek her own chamber now; and to-mor-
row I will prepare her to give your lordship a
kinder reception on the next occasion of your
visit.'—The Count seemed to hesitate whether
he should yield to this request or not; while
Arline flung looks of mingled consternation,
and alarm upon her brother, for there appear-
ed something ominous to a degree in that in-
vitation to the nobleman to repeat his visit,
and in the accompanying pledge that she-
should be prepared for it.—* Well,'said the
Count, • be it as you say. Beauteous lady,'
he added, turning towards Arline,' I will de


THE NECROMANCER.
184
tain you no longer now; hut to-morrow 1
■hall have the pleasure of seeing you again.
One kiss on that fair hand'
"But these last words startled the young
damsel from the stupor of dismay in which
she had been transfixed; and gliding past
the Count de Montauban, who no longer
made any effort to detain her, she quilted the
room. It is impossible to say what thoughts
agitated in the bosom of the gentle Arline
when she reached her own chamber. Con-
jecture alone can follow her thither, and
imagine her a prey to all the tortures of
alarm, suspense, and misgiving,—tortures
that must have been of the most crucifying
description! Half-an-hour after she left the
supper-room, the Count de Montauban and
his dependants (the injured one excepted)
mounted their horses and took their depar-
ture, the lacquey who was hurt remaining
at the tower in the care of the old house-
keeper. Soon after the nobleman and his
suite had thus ridden away, Philip de St.
Louis ascended to his sister's chamber; and
as he opened the door, he beheld her seated
on the foot of her couch, looking the image
of sorrow and despair. A lamp was burn-
ing upon the table; and its light fell upon
her pale countenance, the expression of which
struck the direst anguish into the heart of
Philip, as with ghastly features, ashy lips,
and uneven gait, he advanced slowly to-
wards her.—' Philip,' she said, suddenly start-
ing up and nervously catching hold of one
of his hands,* tell me the meaning of all this:
do not deceive me: I beseech and implore
that you relieve me from suspense at once!'
—' Arline,' he replied, in a deep voice so full
of woe that it was unutterable even in such
accents and such words as those in which
he spoke, ' you have not felt, and you are not
%cling, more truly miserable than I. Let us
sit down together; and pray listen to me without
excitement..'—The poor girl shuddered visibly;
for every species of evil presentiment rushed to
her brain, as she saw that there was nothing
to cheer or reassure her in her brother's words
or manner. They sat down side by side;
and Philip did not immediately speak.—' Oh,
this: suspense is torturing!' cried his sister
with hysterical wildness. 'What meant all
that has taken place? why were you so
troubled on first meeting the Count? why did
you suffer him to treat me as he did? what
dreadful power does he exercise over you!
why did his very look make your proud
heart quail and reduce you to submission?
wherefore is he coming hither again! and in
what manner are you to prepare me for his
next visit? Speak, I conjure you! You
know not what harrowed feelings are now
torturing me.'
"' Arline,' said her brother, as he slowly
turned °nd bent upon her a look sc full of utter
woe that all the hysterical paroxysm of her
affliction was subdued in a moment, and she
gazed upon him with renewed consternation;
'if you love me, if you have ever loved me,
and if you be sensible of those sacrifices
which I have made on your account, giving
the best years of my life to an ignominious
sloth instead of seeking occupation and fame
in the ranks. ,f war, you will now testify that
affection, by promising to obey me blindly
and without asking for explanations.'—' But
you promised them,' said Arline, frightened
at his words. 'Oh, whatever terrible mys-
tery there may be at the bottom of all this,
I could better support a full knowledge of the
tremendous truth than endure the agonizing
tortures of suspense.'—' If you tbrce me to
tell you everything, Arline,' said Philip, 'you
will deeply repent it. Better, my poor girl,
for you to remain in ignorance of the causes
of your doom, while you accept that doom,
the bitterness of which, heaven knows, will
be enough for you to bear!'—' And that
doom!' inquired Arline, gasping for breath
with the excruciating torture of suspense.—
'Prepare yourself, my sweet sister, for what
I am about to say is terrible.'—' Speak, oh!
speak,' she cried, with frenzied vehemence.—
'Not if you are thus excited,'he answered;
'be calm and tranquil first.'—' I am calm and
tranquil now,' rejoined the young creature;
and she shivered as if with a cold chill.—
'Know, then,' said her brother, 'that you
must renounce all hope of marrying Lord
Danvers, and must prepare to receive the
Count de Montauban as your future hus-
band!'
"As Philip de St. Louis slowly and gloom-
ily uttered those words, Arline gave vent to a
suppressed shriek, and then suddenly became
pale, motionless, and tranfixed as a statue.
There she sat in her chair, gazing upon va-
cancy, her hands lying listlessly in her lap,
her lips apart, as if she had just received some
awful shock from which she could never re-
cover. Philip looked upon her with a fixed
contemplation of profoundest sympathy; then
all of a sudden he covered his face with his
hands and gave vent to his own ineffable
anguish in sobs and tears. For a moment,
but it could not be for more than a single
moment, Arline appeared to lose sight of her
own colossal woe; and starting up, she threw
her arms about her brother's neck, imploring
him in the most endearing language to be
tranquillized. 'No, no, it is impossible, Ar-
line! it is impossible!' he exclaimed. 'How
tan I be happy, how can I even be calm and
tranquil, when I am compelled to know and
feel that in one brief-hour all your happiness,
which is dearer to me than life, has been
destroyed 1 Ah! if by immolating myself
and driving a dagger deep down into my
own heart, I could remove the barrier which


190
THE NECROMANCER.
has suddenly sprung up to separate you from
Dan vers, and at the same time rescue you
from the power of Montauhan, I would do
so! But my death would not wipe away
disgrace from the name of St. Louis; and
even were I to perish in the blood of a dis-
tracted suicide, yet still Montauhan would
exercise his infernal influence over you by
threatening to reveal that dread secret which
would give your brother's name to lasting
infamy. Then Danvers would not wed you,
Arline; and you would still remain at the
mercy of the Count!'—' Oh! what wild words
are these, my poor brother!' shrieked forth
Arline, who had hitherto listened in awful
bewilderment to Philip's speech: 'you dis-
tract me. Is it possible that I am awake, or
am I dreaming? Good heavens, Philip! gaze
not thus upon me: there is the darkness of
despair in your looks !'—' It is no dream, my
unhappy sister: it is all a most unfortunate
reality. But do you still insist that I should
enter into explanations V he asked.
"Arline reflected for a tew moments, dur-
ing which brief interval wild and terrible
imaginings flashed through her brain; and
by some association the reminiscence of that
noard of money, in so many various coins,
which she had found in the cupboard during
her brother's absence, rose prominent amongst
her thoughts. An expression of ineffable an-
guish gradually settled upon her countenance;
and Philip saw that she more than half read
the tremendous truth.—' Arline,' he said in a
low voice and with downcast looks, 'your
conjectures have placed you upon the right
track; and therefore it were needless to
attempt any farther concealment of the whole
truth. Perhaps, too, it is better that you
should know the worst at once, because that
will enable you to understand the magnitude
of the sacrifice which you will have to make
in order to save the name of St. Louis from
a branding infamy.'—Arline took her bro-
ther's hand in her own, and said,' Proceed,
dear Philip: I will not interrupt you.'—Her
brother gazed upon her for a few moments;
and seeing that she was indeed nerved with
the unnatural tranquillity of despair, he con-
tinued in the following manner:
"' I do not say it in self-justification, Ar-
line, but to /render myself less odious in your
eyes, that it was through my sincere affection
for you I have been led into those courses
which you already more than half suspect
and which I am about to explain fully. Had
I been alone in the world, with nothing but
my good sword by my side, I might have
done as other fortuneless youths have been
wont to do—go forth where the brazen notes
of war were sounding, and seek honour and
gold on the fields of battle. But I could not
leave you, my poor sister, without bread and
without protection; and, as you are well
aware, we had no relation* left. Therefor*
did I resolve to remain with you until such
time as your beauty and your amiability
might win for you the hand of some eligible
suitor. The slender resources left by oar
parents were soon exhausted; and I knew
not how to obtain even the small supply of
coin that was needed to support our frugal
home. Then, in the hour of my deep dis-
tress and utter despair, the tempter whispered
in my ear, and I went into the forest, not in
pursuit of game as heretofore, but to perform
the deed of a bandit . Oh! well may you
press my hand convulsively: and well may
that expression of anguish pass over your
countenance! You cannot feel more poign-
antly now, than I felt after the perpetration
of my first crime! But how was I to account
for the possession of the resources thus ob-
tained? A falsehood was needed to do this;
and hence the fabrication of the tale of a
friend at Rouen whose purse supplied me
with funds. But in course of time the sum
was exhausted; and I was compelled to re-
peat my guilt- To avoid as much as possible
the chances of discovery, I manufactured a
dress of skins stripped from wolves which I
slew in the chase. But let me not dwell on
these incidents which harrow up my own
soul, and make you shiver from head to foot.
Observe however one thing—that never has
human blood stained the hand which you now
hold clasped in your own :—no, no, never!
Were it otherwise, not for an another instant
should it remain in contact with the hand of
my pure and spotless sister! And now for
the occurrence which will account for the
power that the Count de Mpntauban haa
obtained over me. It was about eighteen
months ago that I was one night roaming in
the forest, waiting for an opportunity to re*
plenish my exhausted purse by the same vile
means as heretofore, when I heard the sounds
of a horse's hoofs approaching. The moon
was shining brightly; and through the open-
ings in the forest its silver flood poured down
with powerful splendour. Disguised in my
garb of skins, and mounted upon my strong
steed, I remained concealed in a thicket until
I beheld the traveller close at hand. He
seemed to be alone, for I heard not the sounds
of other steeds; and I therefore hesitated not
to spring forth and demand his gold. Quick
as thought he drew his sword from its sheath \
and ere I had time to grasp it in my skin-
gloved hand so as to wrench it from him, he
dealt me a blow, which striking me at the
side of the head, cut the ligatures that las*
tened the mask to the remainder of the head-
gear. The mask therefore fell off, and in the
bright moon-beams was my countenance re-
vealed to the traveller, whom at the same
instant I recognized to be the Count de
Montauban. 'Who are you, wretched man!'


THE NECROMANCER.
he demanded: and the question sent a thrill
of delight through my entire form. Without
answering him, I dashed the spurs into the
flanks of my steed and galloped away into
the depths of the forest. But wherefore had
I experienced the relief of so sudden a joy at
the question which the Count put? Because
it proved that though I knew him by sight,
yet he had not a similar acquaintance with
me; and therefore I hoped that my crime
might yet remain concealed, especially as the
Count came so very seldom to his castle in
this neighbourhood, and then only for two or
three days at a time. The incident which I
have just related took place, as I ere now
■aid, eighteen months ago, on one of those
occasions when the Count was paying a fly-
ing visit to his castle. He was doubtless
riding a little way ahead of his suite at the
time; and had I not thus taken precipitately
to flight, his dependants would have come
up and I should have been overpowered.
Throughout the three or four successive days
I was a prey to a constant terror lest the
Count should repair with his followers to
search the forest, and by accident be led to
visit our abode. However my fears in this
respect were not realized; and after a brief
stay at his castle, his lordship departed for his
southern estate once more. But I now began
to reflect that my honour—nay, even my very
life—hung by a thread, and that on some
future visit to his castle in Normandy, the
Count might meet me, when recognition
would be almost certain and J should be
handed over to an ignominious late. I ac-.
cordingly resolved to accumulate a sum of
money sufficient to enable me to bear you,
Arline, away to some other part of France,
and thus place me beyond the reach of expo-
sure and peril. Animated with this intent, I
multiplied my depredations in the forest, and
began to amass the money that I required.
Still my ill-gotten gains were scanty in
amount: for I invariably made it a rule to
waylay only single horsemen, so that there
mignt be the less chance of resistance being
offered me and therefore the less probability
of my shedding the blood of another or being
myself overpowered. I had not accumulated
near a sufficiency for my purpose, when a
few months ago the intelligence suddenly
reached me that the Count de Montauban
had come to settle altogether at his castle.
This intelligence at first struck me with dis-
may ; and I resolved to hurry you off to some
distant part as speedily as possible. But then
accident threw Lord Danvers in our way,
and I immediately saw that he wi s struck by
your beauty. He became your admirer; and
I could not find it in my heart to remove you
from your native place, where there was
every chance of your forming so brilliant
an alliance Besides, I soon observed that
the love which he evidently conceived for
you was reciprocated; and I thoi fht tc my-
self that by remaining as much as possible
at home, and especially avoiding the vif mage
of Montauban Castle, I might succeed for at
least a few weeks or months in keeping out
of the Count's way. When Lord Danvers,
having offered you his hand, invited us to his
castle, I repaired to Rouen to make the pur-
chases that were required, because it was
necessary to sustain in your mind the belief
that I derived the funds for the purpose from
the bounty of the supposed friend living
there: otherwise I should have bought what
was needful at a nearer town. But let me
hasten and bring my narrative to a conclu-
sion. With joy and satisfaction—with hope
and confidence—had I seen the time slipping
away, and no encounter between myself and
the Lord of Montauban taking place. It was
my intention, immediately after your mar-
riage with Danvers, to hie away to some dis-
tant scenes where I might carve out for my-
self a more honourable career than that
which I have been pursuing. But heaven
has willed that it should be otherwise; and
this evening have all my hopes and all my
plans been suddenly annihilated by the acci-
dent which brought the Count de Montau-
ban hither. You saw that he recognized me
instantaneously; and it only remains for me
to tell what took place between us in the
apartment where at my request he granted
me a private interview. I flung myself upon
my knees at his feet, beseeching and implor-
ing that he would have mercy upon me and
not expose my infamy to my sister and the
world. The cold-blooded monster! Though
his eyes had lingered but for so short a space
upon you ere he followed me away from the
hall, yet did he see enough of you to become
all in a moment enamoured of your charms.
and moreover he suddenly grew jealous of
Lord Danvers who had never mentioned to
him the existence of such a being as your-
'self in this district; He was also piqued at hav-
ing been excluded from the festivities at Lord
Danvers' castle; and being no doubt natu-
rally revengeful and malignant, he at a glance
saw an opportunity for mortifying and pun
ishing your affianced Humphrey. Accord-
ingly, he bade me rise from my knees, and said
there was one condition—and one only—on
which he would consent to spare my name
from dishonour and my life from the executio-
ner. This condition was that you, my sweet
Arline, should transfer your troth from Dan-
vers and pledge yourself to become the bride
of Montauban I Vainly did I fling myself at
his feet again, and beseech a revocation of thai
dreadful sentence : vainly did I assure him th:t
he was dealing a death-blow not merely at tho
happiness but at the very life of my sister! He
was inexorable: and neither my prayers not


192
THE NECROMANCER.
(ears availed in the slightest degree. Arline, I
have no more to say. You now comprehend
the full measure of your brother's guilt, and
aI:o of his unhappincss: and you understand
the nature of the sacrifice that circumstances
require from you. As I ere now said, if by my
suicide or by my precipitate flight from the
country your happiness would lie ensured, I
should rejoice to immolate myself for the pur-
pose of securing that end. But the calamity
would not be thereby averted. For were I to
plunge a dagger into my own heart, Montau-
ban would still insist that you should espouse
Uiin, under the threat of proclaiming to the
world that you are the sister of a vile bandit,
and thus leading Danvers to spurn an allianc*
with you. Then what would become of you,
my poor unhappy Arline? Better that you
should accept, under existing circumstances,
the destiny which is forced upon you; and ae
Hie Countess of Montauban you will at .least
possess a proud name, a high station, and the
enjoyment of wealth. Then your unhappy
brother can fulfil his original intention of hast-
ening to the wars, where perhaps a speedy
death may hush his own poignant memories
for ever, and to some extent atone for the
criminality of the past!'
"Such was the history which Philip de St.
Louis narrated to his sister,—a sad, sad his-
tory, intermingled with many bitter self-up-
hraidings on his part, and listened to with
many outbursts of anguish and floods of weep-
ing on her's. For the greater portion of the
wretched night did the brother and sister
remain in discourse together; and the result
was that Arline consented to sacrifice herself
to the Count de Montauban. He came next
day, attended by a numerous suite, bearing
presents for Arline; and when, with a pale
countenance and trembling form, she murmur-
ed the syllable ' Yes' to the question which he
breathed in her ear, his manner no longer con-
tinued flippantly supercilious or insolently
libertine, but he at once treated her with the
respect due to the lady who had just promised
to become Countess of Montauban. But how
was the intelligence of Arline's broken plight
to be.conveyed to Lord Danvers? Montauban
himself undertook to make him acquainted
with this piece of successful rivalry on his part.
Arline was too completely miserable, and
Philip too much in the power of the Count, to
offer any objections to such a course; and ac-
cordingly the nobleman despatched a messen-
ger with a letter to Lord Danvers, acquainting
him that Arline had transferred her affections
to himself and had agreed to become Countess
of Montauban. Now, it must be here mention-
ed that the castle of Lord Humphrey Danvers
was two days'journey distant from the district
where St. Louis' Tower and Montauban
Castle were situated ; and therefore, even sup-
posing that Lord Danvers should hurry off im-
| mediately on receipt of letter, to insist upon
I the fulfilment of Arline's pledge to himself, it
was calculated that four clear days must elapse
ere he could possibly be at the tower. But
the Count de Montauban resolved that in the
meantime his own marriage w.th Arline should
be celebrated; and he fixed it to take place oa
the third day thence. He himself dictated all
the arrangements, to which neither the brother
nor sister had the heart nor the power to ofler
> single word of objection. His lordship'■
plan was, that on the morning of the third day
he and his suite should arrive from Montauban
Castle to fetch away Arline and bear her la
her future home, where the marriage would be
immediately celebrated with as much pomp
and magnificence as the shortness of the notice
would permit. Having settled all these things
and partaken of some refreshments, the Count
and Ins suite took their departure from the
tower.
"Arline retired to her chamber and passed
the remainder of the day there. On the fol-
lowing day her brother went to her, threw
himself upon his knees, and besought her to
forgive him for all the unhapinrss of which hi*
crimes were the fatal cause. She said in reply,
'I cannot reproach you, Philip; for all that you
did was for my sake:'—and though she for-
gave him as he asked her, it was with a smile
so sickly and a louk so laden with despair that
the unhappy man felt as if all the woes of the
universe were upon bis head. That day pass-
ed ; and the next was if possible fraught with
more gloomy prospects still; for the brother
and sister now said to each other, ' Tu-mur-
row!' a■ they exchanged the darkest and most-
sombre looks. They walked together in the
evening, feeling that it was for the last time;
because it was Philip's intention to take hi*
departure to the distant scenes of warfare im-
mediately after the bridal of the ensuing day.
The sun went down, and in the twilight the
unhappy man and his sorrowing sister still con-
tinued their walk in the garden: nor did they
re-enter the tower until it was dusk. Just a*
they were about to separate for the night, a.
loud knocking was heard at the gate; and for
a moment a presentiment that it was Humph-
rey Danvers struck athwart the brain alike of-
the brother and sister. But no! another mo-
ment's reflection made them feel that this wm
scarcely possible; for only two days and a half
bad elapsed since the messenger had set out
with a dispatch for Lord Danvers' castle, and
consequently there was no time for Danvers
himself to make his appearance at the tower.
Nevertheless, when the door was opened by
the youthful page, it was none other than Lord
Humphrey Danvers. who entered the hall of
the tower.
"Philip and Arline were in the hall at tin
moment when the English nobleman made his
appearance; and a faint shriek escaped the lips


THE NECROMANCER.
19.1
of the young damsel, while her brother fell
hack in mingled shame and confusion. Never
perhaps had Humphrey Danrera appeared
mere sublimely handsome than on the present
occasion. His tall slender form, instead of
having the easy gait of an elegant indolence,
Was drawn up with the proudest dignity—a
strare solemnity aat upon his features—the
classic lips were slightly compressed with an
air of decision and firmness—but his eyes were
shining more brightly if possible than ever.
With a rapid bat imperious motion of his hand
he bade the youthful page leave the great fol-
ding doors open; and advancing towards Ar-
liue, he took her hand, saying in a voice that
was mournfully solemn, ' Lady, after all that
has passed between us, you will not refuse me
one boon, which is that you favour me with an
interview of five minutes. I do not ask for
more: but we must be alone. The night is
beautiful, and with your permission we will
walk in that garden of your's where I first be-
held you, and of which you seemed to be the
choicest and sweetest flower. Lady, I do not
mean to reproach you: but it will somewhat
mitigate the bitterness of my disappointment
and the poignancy of my woe, if we may ex-
change farewells ere we part for ever. Philip,'
added the nobleman, turning towards the bro-
ther, 'you will not interpose your authority to
prevent Arline from granting this last request
on my part V— No, my lord,' replied Philip in
a gloomy voice, ' I dare not say nay to that
demand on your part.'
"The trembling Arline, from whose cheeks
all the colour had fled some days past, but who
was now paler if possible than.before, had suff-
ered her hand to remain locked in the clasp of
him who possessed her heart's best and purest
affections; but she said not a word, though
some syllables seemed to be wavering upon her
lips—yet only as the zephyr may slightly agi-
tate the opemng leaves of the rose ; and mecha-
nically she walked forth with Lord Humphrey
Danvers into the garden. The night was
serene and beautiful, with that soft twilight
which in the summer season keeps back the
wing of darkness from altogether expanding its
sable shadows over the earth; and as the tall
slender form of Danvers and the graceful figure
of Arline issued forth from the tower, Philipde
St Louis dismissed the page with a wave of
his hand, and sat himself down in a window-
recess to wait for the return of his sister. From
that point he could observe Arline and Danvers
in the garden ; but it was with no premedita-
ted intention to watch them that he had posted
himself there. The state of his mind had re-
duced him to the condition of an automaton,
obeying mere mechanical impulses; and in this
aort of semi-unconsciousness was it that he
took his seat in the window-recess. But still
his eyes remained fixed upon the forms of the
■overs—for such indeed they were still, though
Arline had pledged herself to become Mnntao
ban's bride. At first they walked hand in
hand with very slow steps along the central
avenue of the garden; and so far as Philip de
81. Louis could distinguish them through the
twilight, Danvers was inclining his head to-
wards Arline, who appeared to be bending her
own looks downward. Was he, then, dealing
in remonstrance despite his assurance to the
contrary? or was he pleading with eloquence
his own suit of love? Ah, now his arm en-
circles Arline's waist—and a feeling of uneasi-
ness begins to creep into the soul of Philip de
St. Louis, arousing him as it were from his
automaton state of listlessness.
"What if Arline were to yield to the
blandishments of her own devoted lover's
language? What if she were to recant her
promise to Montauban and at any risk give
back her troth to Danvers? Now she seems
to be sinking to the ground as if beneath
the influence of ineffable emotions: but his
arm sustains her. Now he suddenly quits
his hold upon her—steps back—and ad-
dresses her with passionate gesticulations.
She clasps her hands, as if in bewilderment
how to act. Then she suddenly flings her-
self into the arms of Danvers—he strains hei
to his breast—long and fervent is their em-
brace. Philip de St. Louis starts up: he
knows not what to do, or what to think.
Can he, or dares he interfere? No: for,
after all, what could he say? Might it not
be the farewell embrace which they are now
taking? and who could blame Arline for
thus remaining a few moments pressed to
the bosom of him whom she loved so fondly,
although now pledged to become Montau-
ban's bride? Yes—doubtless it is their fare-
well embrace: for now they return hand in
hand up the avenue. But, Ah! wherefore
do they suddenly diverge into a path leading
towards a little shrubbery, at the side of the
garden ?—and now, too, why do they abrupt-
ly quicken their pace? Why does Dan-
vers once more encircle her elastic shape
with his arm? Why does it seem as if he
were hurrying her half-fainting along?
"At this moment the sounds of horses
champing their bits and pawing the ground
with their impatient hoofs, are borne to Phi-
lip's ear. A wild misgiving shoots like a
barbed arrow through his brain, and he
rushes forth into the open air. But it is only
in time to see Lord Humphrey Danvers
spring upon the back of a sable steed, with
Arline in his arms,—thus lifting her as if
she were a thing of no weight. And then
away, away, thundered that coal-black steed,
with its rider and his fair burden; and an-
other steed, likewise of the deepest sable,
gallops by the side of its companion. In an
agonizing voice Philip shouU forth,' Arline!
Arline !'—but his voice is answered only by


J 94
THE NECROMANCER.
the echoes of the forest; and the next moment
Dan vers, with Arline and his horses, disap-
pear from the brother's view,
"Philip de St. Louis was transfixed to
the spot in amazement. Had any one, two
or three minutes previc isly. told him that
Arline was capable of thus abandoning tier
brother as a sacrifice to the Count de
Montauban's wrath, he would not have be-
lieved it . But what was he now to do?
His first thought, on regaining his presence
of mind, was to hurry to the stable, saddle a
horse, and speed in pursuit of Danvers and
his sister. But suddenly a revulsion took
place in all his ideas, and in a moment he lie-
held the whole transaction in a new light, so
that he became filled with an enthusiastic
joy.—- Doubtless Arline has explained to
Danvers the entire circumstances which com-
pelled her to pledge her hand to Montauban?
and Danvers, through his devoted love for
her, cares not for her brother's shame * It is
to make her his bride, therefore, that he has
borne her away; and there is no chance of
his spurning an alliance with her. Arline
will be happy; and therefore it is for me to
rejoice !'—Such were his reflections: and in-
deed, now that Philip de St. Louis was ena-
bled to look calmly upon all that had just
occurred, he did rejoice at it and wondered
that he should have been filled with misgiving
even for a single moment.
'• Bui now it was necessary to shield him-
self against the vengeance of the Count de
Montauban. There was no time to lose: for
on the following day his lordship was to come
with bis suite to fetch away Arline,—that
Arline whom he would not find at the tower!
. Without delay Philip de St. Louis commenced
his preparations for departure. Ascending to
his chamber, he secured about his person the
hoard of coins which he had concealed in his
cupboard; and he did not forget to take
A rime's miniature with him. He then made
known his intention to his old groom and
housekeeper, telling them that he was about
to quit Normandy for a long time, if not for
ever, but bidding them regard the tower and
the garden as their own for the remainder of
their days. Having taken leave of the old
people, he went to the stable, followed by his
page; and there he ordered three of the four
steeds which he possessed, to be immediately
saddled. The page gazed upon his master in
surprise, wondering wherefore three horses
were to be thus got in readiness for two
riders: but Philip bade him use despatch, and
in a few minutes the preparations were com-
plete. Philip and his page then mounted
their horses, leading the other one with them;
and in this manner they took their departure.
"Into the depths of the forest did they
ride: and in about two hours they reached
an ipen space, where a small hut was situated.
At the sounds of the trampling steeds a young
woman of about seven-and-twcnly. and of
great beauty, though dressed in a humble
peasant's garb, came forth from the cottage.
She was evidently bounding forward with the
joyousness of a first impulse to welcome
St. Louis; but on seeing that he was accom-
panied by another person, she stopped sud-
denly short . Leaping Iriim his steed, Philip
de St. Louis embraced the young woman, and
gave her a few hurried explanations as well
as instructions in a whispered voice. She at
once re-entered the but, and in a few minutes
came forth again, leading a little boy, about
ten years of age, by one hand, and carrying a
younger child in her arms. Philip assisted her
to mount on the led horse, she still retaining
her younger son in her embrace. The elder
boy Philip took up before him on his own
steed; and the whole party then galloped
away.
"A few words will explain the incident
which has just been recorded. When a mere
youth of seventeen, Philip de St. Louis had
become enamoured of a woodman's daughter
of the humblest birth, and had persuaded her
to marry him privately. The nuptial blessing
was accordingly pronounced by the venerable
pastor of a neighbouring village; and the
young bride had continued to dwell with her
parents at that cottage in the depths of the
forest. Two children were the fruit of this
union. A few years after the marriage the
young wife's parents died within a short
period of each other; and she continued to
inhabit that cottage alone with her children.
Thus the frequent absences of Philip de
St. Louis from the tower arose not altogether
from his bandit-exploits, as these until lately
had been few and far between: but it was to
devote as much time as he could well afford
to his peasant-wife and his children that he
had thus so often remained away from home.
But why had Philip never acknowledged this
marriage to his sister Arline? Surely she
would have allowed no prejudice of gentle
birth to induce her to scorn the companion-
ship of ber brother's wife 1 No: but it was
because Philip de St. Louis had all along
hoped that his sister, who from her childhood
had been of a ravishing beauty, would form
some alliance that should shed the lustre of
rank and wealth upon her name; but if ha
were to introduce to the tower that peasant-
wife of his own, he would sink in the esteem
of the neighbouring chiefs, and the family
would fall into contempt . Philip thought
that it was already sufficient to be poor, with-
out increasing the prejudice of society by ac-
knowledging a marriage that would be deemed
a degradation. Besides, he himself felt that
he had committed a folly by contracting such
an alliance; and therefore a sentiment of
pride had invariably restrained him if ever in


THE NECROMANCER.
195
■ moment of tender confidence he had se-
riously thought of confessing his secret to
Arline.
"With his wife, his two children, and his
page, did Philip de 8t . Louis journey on, al-
lowing no mire leisure for repose than was
absolutely necessary until they were beyond
the confines of Normandy. In due course
"y reached Calais, and thence they embarked
~/r England, Philip feeling that he should
not be safe from the vengeance of so powerful
a noble as the Count de Montauban, if he
were to remain in France. Settling in Lon-
don, he lost no time in embarking his little
capital in trade; and his first speculations
proved eminently successful. At the expira-
tion of a short time he despatched his page to
France, with instructions to hasten into Nor-
mandy and convey letters to Arline, who he
had not the slightest doubt was the happy
wife of Lord Humphrey Danvers. After some
considerable absence the page returned to
London with the most astounding information.
He had proceeded to Lord Danvers' castle in
Normandy, and to his surprise had learnt that
the marriage with Arline de St . Louis had
never taken place at all—that she had never
been seen at the castle since the time she was
there on a visit in company with her brother
-—and that Lord Humphrey was still unmar-
ried. The page had then visited the tower,
where he saw the old groom and housekeeper;
but they had heard nothing of Arline since the
night she was borne away by Lord Danvers.
As for the Count de Montauban, he had died
through illness brought on by rage and disap-
pointment at finding that his passion was
thwarted by the disappearance of Arline, and
that her brother had likewise eluded his ven-
geance.
"Philip knew not what to think on receiv-
ing this intelligence; and he resolved to un-
dertake a journey to his native district in
Normandy, for the purpose of instituting still
more searching inquiries relative to his lost
sister. This plan he carried into execution,—
disguising himself however when nearing the
forest, lest the Count de Montauban should
previous to his death have spread the tale of
who the real bandit for so many years had
been. Having called at his tower and re-
ceived from the old couple the same account
which they had previously reported to the
page, he continued his way to the castle of
Lord Humphrey Danvers; and learning that
the nobleman was staying there at the time,
he besought an interview with him. Giving
a feigned name, and being thcoughly dis-
guised, he was not recognized by the menials
of the castle. The interview wan accorded,
and Humphrey Danvers at once knew who
his visitor was. Philip demanded of him what
had become of his sister; but without giving
any satisfactory answer, the English nobleman
ordered Philip to quit his presence imme-
diately. St . Louis remonstrated and threat-
ened. A diabolical smile of malignity then
appeared upon Lord Humphrey's countenance,
as he exclaimed, 'Vile bandit of the forest,
depart hence at once; or ere sunset shalt thou
hang to a gibbet on the top of the highest
tower of I his castle !'—Overwhelmed with
shame and quailing with terror, the unhappy
Philip de St. Louis was compelled to hurry
away without obtaining the slightest satisfac-
tion relative to the lost Arline. That she had
become a victim to the base seducer, he felt
certain; but he dared not tarry in those parts
to make further inquiries concerning her.
Well nigh heart-broken, ho went back to
the tower, to inform the old couple where he
resided in England, so that if they ever did
behold Arline again, they might be enabled
to acquaint her where she might see or hear of
her brother. Philip then retraced his way
with all possible despatch to Calais, whence he
embarked for the British shores.
"Years past—and no tidings reached him
of his lost sister. His sons grew up: and
when his wife died, they became a solace and
a comfort to him. His worldly affairs pros-
pered, and he amassed considerable wealth.
Several times, at the interval of a few years,
did he despatch his faithful dependant to
France to inquire for Arline: but all that
related to her since the memorable night
when she fled with Danvers, was a perfect
blank. In short, Philip never heard of her
again. As years grew upon him he caused
this history to be faithfully chronicled on
parchment; and he had a box of sandal-
wood made to contain the manuscript records,
as well as the miniature of his lost sister. But
wherefore did he thus preserve the memorials
of his own past guilt in the form of those
written parchments! It was in obedience to
an impulse which he could not control: it was
the irresistible sway of destiny governing his
actions independently of his own will. For a
sentiment of implacable hatred had gradually
been growing in his heart against Humphrey
Danvers, and he felt within him a deep craving
for revenge against him or his posterity.
That sentiment of hatred, and this craving for
revenge he resolved to perpetuate in the hearts
of his children; so that if ever opportunity
should serve, they might hesitate not to wreak
the effects of this fearful wrath upon the bead
of Humphrey Danvers, or those who might in
herit the detested noble's name."


196
'1HE NECROMANCER.
CHAPTER XLn.
THE Kim's lKIUrolMEXTI.
Scch was the legend of Arline de St. Louis,
which King Henry read ere retiring to rest.
When he sought his couch he could not im-
mediately sleep, his thoughts being full of all
that had happened on this eventful night,
and his mind being not altogether free from
terror, in respect to any future manifestation
which Lionel Danvers might make of his su-
perhuman power. The royal bed-chamber
was spacious and lofty; and though four sil-
ver lamps were burning in as many different
parts of the room, yet there were recesses,
nooks, and corners involved in the deepest
shade; and the King more than once found
himself lifting his head from the pillow and
plunging his looks into those obscure parts
with the cold creeping apprehension that some
terrible form would come forth. But at
length sleep fell upon his eyelids; yet even
then a host of terrors pursued him in his
dreams; and when he awoke in the morning
he felt feverish and unrefreshed.
His toilet being completed, and the early
repast hastily disposed of, the King sent to
command the immediate attendance of Ge-
rald St. Louis. The young man, who had
expected to ),e thus early summoned to his
royal master's presence, lost no time in pro-
ceeding thither; and on entering the apart-
ment where his Highness was walking to and
fro, in a mood of mingled thoughtfulness and
agitation, the secretary made a low obeisance,
and remained standing with a profoundly
respectful demeanour near the door. The
King ordered those who were in attendance
to leave the apartment; and bidding Gerald
approach him, he took a scat at a table on
which the casket was standing.
"Young man," said the King, "I have
not forgotten my promise to you of last
night. In compelling Sir Edward Poynings
to surrender you up that document which
you had been led to fabricate, I gave you a
proof of my royal leaning in your favour.
The assurance of my forgiveness for what-
soever share you had in past complots and
treacheries, I now repeat. This casket I re-
turn to you. The wild and wondrous legend
which it contains, I read last night with min-
gled interest and alarm; for it seems to me
that every time my ear is to catch the name
of Danvers or my eye is to fall upon that
name in writing, 'tis to be in connexion with
things calculated to excite the strongest feel-
ings of human nature. But there are one
or two questions which that narrative sug-
gests, and which I would fain put to you.
Have no tidings ever been received by your
family of the lost Arline?"
"N»ver sire," responded St. Louis. "Her
fate seems to be beyond the reach of even the
wildest conjecture."
"Was it supposed that Lord Humphrey
Danvers dealt foully with her?—in short.,"
asked the King, " was it imagined that he
had murdered her?"
"That she disappeared, my liege, never to
be heard of more, is too certain," rejoined St.
Louis i "but-what interest could- a great-ami
powerful noble like Lord Humphrey Dan-
vers have had in making away with her?"
"True !" said the King; "it is a mystery
of the most incomprehensible character;"-—
then after a pause he asked, " In what degree
of relationship do you stand to the Philip
de St. Louis who figures in that narrative?
and the King pointed to the casket.
"Your Grace will have observed," replied
the royal secretary, "that Philip had two
sons. The eldest succeeded him in his busi-
ness and remained unmarried; the younger
married a worthy citizen's daughter, and I
was the fruit of this alliance. My parents
died when I was young; and I was adopted
by my uncle—my ancestor Philip's eldest
son. Having amassed a handsome fortune,
he retired from business, and purchased a
beautiful little villa-cottage in Islington fields.
There, in the summer-time, the old man in
the last years of his life was wont to sit be-
neath the rose-covered portico, enjoying the
warmth of the sunshine; and there too, as
it would appear, Lord Lionel Danvers—the
present bearer of that proud title—he whom
we beheld last night—saw my venerable un-
cle on some occasion or another. At least so
Lord Lionel stated to me on that night when
I first encountered him in tne lane at the
back of Grantham Villa."
"And did your uncle likewise see him?"
asked the King.
"It does not appear so, my liege: for my ve-
nerable relative never mentioned such a cir-
cumstance to me. From his father Philip
had he received the legacy of hereditary ven-
geance, which on his death, he, in his turn,
bequeathed to me, enjoining me as the con-
dition on which his whole fortune was left at
my disposal that I would seek some means
of avenging the wrongs of Arline."
"From all that I have seen of Lionel Dan-
vers' power," observed the monarch abruptly,
"I would advise you, Master St. Louis, to
scatter all thoughts of vengeance to tko
winds; for Danvers appears to me a being
whom it is better to propitiate than provoke.
However, this business regards yourself; and
it is for you to decide upon the importance
to be attached to the advice I now give
you."
"I thank your Highness most sincerely,"
answered St. Louis, "for this undeserved
proof of interest on my behalf—likewise for
the assurance of forgiveness which your
Grace vouchsafed me last night, and which


THE NECROMANCER.
197
a*» neon repeated this morning,. In whatso-
ever manner your Highness purposes to dis-
pose of me, I shall ever prove myself the de-
voted servant of my King."
"You speak well and wisely, yonng man,"
answered the Sovereign. "Nevertheless, after
all that has occurred, it does not suit me to
retain you longer about my person. You
must prepare to take your departure forth-
with from the palace. I am about to send an
embassy to my angust ally and cousin, his
Majcst' of France; and the post of First Se-
cretary :o the Ambassador whom I may ap-
point is the one that I destine you to fill.
But I must warn you to beware how you
talk lightly or .openry.of .aught .relating to
these adventures in which Lord Lionel Dan-
vers has played so conspicuous a part. In-
deed, it will be treason and punishable as
such for you to breathe even to your bosom-
friend f you have one, or to your wife if you
marry one, the tremendous secret that there is
in my dominions a man who possesses the
power of assuming my shape. Be wise and
wary on this head, and I will net lose sight
of you; your interest shall be my care, and
promotion will follow. You may now re-
tire."
St. Louis knelt down and kissed the royal
hand which was extended towards him. He
then rose—took up his casket—and went
forth from the King's presence. In less than
an hour his preparations for departure were
made; and leaving the palace, he repaired
to London, where he took a temporary lodg-
ing until such time as the embassy for France
should be in readiness to start.
As we have hinted in a previous chapter,
the King found himself compelled to make
Wolsey a complete confidant in all which had
occurred. That prelate was accordingly sum-
moned from London to an immediate audi-
ence of his royal master; and after an hour's
secret conference, the ambitious churchman
received the object of his ambition and his
intrigues—namely, the post of High Chan-
cellor and Prime Minister of the realm. The
very next day, as accident willed it, a mes-
senger arrived from Rome, bearing Wolsey's
nomination to the rank of Cardinal; and
thus did he almost at the same moment rise
to the highest grades in the temporal and spi-
ritual hierarchies.
After this conference with Wolsey the King
sent to command the attendance of the Earl
of Grantham at Greenwich House. This
nobleman lost no time in repairing to the pa-
lace, hi.t thoughts fluctuating between hope
and fear. On reaching the royal abode, he
was at once shown into the presence of the
King, who received the Earl alone in his
private closet.
"How fares it with Musidora V was the
monarch's first question.
"Shs has altogether regained her self-pos-
18
session,' answered the Earl. "The violence'
of her grief has subsided, and she has re-
lapsed into that cold and almost unfathom-
able state of mind which was wont to cha^
racterize her ere the mock-marriage, When
assured that it was youT Highness's expressed
wish and command that the whole terrible
transaction should be maintained a profound
3ecret, she declared her thankfulness for »*-
much gracious consideration on her Sove-'
reign's part; and she likewise observed thai
it afforded a considerable relief to her lace-
rated spirit."
"And what says she relative to the ast
pointments of her father and cousin?" in-
quired the King.
"I made known to her the message with
which youT Highness condescended to entrust'
me respecting those appointments," was thd
Earl of Grantham's response. "That he*
cousin Percy Rivers should retain the Go-s
vernorship of the Isle of Wight, and hef
father the Rangership of the woodlands in
the same island, Musidora is naturally anx-
ious; and she has charged me to express her
most humble devotion to your Highness for'
having guaranteed those offices to her rcla"
tives. She, however, ventures most deferen-
tially to suggest that it would be more satis-;
factory were your Highness to confirm theirt
by fresh letters-patent,—or rather by genuine
letters-patent,—at the same time without ex-
citing a suspicion in the minds of her father
and cousin that the former documents were
mere felonious fabrications."
"This shall be done," said the King. "I
presume, therefore, that it is Musidora's in-
tention to veil her calamity altogether from]
her father and her cousin?
"From her cousin altogether—and from
her father as much as possible," answered
Lord Grantham. "Such is her wish—such
is her hope. She likewise proposes to re-
main for a short time longer beneath my*
roof—not merely for the sake of the requisite>'
leisure to regain the natural balance of her
mind after the cruel shock it has sustained,
but also to acquire the certainty as to wher
ther her unfortunate connexion with Lionel
Danvers be likely to promise issue. It is this
eventuality which the unhappy girl seems to
hold in appalling horror; and when she spoke
of it to my wife this morning—as I under-'
stand from the Countess—it was with a sud.
den paroxysm of such anguish and despair
as was piteous to contemplate. It lasted,'
however, but for a few minutes; and Musi-
dora has since been cold and ice-like in her
demeanour as it is in her nature, or at least
her habit to seem."
"Think you not,my lord,"asked the King,
"that Musidora was previously acquainted
with Danvers ere the terrible incidents of last
night? Else what meant his words that ha
had a vengeance to wreak upon her—to mmlt
S


198
THE NECROMANCER.
fcer stubborn virtue—and thaw her icy soul—
or something to that effect?"
"The Countess of Grantham, my liege,"
replied the Earl, " has ventured to put some
questions to Musidora upon that point;
tout the unfortunate girl insists upon remain-
ing silent as to the past. She has even de-
clared that the only condition upon which
she will remain at Grantham Villa, is that
the name of Danvers shall never again be
mentioned in her hearing."
"And you will do well to fulfil her wishes
in this respect," said the King. "Now ob-
•eive, ray Lord of Grantham! all that you
know in respect to these dreadful transactions
is to be the same as if you knew it not. I
mean that you are to preserve an inviolable
secrecy; and on that condition will I again
receive you at Court, and in due time give
jftra back the pensions of which you have
been deprived. In a few weeks the Queen,
who is now at Windsor, will join me here at
Greenwich House, and your Countess may
then present herself to her Grace."
The Earl, overjoyed at what he now heard,
fell at the King's feet and poured forth his
gratitude; but the monarch, penetrating easily
enough through the egotism and selfishness
•f the old courtier, hade him rise and hasten
fcack to Grantham Villa to convey to Musi-
dora the assurance that her wishes should be
promptly attended to, in reference to the new
letters-patent.
"But, by the way," exclaimed the King,
as the Earl was about to take his departure,
'(there is one thing more concerning which I
have to speak to your lordship. That physi-
cian, Dr. Bertram, as he calls himself, is none
other than a worthless profligate character,
named Benjamin Welford. I have gleaned
all particulars concerning him from my late
secretary, St. Louis. Now this Welford
was sent to the Isle of Wight by Danvers;
and being in old Sir Lewis Sinclair's confi-
dence, he has doubtless been told that Musi-
dora it> privately married to the King."
"Perhaps, my liege, this Bertram—or Wel-
ford," suggested the Earl, "is aware that Lord
Danvers took your Highness's form?"
"No—I do not think so," observed Henry.
"From all that I have learnt since I was at
your house last night, it seems to me that
Danvers was but little communicative to the
tools and instruments whom he employed.
However, it is my desire that this Benjamin
Welford shall be propitiated and not dealt
harshly by, and that he be strictly enjoined
to keep secret whatever he knows, or sus-
pects, or has keen led to believe. In what
way is this to be managed? But first give
me, my lord, some definite idea of how Mu-
sidora intends to act towards her father?
The old knight must be disabused of his
belief that his daughter is Queen of England
through a secret marriage with myself."
"My liege, all this is arranged," answered
the Earl of Grantham. "Musidora has de-
cided that I shall proceed to the Isle of Wight
to see her father, and that without entering
into any more particulars than are absolutely
necessary, I shall do my best to disabuse him
of the fond belief which he hugs, and at the
same time tranquillize his feelings so far as I
may be able—in short, to do the best I can
in sudi difficult circumstances, but religiously
to keep in the back-ground the full horror
of the cheat of which she has been made th<
dupe."
"The plan is a good one," observed th«
King. "When does your lordship depart for
the Isle of Wight?"
"Now, that I have had the honour of this
audience of your Highness to-day," said the
Earl, " I shall set off to-morrow morning. As
a matter of course I shall see Bertram, or
Welford, or whatsoever the man's name may
be, at Sinclair House, in the Isle of Wight;
and if your Grace will entrust the manage-
ment of the whole affair to me"
"I not only do so," interrupted the King,'
"but I place the utmost confidence in your
discretion. From what J have learnt, this
Benjamin Welford is a man addicted to deep
potations; but I have not heard that he is
indiscreet in his cups. However, you will
see him and judge for yourself. If his pre-
sent position with the old knight suits him,
you may leave him there, and can give him
this purse of gold as a guarantee that he will
from time to time be thought of if he holds
his peace in respect to past matters. And,
perhaps, it would be as well," added the
King, who had just thrown a heavy purse
upon the table, " to drop a hint at the same
time that any breach of secrecy, on the points
in question, will be regarded as treason, and
punished as such. Now, my Lord of Gran-
tham, you understand my wishes. See that
you execute them faithfully!"
"Your Highness may rely upon me," an-
swered the old courtier; and having taken
up the purse he made his obeisance and
went forth from the presence of the King.
"Now," said Henry to himself, when he
was once more alone, " I think that I have
settled these divers matters in the most pru-
dent manner possible. I have sealed the
lips of all who can speak upon the subject,
and have thus quenched the flame which
might have burst forth into a perfect blaze of
alarming scandal. Poynings is on his way
to Ireland—St. Louis will in a day or two
be off to France—the Earl and Countess of
Grantham will be too well pleased at regain-
ing their lost station at Court not to keep the
secret—Wolsey has attained the height of his
ambition—Sir Lewis Sinclair and the physi-
cian will be duly silenced by the cunning and
artful Grantham—and as for Musidora, she,
Heaven knows! is but too deeply interested


THE NECR
199
OMANCER.
in cherishing the secret for her own sake.
As for Danvers himself, it does not appear
thnt he either gossips or vaunts relative to his
proceedings; and, therefore, all things con-
sidered, I may look upon this most disagree-
able transaction as settled in every detai'."
Ere we close this chapter we must men-
tion two occurrences in order to render the
present portion of our narrative complete.
The first was that the very same evening
fresh letters-patent were prepared, confirming
the appointments of Sir Lewis Sinclair and
Master Percy Rivers in their respective ap-
pointments,—the plea for these new docu-
ments being based on the change in the Mi-
aistry which had that day taken place; and
as Wolsey's counter-signature was procured
for these parchments, both the old knight and
Percy Rivers could be easily led to look upon
them as the requisite formula; for confirming
them in their offices under a new Minister.
These letters-patent were duly forwarded to
the Earl of Grantham, that he might become
the bearer of them on his journev tn the Isle
of Wight.
The other incident to which we have above
alluded, can be explained in a few words. At
ten o'clock on the same night, Musidora is-
sued forth from the front entrance of Gran-
tham Villa, and with slow steps advanced to
:he very margin of the Thames. It was high
water—and the soft glimmering light of the
autumn evening was playing like a dimly
shining halo upon the river's bosom. Musi-
dora held in her hand a small packet tied
round with a piece of riband; and on reach-
ing the edge of the water, she flung it in
with a firm hand. Then, with the same slow
walk as before, she retraced her way into the
villa; but not the slightest change of expres-
sion on her marble features afforded an indi-
cation to whatsoever feeling she might have
experienced at the deed she had just done.
The packet she had thrown into the\ river
was the casket containing the brilliant set of
diamonds she had received as a present from
Lord Danvers at the time she believed him
to be the King!
CHAPTER XLin. ,
THK FUKSI. SOPHISTRT A1TD WINS.
It was'about noon, when a vessel from the
Hampshire coast touched at that part of the
'sle of Wight which was nearest to Sinclair
House. A plank was run out to enable the
passengers to land without wetting their feet
.
These consisted of three persons, the fore-
most of whom was an elderly man apparelled
in a rich travelling-suit; and the other two
were evidently his pages or lacqueys—for each
of them carried a small valise filled with this
necessaries of the toilet . Taking the nearest
pathway towards Sinclair House, and which
one of the mariners indicated, the elderly
personage and his two attendants began as-
cending the acclivity i and in due time they
reached the entrance to the grounds in the
midst of which the building was situated.
A tall ungainly figure, dressed in black, was
walking in the garden; and on seeing
strangers approach, he at once accosted them
with a somewhat sour and forbidding look;
for it by no means suited Dr. Bertram's pur-
poses that any one should arrive at the man-
sion who stood a chance of being able to in-
terfere with the control and ascendency he
had gained over Sir Lewis Sinclair
"Is the knightly owner of this dwelling
at home? and if so, can I have immediate
speech of him ?" asked the elderly person-
age.
"As for Sir Lewis Sinclair being at home,
he is, in one sense and not in another," was
the physician's rude reply.
•* And these contradictory senses, what may
they mean?" asked the elderly visiter.
"They mean that Sir Lewis is at home
in body—that is to say, he is in-doors; but
he is not at home to visiters—which, also
being interpreted, means to say that he can-
not be disturbed."
"If I mistake not," said the elderly per-
sonage, smiling, "you are that learned and
accomplished personage, Dr. Bertram?"
"The same—physician, licentiate, surgeon,
apothecary, leech, and divers other qualifica-
tions."
"You bear titles sufficient for at least a
dozen persons," said the elderly individual,
still smiling, but with a good-humour that was
to some degree forced.
"And pray, what the deuce may your titles
be?" demanded Bertram, impudently.
"Earl of Grantham, Viscount Mowbray,
Baron Thornfield, Knight-Banneret, and
Knight," was the reply.
An immediate change came over Dr. Ber-
tram. At the mention of the first title he
took off his cap—at the second he bowed—
at the third he made a lower obeisance
still—at the fourth he stepped back a pace
or two as if aghast at his own former impu-
dence—and at the fifth he fairly sank down
upon one knee, exclaiming, "Most potent
lord, I pray your noble lordship to excuse
your unworthy servant's coarse behaviour."
"Rise," said the Earl of Grantham, laugh-
ing; "you and I shall be better friends pre-
sently. Of course your distinguished merits
are no secret to me; and I shall know how
to treat them with due honour."
"You see, my lord," said Dr. Bertram,—
for as he was known at Sinclair House by
this name, we had better continue to call
him by it in order to prevent confusion,—
"you see, my lord," he said, rising from his


THL NECROMANCER.
knees, but still standing cap in band, " ray
most worthy and excellent friend Sir Lewis
Sinclair,' whose health is specially entrusted
to my charge, ia, at this moment suffering
with a grievous malady"
"A grievous malady V echoed the EarL
-• What! is the poor knight UU la there any
danger V
"No danger but what a comfortable nan
will remove," answ«red the physician.
"But this grievous malady—what is it?"
asked the Earl.
* In plain terms," rejoined Dr. Bertram,
"Sir Lewis has a vinous affection"
"A what?" cried the Earl, considerably
mystified. "Those are not plain terms. Tell
me what you mean."
"I mean, my lord, saving your lordship's
presence," answered Dr. Bertram, "that Sir
Lewis took a cup of wine too much at break-
fast, this morning;, and I have therefore re-
commended the worshipful knight to lie down
for an hour or two."
"Then this grievous malady is nothing
but '* I
"A little touch of intoxication," rejoined
Bertram ; "which is grievous enough while
it lasts—especially for a moral and sober man
like me to contemplate."
"Well, well," said the Earl," I am not alts-
g ;ther sorry that I have an opportunity of
s| making a few words alone with you before
I see my worthy relation, the good Sir
Lewis;"—then looking round towards his
lacqueys, he bade them enter the house, but
not to have the knight disturbed by any an-
nouncement of the present arrivals. "Now,
most erudite and accomplished Dr. Bertram,"
continued the Earl, when the servants were
beyond ear-shot, " let us take a turn or two
in this garden"
"Will not your lordship first take a turn
or two at a cold sirloin and a flask of Ca-
nary !" inquired the physician, who had now
become as excruciatingly polite as he was
doggedly insolent at first.
"Not for the present," rejoined the Earl;
"we will have a little conversation first.
Perhaps, Dr. Bertram, you are somewhat
surprised to behold me a visiter to the Isle
of Wight? But you need be under no ap-
prehension on your own account. I am
well aware you have represented to Sir
Lewis Sinclair that it is the King himself
who has sent you hither, whereas in reality
it was none other than a certain Lord Dan-
vers—of whom, be it understood, I do not mean
to speak the slightest harm," added the Earl
hastily, as he flung a rapid and somewhat
apprehensive look around; for since the me-
morable night of tremendous incidents at his
Villa he had never been able even to think
of, much less to breathe, the name of Dan-
gers, without a certain sensation of tremor.
"Weil, my lord, I must candidly confess,"'
said Dr. Bertram, "that your lordship ha*
hit the exact nail on the head. But no mat-
ter who sent me, I am not the less a devoted
friend to Sir Lewis Sinclair. Besides, my oh
ject in coming hither waa innocent enough
—just to bear the old gentleman company,
relieve him from monotonous feelings during
the absence of his daughter, ami onvinct
him that the King was taking a very great
interest in him. Indeed although it was Lort'
Dan vers who did really send me, yet was not
he expressly empowered by his Highness the
King to do so?"
"Observe, Dr. Bertram, that I have not
demanded these explanations of you," »ati
the Barl; "and therefore, should you again
see Lord Dan vers soon, pray do not whisper
aught in his ear to prejudice him against me
for I entertain a most particular aversion at.
even the idea of being placed at variance
with that nobleman. But now to the point
You believe, Dr. Bertram, that Musidora, the
worthy knight's daughter, has married King-
Henry?"
"I have not a doubt of it, my lord '" ex-
claimed the physician. "I have seen l-.ei
own letter to her father, announcing the cir-
cumstance of the marriage, and stating that'
your lordship was one of the witnesses."
"Then, without entering into any particu-
lars," said the Earl," I wish you to under-
stand at once that nothing of the kind ha*
taken place?"
"How, my lord V ejaculated Bertram, be-
coming utterly aghast. "Then what in Hea-
ven's name han taken place?"
"Why, that somebody has sent you this
purse of gold," immediately replied Lord*
Grantham, "as a proof of good-will; and a
like donation will be repeated ami tally on
certain conditions."
"Ah! this is a sort of reasoning that pleases
me," exclaimed Bertram, as he clutched the
purse. "It is heavy—and, therefore, the
argument is all the weightier. Now, my
lord, what am I to think? and what am I to
believe 1—because such powerful logic as this
will make me think and believe whatsoever
your lordship chooses- -the more so as it seems
my faith is to be refreshed in a like manner
every year."
"Dr. Bertram, you are a wise man—a
man of the world—and a philosopher," said
the Earl; "and you are prepared to see, to*
hear, and to think in proportion to the
weight of the arguments placed before you.
Now, therefore, what I wish you to think is,
that through some extraordinary mishap an
erroneous account has been sent to Sir Lewis
Sinclair, and that no such marriage as that
of his daughter with the King has taken
place. Then what I want you to believe is
that the young lady's honour has in no war


THE NECROMANCER.
201
suftY .' tbiough this mistake, the circum-
ttant . > f which I cannot, however, explain
to yoj'
"I think an! believe every thing your lord-
ship chooses," cried the physician; then, as
he tossed up the purse and caught it in his
band agarh, he said, " another such argument
as this would make me .believe that the sun
is as black as ink, and that this is the mid-
dle of the night."
"Dr. Bertram," remarked the Earl, if not
sternly at least gravely, "we must have no
jesting—for I pray you to observe that it is
treason, and punishable as such, to deal
lightly with these matters. As for making
them the subject of goss;p or scandal, do you
know what the result will be V
"No—not exactly," answered the phy-
sician, now looking terribly frightened.
- What!"
"Hanging, drawing and quartering."
"Then never shall it be said that honest
Ben Welford has been hung, drawn, and
quartered!" cried the physician. "Hence-
forth I am silent—dumb—wordless—speech-
less, upon the point."
"I do not mean to threaten in an unhand-
some manner," said the Earl, now resuming
his conciliatory tone; "because I would ra-
ther trust to your prudence and discretion.
At he same time I thought it best just
to hint at the consequences of any breach
of that secrecy which ought to be inviolable."
"Forewarned is forearmed," said Bertram.
'* But when I just now styled myself Ben-
jamin Welford, I do not mean to say that
it is not my real name—at the same time
I do not wish your lordship to understand
that it is"
"I shall know you only as Dr. Bertram
in the presence of Sir Lewis Sinclair and
the other inmates of the house," interrupted
the Earl. "And when I think of it, I may
add that the object of my visit is by no means
to interfere with your position, in respect to
the knight; so thai if it suits you to remain
here as his companion and professional ad-
viser, it will be through no fault of mine if
you abandon your post."
"Every sentence your lordship utters
places me under greater obligations,' rejoin-
ed Bertram, confounding himself in obsequi-
ous salaams.
I "Your influence with Sir Lewis is doubt-
less great?" remarked the Earl interroga-
tively. "I hope it is so—I wish it to be
»■,," he added, seeing that the physician he-
sitated what reply to give.
"Well, my lord, it it great then," was the
answer.
"And you will use it in the wav which I
shall suggest ?" continued the Earl.
"Your lordship has but to speak, and I
obey."
"liood. Then it w'ts me. Dr. Bertram,
that Sir Lewis Sinclair shall be led to under-
stand precisely the same relative to his daugh-
ter as I have already hinted to you; namely,
that she is not married to the King, nor will
she be—but at the same time so far from
any thing dishonourable having taken place be-
tween herself and his Highness, I swear that
it is not so V *'
"All this Sir Lewis Sinclair shall be led
to believe," answered Bertram, " and what-
soever else your lordship chooses. But is the
Rangership safe ?" he abruptly inquired.
•" Perfectly. Cardinal Wolsey is now Prime
Minister, and I am the bearer of fresh let-
ters-patent with the signature of his Emi-
nence attached, and confirming the appoint-
ments of Sir Lewis Sinclair and Master
Percy Rivers."
"Then what more can the old knight
want V exclaimed Bertram, as the Earl dis-
played the documents to his view. "He is
already as happy as the day is long, and
will doubtless continue so."
"And Percy Rivers?" said Lord Gran-
tham; "has any thing ever been whispered
to him relative to this supposed marriage?"
"Not a sentence," responded Bertram. "I
have taken good care of that. A part of my
instructions from Lord Danvers was to see
that whatsoever Sir Lewis Sinclair might
hear in respect to his daughter, was never to
be told to Rivers. Indeed I have done my
best to keep this upstart governor as much as
possible away from the house; and I have
succeeded too," added the physician, with a
coarse chuckle.
* Then as Rivers has heard nothing, there
is no trouble to be taken on his account,"
remarked the Earl. "This is just what I
thought and expected. But one word more,
Dr. Bertram, ere we enter into the house.
Mistress Musidora purposes to remain at
Grantham Villa for a short time longer—I
cannot exactly say how long—it all depends
upon circumstances; but during her stay
there, you must keep her father's mind per-
fectly tranquil on her account . Do you un-
derstand me?"
"I do, my lord. And your lordship may
rest assured that my best shall be done to
obey all your instructions. Your lordship is
certain that I am to receive a similar purse
every year?"
"I will guarantee it—in writing li you
choose."
"Your lordship's word is better than a
bond. And now, what says your lordship
to a slice of the sirloin and a stoup of the wine
whereof I have before spoken?"
« We will enter the house," said the Earl,
"and see if Sir Lewis Sinclair be now awake,
and also in a fit condition for discourse—as
the sooner I accomplish the object of my
journey the better."
"I will warrant that the excellent knight


THE NECROMANCER.
rhall wake up with a wonderful freshness,
■like of head and of appetite," responded
Bertram. "Let us go and see."
The nobleman and Dr. Bertram accord-
ingly entered Sinclair House. Sir Lewis
was at the moment waking up; and on being
told that his relative the Earl of Grantham
had arrived, he hastened to make some im-
provements in his toilet, and efface the signs
of the morning's dissipation. He then re-
paired to the room to which Bertram had al-
ready conducted the Earl, and where by the
physician's order the domestics had promptly
covered the board with the dainties of the
larder and the choicest produce of the cellar.
The Earl feigned the most enthusiastic de-
light at meeting his relative; while the wel-
come which Sir Lewis gave the nobleman
was equally cordial, and far more sincere.
The worthy knight instantaneously began to
overwhelm Lord Grantham with questions
relative to Musidora; but the nobleman cut
him short by explaining that it was on pur-
pose to clear up certain misunderstandings
respecting her actual position that he had
come to the Isle of Wight
.
To enter into detail with regard to the long
discourse that now took place, would be to
extend this part of our narrative far beyond
the requisite limits, and to weary the patience
of the reader. Suffice it to say, that the
Earl proceeded to break, as delicately as he
could, the fact that Musidora was not mar-
ried to the King, nor was to marry him. At
first Sir Lewis was astounded; but Dr. Ber-
tram was close at hand to tender him a brim-
ming goblet and to help to tranquillize him.
Then the Earl proceeded to assure the old
man that the honour of his daughter was un-
tainted, and that the King had never looked
upon her otherwise than with respect. An-
other goblet of wine and the artful exercise
of Bertram's influence were wonderfully ef-
ficient in backing up the Earl of Grantham's
sophistry. Still the knight demanded far-
ther explanations; for, of course he was at
a loss to understand how Musidora could have
written to announce her marriage when no
such marriage had taken place at all. But
instead of attempting any titing like a direct
answer to Sir Lewis's queries, the Earl of
Grantham displayed before his eyes the new
letter-patent confirming him in his post; and
at the same time Dr. Bertram was in readi-
ness with a third goblet and some more spe-
cious observations of his own. To be brief,
the old knight was brought into precisely the
train of thinking and believing that suited
Lord Grantham's purposes; his mind seemed
as plastic as could well be desired beneath
the tutorings of the two artful men who plied
him alike with sophistry and wine; and the
result was that the Earl achieved his mission
in the most successful manner possible.
On the following day Lord Grantham pro-
ceeded to Carisbrook Castle, where he pre-
sented the new letter-patent to Percy Rivers;
and having passed an hour wivh the young
governor, he returned to Siiichur House.
There he remained until the next morning,
when he took his departure, leaving Sir
Lewis entirely happy in the possession of his
Rangership and in the society of Dr. Bertram
CHAPTER XLIV.
Mirni amid thi rowiB or duiim
It was midnight. The winds swept sul-
lenly over the sea, whieh was tossing and
heaving in its mighty bed, and like a many
headed angry monatrr, erecting crests of foara
upon its rolling billows. Dark clouds wen
passing rapidly over tho face of heaven, not
with one continuous roasn of sable drapery,
but in tattered shreds and fragments: so that
the full round moon shone at intervals be-
tween the openings as if seen through th.i
chasms and fjzzures of a movn.g panorama
of celestial crags and rocks.
It was a wild and fearful night—the wind-
moaning with a deep sound, or speaking in a
hollow voice, as it swept around the cliffs on
the south-western coast of the Isle of Wight.
Between those beetling rocks, too, known as
the Needles, did the wind pour with a gush-
ing noise, mingling in that spot its loud ac-
cents with the heavy splash of the waves as
they broke against those natural pillows
which shot upward from the sea. High upon
the summit of the escarped cliff stood the
vast pile of buildings—ramparts, turrets, and
towers—which seemed solid as the rock ovei
which they frowned, and to exist there in de-
fiance of the lapse of ages—belonging not to
time but to eternity! No light shone from
within that gloomy edifice ; and so dark were
the windows with accumulated dust and dirt,
that they reflected not even the moonlight
which poured from the openings in the bro-
ken masses of the clouds. Yet as the wind
swept around that castle—along the ram-
parts—amidst the battlements, the turrets,
and the towers—it seemed to evoke strange,
echoes and to waken sounds more ominous
and gloomy than were heard elsewhere.
And so perhaps might have thought Lord
Danvers himself, as he stood upon the very
edge of the cliff at a short distance from th»
castle wall, and with folded arms looked down
upon the wide expanse of sea which stretch-
ed before him. It appeared as if that mighty
volume of water were agitating, and heav-'
ing, and tossing in uneasiness at the presence
of some unearthly being: it seemed too as if
from the dark horizon the waves came roll-


THE NECROMANCFR.
203
ing forth like living things, to dash themselves
ngainst the foot of the high towering cliff on
which Lord Danvers stood.
Yes: with folded arms and fixed gaze did
he stand motionless there,—the long sable
plume of his cap s retching forth like a flut-
tering pine bough, i*d his short Spanish cloak
spread ng behind hi n as if sable wings pro-
jected from his she llders. His tall slender
form, so inimitable i. its Apollo-like symme-
try,—and with all its nodelled perfection and
sweeping length of li. b set off by the tight-
fitting garb which he ore, and which was of
a foreign fashion,—wi drawn up to its full
height, in an attitude hich seemed as if he
were boldly confront! g an approaching
storm to bid it defiance. One foot was a lit-
tle advanced before the i her, thus increasing
I that air of resolute boldi ess and calm cour-
age which invested him at the moment. A
kindred expression was upon his counte-
nance.—that countenance of such wondrous
beauty, but which a timet bon th< fearful
stamp of the fallen angel!
"Sixteen more years in which to accom-
plish my work!" he said aloud, as if in apos-
trophe to the sea on which he was gazing, or
to the wind that sounded so ominously to his
ear: "sixteen more years of that power
which may perhaps terminate with life itself!
Aye—and not merely with life, but also with
the annihilation of even hope! Yet where-
fore should I despair? Have not five names
already been inscribed upon the tablets in
yon tower V—and he glanced towards the
loftiest building of the pile constituting his
castle: "may I not therefore reckon upon
filling up the sixth within a period of sixteen
years? Ah, Musidora! thou didst escape
me; but I have been fearfully avenged !"—
and then a look of blighting scorn and Sata-
nic triumph appeared for a moment upon his
« Lucifer-like features.
He ceased to speak for a brief space, and
slowly moving away from the spot where he
had been hitherto standing, for some time
walked slowly along the edge of the cliff.
Yes—-upon the very verge was it that he
thus proceeded, as if reckless of life or con-
scious of a power that enabled him to scorn
all thought of danger: for assuredly it was a
path of peril which no human being under
other circumstances would have ventured to
pursue, on the margin of the giddy height
whence the least false step might precipitate
him down into the waves beneath, or a sud-
den change in the wind hurl him right over.
But Danvers walked on slowly there, not
heeding where he trod, but as calmly and un-
concernedly as if in the midst of a beaten
road with no danger on either side. Ah! for
a moment the edge of the crag gave way be-
neath his feet—he had trodden upon a ledge
of overhanging soil, and his weight had at
•nee broken it away. That circumstance
would have been followed by an instantane-
ous fall and a speedy death to any other be;
ing on the face of the earth: but it was not
so with Danvers! For a moment he stood
as it were upon the air—and then without an
effort, without even so much as that spas-
modic start and clutching at something—any-
thing—which is the instinctive impulse in
such a case, he stood on the firm cliff again,
and continued his way as if nothing had hap-
pened. Truly that man bore a charmed life!
Again he paused—looked towards the sea
—folded his arms—and spoke aloud, once
more giving audible expression to the ideas,
that were uppermost in his mind.
"Sixteen more years! and if I succeed
not in obtaining one other victim—Ah ! bui
I shall succeed—I must—I will!" he ex-
claimed wildly: and for an instant an awful
expression of mingled terror and anguish1
swept over his countenance, as if a barbed!
arrow-head had suddenly penetrated his,
heart!" Yes, fiend! I will baffle thee yet:
the means are within my power, and I win
use them. But, oh, what a life is mine t
Ever in search of a new victim—and with aU;
the Past frowning upon me like a tremen-
dous vision of evil, and the Future still,
wrapped in utter uncertainty! But why is
it that I have sought this place to-night ?—
what strange influence is it that hath driven
my wandering footsteps hither now? Is it
because I have resolved to restore to freedom
a wretched old man whose captivity is need-
ful to my purposes no longer? or is it because
from time to time I have before sought thisj,
spot where first I met the tempter—where 1
have since encountered him—and where per-,
haps my destiny wills that I shall meet him,
again to-night?
Lord Danvers ceased; and with folded
arms he stood, still gazing into that distant*
darkness where the sullen sea and the gloom'
of the horizon met, but with no definable
boundary between them. Suddenly, in the
midst of that far-off gloom, an object like a:
black cloud seemed to come forth from the-
prevailing obscurity: and then.-as it swept
rapidly over the sea, there was a terrific sound,
which might have been deemed that of a fu-
rious gust of storm-wind to the inhabitants
of the island, but which sounded like the
rushing of mighty wings to the ear of Dan-
vers. His countenance grew for an instant
ghastly pale in the moonlight—his lips were
firmly compressed—his high and ample brow
became corrugated—and something like a
shudder passed through his form as he stepped
back a pace or two. The phenomenon that
thus strangely moved him, might be described
as if that black cloud had rushed with wild
flight over the sea towards the cliff, and in a
moment had settled there, but instantaneous-
ly condensing into the shape and form of a
human being.


J04
THE NECROMANCER.
"Ah, thou art come!" said Danvers, i
diately recovering ail his wonted calmness
and self-possession, aa the being, whatever it
were, thus appeared before him on the sum-
mit of that cliff.
. And this being—can language describe it?
A human shape it wore, as we have just said
r—the shape of a man invested with a beaut)
whereof that of Danvers himself might be re-
garded as the reflex, yet which was still more
unmistakably marked with all the attributes
♦f a fallen angel. Of the same height as
Danvers—habited in a similar style—with
fee distended plume and the outstretched
croak — possessing too the same cast of
features, the same duskiness of complexion,
and the same slender elegance of figure—that
being would have looked the exact counter-
part of Lionel himself, were it not that his
eyes shone with a fiercer and more terrible
light, his lips wreathed with a more sardonic
•mile than even in his darkest moments Dan-
vers had ever worn, and in his whole ap-
pearance there was a loftier air of conscious
power than the hero of our tale had ever
assumed.
'* '\Again we meet, Lionel Danvers!" said
Niat being—and surely he belonged not to
this world ?—" Again we meet!" he repeated;
"and thine expectation is fulfilled : for thou
djidst come hither this night knowing that it
Was thy master's influence which urged your
footsteps to this spot."
"Master !" said Danvers scornfully; "not
jr*t, not yet. Tis I who am still the mas-
ter."
i "Oh! be it as thou wilt, miserable mor-
tal!" exclaimed that unearthly being, his
deep voice accentuated with mocking tones
•f irony: "we will not dispute upon that
point. And yet, gifted as thou art with a
power that should raise thee above the mean-
ness and the pettiness of that human race to
which thou dost belong, thou should'st dis-
play a loftier spirit than to cavil for a mere
word, as any despot of a day or grovelling
Worm of an earthly tyrant is wont to do
if his authority be for an instant ques-
tioned."
"Dost thou never seek me out save to pro-
yftke me with thy sardonic taunts, O fiend?"
.demanded Danvers, folding his arms once more
across his breast, and now as calmly and reso-
lutely confronting the Evil One, as when an-
ticipating his approach from that ocean or
that horizon whereon he was a few minutes
previously gazing so fixedly. '* Wherefore
bast thou sought me this night? It was not
1 who summoned thee; and yet as thou thy-
self hast said, I knew by some intuitive warn-
ing that we wt e to meet here ere yon dark
elouds shoul'l iisperse before the presence
•f the sun am field to the glory of another
•ay"
• Why d i ,ek you now? Why have 1
ever sought you?" aflked Lucifer in a voice
more sonorous and deep-toned than that of.
Danvers, and though not without its har-
mony, yet as different from the other as that
of Lablache from Rubini. "Is it not to
remind you of our compact—to tell you of
the lapse of time—to bid you mark that year■
are flowing on and that the great day ap-
proaches?"
"Think you, O di ;non," demanded Lionel
Danvers, "that I require thine hateful pre-
sence to tell me that which Us indelibly seared
upon my mind ?—think you not that the poi-
soned arrow rankles too deeply within my
soul not to make its own presence felt ?—
think you that if you have placed the intoxi-
cating chalice of power in ray hand, I do not
feel its poison also smarting upon my lip ?-*-
think you that the words which you spoke
when first we made our compact, have not
ever since rung as a knell in my ear ?—think
you that the terrific secret of my destiny is
not interwoven with the very fibres of life
itself?—think you, in a word, O fiend, that
dark as my thoughts too often are, and ex-
cruciatingly keen my memories, the former
need thy presence to make them darker
still, or the latter thy biting words to
sharpen them to a more anguished poi-
gnancy?"
"And yet with all those thoughts and with
all those memories," responded Satan, " thou
darest to hope 1"
"Hope? echoed Lionel Danvers, looking
and speaking as if his first impulse were to
deny that which was both meant and received
as an accusation; hut the next instant resum-
ing a look of the haughtiest defiance, he said,
'• Yes, fiend! I dare hope—and where is the
human creature whose lot is so desperate that
hope does not remain? Here—look—be-
hold '."—and tearing open his doublet, Dan-
vers produced a gold chain which he wore,
and on which were five rings of the same me-
tal, but enamelled in black, and each with a
name upon it. "These are my constant com-
panions : in these exists my hopes. It require■
hut another to complete the number—and then
I bid thee defiance!"
"Is it in vain and ridiculous vaunt that thou
thus displayest the tokens which come from
me ?" demanded the Evil One, a withering ex-
pression of scorn appearing upon his counte-
nance, mote terrible than ever swept over the
features of Lionel Dnnvers himself; and at
the same time the fiend's dark eyes shot forth
lightnings which played vivid and lambent
about his brow.
"I show thee these tokens," replied Dan
vers. "in the same manner and for the same
purpose that thou dost from time to time come
to recall our compact to my memory. If thou
mi thy part thinkest it needful thus to remind
me of those things which it were impossible I
could forget, equally needful must it be for me


THE NECROMANCER. 206
to convince thee. O 8atan, that there are con-
ditions, and casualities, and hopes still exist-
ing i+i my favour."
'- Be it so!" rejoined the demon, with a sub-
dued laugh of malignant mockery: and there
was something horrible even to Danvers in
that malice-mirth. "It would seem, then,
that power, and wealth, and long life, and all
the means of enjoyment which have lieen
placed within thy reach, have not effaced from
thy memory the conditions of our compact—
no, nor even deadened that memory as to the
h jrrors of the Future which I sketched oat for
thee in times past. But wherefore, O Dan-
vers, abandon thyself by night and by day to
this hope which renders thee restless and de-
prives thee of the opportunity of plunging deep
into those pleasures which would make the re-
mainder of thy time flow on amidst all blan-
dishments and blisses -"
"What language is this which thou da.rest
to hold to me?" demanded Lionel, with a look
of the proudest defiance. "Is it that thou ar.
so well assured of my eventual success in es-
caping thy power, that thou seekest to turn me
aside from the indulgence of that hope which
thou foreknowest will.be crowned with tri-
umph?"
"Mortal, I have told thee on former occa-
sions," replied the Evil One, "that it is hot
mine to read the future. He alone whose name
I dare not mention, can penetrate the abyss of
eternity which lies beyond the present mo-
ment."
"And yet thou canst doubtless carry thy
looks backward throughout the illimitable vista
of the Past ?"—and as Danvers spoke he fixed
his eyes with curiosity and interest upon the
tempter's countenance.
* Yes," answered the Evil One : '» I can
send my looks retrospectively throughout ages
and ages; and they see no beginning—settle
themselves at last upon no origin—stop at no
point beyond which it is impossible to look
farther."
"Oh! eternity is awful to think of!" said
Danvers, shuddering in spite of himself.
"Yes—awfur," rejoined the fiend, malig-
nantly, "when it is to become an eternity of
woe!"
"Give me some idea of this eternity whereof
we are speaking," said Danvers with a gesture
of impatience.
"An idea of eternity?" exclaimed the
Evil One, with a laugh of insulting mockery,
"What, to you—a denizen of earth—-a mor-
tal—whose ideas are limited to your own
perishable existence? It were impossible!.
How can a finite being be made to compre-
hend the meaning of infinity? As well ask
me, thou whose ideas are limited to a space, to
give thee an idea of that space which is illimi-
table. The intellect which knows things only
by measurement, can understand naught of
things which are immeasurable; the wind
which even in its loftiest soarings and wildest
flights of conjecture, must stop short at certain
bounds, cannot be made to conceive the na-
ture of that which is boundless. Yet pause
awhile, and think! Take for example a mil.
lion of years—divide them into days—the
days into hours—the hours into minutes—and
the minutes into seconds; then suppose that
all those millions and millions of seconds are
themselves not merely years, but. centuries;
and even then you will not have marked out
so large a space of time from the great ocean
of eternity as a single drop of water would be
in comparison with that immense sea stretch-
ing before you!"
Lionel Danvers spoke not: the darkest cloud
had gathered upon his brow—his lips were
compressed—there was a deadly pallor appear-
ing through the olive of his complexion—and
it was evident that his powerful mind was pro-
foundly troubled.
"If man possessed an imagination," resumed
liucifer, "capable of embracing all the won-
ders concerning which he dares conjecture, he'
would know no peace, but would live in con-
stant horror and amaze, as if surrounded by
myriads of hideous haunting-phantoms. I know
that when a few years ago thou wast at Home,
thou didst visit the philosopher Copernicus,
while pursuing his astronomical studies there;
and I know also that when he imparted to
thee the extent of his discoveries, thou didst
smile inwardly at the thought that he had but
obtained a glimpse of those mighty truths
which were radiant with illumination to thee,
and that he should be wasting an entire life-
time in the search of that knowledge which
from my lips thou hadst obtained in a few
brief minutes long years before! But even
thou, with all thy knowledge, Danvers, to
what extent can thine imagination reach?
'Thou knowest that infinite space is dotted
with millions and millions of worlds, all circ-
ling in their orbits, and moving round their
respective centres of attraction. Thou know-
est also that this planetary system to which
your Earth belongs, though grand in its own
immensity, is nothing in comparison with the
myriads and myriads of other planetary sys-
tems, which stretch away, and away, through-
out infinite space, so that there is no end to
these assemblages of moving worlds. But has
it ever struck you what an awful thing it is to
contemplate how this Earth, for instance, goea
ever rushing as if madly on—flying With a ve-
locity which would make the mortal brain all
dizzy and whirling to contemplate it—and sur-
rounded by an atmosphere cradling the thun-
der and rife with the elements of the light-
ning? 8up|,ose I were to take you in my
arms and fly with you for a million of mile■
away from this earth, then suddenly atop and
bid you look down and see the world which
you bad just left, what would you behold?
A ball shooting onward with tremendous
s


THE NECROMANCER.
207
Had blazed with lights upon the banquetting
board. The armour was rusting on the walls
—the flags were mouldering—the marb'e
pavement, with its diamond-like arrangement
of black and white slabs, was covered with
dust—and its range of high narrow-arched
windows were all defenceless against wind,
or rain, or sleut, or tempest, as well as they
were open to pure moonbeams or gorgeous
sunlight.
Through this hall did Lionel Danvers
•lowly bend his steps: but ever and anon he
paused and gazed up at the armour and the
banners—then down upon the marble pave-
ment; for the warlike accoutrements and the
flags of battle doubtless reminded him of his
heroic ancestors whose remains reposed in the
vaults dug deep below the castle foundations.
But whatever his thoughts were he gave not
audible expression to them,—though once or
twice a look of regret, amounting almost to
the anguish of remorse appeared upon his
countenance, as if a secret voice were whis-
pering in his soul," Better would it have been
for thee, Lionel Danvers, had'st thou imitated
the pursuits of thine ancestors whose memo-
ries are now conjured up in thy brain!"
Passing through the hall, he reached an
1 immense staircase of solid oak, the balustrades
of which were of enormous size and massively
sculptured. At the foot thereof stood two
suits of armour upon pedestals; and as the
vizors were closed and the attitudes were per-
fectly life-like, they seemed like real senti-
nels stationed there to guard the spot. As-
cending the stairs, which were but dimly
lighted by the moonbeams as they glimmered
through a high window of stained glass, Dan-
rers at length reached a landing where a door
instantaneously opened before him; and now
he entered a gallery the walls of which were
covered with pictures. The light fell upon
them through a row of narrow windows; but
Danvers scarcely paused to throw a glance on
any one of the portraits of his ancestors. In-
deed, so blackened were they all with dust,
and so great had been the ravages of time
with many, that there were few whose sub-
jects were discernible; and even these were
fast yielding to neglect and decay.
Prom that gallery Danvers passed into a
suit of spacious rooms, where the moonbeams
entered, as in other parts of the castle, through
rows of gothic windows. In former times,
when the castle was -inhabited, these apart-
ments must have been of the most splendid
description; for they were embellished with
elaborate sculpture-work in the windows and
door-ways, and the furniture though black-
ened by dust and rotting with damp and de-
cay, still bore sufficient evidences of its pris-
tine richness and elegance. But in these
apartments the dust had collected even more
thickly upon the floor than elsewhere—prob-
ably because there was less draught to dis- j
perse it; and scarcely had Danvers entered
when his eyes fell on the traces of footprints
that were plainly visible from door to door. He
started at the sight; and a singularexpression
swept over his features as his looks rested
upon some prints which were smaller than
others, and which seemed to indicate the del-
icate tread of a woman as well as the bolder
and more deeply indented one of a man.
It must not be inferred that Lionel Danvers
was at all astonished by observing those foot-
prints there: he knew full well whose they
were, both the male and the female ones!
But he was startled as a person is who
suddenly beholds something of which he
is not thinking at the moment, and which
vividly recalls strong and painful memories.
"It is not quite, four years since »he
accompanied me hither," he said in a musing
tone, as he stopped short and looked down
upon the footprints, which not only led on-
ward but also in the contrary direction—
that is to say, back again towards the door
by which he had just entered. "She escaped
me—but I have been avenged! Ah, and
this vengeance so dire, so terrible, was better
far than immolating her at once to my wrath.
Yes: for thereby two passions have been
.sated—the passion which her beauty kindled,
and the passion that craved for revenge.' And
she too was the only woman who ever re-
traced her way from yon tower after accom-
panying me thither!"
Lionel Danvers, having thus mused, pro-
ceeded through the suite of apartments,
until another dooi opening of its own accord,
admitted him into a room which has been
minutely described in the Prologue to this
tale. The door closed behind him—the se-
cret spring whereby it was held fast, making
a sharp clicking noise.
The room presented precisely the same ap-
pearance as when, six years previously, Lionel
Danvers had led Clara Manners thither.
There were the six black panels, each duly
numbered, and on five of which appeared in
characters of fire the names 6f as many fe-
males who had been consigned to some dark
and unknown fate :—
1. BlANCA Landiki . . 1390.
2. Marsaret Dunhavin . 1407.
3. Arlini os St. Louis . 1463.
4. Dolorosa Cortez . . 1500.
6. Clara Manners . . 1510.
Yes—there were those five names: but
would the sixth panel ever be filled up?
This was the question which Danvers asked
himself, as pausing in the middle of the room,
he folded his arms and gazed steadfastly upon
the six black squares marked with the bold
red outlines, and with the fiery names upon
five of them.
"Aye, even Lucifer himself," mused Dan-
vers audibly, had there been any one near to
listen, "could not succeed in banishing hop*


l H E NECROMANCER.
from my breast—no, not with all his sophis-
try!"
Then Lionel sat down near the great oaken
table -, and leaning his face upon his hands,
he gave way to a long train of reflections.
But his thoughts we cannot fathom. Per-
haps he was pondering regretfully upon the
past—perhaps he was thinking of those
whose names were traced in characters of
fire upon the five black panels—perhaps he
was devising plans for the future? We can-
not say.
For a long time did he remain wrapped up
in that profound reverie ; and when he raised
his head again, there were traces of care
and anguish upon the dark and fearful
beauty of his countenance. Slowly he rose
from his seat, opened a drawer in the table,
and drew forth a phial containing a white
fluid. This phial he uncorked, and was
about to apply it to his lips, when he sud-
denly stopped short as an idea struck him;
and returning the cork to the phial, he again
reflected profoundly for some minutes.
* What age shall I assume!" he at length
asked himself aloud, thus giving verbal utter-
ance to the question he was evidently ponder-
ing in hi* mind. * With my present appear-
ance I am far toe young to have a grown up
son*—and I have never spoker. to those who
know me of a younger brother. And yet it
were not wise to pursue my seaich for another
victim—the last—as Lionel Danvers. The
tale of Clara Manners is already known to se-
veral; and all that has ever taken place be-
tween Musidura and myself, even to the inci-
dents of the last few days, may be bruited
abroad, and the name of Lionel Danvers will
perhaps become associated with the reputation
of an infamous seducer. Would it be wise,
then, to continue as I am—to wear this pre-
sent shape—and with the name of Lionel
also, continue my search for that being whose
name must fill up the sixth square? No: it
were scarcely prudent—it were scarcely wise.
Vet if I take another and a younger form, how
am I to represent myself! Not as the sou
nor as the brother of Lord Lionel. No! But
wherefore not the cousin? Aye—the idea is
happy. The requisite papers to establish the
identity are speedily fabricated—and that is
sufficient. Besides, as a beautiful youth—
what age shall I say !—of eighteen? Well,
then—as a beautiful youth of eighteen I may
stand a better chance of speedily captivating
the heart of some young confiding girl, than
by retaining my present appearance. Yes—
be it so!"
With these last words Lionel Danvers again j
uncorked the phial; and placing it to his lips,
he imbibed a few drops of the fluid which it
contained. Instantaneous wai, the change ac-'
ccniplished in his looks;—and on the spot
where a man seeming to be about thirty years [
of age had just stood, there now appeared a
youth of about eighteen!
And of what exceeding beauty was this
youth! Tall as ere the transformation had
taken place, but the least thing more slender,
the elegant and graceful figure was character-
ized by all the willowy elasticity and litheneet
properly belonging to that age when boyhood
has shot up into a somewhat precocious man-
hood. There too was the same classic beauty
of the features, but a trifle more delicate in
their chiselling—without, too, any of that sar-
donic haughtiness which had marked the
countenance of the man when figuring in the
world as Lionel Danvers—but yet wearing
an expression of high-bred dignity, mingled
with an air of youthful ingenuousness. In-
stead of the dark muslache, there was but •
thick down upon the upper lip; and that lip,
as well as its companion, was red and fresh aa
the lips of a woman. The eyes, still dark aa
night, retained all the glory of their lustre,
with naught of a sinister expression; and ihe
hair, still long and glossy in its raven black-
ness, was of a more silken fineness, if possible,
than before. The apparel was precisely the
same; but in all other respects it was now a
brilliant and beautiful youth of eighteen who
stood in the place of the wondrously handsome
man of about thirty.
Approaching one of the oaken panels which
surrounded the walls up to the high window-
ledges, the transformed being—or rather,
should we not say the renovated one ?—drew
hack one of those panels and surveyed himself
in a large mirror which was thus disclosed.
Well satisfied did he seem by the change be
had accomplished in his personal appearance:
the carnation flush of exultant emotion man-
tled upon the pure and delicate olive of ins
complexion—his eyes shot forth diamond-like
jets of fire—his beautiful lips wreathed with
a triumphant smile—and he exclaimed, with
the sweeteat melody which belongs to the voire
of youth when between boyhood and man-
hood, i• Dared the fiend tell me that I should
abandon hope! No, no! With such a shape
as this, it is not only one female heart that I
may conquer if I will!"
Having thus spoken, Danvers drew back
the oaken panel over the mirror, and ap-
proached the door, which instantaneously flew
open to give him egress. He passed on through
the suite of rooms where the costly furniture
was mouldering; and his feet left flesh prints
upon the dust that lay thick upon the floor;
but these prints were a trifle smaller and more
delicate than those which ftis steps had made
wh>'n he passed inwatd. He went on, thread-
ing the long picture-gallery, and reached the
oaken staircase. This he descended, once
more gaining the immense hall, where the
high-arched roof, the many tall columns, and
the range of gothic windows, with the I


THE NECROMANCER.
light pouring in, produced so solemn and awe-
inspiring a cathedral efSct.
But he did not immediately issue forth from
his castle. Proceeding into one of the ob-
scure nooks of the immense hall, he drew
forth a bunch of keys and a lamp; this he
Ughted, and then approached a little low door
in another recess. But it was not needful for
hiln to use any of the keys on that hunch un-
less he chose to do so; for with the slightest
wave of his hand the door flew open at his
presence, and he descended a flight of stone
steps which seemed to go winding on and on
—down, down—deep below the foundations
of the castle. At length be reached an im-
mense long passage, hollowed out of the cliff
on which the fortalice stood, and into which
the air was admitted by an opening at the end
—this aperture being in the face of the as>
, carped rock overlooking the sea. Selecting a
particular key on the bunch, and which he
instantly knew by a touch of the fingers
rather than by the aid of the tamp-light, he
approached one of the many doors which ap-
peared in the side of the long passage: and
opening that particular door, he said, in the
gentlrst tones of a voice which was filled with
(tie flute-like melody and fresh harmony of
youth, "Prisoner, where art thou? 'Tia a
friend who seeks thee!" <
"Ah! who calls 1" exclaimed a voice from
the farthest extremity of the dungeon, into
which the beams of the lamp could not en-
tirely penetrate. "Those are not the accents
of my base persecutor!"
"Come forth, poor old man—come forth!"
said Danvers. "I am here to deliver thee."
"Oh! is this a dream 1 Yes—it is too de-
lightful to be true"
"No—it is a reality. Come forth V
Then from the interior of the dungeon, did
Manners, the ruined merchant, issue; and by
the light of the lamp which Danvers carried
in his hand, the two individuals were enabled
to observe each other. Of course Danvers
knew the old merchant well; but the latter
was unfeignedly surprised on beholding this
beautiful, and indeed exquisitely lovely youth
appearing there as his deliverer.
"It is a Danvers—yet not the same," said
the old man. "There is a likeness—but in
the person of a youth—What does it mean?"
he demanded, a cloud of doubt and distrust
settling upon his countenance.
"It means simply," was the response, giv-
en in a mournful tone, as if the speaker had
the death of a kinsman uppermost in his
mind, " that Lord Lionel Danvers is no more,
and that I, his cousin and his heir, obedient to
his dying instructions, am here to deliver you.
Hasten however away from this place; and
whatever questions you may choose to put to
me, I will answer in a spot where it will be
more pleasant to converse."
Thus speaking, Danvers led the way to-
wards the ascent of steps, taking however the
keys with him; for he did not choose to dis>
play bis supernatural power by allowing doors
to open of their own accord, now that observ-
ing eyes could mark the circumstance.
He ascended the flight slowly, with every
appearence of the most delicate consideration
for the old man, whose feebleness could not
have kept pace with his lithe agility. He
even tendered a hand to help the ruined mer-
chant up; and in this way did they ascend to
the great hall. There Danvers locked the
door with the keys; and placing the lamp in
a niche, said to the merchant, " Worthy Mas-
ter Manners, I am well pleased at having been
commissioned thus to release you from the
most undeserved captivity."
"And is Lord Lionel really no more V
asked the old man anxiously.
"Three days ago he expired, in consequence
of injuries sustained by a fall from his horse."
was the response.
"His horse!" echoed Manners, to whose
memory rushed ail the circumstances of his
frightful journey in a few hours from London
to that castle in the Isle of Wight. » Was it
one of those colossal brack steeds"
"My deceased cousin told me every thing,"
interrupted Danvers with a significant look:
"but it were useless for us, poor old man, to
remain here and discourse upon the details of
those mystic occurrences which are uppermost
in your mind."
"But my daughter, my lord—my daughter,
good youth !" exclaimed old Manners. •* Tell
me—what of her 1 Did your deceased kins-
man, the fearful Lord Lionel, mention auglit
of my poor Clara V
"Alas! yes, Master Manners," replied the
young noWemnn : "your daughter has been
dead some years. More I cannot tell you."
"Now then I know the worst!" said the
old man; and staggering hack against the
wall, he covered his face with his hands and
sobbed aloud. "Alas ! alas! wherefore have I
survived her? wherefore have I lived to hear
this? O Clara, hast thou indeed perished
without receiving either my forgiveness or my
blessing? Oh! my beloved daughter—my
poor lost child—that I could but have embraced
thee once ere thou wast taken from me! My
lord,—for from your words I glean that you
now bear the proud title of Danvers—have
pity upon a poor old man and leave him not
in a state of suspense. Tell me—undfr what
circumstances did my daughter die?"
"She died happy—happy in the love of
Lionel Danvers," was the response.
"But her remains—where do they repose?
Tell me where she lies, that I may drag my
weary limbs to her grave and weep over her
last resting-place?"
"Ah! that I know not," responded tht


I'iO THE NECR
0 M A N C E R.
young nobleman. "It was in one of my de-
ceased cousin's Continental castles that she
died: but where I cannot say. On this
point the late Lord Lionel did not speak.
Death came upon him with such rapid strides
that he had barely leisure to give me his last
instructions; and of these the very first was to
enjoin me to lose no time in coming in hither
to release you from captivity."
"Know you, young man," asked the old
merchant, wiping away the tears from his
eyes, and gazing fixedly upon the youthful
countenance before him, all the exquisite
beauty of which was visible as the glare of
the lamp fell upon it,—" know you that your
deceased relative was a man of dark and
fearful character—possessed of powers which
no good Christian could righteously possess,
and which were not exercised to any worthy
purpose!"
"I know—indeed I learnt from the dying
words of Lord Lionel, that he had devoted
some degree of study to those black arts,
which cannot be alluded to without a shud-
der."
"And you should pray to heaven that
no such terrible heritage may descend to
you," rejoined old Manners, with something
like malignant bitterness in his tone.
"In consequence of the injuries you have
sustained at the hands of my predecessor,"
s-iid Danvers, somewhat haughtily," I forgive
you a remark which under other circum-
stances would be an impertinence, and which
even now is fraught with ingratitude towards
one who is thy deliverer and not thy persecu-
tor."
The old merchant endeavoured to force
himself to make some apology for the words
he had uttered: but there was a feeling with-
in him which hushed the syllables that rose
to the very tip of his tongue—for he could
not think of all his wrongs without expe-
riencing a bitter hatred for every one bearing
the name of Danvers.
"Ah! you do not choose to answer me,"
said the youthful noble, who appeared instan-
taneously to comprehend wherefore the be-
reaved father's lips remained sealed. "But
it is no matter. I have fulfilled the commission
entrusted to me, and have given you your
deliverance. More generous in my endea-
vour to' make atonement for what you have
suffered, than you are grateful for the zealous
promptitude with which I have hastened to
set you free, I proffer you my purse. 'Tis
well filled with gold; there are likewise a
few diamonds and other precious stones in it,
which may afford you the means of living in
competency and ease for the remainder of
your existence."
"No, my lord," said old Manners, reso-
lutely and gravely—indeed almost sternly;
"You, as the heir of the deceased Lord Lionel
doubtless owe to him every thing which you
possess; and not for worlds would I receive
even so much as the smallest coin which has
emanated from the treasury of my persecutor.
For three months and a half have I been a
prisoner in that deep dungeon below! Every
morning, when awaking from the sleep into
which the exhaustion of anguish and sorrow
plunged me, I found a loaf of bread and a
pitcher of water placed just inside the door of
that cell. But never once did I hear that door
open—never once could I ascertain by whose
hand the food and the water were placed
there. Who, then, was my gaoler? Answer
me that question, my lord! Has there not
been fearful magic in all this? Vainly did I
more than once endeavour to keep awake
throughout the whole night, in the hope that
if Lord Lionel himself came, I might endea-
vour to move him by my prayers and en-
treaties, or by my remonstrances or reproaches,
to set me free—or at least to give me some
positive intelligence relative to my poor de-
luded daughter. But ever at a certain hour
towards the dawn of morning, did sleep fail
upon my eyes; and when I awoke again and
groped through the darkness towards the
neighbourhood of the door, I still found the
daily supply of provision there. My lord, I
tell you that you belong to a fearful race;
and even apart from the wrongs I have re-
ceived at the hands of your predecessor, there
are sensations of terror and misgiving in my
soul which forbid me to receive the slightest
succour at your hands."
« Then let us say no more," rejoined Dan-
vers, impatiently; "and respecting the ques-
tion you have put to me, I know not how to
answer it. Now let us part and pursue out
separate ways in the world."
"God grant, young man, that yours may
be for purposes of good!"—and as the old mer-
chant uttered these words in an ominous
tone, as if swayed by dark doubts and mis-
givings in the depths of his soul, he turned
away, and moving slowly through the hall,
approached the great folding doors.
Lord Danvers gave him egress by means
of the keys which he carried in his hand;
and when they reached the threshold of the
outer gate the ruined merchant said in a
grave tone, "Farewell, my lord. I can
scarcely—no, I cannot even force myself to
give utterance to a single syllable of grati-
tude for the freedom to which you have re-
stored me!"
Lord Danvers merely said "Farewell,"
and stood at the outer gate of his castle
watching the retreating form of the old man
as he took the pathway leading into the in-
terior of the island.


THE NECROMANCER.
211
CHAPTER XLVI.
SCENES IX LOMBARD STREET.
We must now again transport the reader
to Master Landini's establishment in Lom-
bard street. It was a week afier the inci-
dents recorded in the preceding chapters, and
therefore now the end of August.
At about three o'clock in the afternoon, as
Mark was closeted with his uncle in the pri-
vate office behind the counting-house, one of
the clerks threw open the door, exclaiming,
"Lord Reginald Danvers!"
Both the uncle and nephew started at this
announcement, being struck with the idea
that there was some error in the Christian
name; and ere they could well recover from
the astonishment into which they were thrown,
We visiter himself, passing into the office,
appeared in their presence. Old Landini
doffed the black velvet cap which he habitu-
ally wore, and made a low obeisance; while
Mark testified his respect, and also endea-
voured to conceal his confusion by bowing
profoundly. z
But still an expression of surprise and
curiosity lingered upon the countenances of
the old banker and his nephew, when, raising
their looks again, they took a more attentive
survey of that tall elegant youth about eigh-
teen years of age, and not merely of the
most perfect beauty, but likewise of a beauty
in the peculiar style'which seemed hereditary
amongst the race of Danvers. Still, however,
they tried to conceal their astonishment as
much as possible, lest they should appear
rude in staring too intently upon their noble
visiter.
"I have the pleasure of making acquain-
tance with worthy Master Landini, I pre-
sume?" said Lord Reginald, extending his
hand with the most affable condescension
towards the old man.
"I am your lordship's obedient servant,"
was the response, accompanied by another
low salutation. "This, my lord, is my
nephew Mark—my assistant in the business
—my heir—and I might almost say, my
adopted son."
"I have heard you both most admirably
spoken of by my cousin the deceased Lord
Lionel," said Danvers, who, having shaken
the old banker by the hand, now bestowed
th.D same mark of friendship upon the nephew.
"Ah!" excUiiued the eluer Landini, put-
ting on a most mournful expression of coun-
tenance: "is my excellent patron Lord Lio-
nel indeed no mere 3"
"He is no more," rejoined Lord Reginald;
"be exists no longer. Some ten days back,
when on a visit to a friend in Hampshire, he
experienced a fall from his horse, and recei-
ved such severe injuries that they proved fata,
in a few hours." *
"And your lordship was with your noble
kinsman at the time?" said the elder Lan-
dini, interrogatively.
"I was staying at the same friend's house,
but was not riding out with my cousin on the
occasipn of his accident. Conceive my hoi-
ror and dismay when he was brought to the
dwelling, in a dying state, by some peasants
who had picked him up!"
"It is most lamentable, my lord I" said old
Landini. "But pardon me—it is somewhat
strange that his lordship never mentioned in
my hearing the existence of a cousin"
"Until very lately—indeed till within the
last month," interrupted Reginald, with all
the ingenuousness and frankness of youth,
"we were much estranged from each other;
but it is a happy reflection for me that, since
Heaven willed that my cousin's fate should
be so near at hand, circumstances brought us
together at last and made us friends. And
now, perhaps, I should inform you, Master
Landini, that I am the only son of a younger
brother of Lord Humphrey Danvers, who, as
you are aware, was the father of Lord I io-
nel."
"I never heard, my lord, until now," re-
sponded Landini, speaking with the pro-
foundest respect, and by no means doubt-
ingly, "that Lord Humphrey h id any brother
at all."
"Yet you see that it was so," observed
Reginald, with a look and tone of the most
affable frankness. "Here are all the papers
requisite to prove my claims and substantiate
my identity. I have this day been to his
Eminence Cardinal Wolsey, and have sub-
mitted those documents to his perusal. The
peerage will therefore be mine on the attain-
ment of my majority; it is indeed mine al-
ready—except the power to take my seat,
were I so disposed, amongst the Barons of the
realm. In respect to the castles and estates,
those are all hereditary, and therefore mine
by right; and with reference to whatsoever
sums of money may be in your hands, to
those also can I substantiate my claim—for
in his last moments Lord Lionel signed a
document enjoining you to hold the same for
my account and benefit, and subject to my
disposal."
Thus speaking, Reginald Danvers drew
forth a packet of papers from the folds of his
doublet, and tossed them upon the table. He
then threw himself carelessly upon a seat,
and with a motion of the hand indicated that
Landini was to peruse them. The old man
accordingly sat down at his desk and looked
over the documents, all of which he found to
be perfectly exact and accurate in their nature
and details.
"Mv lord," he said at length, turning to


THE NECR
OMANCER.
wards the youthful noWe—for youthful we
must call him, inasmuch as so he seemed ;—
"as a matter of course your lordship's word
would have been sufficient for me; but in the
ordinary way of business it was necessary to
cast an eye over these papers which your
lordship has done me the honour to submit to
me^ Whne deeply' deploring the untimely
death of my excellent patron and friend Lord
Lionel, I may nevertheless without affecta-
tion congratulate your lordship on having
succeeded to the proud title and immense
wealth of your deceased kinsman."
As he thus spoke, the elder Landini assu-
med a demeanour so profoundly respectful,
and his accents seemed so full of sincerity,
that it was scarcely possible to imagine be
cherished in his heart so implacable a ven-
geance against the bearers of the name of
Danvers.
* I thank you, Master Landini, for your
felicitations," replied Reginald; "and I has-
ten to inform you that my deceased cousin
Lionel, in his last moments, spoke of you in
the highest terms. It is therefore my wish
that you should continue as the banker and
agent for my English as well as my Conti-
nental revenues. Indeed, I seek to introduce
no change into the arrangements as they
have hitherto stood between yourself and my
kinsman Lionel."
"My lord, I thank you for this mark of
confidence and kindness on your part," said
old Landini. "But 1 must inform your lord-
ship that in pursuance of instructions given
by your late cousin, I have begun to invest
the surplus capital amassed in my hands, in
such enterprises where it may be usefully and
safely employed, productive of good interest,
and"
"In all these respects I leave myself en-
tirely at your disposal," interrupted Lord
Reginald. "It is my intention to return to
the Continent forthwith -"
"Like your ancestors, then, my lord," re-
marked the old banker, "you entertain no
particular affection for England I" .
"I prefer the Continent," answered Regi-
nald, carelessly, "where I have passed the
greater portion of my life."
"Your lordship must have been in con-
stant communion with English persons,"
said the banker, "to be enabled to speak our
language so fluently."
"From the time that I was eight until
twelve I was educated in England," re-
joined the young noble ; " and I have always
had English domestics in attendance upon
me, and several English friends constantly
staying with me in France."
"Does your lordship purpose to make a
long stay abroad?" inquired the old man.
"According to my present ideas I shall
visit England only from time to time, in
order to confer with you respecting such
business matters as you may have to submit
to me."
"That will be necessary, my lord, conside-
ring the various ways in which your capital
is to be laid out. But may I venture to sug-
gest that your lordship will continue the
same plan which your deceased kinsman
commenced some months back—I mean the
concentration of all your surplus revenues in
my hands; for, looking at the troubled state
of the Continent, and the probability of wars
between France and Germany—"
"Again I assure you, Master Landini,"
interrupted Reginald, "that I shall in no
way deviate from the course pursued by Lord
Lionel."
At this moment Mark, who had quitted
the private office at the time his uncle was in
the midst of perusing the papers, came back,
followed by a domestic bearing a massive
silver salver covered with choice wines, fruits,
and other light refreshments, of which Lord
Reginald was most respectfully invited to
partake.
"I will cheerfully drink a cup of wine to
our better acquaintance," was the young
noble's response j and having done so, he
rose to take his departure.
"Shall we have the pleasure of seeing
your lordship again ere you leave England V
asked the banker. "There are certain docu-
ments which your lordship should sign, em-
powering me to make use of your lordship's
moneys in the same manner as I have hith-
erto done in respect to your predecessors."
"Let what papers you deem necessary be
got in readiness at once," exclaimed Regi-
nald; "and to morrow at noon I will call to
affix my signature unto them. Meantime I
bid you farewell."
The youthful noble thereupon took his de-
parture, attended to the outer door of the
establishment by the obsequious old man and
his nephew. They stood regarding him as
he passed slowly down the street; and they
could not help noticing to each other the ex-
ceeding elegance of his figure, the grace of
his movements, and the effect which his
appearance produced upon all who passed
him by. Indeed, it was impossible to observe
that youth of such exquisite beauty without
turning round to regard him more atten-
tively.
"Now, my dear nephew," said the old
banker, when he and Mark were once more
alone together in the private office, "the day
of our vengeance is nearer at hand than even
an hour ago we could possibly have hoped or
expected. The premature death of Lord
Lionel is a fortunate event for us; inasmuch
as he was shrewd and keen, and it would
have required a most wondrous amount of
caution as well as artifice and duplicity, to
have carried out our aims towards him with
the fullest success. But with this vouth it


THE NECROMANCER.
will be different! A stripling in years, he
has but little experience of the world, and
in those financial affairs which 'will now
beyond all doubt become the means of con-
summating our vengeance."
"Is it not strange, uncle," said Mark,
"that we never before heard of this kinsman
of Lord Lionel!"''
"The circumstance itself is not strange,
nephew," exclaimed the old man: "but it is
the character of all these Danvers which is
strange! Sometimes an unaccountable re-
serve, and n most mysterious suppression of
even those trivial little incidents which are
wont to be revealed in ordinary conversation
-—sometimes an equally singular appearance
of bestowing a confidence that is unasked—
such are the characteristics of every scion of
the Danvers family!"
The uncle and nephew pursued the theme
of their discourse in this manner for some
little time longer, until the hour came for the
jewel-workers and the clerks to withdraw, and
the establishment to close for the evening.
Shortly after dusk a summons at the front
door was heard; and the female servant who
answered it, announced to the Landinis that
an old man who refused to give his name, but
who said that he had come upon important
business, requested an interview. The uncle
and nephew were seated at the time in an
upper apartment, and had just finished the
evening meal; they accordingly directed the
servant to introduce the visiter to their pre-
sence. The command was promptly obeyed;
and an old man, shabbily attired and with a
sinister countenance, was ushered into the
room. At once did the two Landinis recog-
nize him as a person whom they had seen
before, but of whom they had a very dim re-
collection—at all events not sufficient to
make them receive him with any degree of
welcome.
"What is your business?" inquired the
uncle, somewhat sharply. "Your face is not
altogether unfamiliar to me——"
"I have taken the liberty of calling from
time to time at your establishment," was the
response given by the old and ill-looking
visiter, "to ask a certain question, to which
however I have on no occasion received a
satisfactory answer."
"I recollect!" exclaimed Mark. "Your
inquiries have been relative to Lord Danvers 1
—and if my memory serves me aright, you
never gave your name nor even stated for
what business you sought our noble patron.
Under such circumstances, how could you
expect that either my uncle or myself, or any
of the persons in our employment, would an-
swer your queries? Therefore, if it be with
the same object that you are now come
hither, the information you will obtain is not
likely to be of a more satisfactory character
than on former occasions."
14
. "I come not upon my old errand," replied
the visiter. "Indeed," he added, with s
cunning smile, " I have recently heard some-
thing of Lord Danvers . Perhaps more
than he himself has chosen to communicate
to you."
"Ah I" ejaculated the elder Landini. "And'
is it with a view of imparting to us your
knowledge on this head that you have come
hither now V
"Have I not positively declared that mf
business has no reference to Lord Danvers
nor his aTairs?" returned the man gruffly.
"Then what has brought you hither ?**
demanded the old banker in a sharp tone.
"If you grant me your patience for a fe*;
minutes, I will explain myself," responded
the visiter, as he took a chair though un-
bidden. "Pardon me if I make thus free to
sit down in your presence; but perhaps my
very freedom is not an altogether unnecessary
rebuke for your want of courtesy in keeping
an old man like me standing thus."
"One would think," exclaimed the banker
in an angry voice, "that you were our very
best patron by the airs which you give your-
self. However, I am listening, and await
such explanations as you may have to afford.
In short, what would you with me?"
"You bear the repute. Master Landini,"
rejoined the shabbily-dressed and ill-mannered
visiter, "of being the most eminent dealer in
precious stones in all London; and as cir-
cumstances have thrown in my way some
diamonds which strike me as being of wolc
drous brilliancy, I thought it best to come at
once to you and see if you were disposed to
purchase them."
"It is a rare thing, though," said the elder
Landini, satirically, "for circumstances to
throw such things in a poor man's way; and
therefore I would rather have nothing to* do
with the matter."
"You fancy that they were stolen, then?"
said the visiter, with a sort of grim smile.
"I think it not unlikely," rejoined the old
banker drily; "and therefore the sooner yoo
depart from my house the better."
"But you are mistaken, Master Landini,"
said the visiter, not offering to move from his
chair. "I was of course prepared for your
suspicions, and likewise to answer any ques-
tions that might be put to me."
"Then what account can you give of the
diamonds which you allege to have fallec
into your possession V demanded the banker.
"Speak quickly, and also with frankness—if
you can."
"I must begin by informing you, Master
Landini," proceeded the stranger, "that I
live in a house situated on the bank of the
river, and a portion of which actually over-
hangs the water, being supported on piles
Now, I noticed this morning that there was s
crack in the wall of one of the rooms in the
/-


214
THE NECROMANCER.
i
overhanging part of the building; and it
■truck me that the piles might possibly be
giving way. Therefore, when the tide was
out, I descended the bank to examine the
woodwork which supports that part of my
house of which I am speaking. The water
had ebbed so low that the ground from which
the piles shoot up was left hare; and while
gioping about to examine the state of those
huge wooden posts, I observed something
like a small box or casket. I picked it up,
and found it to be indeed a casket, tied round
with a hit of ribbon. On opening my prize
to see what it contained, I was astonished to
find it filled with precious stones, all beauti-
fully set in jewellery for a lady's ornaments.
Perhaps you may blame me," added the visi-
tor, with a cunning leer, "for not taking the
casket to the Lord Mayor or the City Mar-
shal, so that proclamation may be made invi-
tifig the owner to coine forward; but me-
thuiks that it were more discreet and prudent
to* avail my own especial self of this signal
bounty of fortune."
"Let me see the diamonds," said the elder
Landini. "But first, before I have any
Hung to do with them, tell me where you
live and what your name is, as a guarantee
of good faith in respect to the story you have
just related."
"Yes—if you agree to purchase the dia-
monds," answered the visiter; "otherwise it
will be useless for me to enter into further
ietails."
"Well, well—then be it as you will," said
the elder Landini, not choosing to let the
opportunity of driving a good bargain slip
through his fingers. "Where are these dia-
monds?"
The shabbily-attired old man thrust his
hand into the bosom of his sordid and greasy
jerkin, and drew forth a parcel enveloped in
a dirty rag. This rag he deliberately took
off, observing the while, "I have carefully
washed away the mud and slime from the
tasket, both inside and out; and though the
velvet lining is all soiled and damaged, and
indeed still damp, yet the jewellery itself is
t ninjured and the gems are perfect."
At this moment he had completely taken
slf 'he rag, and the casket was thus revealed
to iae eyes of both the uncle and nephew.
"Ah!" ejaculated Mark, completely thrown
off his guard as he at once recognised
the casket; "the diamonds which Lionel
Danvers"
"Danvers! Danvers!" echoed the visiter,
starting up from his seat, the sudden mention
of the name at that moment producing a
magical effect upon him; "what has this
casket to do with Danvers? wherefore did
the first glimpse of it instantly recall him to
your mind?"
A glance from the elder Landini, rapidly
Jirown across the table, had already reproved
Mark for his indiscretion in letting drop that
name ; and the nephew bit his lip with vexa-
tion at his fault.
« Let me see the diamonds," said the elder
Landini, extending his hand to receive the
casket; then, as he opened the lid and threw
his eyes upon them, a certain" expression
which flitted across his countenance at the
instant, confirmed his nephew's suspicions
that these were the very diamonds which
Lionel Danvers had some months back pur-
chased at their establishment, and which had
subsequently been repaired for Mistress Mu-
sidora Sinclair, when she visited Lombard
street in company with Lord and Lady Gran-
tham.
'" Ye both know that casket? ye recognize
these diamonds?" exclaimed the shabbily-
dressed old man who had brought them;
and he glanced rapidly from the uncle to the
nephew, and back again to the uncle as he
spoke. "But what connexion have they
with Lord Danvers? Again I ask how they
reminded you of him? Speak! You must
tell me! Every thing that relates to Danvers
is of consequence to me."
"First let us ask," said the elder Landini,
"what is the meaning of all this excitement
on your part, and how is it that you are so
deeply interested in the affairs of Lord Dan-
vers?"
"Perhaps I have shown too much excite-
ment," said the visiter, now evidently angry
with himself at having been hurried away by
his feelings; "and perhaps too on account
of that very excitement, you will now renisa
to answer the questions I have put?"
"Methinks there is in all this some reason
and motive for mutual confidences," observed
the elder Landini, speaking with the slow
deliberation of a man who weighs every word
as he utters it. "Come—deal frankly with
us, and say wherefore you are so inteiested in
the movements and proceedings of Lord
Danvers?"
"Would'st thou know wherefore I have
sought Lord Lionel Danvers—wherefore I
have inquired about him from time to time?"
said the visiter, a cloud gathering and deep-
ening over his features. "But, no!" he
suddenly ejaculated; "not to ^w, the agent
—the banker—the friend of Lord Lionel
Danvers, must any explanation be given!
Let us change the discourse. In a word,
tell me—will you purchase my diamonds or
not?"
"You speak of Lord Lionel Danvers," an-
swered the elder Landini, not heeding the
old man's last questions; "perhaps you are
unaware, then, that Lord Lionel is no more,
and that Lord Reginald is the present beam
of the title?"
"What! Lionel Danvers dead?" exclaimed
the visiter. "When did this take place? It
is barely three weeks since I saw a voung


THE NECROMANCER. 215
man who told me much about him, but whom
I have not seen since, though he promised
great things, and —"
Here he checked himself, for he was mu-
sing audibly rather than purposely addressing
his observations to the uncle and nephew.
"The intelligence I have just given you is
correct," said the elder Landini. "Lord
Lionel is no more: he died ten days ago—
and his kinsman Reginald, » mere youth of
eighteen, has succeeded him."
"How and where did Lionel Danvers
die 7" demanded the old visiter.
"He was killed by a fall from his horse,
when staying with a friend in Hampshire.
But now," added the old banker, "I have
answered you diver? questions; and it is
your turn to answer mine. Perhaps, how-
ever, you have no longer any interest in the
family of Danvers, now that he whom you
have been wont to inquire for is no more?"
"Yes—I am as interested in the move-
ment* and proceedings of this youthful Lord
Reginald, as ever I was in those of Lord
Lionel."
At this answer the two Landinis surveyed
I im who gave it with an earnest and fixed
attention; and then they exchanged a rapid
glance with each other, expressive of aston-
ishment and also of a suspicion which had
sprung up in their minds.
"Perhaps," said the elder Landini, ad-
dressing himself to the visiter, "you think I
am too friendly disposed towards every one
bearing the name of Danvers to be entrusted
with your secrets. But what if I have al-
ready, to some extent, penetrated those se-
crets ?—what if it has struck me that you or
your family have in some way been injured
by a scion of the house of Danvers, and that
you are either seeking for redress or an op-
portunity of vengeance ?—and what if I were
to solemnly and sacredly declare that, should
you give me your confidence, I will not be-
tray it:"
There was something in the look and also
in the tone of the elder Landini, as he thus
spoke, which made the visiter observe,
"Perhaps you, then, after all, are not so
friendly with the Danvers' family as the world
believes?"
"I see that we are drawing nearer and
nearer towards each other," remarked the
old banker, "and touching upon the thresh-
old of confidence. Stay—I will give you
some encouragement to proceed! Has the
whisper never reached you that an ancestress
of mine suffered some grievous wrong at the
hands of a scion of the house of Danvers?"
"Ah! is it possible?" ejaculated the old
visiter, with a strange expression of counte-
nance. "No—such a rumour never did reach
mine ears! And yet, if what you say be
true—or rather if what you have hinted at
did really happen—there is indeed something
in our respective circumstances which may
lead to mutual confidence."
"It is for you to give a proof of your desire
for such interchange of confidential revea-
lings," observed the old banker; and he
looked his visiter full in the face with an ex-
pression which was as much as to imply that
the hint he had thrown out relative to an an-
cestress of his own was indeed the truth.
"Did you ever hear of a tale of Cumber-
land, in which the name of Dunhaven figu-
red '" asked the visiter.
« Yes—some whispering rumour of that
wild legend was wafted to my ears when I
was a mere youth," responded the old banker;
"but never could I glean the particulars
thereof—no, nor even assure myself that it
was otherwise than a mere fiction."
"It was a truth—a solemn truth," ex-
claimed the visiter; "and my name is Dun-
haven."
"Then it is vengeance you seek against
the family of Danvers?" asked old Landini,
literally trembling from head to foot with the
violence of his feelings.
"Yes—vengeance!—the deepest, darkest,
most implacable vengeance!" rejoined Dun-
haven, his eyes flashing back the same malig-
nant look that had shot from those of the
elder banker.
"Then, so far from your having aught to
dread at my hands, you have every succour
to look for. We are friends!"—and Ales-
sandro Landini grasped the hand of the old
dweller in Deadman's Place. "Now let me
give you a word of explanation," he con-
tinued. "So long as Lord Lionel was alive,
vainly might you have called time after time
at this establishment to seek information con-
cerning him; for he was a man whose keen-
ness I dreaded, and in respect to whom I
knew that the utmost precaution, care, and
prudence were necessary. But now that the
name of Danvers is borne by a stripling—a
mere boy of inexperience, and indeed of un-
sophisticated frankness—a child in the ways
of the world, suspecting nothing, but full of
confidence—it is different; and I no longer
feel the same dread to step beyond the narrow
circle of that reserve which I and my nephew
had drawn around all our actions in respect
to Lionel Danvers."
At this moment the door opened* and the
female servant entered to announce that Mas-
ter Manners, the once eminent merchant,
requested an immediate interview with Mas-
ter Landini.
"Ah, this is strange!" muttered the elder
banker to himself. "Usher him hither at
once," he said to the domestic; then turning
towards Dunhaven, as soon as she had retired,
he observed, "He who is now coming has
likewise suffered an irreparable wrong from a
scion of that same family whence the woes of
your ancestress and mine alike emanated"'
S


216
THE NECROMANCER.
Scarcely we#e these words spoken, when
•Id Manners entered the room. On percei-
ving a stranger in company with the banker
and his nephew, he stopped short and seemed
fearful of intruding; but the elder Landini,
hastening forward to greet him, exclaimed,
"You have come at a singular crisis, Mas-
ter Manners, and your presence is very far
from amiss. But say—have you found your
daughter Clara? have you learnt her fate!
Know you what has become of her V
"I know that Lord Lionel Danvers was a
vile seducer and a base cowardly villain,"
responded the ruined merchant, with ener-
getic tones and gesticulations; "and were it
not that the snows of age have fallen thickly
upon my head, and my limbs are frail and
feeble, and my strength well nigh worn out, I
would avenge the wrongs of my lost Clara
even upon the kinsman of her seducer—yes,
even, I say, upon that youth who now bears
the name of Danvers!"
"Ah! then you have learnt tha*t Lord
Lionel is no more!" said the banker, inqui-
ringly.
"A week only has elapsed," answered
Manners, "since I was delivered by the
youthful Reginald from a fearful captivity, to
which Lord Lionel had consigned me. It
was at his castle, in the Isle of Wight,
whither I was borne by magic means, and
where I was fed by the invisible hand of en-
chantment."
f What mean you ?" asked the old banker,
who, as well as Dunhaven and Mark, sur-
veyed the ruined merchant with mingled as-
tonishment and curiosity.
"How can I tell my tale to you, Master
Landini, if you be the friend of this accursed
race of Danvers V—and old Manners ges-
ticulated vehemently as he spoke. "Still,
after all, 'tis but right to do so; and yet"
"Wherefore have you sought me this
night V asked the banker as the ruined mer-
chant stopped short abruptly.
"I scarcely know—I cannot altogether ac-
count for the feeling which prompted me to
bend my steps hither. When liberated from
captivity, seven days back, I had fortunately
gold in my pocket—gold which was given to
me by a royal hand some months ago. J
therefore possessed the means not only of
sustaining life, but likewise of procuring a
sti ed to save my weary limbs from a sore
travel. To be brief, from the Isle of Wight
did I take my way to a mansion near Green-
wich, where I had experienced hospitality
and kindness before. I obtained an inter-
view of the fair and excellent lady whose
name must ever be mingled with my prayers;
and she gave me her sweetest sympathy as
she listened to the recital of the fresh wrongs
I had experienced. I told her all that had
occurred to me since last I beheld her beau-
teous face; I told her also that Lord Lionel
was no more, and that his kinsman. Lord
Reginald had succeeded him. Ah! she was
moved—aye, even much moved—by every.,
thing that I said; she pitied me deeply h
She gave me gold, too; and therefore, Mas-
ter Landini, it is not as a beggar that I have
sought you now. But on leaving that lady
of whom I have spoken, and on bending my
steps to London, metbought that as you are so
intimately connected with the family of Dan*
vers, it were not amiss to afford you a further
proof of what an accursed race it is. You
know, Master Landini, the details connected
with the loves of Lionel and Clara—you
know also my poor girl's sudden flight and'
disappearance—you have likewise shown me
some sympathy, and have even given me
gold at times; and therefore it was, perhaps,
with these circumstances in my mind that I
was impelled to visit you once more—to:
communicate all that has befallen me—all
the fresh injuries I have endured from the
hated Lionel, since I saw you last!"
"My worthy friend," said the old banker,'
taking the hand of the ruined merchant. « 1
felt assured it was some'hing more than a
bare coincidence which brought you hither
now. This is an evening of mighty impor-
tance to all who are at present assembled
here; and it must be an evening of fullest
and completest revelations. Let us sit down,
and explain to each other those things which
are desirable to be known, and concerning
which there need be no farther reserve nor.
secresy on the part of any one of us towards
the others. For, believe me, the hour of
vengeance is not far distant!"
Both Manners and Dunhaven, as well ay, ,
Mark, gazed with a sort of grim exultation
upon the old banker as he thus spoke; and.
then they all sat down at the table—the
ruined merchant, the dweller in DeadmanV
Place, the wealthy goldsmith of Lombard
street, and the acknowledged heir to his.
wealth! Yes, these four 6at down together
to engage in earnest and solemn discourse—-
to enter into mutual explanations relative to
the wrongs which they cherished—and to.
deliberate upon schemes of vengeance.
CHAPTER XLVII.
REGINALD SAITVXBS. ,
i'
It was not till midnight that the con
rence broke up; and at that hour old Mat
ners and Dunhaven took their leave of th.,
Landinis and issued forth into Lombard
street. They continued their way together
towards London Bridge, conversing as they,
went along. .„
It was a beautiful clear night, and the;
blended lustre of moon and stars flooded the


THE NECROMANCER.
217
ir with argentine splendour. The Thames
*hone like quicksilver as the two old men
paused upon the bridge to contemplate the
scene. But how different that scene then,
from the spectacle which the mighty me-
tropolis affords at the present day to the eye
of the observer similarly placed, at a like
hour, and when the heavens are bright and
cloudless! In those days there was no mi->
raculously crowded assemblage of buildings,
covering either bank far as the eye could
reach, and from the midst of which a thou-
sand towers, and pinnacles, and spires shoot
upwards in all the varieties of architecture;
but at that time of which we are writing, the
metropolis, in comparison with its extent and
grandeur of these days, was a mere collec-
tion of a few middle-sized houses and a
most disproportionate number of huts and
hovels. And yet it was great and grand to
the people of those times, and to the dwellers
within its precincts!
Old Manners and Dunhaven, we say, had
halted upon the bridge in a part where there
was an open space between the houses stan-
ding upon it; and they gazed for a few mi-
nutes in silence upon the river, which, eddy-
ing beneath the narrow arches, speedily grew
calm again and pursued its way in a tranquil
kut majestic volume. Soon, however, were
the thoughts of the two old men diverted
from the serene loveliness of the night; but
still wooed by it to remain there for a short
«pace longer, they began to discourse again—
and their conversation at once took up the
topic which they had previously been deba-
tin j. They thus reviewed all that had taken
place at Landini's house; they commented
upon every thing that had been said in res-
pect to the Danvers family ;—and theyglea-'
ted anew over the scheme which old Landini
had explained to them as the one he had al-
ready initiated some months back, and which
he now, intended more actively than ever to
carry out, in order to involve the fortunes of
the house of Danvers in unredeemable ruin.
It was natural that the two old men should
linger thus to converse with each other,
though at so late an hour. For all their
;deas, all their thoughts, all their hopes in-
deed, were concentrated in one focus; they
were animated only by one passion. Having
wrongs to avenge, every worldly concern was
now put aside to make room for the immen-
sity of this craving for vengeance which filled
their souls. It was natural, therefore, we
•epeat, that they should thus pause and
review, in all its details, the deliberations
which had just before taken place in Lom-
sard street.
For nearly half-an-hour did they remain
talking upon the bridge, ere they thought of
moving onward. Their path lay in the same
directum for a little while yet - inasmuch as
old Manners had stabled his horse and there
fore meant to take up his quarter j at a
tavern in Southwark. They accordingly
walked on together, until they reached the
foot of the bridge, where they stopped to ex-
change farewells; for this was the point when
old Dunhaven had to turn off to gain the
Sanctuary of Deadman's Place.
But still they had a few parting words to
, say relative to the already well-conned topic'
that was uppermost in their thoughts; and
so they lingered for a minute or two.
« Hush!" said Dunhaven, suddenly; " here
is some one approaching over the bridge!"
Old Manners accordingly stopped short in
the middle of the somewhat vehement re-
marks he was making at the instant, and
gazed in the direction of the bridge. Thence
a courtly-looking gallant was saunteringly
approaching. Even while he was yet at a
distance, Manners and Dunhaven could see
in the powerful moonlight that he was ele-
gantly dressed; for a tall sable plume waved
gracefully above his cap, and the diamond
clasp in which it was fixed reflected the
moonbeams in jets of fire. The gems upon'
the hilt of his rapier also gleamed brightly, as
did the other ornaments that decorated his
person. As he drew nearer still, they could
observe that he was tall, slender and exquis-
itely formed; and when still a little nearer,
they perceived that he was quite a young
man.
"Just Heaven!" suddenly whispered old
Manners, "'tis Reginald Danvers!"
"Ah! say you so 1" muttered Dunhaven
with a quick start; then in a low hissing
whisper, he added, "Perhaps the hour of'
vengeance has already come? Who can
tell !—it may be for as to wreak it, and not
for the Landinis?"
"The trap-door of which you spoke ere
now?" hurriedly suggested Manners.
"Aye—it were well to try if Reginald
bears a charmed life as his kinsman did;"—
and old Dunhaven's eyes twinkled with basi
lisk-like malignity.
•' Let us trust to circumstances," quickly
rejoined Manners, "and in the meantime
seem to be discoursing unconcernedly."
This little colloquy took place with excee-
ding rapidity; indeed it-was an exchange of
words so rapid that half their meaning was
conveyed as well by the looks of the speakers
as by the sentences so jerkingly and whiipe-
ringly spoken. They now affecltd U. ba
bidding each other farewell, and did not seem
to take any notice of Reginald Danvers' ap-
proach.
"Good citizens," said the young nobleman,
as he drew near, "can you tell me where I
may obtain a respectable lodgment for this
night—or rather the remainder of it
What? Master Manners f he ejaculated.


218
THE NECROMANCER.
witt. all tin' appearance of exceeding amaze-
ment; "is it indeed you whom I thus meet
again, and at such an hour?"
"Yen, my lord—it is I, your humble and
dutiful servant," answered the old merchant,
with a low bow and assuming a most re-
spectful demeanour. "Urgent business has
kept me and my friend here out thus late;
and we were at the moment bidding each
other farewell"
"And I also am abroad late, as you per-
ceive," said the youthful noble, laughing.
'• To confess the truth, I have spent the even-
ing with some gay gallants; and when I re-
fused to sit any longer over the wine-flask, I
could not induce one of them, either for
courtesy or for friendship, to conduct me to
the hostelry where I am lodging. It was an
oversight not to order my grooms to come
and fetch me at a given hour; hut I little
foresaw that my friends would leave me thus
to find my way about this maze of London as
best I might."
"And your wandering steps, my lord,
brought you to the bridge?" said Manners,
interrogatively.
"It was even so," answered Reginald, with
every appearance of youthful ingenuousness
and candour; then, as he took off his plumed
cap and pushed aside the raven locks that had
intruded somewhat over the high and noble
forehead above which they were parted, he
•aid, with an accent of pettishness, "How
f jolish of me to yield thus to the dissipation
of London! But it shall be for the last
time. My head aches, and I would that there
were some hostelry or tavern near where I
might retire to rest."
"Your lordship is therefore inexperienced
and strange in London!" said Dunhaven,
now addressing the young nobleman for the
first time.
"Yes—and hence this uncertain wande-
ring of mine," answered Reginald, as he
carelessly tossed his cap again upon his head.
"I know not what led me to cross the bridge,
unless it were that the fresh breeze of the
river fanned my heated cheeks and gave them
a refreshing coolness."
As he was thus speaking, Dunhaven and
Manners exchanged glances fraught with
significaney, but so rapid that it appeared
scarcely possible for Danvers to notice them.
But there was a world of meaning in those
glances; they seemed to say, "Here is this
artless, ingenuous, and inexperienced youth
in our hands—accident has thrown him into
our power—the present bearer of the hated
name of Danvers is at our mercy! Let us
strike the blow at once!"
"What could be done for his lordship?"
asked old Manners, as if compassionating
the awkward predicament in which the youth
was placed.
"It were vain to expect that any hostelry
will open its doors to a stranger at this time
of night," said Dunhaven, in response to the
ruined merchant's question.
"My lord," said Manners, addressing Regi-
nald in a serious tone, "although I have
little reason to feel sympathy for any one of
your race or name, yet am I friendly disposed
towards you now. I will even admit that
when we parted a week back, in the Isle of
Wight, my conduct was churlish and un-
grateful towards your lordship"
"Say not another word upon the point.
Master Manners!" interrupted Reginald, ta-
king the old man's hand and pressing it with
every appearance of the most frank-hearted
cordiality. "But," he exclaimed, as if sud-
denly recollecting something, "your friend
hero is not acquainted with all those circum-
stances?"
"Assuredly not, my lord," old Manners
hastened t> reply; and thus he who only a
few months back would have scorned to utter
a falsehood, and who had passed through a
long life in truthfulness and in sincerity, now
unhesitatingly and unblushingly proffered a
lie in response to Reginald's question—so
completely were all his better feelings ab-
sorbed in the hope of wreaking that ven-
geance whi.h he believed to be at band.
"My lord," said Dunhaven, again breaking
silence," house is close by—in this im-
mediate neighbourhood indeed—and though
somewhat dark and gloomily situate, is never-
theless such 9a an honest man need not blush
to acknowledge as his own. It appears that
your lordship is well acquainted with Master
Manners; and he will at once testify to the
truth of my assertion."
"Of a surety," rejoined the old merchant,
"the house is of the highest respectability."
"Do you m^art, worthy citizen," asked
Reginald, addressing himself to Dunhaven,
"that you are kind enough to offer me a
lodging for the urbt?"
"I do—if your fordship will accept it-"
"Aye—that will I right cheerfully!" ex-
claimed Danvers. 'And now lead on, for I
am almost dropping ",ith fatigue."
Old Dunhaven passed on in front, Man-
ners and Reginald following close behind.
The ruined merchant, frncying that he was
playing his part with wonderful astuteness
and cunning, kept ReginaH in conversation,
so that he might not observe too closely the
sombre aspect and repulsive *»atures of Dead-
man's Place, and thus take the alarm as the
little party turned into the sanctuary. And
the youthful noble seemed conpletely to fall
into tne snare, as he walked v ith a kind of
graceful indolence by the sidr of old Man-
ners, and chatted with an i tless gaiety,
through the midst of which th -e ran a cer-
tain languor, thus appearing t hear out hit
assertion that he was very much . earied. H
a few minutes they reached thi <ouse ov■ •


THE NECROMANCER. 2111
hanging the river, and passing down the sta-
ble yard were at once admitted by old Dun-
haven,, who had the door-key about his per-
son. Having escorted his two guests—for
Manners, be it observed, had never in his life
been there before—into the sordid-looking
and mean little apartment, Dunhaven lighted
a lamp, and bustled about to produce a flask
of wine, so as to divert Reginald's attention
as much as possible from the repulsive aspect
of the place.
But the youthful noble, leaning against
the wall, yawned and rubbed his eyelids as
if overcome by sleepiness, and therefore too
tired and drowsy to pay particular attention
to his host's quarters.
"One goblet of wine, my lord," said Dun-
haven, as he presented a brimming cup to the
young nobleman.
"Well, just one draught, that I may pledge
thee in gratitude for the rites of hospitality
which thou art affording me; and then I
pray thee that I may be conducted to some
place where I can stretch my limbs, no matter
whether upon mattrass or straw."
Having thus spoken, Reginald drank a
portion of the wine which Dunhaven prof-
fered; and the latter taking up the lamp,
slid, "Now, my lord, I will conduct you to a
chamber which in itself is comfortable enough,
and must not be forejudged by its approaches;
for I warn your lordship that you will have to
pass through an entrance-way but little invi-
ting."
"What matters it, so long as 'he accom-
modations to which your entrar- t way leads,
be good!" asked Reginald, in a still more
languid voice, and with a more sleepy look
than before. "Proceed, I pray thee, good
citizen."
Dunhaven accordingly went first, Reginald
Danvers following close behind him.
"I will bring this flask and the goblet,"
exclaimed old Manners, " in case his lordship
should be athirst during the night;"—and
with this pretext for accompanying the others,
he brought up the rear.
They traversed the narrow passage, and
entered the room with which it communica-
ted. As before described, it had no window,
was totally denuded of furniture, and its
walls were green and mildewed with the
damp. Old Manners halted upon the thres-
hold; for from what Dunhaven had said at
the Landinis' house, he was already aware
of the existence of the trap-door and the
mode of its operation. He accordingly re-
mained in the doorway to be safe from dan-
ger, and also to gloat his eyes with the spec-
tacle of vengeance which he believed about
to be consummated. Nor had he, any more
than Dunhaven, the slightest sentiment of
•ity for that beautiful youth—no, nor the
faintest remorse for the crime which was
sow meditated!
Immediately on entering the room, Dun-
haven advanced in such a way that as Regi-
nald followed him, the latter was just in the
middle of the treacherous trap-door, when
Dunhaven exclaimed, " Halt there a moment
my lord!" r i
Instinctively, as it appeared, Reginald did
stop short—as a stranger under such circum-
stances might be supposed to do at the Mi-
ding of a host who was conducting him
Then, quick as lightning, Dunhaven wheeled
round—a couple of steps brought him close
up to the wall, and swift as the eye can
wink, he pressed the iron knob into the ma-
sonry.
The hidden mechanism failed not to do it*
work—the effect was instantaneous—and the
trap-door, tilting vertically half upward and
half downward on its axle, suddenly made a
frightful chasm in the floor. But what words
can depict the consternation and amazement
that all in a moment seized upon Manners
and Dunhaven, when, instead of being pre-
cipitated into the gulf below, the youth with a
light spring gained the solid part of the floor-
ing at the very instant that be felt the trap-
door falling beneath his feet!
It was done so quickly that the eye could
not follow the movement; it was done, too,
with scarcely an effort—certainly with no
struggle, much less with any desperate exer-
tion. All in a moment his feigned sleepiness
and languor had been cast off; all in a mo-
ment, too, his looks changed from the in-
genuousness and confidence of an unsuspect-
ing youth, into the fierce indignation mingled
with the haughty scom of a true Danvers.
Bitter too, and mocking, was the laugh
which broke from his lips as he bent his bril-
liant eyes first upon Dunhaven, then upon
Manners—so that his looks seemed to wither
them up with a blighting, blasting, scorching
effect . There was the power of annihilation
in those looks! i
"Wretched old dotards—vile grovelling
fools!" he exclaimed, in a voice that Was
rather sardonically taunting than fiercely
irate; "thought ye thus to accomplish your
black treachery? But it is time that 1 should
rid myself of my enemies. I sought to let ye
live—I was willing to spare ye—I wanted not
the lives of such drivelling imbeciles as yet
But ye would not let me be merciful! Ye
thought the farce ye were playing was good;
but mine was better still—for while ye aimed
but at outwitting one, I was outwitting two S
Miserable dotards, all your conversation on
the bridge was heard by me. Accident
willed that I should be passing that way at
the moment when ye loitered to review the
schemes propounded at Landini's. Yes—I
heard it all, and chuckled inwardly to thine
how ye would be baffled. But enough of
words! It is deeds now that are requii I
s


220
THE NECROMANCER.
and all enemies must disappear from my
path!"
, So terrible grew the looks of Reginald
Danvers as he gave utterance to the last syl-
lables of his speech—such fires flashed from
Ip.s eyes—such lightnings played around his
(rows—such satanic malice wreathed his rich
»ed lips—and such a Lucifer-like vengeance
seemed to inspire his whole dilating form—
^hat the two wretched old men simultane-
ously fell upon their knees, while the lamp
dropped from Dunhaven's hand and was
instantaneously extinguished.
The awful work that was then done, took
not long to do; but it was horrible—most
horrible—in that profound and pitchy dark-
ness! No cry betrayed the anguish, terror,
and despair of the two old men, as they felt
themselves in the power of the fiend-like
Danvers; a spell was upon their lips during
the few brief moments which followed the
•xtinction of the lamp ere they themselves
were plunged into a darkness deeper still—
the darkness of death! For there was first
ene heavy plunge in the deep water—another
immediately followed; then the trap-door fell
Into its place again—and all was over!
A few moments afterwards, Reginald Dan-
ters passed out of the house with a scornful
iniile of malignant triumph upon his counte-
nance, which thus beamed with a wild and
fearful beauty, as emerging from Deadman's
Place he again passed into the pure efful-
gence of the moonlight.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
TUi SKTUBiT.
A tear bad elapsed since the occurrences
last mentioned; and it was now the close of
the month of August, 1517. One evening,
within about xn hour of sunset, old Sir Lewis
(Sinclair, supported between Dr. Bertram and
Percy Rivers, descended the sloping path
leading from the eminence on which his
mansion stood down to the shore immedi-
ately facing the Hampshire coast. The wor-
thy knight was feeble in limbs, broken in
health, and getting childish in intellect. His
temper had become nervous and irritable, the
Jesuits of habiti'al intemperance; but of Dr.
Bertram he ever stood in awe, and allowed
tyiat individual to domineer over him without
daring to exhibit the slightest will of his own.
. Oftentimes, during the past year, had
Percy Rivers endeavoured to rescue his uncle
from the evil companionship of the physician;
but al the measures he had taken to that
effect, had tailed. The doctor felt himself in
loo comfortable a position at Sinclair House
V abandon his quarters; and thus so far as
ne »v concerned, neither threats nor offers
of bribery on the part of Rivers could induce
him to depart elsewhere. As for the old
knight himself, if Percy managed to obtain a
few minutes' private interview with him, and
endeavoured to persuade him to get rid of Dr.
Bertram, Sir Lewis would fly into a rage
with his nephew—bid him mind his own
business—or else accuse him of entertaining
interested motives by desiring to cause a
breach between himself and the doctor. Se-
veral times had Percy written to Musidora,
urgently representing the necessity of her re-
j turn home to take care of her father; but the
young lady's replies were always of a charac-
ter to postpone indefinitely the period of her
visit to Grantham Villa. She however evin-
ced by the tenour of her letters that she felt
deeply on behalf of her parent; and though
still remaining absent from home, she was
earnest in her exhortations that Percy would
visit Sinclair House as frequently as he could
and see that the old knight was well treated
and tenderly cared for.
Thus the year had passed; and now at
length the long absent daughter was expected
home again. She had written alike to her
father and to Percy Rivers, appointing the
time when she should once more set foot
in the Isle of Wight; and it was to meet her
on her landing that Sir Lewis was at present
being conducted to the shore by the doctor
and his nephew, as above described.
We have already said that it was within an
hour of sunset on an autumn evening, that
the knight was thus escorted by Percy Rivers
and his boon-companion to the beach. The
day had been sultry; but the evening was
fresh and beautiful. A gentle breeze swept
over the sea, slightly ruffling its surface, and
filling the sail of the ferry-boat, which was
already in sight Sir Lewis and his two
companions sat down upon the beach, watch-
ing the little vessel that was approaching;
and in the conversation that took place Percy
Rivers could not help observing that Dr.
Bertram now treated him with a respect and
friendliness as fawning and sycophantic as
his demeanour was wont to be rude, rough,
and repulsive. The truth was the return of
Musidora had filled the doctor with serious
misgivings as to the stability of his own posi-
tion at Sinclair House;' and he therefore
deemed it politic and prudent to conciliate
Percy Rivers as much as possible, in the hope
that the young Governor would not make to
Musidora any communications hostile to his
interests. Percy full well understood the mo-
tives which actuated Dr. Bertram in this
change of tone and manner towards him
but instead of being softened thereby, he
only experienced a deeper loathing and con-
tempt for the individual who could thus enact
the bull)' at one time and the parasite at
another. He accordingly treated the physi-
cian with the most chilling reserve; and the


THE NECROMANCER.
consequence was that the nearer the vessel
approached, the more uneasy did Bertram
grow in his mind.
• At length the ferry-boat touched the strand;
and Musidora from the deck waved her hand-
kerchief to those who were expecting her.
The planks, to facilitate her landing, were put
out, and in a few minutes she was clasped in
her father's arms. Long and fervent was the
embrace in which the young lady retained her
■ire; she wept too as she lavished upon him
the tenderest caresses ;—and by the endearing
words she uttered, as well as by her entire
manner towards her father, was it evident
that she strove to make up in her present
kindness for that prolonged absence from her
home which she felt was too unjustifiable not
to need every atonement she could offer. On
his side, the old man cried with childish
delight at welcoming his daughter again to
the little islet' of her birth; and though his!
nature was exceedingly selfish, as we have
hinted at the commencement of our tale, j
yet his increasing infirmities, his enfeebled
intellect, and his long separation from his
only child, all combined to make him feel
that her presence was necessary to soothe
and minister unto the wants of his old age.
When the first ebullitions of feeling atten-
dant upon this meeting on the part of the
father and daughter were over, Musidora
gave her hand to Percy Rivers with a more
affectionate cordiality than for years past she
had ever demonstrated towards him; and
with a look full of grateful meaning she
thanked him for all his kind endeavours to
promote her sire's happiness during her ab-
Mince. She then turned towards Dr. Ber-
tram; and to the surprise of Percy Rivers, as
well as to the mingled joy and triumph of the
physician, addressd him in terms of affable
friendliness. But then Musidora knew that
the doctor was too well acquainted with cer-
tain secrets regarding her, to render it safe or
p udent to convert him into an enemy*
Musidora was attended by the faithful
/ nnetta, and also by one of Lord Grantham's
p iges. The grooms in charge of the horses
v hich had borne the travelling party from
( reenwich to Portsmouth, had not of course
c ossed in' the ferry-boat,—their services be-
i) g no longer required when once the sea-
c mst of Hampshire was reached. With re-
f trd to Musidora, slight was the change that
I id taken place in her appearance during the
l ist year. Her countenance, always of mar-
t e paleness, might possibly be still a trifle
l tier—that is to say, of a less animated
I .irness than heretofore; and instead of that
\leam of a half-vanishing smile upon her
I ps, there was a settled expression of melan-
i loly. But it would have required a very
f:ose observer indueil to mark these trivial
• Sanges; yet that close observer was there
>imc nl| in th i person oi her cousin Rivers.
But if Sir Lewis Sinclair perceived not the
slightest alteration in his daughter's appea-
rance, she on the other hand was shocked
and afflicted at the change which she ob-
served in him. As the party ascended from
the beach towards Sinclair House,—the old
man being now supported by Musidora's
arm,—Percy Rivers noticed that the gaze of
the young lady was frequently fixed upon her
sire's countenance, and that a certain slight
quivering of the lips, a half-suppressed sigh,
and other little symptoms of uneasiness,
showed how much she felt at marking that
great and signal change. Moreover, these
symptoms of feeling on her side, though out-
wardly so slight, were in reality great and
important when it is considered how passion-
less her demeanour was wont to be, and how
little of what was passing in the depths of her
soul could ever be read in her inscrutable
countenance.
Then, too, as Percy Rivers, when unper-
ceived by his fair cousin, gazed upon her aa
she supported her father's tottering steps up
the pathway to the house—and as he contem-
plated those magnificent features and that
superb figure, all the beauty and youthful
freshness of which were still so brilliant and
striking,—he could not help wondering within
himself wherefore she had remained so long
absent from home, and what extraordinary
attractions Grantham Villa could have pre-
sented for one who by intellect and nature
was so elevated above the frivolities, the vani
ties, and the hollow enjoyments of aristocratic
life!
The sun was setting in the western hori-
zon, descending to its couch amidst curtains
of orange, and purple, and crimson, and gold,
—flinging its parting light in rich effulgence
upon the thick woodlands, and spreading a
ruddy glow over the gently rippling sea,—
when Musidora again entered the home of
her birth. The servants of the household
were all thronging in the hall to profler a
respectful welcome to their young mistress;
but they were far more numerous than when
she had left Sinclair House sixteen long
months back—and there were many stranger-
faces' amongst them; for in consequence of
his restoration to the Rangership and increa-
sed revenues, Sir Lewis had placed his esta-
blishment on its former footing of splendour.
To the old servants of the mansion Musidora
spoke with the most cordial kindness; to the
new ones she returned affable acknowledg-
ments for the greetings with which they wel-
comed her. The former were overjoyed if
the return of their well-beloved young lady.
the latter were much pleased with the de*
meanour of their mistress.
On conducting her father into the parlour
where the evening meal was already spread,
Musidora threw herself upon a sofa; and all
the iciness of her nature dissolving for a ma-
S


THE NECROMANCER.
ment beneath the influence of ineffable emo-
tions, she exclaimed, with a sudden paroxysm
of fervour, -' Thank Heaven, I am once more
at home!"
*' ifes, dear 'Dora," cried her father whim-
peringly, " and you shall not leave me again.
There have been times when I have missed
yon very much—much more than I expected
I should when you left me. But you have
romc back, my dear girl—and and
jive me a cup of wine, Bertram!"
"Wait, dear father, till you have partaken
of some solid food first," said Musidora: and
with a quick but commanding gesture she
motioned the too willing Bertram to desist
from pouring out the wine from the flask
which he had suddenly snatched up the
instant the words fell from the old knight's
lips. "Dr. Bertram, I am afraid, has been
too indulgent and too kind to you," continued
Musidora; "but now that I am come back I
shall alter all that. Indeed, my dear father,
you must henceforth listen to me. I am
going to be your nurse, and shall take you
entirely under my charge. You do not look
well; and I must see if I cannot have you
restored to your wonted health."
Musidora perceived that the countenance
of Percy Rivers brightened up at this display
of firmness on her part. On the other hand,
Dr. Bertram's looks had suddenly grown
dark and gloomy at that imperious gesture on
(he part of Musidora; but they somewhat
cleared up again as she went on to speak in
c kind and propitiatory tone of his indulgence
to her father. As for the old knight himself,
he gave vent to a tew pettish remonstrances
against being deprived of the liquor which he
craved; but finding that even his friend
Bertram yielded to Musidora's authority, he
himself could not do otherwise than submit.
They then all sat down to supper; and
during the meal Musidora took good care that
her father should not fall into any excess with
regard to wine. She allowed him a suffi-
ciency to cheer his spirits and put him in a
good humour, but resolutely refused to suffer
his goblet to be refilled when once the limit
of moderation was reached. Yet she pursued
this course with so much affectionate tender-
ness, saying so many kind things, and exerci-
s ng her influence rather through the medium
of gentle entreaty than the positive assump-
tion of authority, that the old knight yielded
to her wishes with a better grace than Percy
Rivers himself had anticipated. The result
of tms supper was that the first step was
taken by Musidora towards reclaiming her
father from the sottish habits into which he
had fallen during her long absence from
home; while Dr. Bertram was made to un-
derstand that his authority was no longer
dominant at Sinclair House.
When Percy Rivers took his leave that
evening, he said in a whisper to Musidora,
"You have begun well, fair cousin. Pray
continue in the same manner, and my uncle's
health may yet be restored. But methinks
that so long as a certain person is beneath
this roof, there will ever be the danger of a
relapse."
"Fear nothing on that head," replied Mu-
sidora, with firmness in her accents, though
speaking also in a whisper. "It would not
be politic to do any thing that should give too
rude a shock to my father's feelings; and
therefore I shall not immediately separate him
from his friend; but in less than a fortnight,
depend upon my assurance, Percy, that this
Dr. Bertram will no longer be an inmate of
Sinclair House."
And the promise which Musidora thus
made her cousin, was fulfilled. During the
first two weeks which followed her return
home, she gradually weaned her father as
much as possible from the pleasures of the
table. In the same affectionate manner which
she had adopted on the first evening of her
arrival, did she succeed in regulating the
quantity of his potations; and as the worthy
knight was of a temper by no means easy to
drive contrary to his inclinations, but on the
other hand facile to lead in silken strings,
Musidora's management progressed most fa
vourably. Thus, even within the lapse of a
couple of weeks, a marked improvement took
place in her sire's health, spirits, and intellect.
By rendering the companionship of Dr. Ber-
tram less necessary to him, and as it were
taking the physician's place in keeping the
old man's mind continuously amused, Musi
dora enabled him to dispense more and mors
with that individual's presence. She made
him rise early in the morning, and ride forth
with her alone; she also took him out to walk
with her in the orchard and the forest; she
assisted him in the little business details of
his office as Ranger of the Woodlands; and
in the evening she sat with him in the garden,
conversing with a gaiety most unusual on
her part, and which indeed was assumed for
the purpose of cheering the enfeebled mind
of her parent and enabling him to dispense
with artificial stimulants. In a word, the
whole tenour of her conduct was a devo-
tedness evidently based on the resolution to
atone as much as possible for sixteen months'
neglect of her father, and to repair, to the
extent of her power, the moral and physical
injuries he had sustained during her absence-
Yet, while pursuing this course, she treated
Dr. Bertram with no coldness, much lea*
with open hostility—so that while he day by
day beheld his authority in the household
slipping out of his grasp, he had no defined
and positive ground for complaint. Though
Musidora regulated her father's application to
the wine-flask according to her own sense of
propriety in that respect, she attempted not
the slightest interference with the doctor*s


THE NECROMANCER
223
predilection for the same exhilarating beve-
rage; and even while gradually alienating
the physician from the worthy knight's soci-
ety, she permitted him to use the house just
as if it were his own. Thus, by judicious
management, by consummate prudence, and
by a true womanly tact, Musidora performed
. her duty to her father without any unfriendly
treatment in respect to Dr. Bertram.
But when a fortnight had passed the young
lady one morning sought an opportunity of
entering into certain explanations with the
physician. Accordingly, while her father was
engaged inspecting his stables and issuing
orders to his huntsmen and grooms, Musi-
dora desired Dr. Bertram to accompany her
into the garden; and leading him into a
shady avenue where they could not be ob-
served from the house, she said in her wonted
quiet manner and with the even flow of her
harmonious voice, " The time is come when I
must speak to you, Dr. Bertram, upon a sub-
ject of some little importance."
"Fair lady," replied the physician, who
was walking beside her cap in nand, "I am
your most obedient servant, and ready to
obey you to the extent of my power."
"I know and appreciate the friendly feeling
jou entertain towards my father," replied
Musidora; and if Dr. Bertram had been a
very keen observer, he would have noticed a
alight contemptuous wreathing of the young
lady's lips as she gave utterance to these
words; for her heart at the time loathed the
little piece of duplicity which policy and pru-
dence compelled her to enact. "I am also
aware," she continued, "that the Earl of
Grantham, when he visited Sinclair House a
year ago, had a long and serious conversation
with you, during which certain topics of im-
portance were discussed and the strictest
secresy concerning them was enjoined,—the
penalty being nothing short of that due to
high treason, and the reward being the pro-
mise of qn annual pension. Now, Dr. Ber-
tram, how stands your feeling upon those
points at the present time V
"In the same way that I assured his lord-
ship of my readiness to obey his wishes in
all respects," replied the physician, "am I
now equally prepared to submit to your com-
mands."
"You speak well and wisely, Dr. Ber-
tram," rejoined Musidora; "and in a style
best calculated to advance your own interests.
I presume that so long as you are well provi-
ded with the means of ministering to all your
wants, it is indifferent to you where your
abode is fixed !"—and as she thus spoke, she
bent upon him the full power of her magnifi-
cent dark eyes, as if the eloquence of her
look* should even more forcibly than her
words suggest the answer that was awaited
From his lips.
"Fair lady," he replied, at
hending the intimation he was about to
receive, "if my presence at Sinclair Housa
be in any way distasteful, I am not the man
to persist in remaining there—especially," he
added with promptitude, "as there is so
much kind promise in your words, seeming to
assure me that my future interests are to be
cared for according to the understanding s*,.-
tled between me and the Earl of Grantham."
"It is my object to preserve that under-
standing," said Musidora; then producing a
heavy purse from beneath the folds of her
garments, she handed it to the physician, ob-
serving, "Behold your pension for one year
—at the expiration of which time, if you
present yourself at Grantham Villa, near
Greenwich, you will receive a similar sum
from the hands of the Earl. Thenceforth, at
the close of each successive year—reckoning
from August to August—may you call at the
Villa with the certitude of receiving a like
amount so long as the Earl and Countess of
Grantham, or either of them, remain alive.
When they die— as in the common course of
nature may be expected ere your time or
mine may come—it will rest with me to
make some other arrangement for the pay-
ment of your pension. But understand me
well, Master Welford—for you see I know
your name—should aught relative to the past
ever escape your lips, not merely will your
annual pension cease, but yoo will o-aw
down upon your head the vengeance of cn*
who has the power to punish."
"The warning is unnecessary," rejoined
the physician, "though all words are sweet
that come from your lips. But rest assured
that I prefer the double enjoyment of receiv-
ing the annual pension and keeping my
head upon my shoulders, to the dismal alter-
native of losing the former and having the
latter paraded most ignobly on the summit of
Temple Bar."
"And now one word more," said Mnsi-
dora. "I.do not wish my father to know
that it is in consequence of any interference
on my part that you leave Sinclair House.
You will, therefore, when bidding him fare-
well this day, suffer him to believe that you
are acting in accordance with your own
spontaneous will, and that urgent business'
necessitates your speedy departure hence."
"I comprehend you, fair lady," replied the
physician; "and herein shall you also be
obeyed faithfully and truly, as in every other,
respect. It wiB not be difficult for a man of
ready wit, such as I flatter myself to be, to
invent feasible causes for my abropt leave-
taking—such, for example as the- sudden
death of a relative in some distant part, and
the consequent inheritance of a large estate."
"Make what excuses you will, Dr. Ber-
tram," rejoined Musidora; "onl/ let it be
done to-day."
« Within the hone, fair lady


224 THE NECROMANCER.
the physician. "I observed that the ferry-
Doat from Hampshire touched the shore ere
now ; and I can easily pretend that it bore a
mes *enger for me."
"Good !" said Musidora; and with a slight
b>,v«, she intimated that there was no farther
need of his remaining in her presence.
According to the arrangement just settled,
Di. Bertram communicated, within the hour,
to Sjh Lewis Sinclair, the sudden necessity
fo' his departure. The knight was grieved; for
though having been lately led by his daugh-
ter's ministrations to dispense with much of
Bertram's companionship, he still liked the
man too much not to sorrow at separating
from him. But he was tranquillized by the
assurance that so soon as the learned physi-
cian had settled his affairs, he would come
back to make a long sojourn at Sinclair
House.
That afternoon Musidora and her father
sat down to dinner without the doctor; and
when Percy Rivers galloped across from Car-
isbrook, in the evening, he was infinitely de-
lighted to learn that the physician was no
longer an inmate of his uncle's mansion.
From this day forth the improvement in the
worthy knight's health, spirits and intellect
went on increasing most satisfactorily; and
at the expiration of five or six months his
mind was restored to its wonted tone, while
his frame had recovered as much vigour as
■t his age it could be expected to develop.
CHAPTER XLDC.
A. FlTUia's rS«TI*AC10U■ITESs.
A tear had passed since Musidora's re-
turn; and it was once more the month of
August. On a delicious evening too, of that
autumnal season was it that the young lady
was walking with her cousin and her father
in the orchard attached to the mansion.
The knight had been expatiating at great
length upon the complete renovation of his
health, and congratulating himself upon ha-
ving adopted habits of temperance with re-
spect to the wine-flask; he had likewise been
reciting the many improvements which du-
ring the past twelve-months he had introdu-
ced into the management of the forest-lands
in the Isle of Wight,—and altogether he was
in the best possible spirits, laughing and
talking with the most rational cheerfulness
and gaiety.
"Well, my dear 'Dora," he observed at the
end of his long speech, " I must freely con-
fess that much of all this whereof I am vaun-
ting, is to be attributed to you. Indeed, since
you returned home to me, I have felt happier
than perhaps I ever did before in all my life.
But stilt there is one subject which at times
gives me a little uneasiness—and this is that
you are not settled in the world as you ought
to be." . -7;
"My dear father," said Musidora, with the
least perceptible accent of excitement, " this
is a topic which you and I can best discuss
alone."
"I am not so sure of that," exclaimed Sir
Lewis, with a sly glance toward Percy Rivers,
who, somewhat suspecting the old knight's
drift, became confused in his looks. "It is
my opinion that this is the very time and op-
portunity to discourse upon the matter. Here
you are, three-and-twenty years of age, and
not married yet"
"My dear father," interrupted Musidora, ii
a peremptory tone, "it is my desire that we
should talk on something else."
"Nay, my dear child," persisted Sir Lewis,
taking her arm as if to prevent her escaping
from him, " you surely will humour your old
father by allowing him to give utterance to
his thoughts, and in his own way 1 There
was a time, 'Dora—and it was not very long
ago either—when I did not care so much
about you as I have done lately; but ever
since your return home, I have felt that you
are dearer to me than I was wont to suspect.
You must not be angry with me, therefore, if
your welfare is uppermost in my mind."
"You have told me, my dear father," said
Musidora, apparently emotionless and passion-
less as she habitually was, " that you love me
better than you used to do. It is because I
have become more necessary to you; and
therefore I beg that you will suggest nothing
which would have the effect of separating me
from you."
No, no—I would not do that!" cried Sir
Lewis: "depend upon it, I would not do
that. But now that we are all three walking
pleasantly together, and talking in a confiden-
tial manner though bye the bye, you,
nephew, are not giving utterance to a single
word—nevertheless, as you are one of the
family, and as what I am about to propose
regards yourself"
"My dear uncle," interrupted Percy, be-
wildered and confused at the turn the dis-
course was taking," you really ought to listen
to my cousin's entreaty and talk upon some
other topic. For example, you were proposing
just now to have a new road cut through the
forest"
"Never mind the forest-roads for the pres-
ent, nephew," interrupted Sir Lewis, pertina-
ciously adhering to the subject which had
risen uppermost in his mind. "Musidora's
welfare is of much greater consequence to me
than a stupid road through a forest; and when
I reflect that in the ordinary course of nature
I cannot have many years to live, it is natural
enough I should wish to see her comfortably
settled. Upon this subject I have been think-
rag fin June time past; and I consider it to


225
be a burning shame that a young lady of her
good looks—for it is no flattery to tell her
that she is a very fine handsome young wo-
man"
"Really, my dear father I must beg 'and
beseech that you will at once abandon this
topic !"—and Musidora spoke with a firmness
that was alike imperious and peremptory.
"Then, daughter, I shall do no such thing,"
exclaimed Sir Lewis, half angrily and half
jocularly. "It is your duty to listen when
your father confidently believes he is speaking
for your good. Percy do not lag behind !—
Here give me your arm. There! that's
right! It is in this manner, between you
both, that I wish to pass the remainder of
lay existence. And now perhaps, 'Dora and
Percy, you Understand what I mean?"
Neither Musidora nor Rivers made any
observation. Perhaps it was, with regard to
the former, that she knew not what to say;
and she accordingly walked on by her father's
Bide, supporting his arm, with her looks bent
downward, but with no betrayal of any in-
ward feeling upon her countenance. In res-
pect to Percy Rivers it was not altogether
confusion now that sent the blood mantling up
to his cheeks; he possibly entertained a revi-
val of that hope which he had long thought
dead within him.
"When I bethink me," resumed Sir Lewis,
"it was the general opinion that you two,
when boy and girl together, were destined for
each other; and I can't imagine how it was
that every body's expectation was disappoin-
ted. Now, in respect to you, Percy, having
hitherto remained unmarried, the inference is
that you have never met any body whom you
have considered worthy of becoming your
partner for life. It is time that you did
marry; and whom could you better wed than
your cousin whom you have known from her
infancy?"
"Enough, father!" suddenly exclaimed
Musidora, with a strange expression of coun-
tenance and an unearthly flashing forth of
fires from her unfathomable eyes. "It is in-
delicate for you to talk in this manner!"
"Nay, daughter," cried the knight, " I pray
thee to curb this pretty indignation of thine.
It makes thee look handsomer, no doubt;
but thou hast not need of such sudden dis-
play of emotion to enhance thy beauty. My
mind is set upon the point; and let me tell
thee," added Sir Lewis, his voice and look
suddenly becoming full of endearment, " that
it would be the happiest moment of my life
to behold thee the bride of Percy Rivers.—
Then might I take up my residence with ye
ooth at Carisbrook; and the remainder of
my existence would pass on without a care.
Now, Percy, you shall answer me first. Will
you make yeur old uncle happy? do you love
him enough for thisl But since I have bro-
ken the ice, I had better leave you together to
settle the matter between you."
And having given utterance to these last
words with uncommon haste, Sir Lewis Sin-
clair abruptly turned away and hurried oft
towards the mansion at a very quick pace.—
Indeed the movement was altogether so sud-
den on his part, that Musidora and Percy
were left thus alone together ere they even
had an instant's leisure to anticipate the old
man's intentions.
A profound silence existed on both sides;
and their position was most awkward and
embarrassing. But Musidora was the first
to make up her mind to any settled course;
and in a low deep voice, which for her was
indicative of extraordinary emotion, she said,
"Percy, had not my father gone to such a
length, and had he contented himself with
mere hints or allusions, I should not have ap-
peared to notice the subject when we were
alone together. But as his observations have
been so pointed, and his desire has been so
definitely expressed, it is impossible for you
and me to avoid all mention of the topic."
"And is it a painful one for you to speak
of, Musidora V asked Percy in tremulous ac-
cents.
"Yes, painful," she responded, still in that
same low deep voice as before, "because I am
unable to obey my father's wishes, even if
you yourself"
"Oh! do not raise the slightest doubt as to
the state of my feelings towards you!" cried
Rivers, with the enthusiasm of a love that
would never die although hope itself should
perish. « Those feelings are ever the same .
And there was a moment, Musidora, while
your father was ere now speaking, when the
thought thrilled through me that it was possi-
ble that you yourself might now But no."
he suddenly ejaculated, with a voice of de-
spair, as he marked the iciness of demeanour
which his cousin had all of a sudden put on
again after it had appeared to be thawing
somewhat. Pardon me, then, Musidora, if
I did venture thus to hope !—pardon me also
if I have alluded to that love of mine, which
now is devoid of hope once more! Not for
worlds should I have touched upon the for-
bidden topic, had not my uncle thus forced it
upon us 1 But hear me declare, Musidora,
that if I remain unmarried it is for your sake
—if I have never even thought of marrying
another, it is still for your sake—and if I in-
voke Heaven to witness my solemn vow that I
never, never will marry any other"
"Hold, Percy! swear not thus rashly I"
exclaimed Musidora with a sudden paroxism
of excitement: and again did a wild unearth-
ly lustre shine in her deep dark eyes as she
turned them full upon her cousin. "Record
no vow of that kind for my sake—because because 1 shall never marry."


226
THE NECROMANCER.
And as Musidora ■poke these last words,
her voice grew suddenly cold, as if it were
came upon breach chill as the breeze which
sweeps over the glaciers of the north.
'* Oh! there is something dreadful to hear
you speak thus, and in such a tone!" cried
Percy, gazing upon her with mingled afflic-
tion and surprise. "Wherefore should you
never marry' Heaven knows it is not
on ray own account that I ask this question!
for if you loved another ana it ensured your
happiness to espouse him, I should be the
first to persuade you to the alliance. No, no,
Musidora," he added with passionate vehe-
mence," love has not made me altogether sel-
fish; but the hopelessness of that love has
taught me to sympathise with others whose
hearts cherish an affection. Wherefore should
you declare that you will never marry—you
so young, so bright, so beautiful? Oh! it is
unnatural to hear you task thus! Is your
heart an icy chaos over which the spirit of
love can never move with power to quicken
its best and noliest feelings? Believe me, it
is terrible—Oh! 'tis terrible indeed, to hear
one so young and loveable as you declare
that you cannot love!"
"I did not say so—no, I did not say so!"
exclaimed Musidora, thrown off her guard
by the impassioned accents and vehement
words of her cousin; and her whole frame
trembled visibly with a cold shudder.
"But you said you would never marry—
and is not that the same thing V he immedi-
ately demanded. "Oh! why did you speak
thus? Heavens! is it possible, Musidora,
that any thing has ever happened to you to
render that idea a settled resolve in your
hewt?"
"Percy," said Musidora, having regained
all her wonted presence of mind, and speak-
ing with her habitual iciness of look and
passionless continuity of tone, " this conver-
sation must not be prolonged. Yet for my
own sake I must declare, that if aught that I
have said has excited a suspicion—even the
faintest—injurious to the purity of my cha-
racter or the innocence of my soul, then ban-
ish that suspicion from your mind as most
dishonouring to your cousin!"
"Musidora," said Percy, alike humiliated
and afflicted by his fair relative's words, "I
believe you—Heaven knows that I believe
you! But yet it is strange to hear you pro-
claim so firmly and so resolutely that you will
never marry. However, we will not continue
this painful topic. At the same time, your
father will presently demand of me what has
passed between us. How am I to answer
him!"
"My father will put a similar question to
me," rejoined Musidora; "and I shall tell
him that in his zeal for my welfare, he was
led into nn indiscretion bordering upon indel-
icacy. I shall trll him also that I will not
marry where 1 cannot give my heart, and
that much as I esteem Percy Rivers as a re-
lation—much as I value him as a friend—
much as he is endeared to me, in one sense,
as the companion ef my girlhood—yet that I
do not love him in that other sense which can
alone justify a right-minded female to fhirk
of marriage. This is what I shall tell my
father; and I believe that my words will have
sufficient weight to prevent him from ever
placing you and me in so embarrassing and
unpleasant a position again. What: ou will
say, Percy, I must leave to your own sense of
respect for yourself and kindness towards me.
And now that we bid farewell to the topic,
let us be affectionate cousins and faithful
friends as we were before."
Thus speaking, Musidora, with the most
affable frankness, proffered her hand, which
Rivers took with a kindred air of honest can-
dour. Then in order to relieve his cousin
from the painfulness of saying more to her
father than was absolutely necessary upon the
topic just discussed, he himself at once sought
an interview with the worthy knight, and
made to him such representations as to con-
vince hun that he had taken a rash and un-
wise step in endeavouring to persuade hia
daughter and nephew into an alliance, which
under circumstances was unfitting and un-
suitable.
CHAPTER I..
THE DIATB-BEB.
Timi sped onward,—that never ceasing
tide which bears every thing upon its surface;
a year and a half glided away, and it was
the month of January, 1520. The snow lay
thick upon the fields and the woodlands of the
Isle of Wight—the sky was of a leaden hue
—and the atmosphere was filled with a nip-
ping cold.
Why treads every foot so gently within the
walls of Sinclair House? wherefore is there
a gloomy foreboding upon the countenance of
every inmate? It is because Sir Lewis Sin-
clair lies stretched upon a bed of sickness,
whence there is no hope that he will ever rise
again. For six weeks has death been slowly
but steadily advancing; and now the gr'in
destroyer seems to be near at hand.
From the first moment of 'or father's dl-
ness Musidora was unremitting in her assidu-
ities and attentions. Scarcely allowing her-
self even a few brief hours each night to
snatch the repose that was necessa.y to sus-
tain her strength throughout the ordeal, she
was almost constantly by the side of hei
father's couch; and nothing could exceed the
affectionate gentleness with which she minis-
tered to the old rf -r Percy Rivers, too.


THE NECROMANCER.
never allowed a day to pass without riding
over from Carisbrook to spend some hours in
(he sick-chamber, and as much as possible
relieve Musidom in the task of soothing the
mind of the departing knight.
Thus the cousins were thrown together
more than ever they had been since their
youthful playmate-days. The effect was that
all the cherished love of Percy Rivers for
Musidora acquired a tenderness of an ineffa-
ble character; while on the other hand, the
lady herself experienced a deeper and since-
rer friendship for her generous-hearted rela-
tive. When a young man and a young
woman are thug forced to pass hours together
in each other's society, and under such pe-
culiar circumstances, an intimacy of no or-
dinary character must inevitably arise; and
intimate though the cousins were before, yei
now this intimacy was drawn as closely as
that which exists between a brother and sister.
The task of watching by the couch of an in-
valid develops many new traits in the charac-
ter of individuals; and it was impossible for
a generous disposition, as that of Musidora
naturally was, to remain untouched by the
truly filial attentions which Percy Rivers de-
monstrated towards her father. Nevertheless,
she did not love her cousin in the true meaning
of the term; but she had learned to love him in
the light already alluded to—namely, as a
sister loves a brother. She experienced a sense
of deep obligation to him for the zeal which
he thus manifested in his endeavours to soothe
the last days of the old man's life; she felt
that in Percy she possessed a true and sin-
cere friend; and knowing how fondly, how
deeply he loved her, she more than ever com-
passionated that hopeless affection which he
had so long and so faithfully cherished.
On the other hand, Percy Rivers discovered
in M usidora's character many admirable traits
for which he could scarcely have given her
credit From the circumstance of her too
pro) racted absence from home at the time she
was staying at Grantham Villa,—an absence,
too, which was thus prolonged despite the
many letters he had written to urge her to re-
turn,—he had naturally fancied that her regard
for her father was not so great as that which
under any circumstances a daughter should
exhibit; and when, after she did come back,
he had observed the attentions she bestowed
upon the old man, he had looked upon her
conduct as arising rather from remorse on ac-
count of previous neglect, than from a sincere
filial devotion. But now, under the trying
and peculiar circumstances of the sick-room,
he speedily beheld enough to convince him
that he was mistaken as to his previous esti-
mate of Musidora's sentiments towards her
sire. He saw, indeed, that she was most
tenderly attached to her parent—that she
cherished him with a love the most genuine
and profound—and that howsoever resolutely
she might hitherto have cloaked the natural
emotions of her heart beneath a garb of ice,
this same heart could melt into softness and
send forth the warmest tears to flow from her
eyes and scald her cheeks at the thought of
losing him. In a word, all the manifold
proofs of filial affection and sterling devotion
which her nature now put forth, might be li-
kened unto those beautiful Alpine flowers
which long lie unsuspected and unknown be-
neath a thick surface of snow, but which
become revealed in all their unaffected sim-
plicity and ineffable purity when the snow
melts away from above them.
The illness of the old knight had originated
in a very severe cold, and was followed by
what may be termed a rapid breaking up of
his "/institution; but he retained his con-
sciousness until the very last. Often and of-
ten, during the six weeks that he was thus gra-
dually sinking into the embrace of death,
would he lie, propped up by the pillows'of his
couch, gazing in silence upon his daughter and
his nephew, while his looks showed what was
passing in his mind. 'But since that memo-
rable day when he had committed himself so
awkwardly in respect to them both, as descri-
bed in the previous chapter, he had never once
alluded to the same topic; indeed he ap-
peared to have banished it from his memory
until illness thus prostrated him upon that
couch whence he felt that he was never
to rise again. Then did that topic come back
to his thoughts, gradually assuming a strength
which increased in proportion as his own
physical powers were wasting away; so that
it soon became as easy to read what was
passing in his mind as to observe the peb
bles at the bottom of a chrystal stream.—
Still the old man appeared unwilling to give
utterance to his wishes, though with his looks
were they expressed as eloquently as eyes
that were glazing beneath the touch of death
could express any thing at all!
Now, as Musidora failed not to observe the
tenor of her father's thoughts on those occa-
sions, she could scarcely do otherwise than
prepare herself for the arrival of that moment
when he would be certain to overcome his
reluctance and give verbal utterance to his
wishes. We may therefore suppose that
Musidora experienced all the battlings of a
deep and painful inward struggle as to tho
course she ought to pursue when the supreme
moment should come. She did uot love Percy
in any other sense than as a friend and a
sister: she had loved once—and never could
love again! The power of love was dead
within her; that sentiment at least was froze*
in her heart, never to be thawed by human
influence—nor in this world! Yet if it were
her father's dying wish that she should marry
him, ought she to refuse" ought she again to
say that she could no) comply with that in
junction because she dared not bestow bjafl


228
THE NECROMANCER.
hand when she could not give her heart?
No: she dared not nerve herself to answer m
the negative upon such grounds; for had she
not consented to marry him whom she be-
lieved at the time to be the King, though she
loved him not? To refuse to become the
wife of Percy, therefore, on such a plea, was
a duplicity, a deceit, a falsehood, which she
dared not practise by the side of the l,ed of
death.
The hour so long foreseen and so much
dreaded, came at last. It was one evening,
when Sir Lewis awoke from a short and
troubled sleep, that he fixed his eyes more
earnestly than ever, and with a deeper signi-
ficaney also, upon his daughter and his
nephew, as they sat together by the side of
his bed. The medical attendant was in the
room at the time; and from certain symp-
toms familiar enough to the experienced pro-
fessional eye, he knew that the moment of
dissolution on the part of his patient was not
very far distant. In terms of befitting deli-
cacy he hinted to the old knight that if he
had any parting instructions to give to those
that were nearest and dearest to him, it were
better not to delay doing so. The medical
attendant then gently quitted the room; and
Musidora, with the tears streaming down her
cheeks, threw herself upon her father's breast
and J-; ired forth the abundance of her sor-
row.
"Don't weep, dear 'Dora—don't weep,"
said the dying parent, in a feeble and tremu-
lous voice. "You have been a good daugh-
ter to me—and have nothing to reproach
yourself for. I am not sure that I have alto-
gether done my duty towards you; perhaps
I have been selfish—thinking too much of
myself and of my own interests -*'
"Dearest father, do not speak to me thus t"
cried Musidora, with passionate accents of
grief: and there was nothing ice-like—naught
of glacier coldness—in her looks, her voice,
or her conduct now!
"Well, well," said the old man, " we will
not speak of the past more than is necessary.
But for the present, and for the future, there
is something on my mind—something I should
like to say—but which I know not how to
speak Perey, my dear nephew, you will
be kind and good to my poor girl when I am
gone? she will be all alone in the
world"
"Oh, my dear uncle!" exclaimed Rivers,
pressing to his lips the hand of his dying rel-
ative, " I will be unto her as a brother •"
"As a brother V faintly repeated Sir Lewis
with a subdued gasp—for the tide of life
was ebbing away and all his powers were
sinking. « Yes—but Oh, 'Dora, there is
one last wish—Percy, I have but a single
thing to desire"
"My dear father," said Musidora," hesitate
not to give utterance to all that is in your
mind. I shall be unhappy for the rest my
days—Oh, more unhappy than But speak
dear father! say what you will! Give me
your commands—impart your wishes—
and all, every thing, shall be obeyed!"
"God bless thee, my child! Now I shall
die happy! Percy," added the old knight, as
he turned his glazing eyes to his nephew,
"will you also promise to attend to my last
words!"
"Yes, dear uncle—faithfully—most faith-
fully !" was the fervid answer.
The light of satisfaction—we might evr n
say of joy—flamed up for an instant in tbe
eyes of the dying man: but the same emo-
tion which caused it, likewise choked his pow-
ers of utterance. Instinctively aware that
his last moments were at hand, Musidora and
Percy sank down upon their knees by the
side of the bed. Sir Lewis Sinclair made
another effort to speak, but could only give
utterance to a few inarticulate and broken
syllables; he however placed the hand of
Musidora in that of Percy Rivers—and the
next instant was no more!
»••••*
A week had passed—the funeral was over
—and Musidora Sinclair sat alone in her own
chamber, in that spacious mansion of which
she was now the mistress. But how cold-
how dreary—how desolate it seemed !—for
mighty is the change which death works in
human abodes, when it bears away a loved
and cherished being to those habitations in
another world to which the eye cannot pene-
trate and which are beyond the stars!
Musidora reflected upon her position. It
was her sire's last wish, expressed in a man-
net too solemn and too full of meaning either
to doubt or disregard, that she should become
the wife of Percy Rivers. But never, never
could she inform her cousin that she had
been made the victim of a vile and detestable
necromancer! No: there was an awe—a
horror—even a despair, sitting too heavily
upon her soul, to allow it to find vent in that
tremendous secret. Yet, on the other hand,
how could she possibly accompany him to
the altar, allowing him to be deceived as to
her real condition? That her marriage with
the false King—or rather jvith Lionel Dan-
vers—had nil along been utterly null and
void, she well knew, based as it was on fraud
and deceit. But in addition to that knowl-
edge she had heard from old Manners, three
years and a half back, that Lionel himself
was dead and had been succeeded by h>
cousin Lord Reginald. Thus, in no way did
the mock-marriage act as a legal barrier
against her contracting a new and legitimate
alliance. But were there not moral grounds
upon which she should refrain 1 And yet
how was she to disregard her sire's dying


THE NECROMANCER.
229
\
wisb—that wish, too, which she had so fer-
vently and ao solemnly promised to obey?
What was she to do? how was she to act?
Never, never, in all her life, had the unhappy
lady been so cruelly bewildered! True, it
was still early after her parent's death to de-
vote attention to the subject; but in the first
place it forced itself upon her thoughts; and
secondly she was in duty bound to let her
.-ousin know upon what footing they were
thenceforth to meet—whether as mere friends
and relatives, or whether as having been
solemnly affianced and betrothed Ly the bed-
side of death!
We have already said that not for a single
instant could Musidora entertain a thought
of unbosoming herself frankly and unreser-
vedly to Percy Rivers respecting the past in-
cidents of her life. Even if she herself were
inclined to do so, she felt that she would not
have the power; for there was that intuitive
feeling within her which made her deeply
sensible that an irresistible spell would choke
her utterance and seal her lips if she endea-
voured to enter upon a narrative of the past.
And yet, on the other hand, she shrank from
the idea of practising so gross a deceit and so
profound a duplicity towards a generous-heart-
ed, confiding, and noble-minded young man,
as to allow him to conduct her, with the be-
lief that she was a virgin-bride to the altar—
she who had been made, though innocently
so, the victim of a remorseless magician!
Such was the tremendous conflict that ra-
ged in Musidora's mind, as she meditated up-
on the course which she ought to pursue.
The next day she again shut herself up in
her room, and reflected long and painfully
upon the subject; but still without coming
to any decision. Nevertheless, she gradually
felt the strength of her moral objections di-
minishing beneath the weight of an imperi-
ous necessity; and on the third day, when
she once more meditated on the topic, sophis-
try—that bane of every honourable feeling—
still farther weakened her delicate sense of
propriety. For this same sophistry whispered
in her ear, that it was not she who had given
encouragement to Percy Rivers—that she on
the contrary had suffered him to know she
did not love him, and had even told him at
one time positively and frankly that she
would never marry; but that still he had
gone on hoping—or if not hoping, at least
loving as fondly as ever—and that it was
through no fault of her's her father had been
led to express the dying wish that had thus
plunged her into so much perplexity and em-
barrassment. The conclusion, therefore, to
which she came waa that if Percy Rivers,
who had himself so fervidly promised to obey
his uncle's last wishes, chose to act upon that
pledge and receive her as his wife, he must
take her as she was, with all the mysterious
past hanging around her—and that if Ac
sought no explanation, li■ was not bound
to offer any. i
Musidora was far too intelligent, Baajeh too
strong-minded, and also endowed with feel-
ings naturally too frank and generous, not to
be well aware that this reasoning was mere
sophistry, and that the conclusion to which
it brought her was illogical and devoid of all
rectitude of principle. But she felt herself
the creature of circumstances—the victim of
an imperious necessity. She believed that
she was swayed by destiny itself, and that it
were vain and useless to attempt to battle
against fate. With such a tone of mind—
or rather, having been brought to such con-
clusions—Musidora acted in the way which
in nearly all similar cases is the course that
frail human nature adopts. For the best of
human nature is too often but frailty after all,
when the development of an immense amount
of moral courage is needed to accomplish a
painful duty.
Not to dwell, however, at any greater
length upon this portion of our narrative, we
may observe thatat the expiration of a few days
Musidora suffered Percy Rivers to understand
that it rested with himself to decide upon
what terms they were thenceforth to meet.
"You have before told me," he replied,
"that you can never love me save as a
friend: but on the other hand, so illimitable
is my love for you, that it fills me with tl e
presentiment that my affection will beget a
kindred sentiment in your heart. If theie-
fore you do not absolutely recoil from tha
idea of becoming my wife, it will be with
joy, and gratitude, and hope, that I shall re-
gard myself as your affianced husband."
For an instant—but only for a single in.
stant—a strange and almost ghastly expres-
sion appeared upon Musidora's countenance:
yet it flitted away again so suddenly that
Percy Rivers instantaneously fancied he was
mistaken in believing that he had even caught
a vanishing glimpse of any such look upon
her fine features at all. At the same moment
too, she placed her hand in his own; anu
with a smile that was was coldly sweet, she
said, "Percy, I will be unto you a dutiful
and devoted wife."
Twelve months afterwards the marriage of
Percy Rivers and Musidora Sinclair was cele-
brated at Carisbrook Castle, which thence-
forth became the homs of our heroine
CHAPTER IX
THE LAjrDIHIl' PLOT
Jfr was about the time of Musidora's mar-
riage to Percy Rivers—namely is tha month a#
16


430 THE NECROMANCER.
January 1521—thai the following scene took
/ace at the establishment of Master Landini in
Lombard Street. London.
It was evening—and old Alessandro was
closelted with his nephew Mark in the private
office behind the counting-house. The outer
shutters were closed.—business-hours were
over—the front door was made fast—and the
clerks of the establishment as well as the jew-
sl-workers up-stairs, had left some time. A
cheerful lire blazed in the grate of the private
office—a lamp burnt upon the table—and the
light playing upon the countenances of the
uncle and nephew, showed that they were
grave and serious, as if subjects of immense
moment were under discussion. The lapse of
a few years since last we spoke of the Landi-
ng had produced a marked effect upon the old
man.—bis form being more bowed, his limbs
more enfeebled, and his countenance indented
with deeper wrinkles. But he retained all the
vigour of his intellect—aye, and likewise lhat
insatiate thirst for vengeance which in one
sense appeared to exhilarate its powers, ren-
dering it keen and astute for purposes of mis-
chief. With regard to the nephew, being in
the prime of life, the lapse of a few years had
worked but little change in him—unless it
were t, trace that line across the forehead
which usually belongs to the countenance of
the avaricious, greedy and grasping individual
whose life is passed in the pursuit of gain.
Upon the table at which the uncle and
nephew were seated, lay the immense volume
containing the history of Bianca Landini; and
it was open at the concluding page of that ill-
fated lady's narrative. There were also vast
numhers of papers and deeds, tied round with
string, and endorsed with the name of Danvers—
thereby showing that they related to the affairs
of that family.
"It is good, nephew," said the elder Alessan-
dro, "to refresh our memories in respect to
every point connected with the history of our
ancestress—even though our minds were al-
ready impressed with each and all of these de-
tails. But especially was it needful that we
should read that narrative again this evening,
to sharpen as it were the keenness of our appe-
tites for vengeance, now that the moment is
so near at hand when this vengeance is to be
consummated! As the repetition of the same
war-song, though so familiar to the ear, is use-
ful to inspire not only the stalwart warrior
rushing on into the ranks of battle, but even
the mettled courser that proudly bears him in
his career of glory—so does the recapitulation
•f Bianca's wrongs kindle into a more vivid
glow those cravings for vengeance which are
hereditary with us. Now, Mark, turn to the
volume once more; and read slowly and de-
liberately, that passage in the instructions,
which the dying Nino Landini gave to bis son
Ludovico, relative to the nature of the venge-
ance which he recommended as the more ter»
rible because the more lasting in its effects."
Mark, in obedience to his uncle's orders,
drew the mighty volume towards him, and
read in a low, deep, measured tone the follow-
ing worda:—"But to wreak this vengeance
effectually, it must not be by means of your
weapon, nor of the hired assas-in's dagger.
There is a vengeance more terrible than tnat
of taking away life. If you t ike the lite of an
enemy, you place him beyond the reach of
farther pain at once; and this is scarcely a
vengeance to be contemplated with satisfaction.
But if you get your enemy into your power—
involve him in a web of difficulties that Khali
be inextricable—insidiously draw in the meshes
tighter and tighter around him, so that utter
ruin at last stares him in the face,—thii in
true vengeance; because he remains ulive for
you to tell him that you are uvenged, and he
lives on in wretchedness and misery to feel,
day after day, and hour after hour the effects
of your vengeance!"
"It is well!" observed old Alessandro, when
his nephew had concluded this quotation from
the history of Bianca Landini. "Never have
I lost sight of the recommendations contained
in that passage; and it was in pursuance ot
the advice thus given, that I began by so art-
fully leading Lord Lionel Danvers to invest
his fortune in my hands and entrust me with
its whole and sole management. Fortunate
was it for the success of our plans, that at
Lord Lionel's death the youthful Reginald
enabled us to continue in the same course.
You have seen, Mark, how I have taken ad-
vantage of his inexperience to enmesh him in
our toils; you have beheld how I suggested a
variety of ways in which he could dispose of
his immense capital in a manner which he has
been led to regard as the most lucrative.
With what blind confidence has he continued
to pour into our bank the surplus of his Con-
tinental revenues, which, together with the
produce of his English estates, have all been
laid out according to my advice. Four years
and a half have elapsed since Lord Reginald
Danvers entered into possession of tne family
titles and estates; and during that period the
work of ruin has been slowly but not the less
surely progressing. And you have seen too,
Mark, that on each of the occasions when Lord
Reginald has paid one of his abrupt, brief, and
volatile visits to London, I have obtained at
his hands written acknowledgments, all in due
form, not merely approving of the mode
wherein his treasures have been laid out, but
likewise positively and definitely enjoining
each particular proceeding. And what is the
result?" exclaimed old Landini, with a fiendish
smile of satisfaction. "It is this—thnt I have
so contrived as to dissipate the entire fortune
of Reginald Danvers, and strip him of every
coin that he possesses! Nay, more—I have


THE NECROMANCER.
231
brought him immensely into my own debt, so
that the very title-deeds of his estates both in
England and on the Continent—alt of which
I have induced him to entrust to my keeping
—will be held as security for the payment of
the immense amounts in which I have contrived
to make him my debtor!"
"And think you not, my dear uncle," asked
the nephew, trembling with mingled satisfac-
tion and fear—satisfaction at the hope of a
lerr.b'e and speedy vengeance, and fear lest by
any means the old man should over-reach him-
self,—" think you not, my dear uncle, that
Reginald Danvers may appeal to the law-courts,
alleging fraud and robbery, or malversation,
against us?"
'• Nn—it is impossible!" responded Ales-
sandro in a firm and decisive tone. "I have
played the game too cautiously and too well.
Wherever I heard of a mercantile house thai
was running into speculations which the world
at large believed to be full of promise, hut
which my own shrewdness and experience told
me must result in inevitable failure—there have
I laid out the riches of Lord Reginald Danvers.
When argosies were trading to such Mediter-
ranean ports where they stood the best chance
of being captured by the pirates—in those ves-
sels did I send rich freights of merchandize in
the name of Danvers. But all this you know
full well: and it is needless for me to recapitu-
late the measures which have been taken to
dissipate the enormous wealth which his con-
fiding folly placed in our hands. Mark." added
the old man, with another malignant smile,
but lowering his voice to a whisper, as if the
very walls had ears,—" I have adopted such a
course that while Reginald Danvers is ruined
beyond redemption, no human being can im-
pute dishonesty to me!"
"But will you not be accused, dear uncle, of
ignorance, carelessness, imprudence, and want
of sufficient forethought!—will you not," con-
tinued the nephew, " be charged with having
pursued the most reckless game? Indeed, if
the tribunals were appealed to, would it be
held rational or reasonable that such enormous
wealth could be dissipated in comparatively so
short a time? Consider, my dear uncle-- .t is
barely five years since you first began thus to
lay out the money of the Danvers family"
"And if those papers," interrupted the elder
Landini, pointing to the documents on the ta-
ble, " be produced before any judge in England,
it must be admitted that every thing was fair,
honest and straightforward. But let me anti-
cipate every objection which might possibly be
offered. Supposing it were said that while I
have thus been dissipating the fortune of Lord
Danvers, I have not impaired my own—that
wluie he is ruined, I am a richer man than
ever. Th*n, what would be my response!
That I ran no risk myself and incurred no
hazard of my own, because I was a mere agent
pf Lord Reginald's speculations. If it he asked
wherefore, when I saw venture after venture
fail, I did not counsel him to pause,—my reply
would be that il was impossible to check the
headlong career of an obstinate, vain, and self-
sufficient young man, who was intent upon
gambling with his own resources, and who
grew the more venturesome in proportion a■
his fortunes became the more desperate."
"I am satisfied with all that you say," re-
plied Mark. "Indeed, it is impossible to dis-
pute the justice of your reasoning, or to doubt
the admirable precautions you have taken."
"And now, nephew," resumed the old man,
"will it not be a glorious sight for ua to behold
Reginald Danvers stand pale, ghastly and
trembling in our presence—perhaps a suppliant
fur means to live—and at all events entreating
that we will not press too hardly upon him for
the payment of those sums in which he is
made our debtor! Oh! if those two men who
disappeared so strangely some few years back,
were with us at this moment—how would they
rejoice at the prospect of approaching venge-
ance!"
"Uncle, was there not indeed, something
strange in that disappearance to which you
have just alluded?" said Mark, shuddering
visibly. "You remember, they sat with us
until a late hour, discussing this very scheme
of vengeance which we have been carrying
out, and which now touches upon the thres-
hold of success; they were to return again in
a few days to review the plans laid down ;-—
but we never saw them more! Think you,
I ask, that of their own accord they kept
away?"
"Nephew, you seem to tremble as you
apeak !" said old Landini, gazing fixedly upon
Mark. "What is it that you feel ?—is there
any misgiving in your mind?"
"To speak soothly, dear uncle," was the
reply—and Mark flung a hasty shuddering
glance around,—" I do feel as if the weight of
an evil presentiment were upon my mind. I
know not how it is—but the nearer we ad-
vance to what we hope will be the consumma-
tion of our revenge, the more do I tremble lest
by any accident il should all redound upon our-
selves. Does not this tale,"—-and he pointed
to the volum? containing the legend of Bianca
hanJiul,—"seem to prove that Lord Walter,
the seducer of my ancestress, was endowed
with strange powers! And remember you
not the wild tale which old Manners told us,
of how he was borne along on the coal-black
steed at a preternatural pace—how he was
fed by the hand of enchantment in his dun-
geon—and how Lord Reginald himself con-
fessed to the old man how his predecessor
Lionel had dealt in the black arts?
"I have forgotten nothing that Master Man-
ners told us the night he was here," responded
the elder Landini; "and no one knows better
than I that the race of Danvers is a dread and
a fearful one. But there is not the alighteaf


392
THE NECROMANCER.
reason lo believe that Lord Reginald inherits
>ny of those wild end mysterious powers
which may bare been possessed by his ances-
tors. On rne contrary, does not every circum-
stance tend to prove that he is an ingenuous,
frank, confiding young man—i-very different in
diaposition and character from his predecessors,
though inheriting all their wondrous beauty I
Nephew, it is with regret I have beard you
contest to thesa misgivings and presentiments
of evil, which argue weakness on your side.
What!" exclaimed the elder Landini, his
wrinkled cheeks flushing, and his eyes flashing
forth fire —"do you stand in awe of this inex-
perienced and harmless young man who bas
suffered himself In fall ao easily into our
meshes? do you fear, I say, this Reginald,
when I, an old man, feel my heart throbbing
wilh delight—aye, with ecstacy too, at the
thought of approaching vengeance? Why,
the bare idea that after I he lapse of long, long
years it should Iw reserved for us lo wreak
this vengeance which has so long remained
unaccomplished,—the bare idea. I say, sends
n thrill of ineflahle joy through my veins,
makes my blood lingie, and even fills me with
the most fervid fires of youth!"
« Pardon me, uncle," exclaimed Mark, "if
for a moment I seemed wanting in that amount
of courage which ought to inspire me at such
a wist*. Whatever lie the result, you shall
not have to complain of any pusillanimity on
my part. When do you think it probate
that Reginald Danvers will visit Leads*]
again V
"Frorr. the letter which I sent him to his
castle in Normandy some weeks back, it is
reasonable to expect that he will be here with-
out much further delay. In that letter," con-
tinued the old banker, ** 1 impressed upon him
the necessity of coming at once to England to
look into the state of his affairs, so that he
might ascertain precisely how his finances
atiHid. Therefore, under these circumstances,
he may arrive at any moment."
"Hark!" suddenly ejaculated the nephew;
"was not that a loud rapping at the street-
door ?"—and he started up. « Yes—it con-
tinues, and grows more imperious - *"
"Let the domestics, as in duty bound," aaid
the old banker calmly, " respond to the sum-
mons."
The nephew accordingly resumed his seat;
and for about a minute, silence prevailed in
the private office. At the expiration of that
brief interval, a domestic of the household
threw open the door—announcing Lord Regi-
nald Danvers!
This nobleman now worn the appearance of
s man bordering upon three-and-twenty. He
bad suffered his moustache to grow : and those
two delicately curving lines of glossy blackness
snhanced the red richness of his classically cnt
Hps and .the enamel of the pearls t ling be-
tween then. He wore no whiskers nor beard *
and the exceeding beauty of bis countenance
was therefore only relieved from feminine
softness by the hair npon the upper lip. As
he doffed bis cap, his locks of raven darkness
and brightness were seen to lie parted above
his noble brow—thus admirably aetting off.
without concealing, the statue-like shape of
the bead. He was richly dressed in dark rai-
ment, and wore a short Spanish cloak hang-
ing gracefully over his left shoulder—so that
in personal appearance he retained much of
the aspect which be wore when passing in
the world by the name of Lionel.
The banker and his nephew had more than
suspected who it was thst gave so imperious a
summons at the door of their establishment;
and during that minute's silence which bad pre-
ceded Reginald's entrance they had composed
their looks in order to give bim such s recep-
tion as they deemed suitable ere the moment
came for flinging off the mask and proclaiming
that the ruin they had worked him was the pre-
meditated result of revenge. They therefore
received him with the wonted air and language
of respectful obsequiousness; while he on his
side bore himself with the high-bred demeanour
of frank and gracic-js affability.
Taking a seat near the fire, and tossing his
cap upon the table, Reginald said, "I duly re-
ceived your despatch, worthy Master l.andini,
and should have been with you a week or two
ago, had not pressing matters detained me in
Normandy. But at length I am hero; and
now let me request you to tell me the precise
object lor sending so urgent a summons. Are
there any fresh disasters relative to the monies
you have laid out on my account?"
"Your lordship must prepare," replied old
Landini, "for a very sad history of the several
transactions in which your lordship's funds
have been embarked."
"Indeed !" ejaculated Reginald Danvers, as
if beginning to get frightened. "Is it as you
■ayr
"It is. my lord," responded Landini. "I
have no good tidings to give your lordship at
all. In not a single instance haa any success
resulted from the ventures in which your lord-
ship's treasures have been embarked."
"Then it is indeed time to stop short," ob-
served Danvers, his words and look appearing
to express an increased anxiety.
"It is too late, my lord!" rejoined the old
banker. i
« Too late!" cried Danvers. * ' What Tinan
you'" f
« I mean, my lord, that your whole fcrtune
is dissipated." •,
* And you tell me this to my face? Do you
mean that I am ruined V i
"I mean that you are ruined, my lord !"-»-
and as old Landini apoke, there was the com-
mencement of a malignant expression upon'


THE NECROMANCER.
• s countenance, like the first glimmering of
incendiary fire against the dark clouds of
iie horizon.
"Then doubtless we are fellow-sufferers in
•aiisfortune V observed Danvers, not appearing
Ui notice that alight change in Landings looks.
"I do not understand your lordship," was
Hie reply accompanied liv a growing sneer.
* Not understand me V* ejaculated Danvers
ingrily; ''and yet I spoke plainly enough.
What I meant was, that if I am ruined, you
must lie ruined also."
"How so, my lord!" demanded the banker,
now assuming an independent look and tone—
Ihe first time he had ever dared thus to deport
himself in the presence of any one bearing the
name of Danvers.
"How so?" echoed Reginald, still more an-
grily, "You would not have me understand
that it is with my money only you have been
speculating thus insanely 1"
"What the state of my affair■ may be, has
nothing to do with your lordship," replied the
old hanker. "To those who have a right to
put the question, shall an explanation be given.
K is enough (or you to know, Reginald Dan-
vers. that you are a beggar upon the face of
the earth!
i* Yes—a beggar upon the face of the earth!"
exclaimed Mark, thus repeating his uncle's
words.
As the old man announced and the nephew
echoed that intelligence which was to over-
whelm Danvers with confusion, they both
started up from their seats; and this was the
instant for flinging off the mask. Then what
hideous malignity gleamed forth from the rep-
tile eyes of the. elder Landini!—and what
savage hatred suddenly glared in the looks of
his nephew! Terrible indeed was the aspect
of those two men, thus influenced as they were
by feelings of such remorseless implacability—
of such gloating, savage, inhuman revenge?
"What means this insolence—this astound-
ing impertinence of manner on your parts?"
demanded Reginald Danvers, affecting to be
bewildered and amazed—indeed somewhat
frightened—-by the fierce and malignant aspect
so abruptly assumed by the old man and his
nephew.
"You ask what all this meana, Reginald
Danvers?" said the elder Landini, with the
most savage fierceness: "it means that you are
ruined, and that 1 have purposely consummat-
ed this ruin for you! It means that the
wrongs of my ancestress sre now avenged upon
• descendant of him who inflicted them! It
means that the voice of Bianca Landini. erying
ap from her unknown grave, for thia dark and
implacable revenge, will have to cry no more,
but m»v sink into silence and her spirit into
rest • It means that the craving for the day of
retribution which baa been dissimulated in our
family towards yotr's for » hundred and thirty
years, need be dissimulated no longer! It
means that the vindictive aspirations which
have been cherished for more than a century
and a quarter, are now appeased and gratified!
Yes: the aim is accomplished—the work is
done. I have lived to see the hour of venge-
ance—and I care not how soon I may pass
hence and he no more. Embrace me, Mark—
my nephew—my adopted sen—embrace me!
— for this is a moment of supreme triumph and
ineffable happiness for us!"
Then the old man and Mark threw them-
selves into each other's arms, and embraced
with all the enthusiastic self-gratulation that
might have been supposed to accompany the
consciousness of some good and virtuous deed,
instead of the gratification of one of the darkest
passions of human nature.
During that long and vehemently delivered
speech which the elder Landini, with a gloat-
ing malignity, had addressed to Reginald Dan-
vers, t!ii» nobleman had remained so calm and
passionless that it was impossible to read in his
features what was passing in his mind; but
the old banker and his nephew imagined that
Reginald was in reality confounded and slrickcn
with the stupor of despair, at the intelligence
of his ruin, as well as by the announcement f
the motives which had prompted them to work
it. When however the old man and Mark
threw themselves into each other's arms, and
their looks were thus withdrawn for a lew mo-
ments from the face of Danvers, then did a
proud expression of scornful defiance sweep
over that darkly beautiful countenance—so
that the handsome features, with the unearthly
glory of the eyes, did indeed resemble at that
moment the aspect of Lucifer in his fall!
"You tell me that I am ruined," said Dan-
vers, speaking in a calm and even cold voice
of indifference, while his countenance immedi-
ately regained its youthful expression of inge-
nuous frankness; "and you tell me also that
you yourselves, from motives of vengeance,
have purposely accomplished that ruin I Of
this horrible vindictiveness which you have
cherished and sought to wreak against me, we
will speak anon. First of all, ye will, as in
duty hound, prove to me that I am ruined.
Show me the accounts—give me a satisfactory
explanation of the way in which you have
disposed of the immense treasures placed in
your hands—convince me that you have a right
to retain the title-deeds of my estates—and
also that you have had my authority for play-
ing so venturous a game*with my fortune."
"All this can be speedily done," answered
the elder Landini, whose countenance now
wore a settled look of the darkest hatred,
mingled with the sinister light of fiendish ma-
lignity. "First of all," he continued, spread-
ing open a long roil of parchment in whirs)
numerous financial entries were made, " her*
U an account showing lbs disbursement of twe


234 THE NECR
OMANCEB.
mi lion* of pounds sterling*—that bring the
precise sum for which 1 have to be answerable
unto you."
« Good and well!" observed Danrers, has-
tily glancing over the paper. *• I have not the
slightest fault to find with that statement. On
the contrary, it is a satisfactory proof that you
h;ivp received altogether on my behalf the sum
of-two millions sterling."
And you will perceive," rejoined Landini,
pointing to an item at the foot of the account,
'• that you are indebted to me in the sum of
three hundred and sixty thousand pounds, for
which 1 retain the title-deeds of your several
estates both in this country and on the Conti-
nent."
The old man spoke with a sort of harsh and
rude insolence—not seeming any longer to
regard the lordly title and patrician rank of
the nobleman, but to treat him as a man of
ruined fortunes, an outcast, and a beggar.
"Now then, there is but one thing more
which I require to be shown," said Danvers,
still cool and even careless—which manneron
his part did not in any way alarm the old
banker or his nephew; for they fancied it was
merely an air which from motives of pride he
assumed in order to conceal the actual condi-
tion of his mind. Where is my authority
empowering you to lay out my revenues ac-
cording to your own discretion and plea-
wire?"
"Ah!" ejaculated Landini, with a horribly
malignant expression of countenance; "you
would fain find some loop-hole by which you
may escape from this vortex of utter ruin? But
1 have you fast—I have you fust—and within
these four walls, where you have no witness
in your favour, I hesitate not to declare that I
have so well combined my plans as to leave you
powerless and defenceless. Behold !" he added,
opening the great book which contained the
chronicles of his family; "here is the record
of Bianca's wrongs—and this night, ere I re-
tire to rest, shall I append these few words,
'Biancn, thou art avenged !'"
"That is a subject," rejoined Danvers coldly,
"which we shall discuss presently. First of
all show me the papers I have demanded to
»ee."
"Here," answered Landini, taking up a
bundle of documents and untying the string
which held them together, "are all the ac-
knowledgments and authorizations which on
different occasions you have signed, empower-
ing me to act on you/ account, and even spe-
cifying each particular venture and transac-
tion."
"Show me my signature to one of those
documents," said Danvers: and there was a
alight wreathing of a scornful smile upon his
lips, which the old man did net notice, but
* An enormous ■um In that age—many times greater,
considering the relative value of money, than what we
may estimate two millions to be at the present day.
which met the eyes of Mark and suddenly
conjured up in his mind that presentiment
of evil which he had experienced ere the
arrival of Reginald Danvers.
"Your signature!" exclaimed the old man
contemptuously; "It is attached to every one
of these documents. Here, for instance, is
the first that comes to hand."
He took up the paper and spread it open;
but a sudden change came over his counte-
nance as he glanced at the foot of the deed
"Here, Mark! my sight seems to fail me,"
he said, with nervous haste. "Look"
"Good God, uncle !" ejaculated the nephew
staggering back as if struck with the blow of
a hammer, while his features became blank
with dismay: " the signature is not there!"
"Not here, not here V exclaimed old Lan-
dini, now trembling from head to foot.—
"Then perhaps it is a mere copy which by
accident has got amongst the other deeds.
Here—let us look at the next."
Mark rushed eagerly forward to clear up
the torturing suspense which had seized upon
him ; and something resembling a wild cry
of mingled horror and anguish burst from
his lips as the first glance at this second deed
showed him in an instant that there was no
signature attached to it.
"Look at another," said Danvers, who ha-
ving risen from his chair, was now leaning
in a posture of graceful indolence against
the mantel-piece, while his countenance won
an expression of mingled defiance, scorn and
contempt.
"0 uncle, uncle !" gasped the nephew, a
prey to the most excruciating feelings—the
wildest and most harrowing emotions; " what
does this mean V
"Silence, nephew!" interrupted the old
man: "there must be signatures to some of
these deeds—and even one would be suffi-
cient authority to prove all we want."
"Look through them all!" were the omin-
ous words which fell from the lips of Dan-
vers, and smote the ears of the two Landinia
as if with the voice of doom.
Ghastly pale—quivering in every nerve and
fibre—scarcely able to turn over the docu-
ment in their trembling hands, the wretched
old man and his miserable nephew examined
them one after another with feverish impa-
tience; and piteous indeed became their looks
as each successive paper proved to be devoid
of signature. The last dropped from their
grasp as they both had eagerly clutched h
together; for this was blank as to signature)
likewise!
"Not one, not one !" muttered old Landini,
as he sank upon a seat, gasping for breath,
pale and hideous as a corpse. ..,
"No—not one !" echoed Mark; and stajv
gering back against the wall, he flung £»»
frightened and dismayed looks in utter hof
lessness upon Reginald Danvers.


THE NECROMANCER.
235
"Well," said this nobleman, " how stands
the matter now? Where is the authority to
prove that I ever gave you leave or license to
play with my revenues? Master Landini,"
he added, his voice and look suddenly beco-
*n*t)g stern and implacable, " I demand the
immediate payment of two millions of pounds
sterling!"
"My lord !" gasped the 5ld man—and he
could say no more, bui sat gazing in utter va-
cancy upon Reginald.
"Two millions sterling!" repeated the no-
bleman, still more stern and implacable. "I
demand it all at once! Let it be in gold—
in precious stones—in bills of exchange—no
matter in what shape or form—but I require
it all now. Come, Master Landini, you are
so business-like and punctual, give me up my
treasures!"
"No, no—you shall not ruin me thus!"
literally screamed forth the miserable old
man. "Two millions! I am not worth
half the sum—barely a quarter! It would
sweep away every thing I possess—reduce
me and my nephew to beggary, destitution,
and want No, no—some hideous trick
has been played! Reginald Danvers, those
signatures have not disappeared by natural
means! You are a detestable magician !"—
and the wretched Landini, who had started
up from his scat in wild excitement, fell back
again, quivering, and gasping, and trembling,
as if battling desperately against death itself.
"Oh, my lord!" said Mark falling upon
his knees at the feet of Reginald Danvers, and
speaking with accents of the most piteous en-
treaty; "have mercy upon my uncle—have
mercy upon me!"
"Rise, wretched man, and hear me !" ex-
claimed Reginald, literally spurning the ne-
phew who grovelled at his feet.
Obedient to that commanding tone, Mark
rose, and stood the picture of consternation
and dismay in the presence of the young no-
bleman.
"Yes—listen both of ye, I say," he contin-
ued, drawing himself up to the full of his su-
perb height, so that all the slender graceful-
ness and lithe elegance of his Apollo-like
form appeared to the fullest advantage—
'while the dark beauty of his features wore
that strange and weird-like mystery of ex-
pression which indicated the consciousness of
some preterhuman power. "Listen to me!
Nearly five years have elapsed since one
afternoon Lionel Danvers called at this estab-
lishment on business-matters. He remained
some little time, conversing with you, old
man, alone in this very room; and then he
took his departure. But recollecting that he
needed a set of diamonds from your collec-
tion, he came back to procure them. You,
Mark, had in the meantime joined your
uncle in this office, at the door of which
Lionel Danvers paused for a minute ere he
entered,—thus pausing because some words
which you, Mark, were speaking in 1 loud
tone and with vehement accents at the time,
met his ears. Those words spoke of the
implacable vengeance which ye both cherith-
ed against the accursed house of Danvers.—
Such was the expression. Lord Lionel
paused to hear no more, he had heard
enough to convince him that ye both meant
to work him the foulest wrong. Not in your
presence however did he suffer his looks to
betray the fact that he had overheard you.
He received the diamonds, and went away.
I now pass on to another incident with which
it is requisite ye should be made acquainted.
One night—some months after the circum-
stance just alluded to, and at the very time
when I, Reginald Danvers, had assumed the
lordly title which then became mine—I was
passing late through the streets of London
when I beheld two old men issue forth from
your dwelling. These were Manners and
Dunhaven. I knew them both—and follow-
ing them at' a distance, kept them in sight
till they reached the bridge. There they
paused to converse. I drew close, but un per-
ceived by them—and listened. Then did 1
obtain a complete insight into the project
which you, miserable old man, had devised,
to work my ruin. Well, upon Dunhiven
and Manners I wreaked a vengeance which
they full well deserved!"
Here the elder Landini groaned in horror;
and Mark, who had hitherto remained stand-
ing while Danvers was speaking, fell back
into a seat, pale and trembling, and looking
as if he were about to give up the ghost.
"Yes," continued Reginald Danvers, " I
punished them as they deserved—no matter
how. I did not travel out of my way to seek
their wretched lives; rather would I have let
them live—for already there is enough upon
my mind to answer for!" and as he mur-
mured these last-words, in a low whisper to
which his voice suddenly sank, a terrible ex-
pression of anguish passed over his counte-
nance—the too evident reflex of feelings that
were harrowing him within. "But of all
that, no matter!" he abruptly exclaimed;
"I punished those men as they deserved
—for they compelled me to trample them in
my path. And now, with regard to your-
selves. You perceive that for some years—;
aye, even from the very first moment when
you devised the scheme which you hoped was
to engulf me in ruin—I have been acquain-
ted with it . But why did I suffer you thus
to go on dissipating my treasures? Because
the amount you Have thus deliberately squan-
dered, and which you so idly thought was the
whole substance of my worldly possessions,
is but as a drop of water to the sea in com-
parison with the wealth which I can com-
mand. Poor insensate creatures !" said Dan-
vers, turning his eyes from the nephew to the


f36 THE NECROMANCER.
ttncle, and back again to the nephew, with a
look of the most contemptuous scorn: "ye
thought to lieggar me by the dissipation of
two millions—me, who can command twenty
or two hundred millions, if I think fit! But
I suffered you to go on, because if you chose
thus to labour for the accomplishment of my
ruin, it was but natural that I should leave
the blow to rebound upon yourselves. And
- it will do so! Master Landini, I take this
account which shows the amounts you have
received on my behalf; I take back my title
deeds also—not that I value them even to the
extent of the poor wretched pieces of parch-
ment themselves; for were my present pos-
sessions to pass away from me, I could com-
mand gold enough to purchase not mere
estates, but kingdoms! I however take these
documents, so as to leave ye without the
means of raising the funds requisite to liqui-
date my claims; and to-morrow morning, the
moment your bank opens, the new agent
whom I shall appoint will present himself on
my behalf to claim two millions at your coun-
ter."
"My lord, in mercy spare me V exclaimed
the old man, dropping upon his knees, and
extending his clasped hands wildly to the
jroung noble.
* Oh! in mercy spare us P" cried Mark,
also sinking upon his knees, and bursting
into tears.
• But Danvers, who meanwhile had gathered
up th» documents to which he had alluded,
flung upon the two wretched men a look of
the rjost withering scorn and blighting con-
tempt; and turning with graceful ease upon
his heel, quitted the room.
An hour afterwards, Lombard street and
its neighbourhood were alarmed by the sud-
der bursting forth of a terrible fire on the
premises of the eminent goldsmith and bank-
er , and with such fury did the flames rage,
thnt it seemed as if they were fed by some
oily or bituminous substance. The whole
building speedily gave way and fell in with a
terrific crash, burying the inmates of the house
beneath the burning ruins. Not a soul within
those premises at the time was saved—nor a
single article of furniture, nor any of the valu-
ables constituting the goldsmith's store, were
rescued from the conflagration. The servants,
tiie old banker, and his nephew, all perished;
and the origin of the fire was, as a matter of
course, attributed to accident by every one
who heard of it, save Reginald Danvers. But
he full well comprehended its cause: the Lan-
dinis had preft -red self-immolation to ruin and
iUhorrur!
CHAPTER LII.
THS DU1I.
Tu years passed away from the date of
the incidents just related; and it was now the
beginning of the year 1531. Many events
of importance had in the interval taken place
in the great, busy, bustling world. There had
been wars, in which Henry of England and
Francis of France were engaged—there had
been treaties of peace, by which fresh lustre
was added to the diadem of the English mo-
narch—Wolsey had fallen from the eminence
of power, and had died breathing the memo-
rable wish " that he bad only served heaven
as faithfully as he had served his king"—
Cranmer had succeeded him—Henry had
openly professed the Protestant faith—and
Parliament had repudiated the spiritual juris-
diction of the Pope in the affairs of this coun-
try.
The life of Gerald St. Louis had been for
many years past a happy and a prosperous
one. The King, having his own private rea-
sons, as the reader is aware, for keeping St.
Louis in his favour, had never omitted any
opportunity of befriending him. In the first
instance he was sent as a dependant of the
English Ambassador to France; next he waa
entrusted with a diplomatic mission to some
German Court; and on his return to Eng-
land, he received the honour of knighthood
for his services. Then he was despatched as
Envoy-Plenipotentiary to the court of the
Emperor Charles V.; and so well did he ad-
vance the interests of England, that when he
came back he was rewarded with a peerage.
Thus some years passed away; and now, in
February, 1631, we behold Lord St. Louis
embarking on board an English ship, attended
by a numerous suite, and charged with a dip-
lomatic mission to the Sultan of the Ottoman
Empire. At this time Lord St. Louis waa
about forty years of age. In consequence of
the busy, active life he had led in King
Henry's service, he had found no opportunity
—even had he experienced the desire—of
forming a matrimonial connexion; and thus
we still find him unmarried. Indeed, with
such heart and soul had he pursued the dip-
lomatic career, which was accompanied with
increasing wealth and honours to himself,
that all his thoughts and ideas were absorbed
therein. Seldom was it that even the name
of Danvers recurred to his memory; and when
it did, he experienced no revival of any vin-
dictive feeling in respect to that nobleman.
Once or twice, however, he had felt some little
curiosity to ascertain what had become of old.
Dunhaven, and if he were dead, who had iar
herited his wealth; but even upon this point
he had at length ceased to think, so engrossing
became the duties and the attractions of tka


THE NECROMANCER.
231
prosperous career he was pursuing in the
school of diplomacy.
We will not weary the reader with any
description of Lord St. Louis's voyage from
England to Constantinople upon that mission
in which we find him engaged. Suffice it to
say that, having narrowly escaped being cap-
tured by the Barbary corsairs in the Mediter-
ranean, the ship which bore the Ambassador
end his suite anchored at length in safety in
the waters of the Bosphorus. Lord St. Louis
and his numerous dependents landed upon
the Turkish shores, and took up their abode
in the mansion provided for their reception in
the suburb of Pera, one of the quarters of
Constantinople. If we have not entered into
any minute particulars with regard to St.
Louis's voyage, neither shall we stop the con-
tinuous flow of our narrative to dwell upon
the particulars of his diplomatic mission, but
leave it to our readers' imagination to fancy
thi? splendours with which he was received
by the Grand Vizier and the Sultan, and how
the Envoy of so powerful a monarch as the
King of England became an object of curiosity
in the Turkish ca ;tal.
We must howevur pause for a few moments
to observe that during the diplomatic career
of Lord St. Louis, he had not failed to become
acquainted with the principal European lan-
guages. In the French tongue from his boy-
hood he had been proficient; and now he was
equally the master of Spanish, German, and
Italian. It was this quickness on his part in
acquiring the Continental tongues, that had
enabled King Henry to push him on with
such rapidity in his diplomatic career; and
it will presently be seen why we have thus
halted for a moment to notice his skill in one
of the languages above enumerated.
St. Louis had been about six weeks in Con-
stantinople and had made some satisfactory
progress in the purposes of his mission, when
he was informed by the Grand Vizier that all
further negotiations must stand over for three
or four months, as his Imperial Highness the
Sultan was about to make a tour through his
Asiatic provinces. St. Louis had now the
prospect of an interval of idleness and inac-
tivity so far as his diplomatic business was
concerned; and ho was deliberating with
himself upon the most eligible manner of
passing the time, when an incident occurred
that seemed to furnish suggestions upon that
point-
One night, as Lord St. Louis lay buried in
■ profound sleep, in the splendid bed-chamber
of his Turkish mansion, he dreamt that the
apartment became slowly filled with a preter-
natural lustre, upon which he.gazed with
mingled rapture and awe. Then, in the
midst of the unearthly halo, a female shape
gradually became apparent; and to his in-
creased surprise and veneration it took the
fcrm of his ancestress, the lovely Arline, ac-
cording to the portrait which was preserved
in the casket of sandal-wood. But the ligure
was clothed in dark mourning garments; and
the countenance was pale and full of a deep
melancholy. For some minutes she appeared
to fix her blue eyes with an expression of ten-
der and mournful reproach upon the sleeping
St. Louis: then slowly raising her right hand,
she held up her fore-finger with a warning
impressiveness,—at the same time breathing
these words in a soft, plaintive, but still ear-
nest tone—" Is the name of Arline obliterated
from thy memory 1 is the legacy of vengeance
forgotten 1 wilt thou do naught to give repose
to the troubled spirit of thine ancestress 1
Rise, I enjoin thee—rise! betake thyself to
the Holy Land, and ascend to the highest
eminence of the mountains of Lebanon!"
Having thus spoken—or rather appeared
to speak—the form began rapidly to fade
away; the light which enveloped her dimi-
nished—and Lord St. Louis awoke. The
moon was shining brightly in at the lattices
of his chamber; but he beheld not the slight-
est trace of any thing he had seen in his vision.
He endeavoured to compose himself to sleep
again, but could not: the figure of Arline,
dressed in mourning garments, seemed to
hover around him, while her voice continued
to ring in his ears. He rose—dressed himself
—and descended to the garden, where he
walked about till morning dawned above the
Asiatic hills. Then he re-entered the man-
sion, and for the remainder of the day endea-
voured by a variety of pursuits to chase from
his mind the impression made upon it by his
vision.
On retiring to rest, when night came again,
he fell asleep sooner than he had anticipated:
but once more did he behold that preternatural
light rising in the room, until it filled the en-
tire chamber with its effulgence; and then in
the midst appeared the form of Arline, dressed
in sable garments as before, and which seemed
to flow about her feet as if she were standing
upon a dark cloud. The aspect of her fea-
tures was more pensive, more melancholy,
and likewise more reproachful than it had
appeared on the preceding night; and she
also gazed longer upon the sleeping St, Louis.
It was moreover with an air of deeper signifi-
cancy and more impressive warning that she
raised her hand and uplifted her finger, while
she said in a voice full of remonstrance, " Is
it possible that thou canst thus remain faith-
less to the solemn pledge which thou did*'
give thine uncle on his death-bed? A rise, I
repeat—and betake thee to the mountains of
Lebanon!"
Then the preternatural light gradually
faded away—the form of Arline becoming
more and more shadowy, until it ceased to be
visible—and St. Louis awoke with a sudden
start. Again was the morn shining in at the
lattices, its serene argentine lustre occupying


238
THE NECROMANCER.
the space where the supernatural light had
ere now shone. St. Louis felt sorely troubled.
He sat up in his couch, reflecting seriously
and solemnly upon this vision, which had
appeared to him a second time. He could
sleep no longer; therefore rising, put on his
apparel, and descending to the garden, wooed
the refreshing breeze that blew from the waters
of the Golden Horn upon his feverish brows.
Throughout the remainder of that day he
vainly endeavoured to divert his thoughts from
the vision: it haunted him more completely
than at first—and when night came again
and he retired to rest, he resolved that if the
iame appearances revisited him for the third
time, he would not fail to obey the mandate
given by the spirit of the unfortunate Arline.
And the vision did come back;—under the
same circumstances as before, except that the
countenance of Arline appeared so profoundly
mournful that St. Louis fancied he wept as
he gazed upon it, so deeply were his feelings
touched. Long and earnest was the gaze
which she fixed upon him; and in the most
impressive manner did she raise her hand,
saying in a voice that was even menacing as
well as full of remonstrance, "This is the last
time I am permitted to appear before thee for
such a purpose. Disobey my injunctions, and
I) othing more shall prosper thee in this life:
but obey, and it shall be well with thee. Arise
iherefore — depart for the Holy Land—and
ascen. to the summit of the highest mountain
of Lei inon!"
The figure ceased to speak—the superna-
tural lustre gradually faded away—and the
form itself grew proportionably more dim and
indistinct, until it seemed to melt into thin
air. Then St. Louis awoke; and he felt the
tears upon his cheeks, and found also that his
pillow was moist, so that he knew he had
really been weeping in his slumber. He did
not now rise from his couch, nor experience
any trouble in his mind. His feelings were
those of a solemn awe and holy veneration,
but tranquil and serene. He resolved to obey
the mandate he had received. Yet for what
earthly purpose could he thus be sent on a
pilgrimage to the Holy Land? what was he
to see or whom was he to meet on the sum-
mit of Mount Lebanon? Vainly did he ask
himself these questions; all conjecture was
defied by the mystery enveloping the circum-
stances of the vision, the mandate, and the
pilgrimage. Sleep came upon his eyes again
—and he slumbered on calmly and tranquilly
till the usual hour for rising in the morning.
So soon as he was apparelled and had par-
t ii of some refreshment, he commanded
i.mnediate preparations to be made for a voy-
age to the coast of Palestine. The British
■hip which had brought him to the Ottoman
shores, had remained at his disposal, and was
therefore soon in readiness. Having signified
to the Grand Vizier that he purposed to make
a tour in the Levant, in order to see the
Greek Isles and visit the Holy Land, Lord
St. Louis embarked one morning in the beau-
teous month of May, on board the ship,
which set sail and was soon clear of the Dar-
danelles. The wind was favourable; and in
a few days the vessel neared tlie coast o*
Palestine. Without affording any intimation
of the mysterious object of this voyage, Lord
St. Louis desired the captain to put into the
port that was most convenient so as to enable
him to visit the mountains of Lebanon. The
captain, who was well acquainted with the
shores of Asia Minor, accordingly guided the
vessel into a bay, at the bottom of which was
a miserable little fishing village; but the
heights of Lebanon formed the sublime back-
ground of the landscape. In the immediate
neighbourhood of that wretched village, were
immense heaps of shapeless ruins, above
which troops of eagles were constantly soar-
ing and hovering. Those ruins were all that
remained of the once mighty and populous
city of Tyre—in ancient times the most im-
portant sea-port of the Levant, and the place
which furnished the stat ly cedars for the
building of Solomon's temple. But now
desolation seemed to have made those ruin■
its chosen home! The sun could give» nc
cheerfulness to these remnants of a once
proud and opulent city, nor find reflection ia
any bright hues upon those dreary shorts.
At night the moon appeared to rise mourn-
fully upon the scene, and fling her melan-
choly rays upon the clifls whitened by the
moaning sea, and upon those blackened heaps
of ruin beyond which rose the vast and sterile
hills of the chain of Lebanon.
It was upon this desolate and cheerless
shore that Lord St. Louis landed early one
morning; but he nevertheless experienced
strange feelings of mingled rapture and awe
as he thus planted his foot on the land of
miracles. Leaving the dependents who had
accompanied him from the ship, he ascended
the mountains alone. Well armed with
weapons of defence, and furnished with pro-
visions in a wallet, St. Louis * pursued his
path amidst the sterile hills, where he met no
human being, but which he knew had been
trodden by prophets in the olden time. For
two or three hours did he thus advance, until
he reached an immense slope covered with
trees. Here he sat down to rest, and also to
partake of some refreshment; for a scorching
sun was above his head, and he experienced
much weariness in consequence of the uneven
and sometimes difficult nature of the path
which he had been pursuing.
But not long did he tarry in that spot; for
he was anxious to get to the end of his jour-
ney as speedily as possible, and ascertain the
mystic purpose for which he had been sent
thither. Rising from his seat amidst the long
•oft grass which grew in luxuriance on that-,


THE NECROMANCER.
239
•lope, he threaded his way amongst those
trees—the cedars of Lebanon! Two hours
did he thjs tontnue climbing the ascent;
•nd the limit of the grove of cedars was
leached. But still the mountain stretched
onward and upward, more dark, more gloomy,
more sterile, than any portion of the chain he
bad yet seen. Sometimes an immense eagle
with its wide outstretched wings came swoop-
ing so near that he drew his sword in expec-
tation of an attack from the fierce bird: some-
times his foot startled the dark mountain-
snake, which ghded away with meandering
coils and hissing noise—and sometimes the
cry of the jaikal from some cavern amidst the
h lis, sent a thrill of terror through the form
of the Englishman. But, save when inter-
lupted by the rush of the eagle's wings, the
hissings of the snake, or the mournful voice
of the jackal, stupendous was the silence
which enveloped that region—a silence which
in one sonse seemed like the Egyptian dark-
ness of patriarchal times, inasmuch as it could
be fill!
Sometimes startled by the alarms above-
mentioned—but for the most part with a deep
and solemn awe sitting on his soul, as that
silence itself sat like a spell upon the desolate
mountains—Lord St. Louis pursued his way.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon
that he reached a point whence he could em-
brace the whole of the highest portion of the
range, and could therefore distinguish which
summit of the many eminences was the high-
est of all. Thither did he bend his steps, the
path every minute becoming more rugged
and difficult. Once he was stricken down
by an eagle that dashed against him; though,
as if satisfied with this proof of its strength,
the king of birds attempted no farther mis-
chief, but shooting high up into the air, with
tremendous velocity, was in a moment out of
sight. Another time a large snake suddenly
coiled itself round his leg: and had he not
with amazing presence of mind instantane-
ously clutched it by the neck and held its
head so far away that it could not bite him,
its envenomed teeth might have sent the dark
poison of its jaws into his blood and he never
would have left the mountains of Lebanon to
tell the tale of his adventures there. Having
strangled the snake, he pursued his way
sword in hand, so as to be prepared for the
onslaught of any fresh enemies. But he ex-
. perienced no farther dangers worth recording;
and after another interval of rest, began the
ascent of that sterile summit which is the
highest of the range, and which specially
bearing the name of Lebanon, bestows it
upon all the other mountains of the rocky
border of Palestine.
It was five o'clock in the evening when St.
Louis found himself upon the barren top of
that immense mountain. The Holy Land
ay at his feet, stretching,out before him far
onto the southern horizon. Ho could see ths
ship too which had borne him to Palestine
floating like a speck in the port of Tyre: and
upon the blue waters of the Mediterranean
the son was pouring the flood of its effulgence.
But as St. Louis stood alone on the sum-
mit of Mount Lebanon,—shivering with the
h.tter chill of the atmosphere which prevailed
at that height, although it was the warm aid
glowing month of May,—he said to himself.
"for what object have I been sent hither!
Surely not for the mere purpose of contem-
plating this panorama, where the wild scenery
that forms the theatre on which I am placed
is scarcely relieved by those shining waters
on the one hand, and those green plains
which stretch fer as the eye can reach to-
wards the south."
"My son, what do'st thou here?" said a
deep and solemn voice speaking in the Span-
ish language.
Lord St. Louis started, and turning round,
beheld a venerable old man issuing from what
appeared to be a cave or grotto, the entrance
to which was in a projecting mass of rock a
few feet below the summit of the mountain
This old man could not have seen less than
eighty winters. His hair was thin and white
as silver; his beard, also of glistening white-
ness, reached down to the rude leathern gir-
dle which confined the coarse black gown
that clothed him. To that girdle was sus-
pended a rosary and crucifix; he held a long
staff in his hand to support his tottering
limbs; and altogether he had the air of some
venerable pilgrim who having quitted his na-
tive European clime to seek the Holy Land,
had fixed his abode amidst the time-honoured
heights of Lebanon.
He had spoken in the Spanish language,
we say; and now the reader will comprehend
wherefore, at the opening of this chapter, we
intimated the necessity of pausing to observe
that Gerald St. Louis was well versed in the
principal continental tongues.
"Venerable anchorite—for such I presume
you to be," answered the English noblemaa,
taking off his plumed cap through respect for
that awe-inspiring figure, " are you astonished
to behold a fellow Christian amidst these bar-
ren regions? or have you in any way beea
led to expect such a visit 1 In a word, holy
father, have you aught to say unto me—any
instructions to give—any secrets to communi-
cate—any particular course to point out?
for I am full of suspense to learn the object cf
my mysterious mission hither."
"Who art thou? and what is thy name V
inquired the old man; "for though thou
speakest my own native tongue with fluency,
yet do I perceive by thy accents that thou
thyself art not a Spaniard." -1
"No, venerable man," rejoined St. Louis.
"I am of French origin, but may term myself
an Englishman, not only through having
S


240
THE NECROMANCER.
been born on the shores of Albion, but like-
wise because it is the country of my adoption,
and I am in the service of its king. My
name is St. Louis—I am a peer of England,
and the ambassador of Henry VIII. to the
Ottoman Court. It is in consequence of a
vision, thrice repeated, that I have now
sought the summit of Mount Lebanon."
"Tell me thy vision," said the old man,
(axing earnestly with his mild dark eyes upon
St. Louis.
"To tell thee my vision, holy father, were
to deal merely in words which thou could'st
scarcely understand, unless prefaced by other
explanations. Know, then, that an ances-
tress of mine, Arline by name, suffered cruel
wrong at the hands of a nobleman who bore
the title of Danvers"
"Danvers!" suddenly ejaculated the old
mnn, an extraordinary change coming over
him; for, all in a moment an expression of
hatred and fierce malignity sprang up on his
countenance; but as speedily regaining the
natural calmness of his demeanour, he turned
his eyes upward, saying in a voice of the
deepest fervour, "Forgive me, O Lord! that
for a moment the dark thought should have
intruded itself upon my soul. My son," he
continued, again addressing himself to St.
Louis and speaking with true patriarchal
benevolence, "I can understand wherefore
thou hast been sent hither. Thou hast men-
tioned a name, the name of Danvers, which
affords a clue to that mystery which I may
solve for thee. Follow me."
St. Louis was thereupon conducted by the
old man into the grotto whence the latter had
ere now emerged, and which was a spacious
cave, not hollowed by human hands, but evi-
dently existing naturally in the mountain.
Rude and rough were the accommodations of
the place, such as well became the abode of
an anchorite; but the old man set dried
fruits and cakes of bread, together with an
earthen vessel of water, before St. Louis, and
bade him welcome to the frugal fare. The
nobleman ate a morsel and drank of the
water, so as not to appear to disdain the
hospitality of the old anchorite, though he
had more succulent viands, together with a
flask of wine in his wallet. But these he
dared not produce in that abode of humility
and self-denial.
"Now," said the venerable hermit, "you
must give me your patience while I tell you
a tale which it is requisite for you to hear.
My name is Antonio Cortez; and it is of a
(oved and lamented daughter of mine, the
wronged and hapless Dolorosa, of whom I am
•bout to speak."
- The old aichorite then related the particu-
lars, which will be found in toe ensuing
CHAPTER LIU
THE BISTORT OF llOLOROSA COKTEZ.
MI am descended from a Jewish family
which had long been settled at Toledo, una
of the most ancient and celebrated cities of
Spain. My ancestors were devoted to com-
mercial pursuits; and though frequently sub-
jected to the most bitter persecutions, of which
heavy Ann were not the least, they succeeded
in amassing considerable wealth. My father
became a convert to Christianity; and aban-
doning commerce, he settled down in a com-
fortable mansion in the hope of living undis-
turbed upon the wealth which he possessed,
part of which descended to him from his pro-
genitors, and part of which he had acquired by
his own industry. I was his only son, and
was reared in the doctrines of the Christian
faith. At the death of my parents I inherited
their wealth; and this being great, I was not
compelled to pursue any avocation or profes-
sion. I married a young lady of good family,
and who was likewise a convert from the Jew-
ish persuasion. Two children were the issue
of this union—a son named Juan, and a daugh-
ter called Dolorosa. My wife died when these
children were still very young; and being de-
votedly attached tothe memory of my deceased
partner, I resolved to remain single as a tri-
bute of respect towards her whim I have loved
so fondly. All my care and attention were
now bestowed upon Juan and Dolorosa; and
my heart swelled with a father's pride as I
saw them grow up every thing I could wish-
beautiful, virtuous, and intelligent.
"The incidents I am about to relate hap-
pened thirty-one years ago—consequently in
the middle of the year 1500. At that time
Juan was twenty and Dolorosa eighteen. Both
of them were tall and admirably formed; both
were likewise eminently handsome, with dark
hair, fine black eyes, and the rich hues of
health glowing through the transparent olive
of their complexions; In respect to Dolorosa,
a more lovely being it were impossible to con-
ceive. She had just sufficient of the Jewish
profile to indicate that she was descended from
a family in whose veins flowed Hebrew blood;
but in her manners, the graces of her person,
and the elegant attractions of her sex, she com-
bined all the most captivating and fascinating
qualities of the Castilian maidens. Although
we lived in comparative retirement, yet in con-
sequence of her own exceeding beauty and uf
my wealth, she had many suitors; but none
of them appeared to make any impression upou
her heart, and she was too intelligent to be
dazzled by the mere artificial attractions off
rank. For amongst the aspirants to her hand
there were several individuals of authority and
position in the city: but the most arduous la
pressing: his claims was the Count of Segovia


THE NECHOMANGER. 341
•—a nobleman belonging to a very ancient
family, hut of dilapidated fortunes. He Ma
a young man of about twenty-fire year■ of
age, and had at the time been somewhat noto-
rious for the dissipated nature of hia pursuits.
Latterly, however—that is to say, within two
or three years of the particular time of which
I am speaking—a marked change had come
over hia conduct: he had grown suddenly
steady, and from having been totally indiffer-
ent to his religious duties, became a frequent
attendant at mass in the splendid cathedral of
Toledo. With his alteration of conduct there
also appeared to be an amendment in his pe-
cuniary condition. He extended his esta-
blishment by increasing the number of his do-
mestics and by the purchase of severaI beauti-
ful horses: in short, he not only lived in better
style, but also honourably paid his debts.
There was some little degree of mystery at-
tached to the sources whence his finances
emanated: tail as he was connected with some
of the best families in Spain, it was supposed
that his opulent relations had replenished his
treasury on condition that he should amend
his course of life. Being, as it appeared, a
thoroughly reformed character, and even more
steady and better conducted than any other
young nobleman of the same age and position
in the whole province, his former irregulari-
ties would not have induced me to reject him
as a suitor for Dolorosa's hand; on the con-
trary, the circumstances of his previous wild-
ness and subsequent reformation were such,
as to afford ample promise, that he would
make a good, devoted, and steady husband.
He therefore received my countenance to a
certain extent—that is to say, I gave him to
understand that if he succeeded in winning
Dolorosa's love, I should throw no bstacle in
the way of their union.
"But Dolorosa herself, as it soon appeared
when I spoke seriously to her upon the subject,
entertained a feeling that well nigh bordered
upon aversion in respect to the Count of Se-
govia. Yet, as I learnt from her lips, she
herself could not account for this feeling.
Perhaps it might have been that there was a
boldness, which she did not like, in the man-
ner in which he proffered his suit; perhaps,
notwithstanding his handsome person, she
beheld something sinister and suspicious in
his looks; or, perhaps, she mistrusted the
aincerity of his reformation, and considered
the improvement in his fortunes to be involved
in too much unpleasant mystery, despite the
rumours concerning his opulent relations. Or
it may be that all these causes, combined to
render the pretensions of the Count of Sego-
via unpalatable and repugnant to her feelings.
"I must here interrupt the course of my
narrative for a few minutes, to state that
while the horrors of the Inquisition were ra-
ging at the period throughout the principal
prt of Spain, Toledo had hitherto been mer-
cifully dealt with in that respect . But with-
in the three or four years previous to the
time of which I am speaking, a new Inquisi-
tor-General had been appointed to the district;
and, taking up his abode at the Alcazar
palace, he speedily gave proofs that he waa
not disposed to adopt the lenient course prac-
tised by his predecessors. In short, a reign
of terror commenced in Toledo; and, under
the new Inquisitor-General, Don Guzman
Valdez, a terrific spy-system was organized,
so that it even became unsafe to trust one's
own familiar friends, lest the slightest word,
inadvertently uttered, should be reported to
the authorities of the Holy Office. At the
time of which I am specially speaking, name-
ly, in the year 1500, this reign of terror had
already progressed to a fearful extent; tha
dungeons of the Alcazar were filled with
prisoners; hundreds of victims daily and
nightly were subjected to the torture in those
deep subterraneans, where the massive walls
beat back the cries of anguish and the yells
of pain; and there had already been one
auto-de-fe at which several unhappy beings,
male and female, were burnt. Consternation
prevailed throughout Toledo; thousands of
families had to deplore the loss of some loved
members, torn away from their bosom under
circumstances of the darkest treachery and
most terrible mystery, the offences with which
they were charged being scarcely known and
only possible to be guessed at; while those
who had thus to deplore their loss dared not
complain, much less attempt to interfere, in
case they should share the same fate.
"Such was the condition of Toledo at the
time of which I am speaking; and at this
period was it that the Count of Segovia be-
came more pressing in his attentions than
ever toward my daughter. Vainly had she
given him to understand, with as much plain-
ness and firmness as became the delicacy of
her sex and her own naturally gentle disposi-
tion, that she could not accept his suit; he
persevered in his pretensions, which at length
became so disagreeable to Dolorosa, that her
brother Juan took it upon himself to remons-
trate with the count. This led to an alterca
tion between them, and which coming to my
knowledge, filled me with apprehension lest a
duel should follow. I accordingly interfered,
and taking the count into my private apart-
ment, addressed him in terms of friendly
remonstrance and rebuke. 'Wherefore,' said
I, 'should you continue thus to persecute
my daughter? You cannot complain that I
have acted unfairly or unhandsomely towards
you. No, my lord; I gave you free permis-
sion to make Dolorosa an offer of your hand,
and had she replied favourably, I should have
yielded my assent. But she does not lova
you; and she will not wed where she cannot
bestow her heart. If your lordship be con-
tent to visit at my house as a friend, you will


THE NECROMANCER. 243
* At the expiration of that time when I re-
gained the faculties of reason, I received an
iniimation, secretly delivered by one of the
Familiars, that if I chose to visit my son and
daughter in their dungeons, I had permission
to that effect; and moreover that if the result
of my interview with Dolorosa should be to
persuade her lo accept the hand of the Count
of Segovia, she and her brother would he set
at liberty. Gladly, Oh .' how gladly, did I
avail myself of this leave to behold my chil-
dren. Not that fir an instant I expected
Dolorosa would change her lesolve in respect
to the Count— no- that I intended to use my
authority with her for such an end. But
thougli scarcely able to drag myself from my
sick bed, I lost no time in repairing to the
gaol department of the Alcazar palace. It
was a lovely evening in the middle of the
month of May, when, supported by two of
my domestics, I reached the gates of that
fearful prison. But there I had to dispense
with the assistance of my menials, and drag
myself on as best I could, down the steep
fights of stone stairs and through the gloomy
pas-ages and corridors, until the Familiar who
conducted me stopped at a huge massive door
which he opened. I passed over the thres-
hold and found myself in the cell containing
my daughter. The Familiar placed a lamp
upon the stone pavement just inside the door;
and closing that door, left me alone with my
child.
"Dolorosa flew into my arms, t strained
ber to my breast; and we mingled our tears
together. Presently—by the light of the
lamp, dimly though it burnt—we gazed upon
each other. She knew that I had been very
ill—that I had suffered much; and she wept
abundantly. I did not tell her how il) I had
been; for I was necessarily averse to increase
her afflictions. She was not so much altered
as I had tremblingly expected to find her.
Not having yet appeared before the tribunal,
upon whatsoever charge might be laid against
her, she had not been subjected to any extra-
ordinary severity of treatment: the cell in
which I found her was clean, and might even
be termed comfortably furnished—that is to say,
it was provided with necessaries, though these
were of the rudest and humblest description.
She had moreover been supplied with good
and sufficient food, though of the plainest kind;
and she had been given to understand that
her brother who occupied an adjoining cell
was similarly treated. Thus, to some little
extent, the ligours of incarceration had been
mitigated; and knowing herself innocent of
any offence against the Holy Office, she had
buoyed herself up with the hope of acquittal,
when the day of trial should come. Nor was
this all that occurrc d to sustain her fortitude;
but there was something of a still more cheer-
ing character which had taken place. This
I must explain in her own words:—
"'The dungeon, my dear father,' she sai'1,
* is dimly lighted in the day-time by means "1
that window which you behold there with
the huge iron bars. On the first day of my
imprisonment—and as nearly as I can guess,
about noon, as the light was then most pow-
erful—-the doer opened, and giving admittance
to a person, instar.t&noccsly closed again.
This person was not a Spaniard, although h s
complexion had scmuwhat of the duskiness
cf the Spanish race. He was. a tall, hand-
some, and elegsr.tly dressed :nan, apparently
about thirty years of agf.;—or it may bo a
year or two more; with ravon bloc!: hair de-
scending *o his shoulders, a roustachio upon
his haughtu ' curving lip, bi'.t no be?.td. He
was apparelled in the Spanirh fr.cbion, with
a sable plume in his cap, and a short Castilian
cloak hanging with gracafui elog^ncj upon
his left shoulder. There was something
mysterious but likewise compasri',iiate in his
look; and I may here at or.ci observe tint
his manners were those of a most polishes
courtier. I natural)? took him for somi offi-
cial of the Inquisition.; but advancing towards
me, he in a few words gave me to understand
that so far from having any connexion with
the dread tribunal, he loathed and detested it
with the utmost abomination* He then pro-
ceeded to state thf.l his name was Humphrey
Danvers, and that he was an English noble-
man, possessing estates ir. various parts of
the Continent, one of which w&3 in Spain. 1 •
was astonished tc hear him talk thus: for I
not only wondered how he had obtained ac-
cess to my presence, but a]3o why he had
come at all. Then, with a delicacy of lan-
guage and of manner that I cannot describe
—but a delicacy that was rsir.gled with an
air cf the rnesr. frank and chivalrous sincerity,
—he proceeded to state thai ha ving for some
few weeks past been visitmp; a friend in To-
ledo, he had seen me oe several occasions,
had taken an interest in me, and was pro-
foundly shocked on hearing that I had been
arrested. He p.d'2ed thai he had come to as-
certain whether 1 knew the nature of the
charges against me, so that he might
take measures for my efficient defence. I
thanked him with the warmest gratitude for
his kindness; but replied that not until the
day of appearing before the tribunal should I
learn the nature of the accusations, although
I had little doubt that my accuser was the
Count of Segovia, I asked him how he had
obtained access to my dungeon; to which
question he responded that a golden key would
open any lock, and that my gaolers were not
above the influence of btibery. He remained
with me for nearly an hour, — his language,
his bearing, and his manner being all fraugh'
with the utmost delicacy towards me, but at
the same time with a most fervid interest on
my behalf. When he took his departure, b«
solicited permission to return again shortly,—


THE NECROMANCER.
Could I refuse this demand oo (he part of so
disinterested a friend! I accordingly gave
my consent. At the expiration of a week he
came hack, at about the same hour of the
day; and told me that you, my dear father,
had not been molested by the officers of the
Inquisition. This was a great source of con-
solation; and I cordially thanked Lord Dan-
vers fur such welcome intelligence. He like-
wise assured ine that in a short time he should
be enabled to learn the particular charges on
which myself and Juan had been arrested;
and having again tarried about an hour, con-
versing with me, he went away. Again at
tiie expiration of a week did he return, repeat-
ing his assurance that you, my father, con-
tinued at liberty; but adding that he had not
as yet obtained information on the other point.
He remained with me about an hour, as be-
fore and then look his departure. A fourth
time, at the expiration of a week, did he visit
me again, and give me consolatory assurances
respecting yourself as regarded your freedom;
but he added that you had been ill, a circum
stance which he had withheld before through
fear of afflicting me. I wept. Oh! how bit-
terly I wej,t. at such sad intelligence; but he a*
sured me the crisis was passed, and that yoa,
were out of danger. Having remained the
usual time discoursing with me, he went
away, promising that at his next visit be
would bring me tidings relative to the nature
of the accusations against Juan and myself.
Dearest father, the fifth visit of Lord Danvers
was paid yesterday; when he informed me
that the Count of Segovia has accused my
dear brother Juan and me of lading secretly
attached to the Jewish faith, although openly
professing Christianity, and that we have
spoken in disrespectful terms of the Holy
Office. Lord Danvers, having given me this
information, inquired what could be done to
serve me and Juan in our defence! What
could I tell him? Nothing, but thnt the ac-
cusation was false—for that I and my brother
are both firmly and sincerely devoted to the
Christian faith which we profess. I then im-
plored Lord Danvers to see you, my dear
lather; so that you might become aware that
heaven had raised u,s up so kind a friend. He
assured me that if he had not already pre-
sented himself to you, it was in consequence
of your illness; but that he would do »o
within a very few days. And now, my dear fa-
ther, I have but a few more words Id say rslet'>o
to these visits which I have received from
Lord Danvers; and as your own dutiful
daughter, who has never in thought nor word
deceived you, 1 must confess that on each oc-
casion he has contemplated me with a deeper
interest and with a more tender sympathy;
Dut his language has been only that of the
most delicate and generous friendship.
"Such was the extraordinary statement
avfcich Dolorosa revealed *0 me: but I read in
her blushing countenance something more
than she herself haa explained. Vet it waa
with no studied reaerve thai she had failed to
mention the tender impression that Lord
Danvers bad made upon her own heart; she
at the same time, poor girl! comprehended not
her own feelings in that respect 1 asked her un-
der what circumstances the Onglisa nobleman
obtained aua to her, and whether the Fa-
miliar whoi.i he bribed let him in and out of
the dungeon 1 She answered thai on each
of the fr»e occasions of his visit he seemed to
lie in possession of the key that unio. bad the
door, as he let himself in and nut . I then
hegar, to tremble lest, after all, this mysterious
visitor should be a mere spy of the Inquisi-
tion, intent upon taking advantage of her
confidence and g'eanmg from her bp* those
natural complainings ageinst the tyranny of
t'.ie Holy Office that might supply the de-
ficiency of more substantial evidence to pro-
cure her condemnation. Bvt whik I was
thus giving utterance to my fears, the door of
the dungeon opened, and the gaoler ame to
announce that it was time for me to tike my
departure. Dolorosa clung to me with all the
tenacity of mingled anguish and devote 1 love;
hut the rode Familiar separated us, am I was
hurried away. From my daughter's -ell I
passed to that of Juan, with whom ( ws only
allowed to remain a few minutes, bu. just
long enough to make him acquainted wil -. the
singular tale which Dolorosa had told ine, end
put him *jpon bis guard so that he n ight
speak cautiously in case he should receive a
similar visit. 1 returned to my lonely habita-
tion, and passed a sleepless night, thinking of
alt Dolorosa had eaid, and offering up the
most fervid prayers to heaven on behalf of
my poor children. On the following day, as
I was seated in an apartment pondering upon
my misfortunes, a servant entered and an-
nounced Lord Danvers. I experienced a thrill
of joy as my visitor entered the room; for I
at once felt assured that he was really a friend
and no spy after all. I accordir.jly received
him with befitting courtesy, and gave him a
cordial welcome. We conversed long and
earnestly upon the circumstances of the posi-
tion in which Dolorosa and Juan were placed;
and he not only manifested the liveliest sym-
pathy on their behalf, but likewise delicately
gave me to understand that he was deeply
c:ia.To-jr*d of my daughter. While we were
yet '.peeking, a domestic entered to inform me
that the Ocuttt of Segovia demanded an inter-
view. My hist impulse wia to give an indig-
nant refusal to see the traitor: hut Lord Dan*
vers, as if struck by a sudden idea, bade me
order that be might be introduced. I accord-
ingly did so; and the false nobleman entered
the room. He stopped short, near the thres-
hold, on observing that I had some one with
me: but I immediately said, • This is Lord
Danvers, an English nobleman and a man oi


245
honour. It in my desire that he should re-
main a witness of whatever may take place
between us.*—'In that case,'said the Count
of Segovia,'lam to presume that you have
given Lord Danvers such a version of the
story as suits your own purposes? But I re-
fuse to hold any communication with you in
the presence of a witness.'—-'Such is invaria-
bly the conduct of all foul traitors.' said Lord
Danvers, in a coldly sarcastic voice, as he bent
a look of mingled scorn and indignation upon
the Count. — 'Ah! this to me!' cried the
latter, placing his hand upon his swprd and
half drawing it from its sheath.—'Yes; and
more too,' rejoined Danvers with the same
tone and manner as before. 'I tell thee, my
Lord of Segovia, that thou art the basest of
villains as well as the vilest of dastards!' —
'Such words as those,'said the Count, pale
and trembling with rage, 'convey an insult
which can only be wiped away with blood.'—
'Be it so!' answered Lord Danvers, with the
most contemptuous indifference. 'Name the
hour and the place where I may have an op-
portunity of ridding the earth of a cowardly
traitor who wages war on defenceless dam-
sels!'—'At once, and in the garden of my
mansion,' exclaimed the Count, scarcely able
to restrain his fury.—' Proceed thither,' re-
joined Lord Danvers, 'and I will follow
shortly, with a friend to serve as my second.'
—' I shall await you, my Lord,' exclaimed the
Count of Segovia: 'and then, having chas-
tised you for your insolence, I shall return
to hold my conference with Don Antonio
Cortez.'
"With these words he turned upon his
heel and quitted the room. The scene I have
just described commenced so abruptly, pro-
gressed so rapidly, and ended with such a
kindred speed, that I had not time to throw in
a single word while the arrangement for a
death-duel was taking place. A sort of con-
sternation was upon me; but the moment the
Count of Segovia had taken his departure,
I turned towards Danvers, saying, ' Heavens,
my Lord! what have you done? Through
your kind interest on my behalf and that of
my children, you have rushed headlong upon
a danger which may prove fatal. My lord,
the Count of Segovia is the liest swordsman
in Toledo.'—'And he, may wear the liest Tole-
dn blade by his side, responded Danvers, with
a smile of contemptuous indifference; ' but I
shall not fear to cross it with my French ra-
pier.'—• At least, my lord,' said I, 'let me fur-
nish you with a weightier weapon: yours is
but slight indeed.'—• Strong enough to punish
that foul traitor,' replied Danvers, now in an
easy tone of confidence, but without any
more perceptible emotion. 'If I slay him,'
he added, ' your children will be free; for he
is the only accuser who is to appear against
them. Remain tranquilly here, Don Cortez,
nntil my return'- I snatched his hand and
16
pressed it to my lips; for I already beheld is)
him, as I thought, the saviour of my dearly
beloved children. He left me; and for an
hour I was a prey to the most acute suspense
—a suspense so poignant that I wonder my
heartstrings did not crack with the excrucia-
tion I thus endured. 	 the expiiation of
that interval the door was thrown open and
Lord Danvers re-entered the room.—' You!
enemy is no more,' he said; 'that villain, I
have killed him!'
I sank down upon a seat, overwhelmed with
ineffable emotions: then starting up, I sprang
towards the English nobleman, threw myself
at his feet, and almost worshipped bim as a
friend whom heaven had raised up in the mo-
ment of bitterest need to vindicate outraged
innocence and punish foulest perfidy. On the
following morning Juan and Dolorosa were
placed before the Grand-Inquisitor in the tri-
bunal at the Alcazar palace; and three iime*
wee their accuser summoned to make his ap-
pearance. But no witness stood up against
them: they were accordingly liberated, and
ere noon were restored to their home and to
their father's arms. Lord Danvers was pre*
sent when they thus re-entered the dwelling
from which they had been torn away so cru-
elly, and to which they were now restored aa
it seemed so happily. I beheld the rich blood
mantle upon Dolorosa's cheeks as she ex-
pressed her warmest gratitude to the nobleman
for having so chivalrously constituted himself
her champion and her brother's; and me*
thought that it would be a day of rejoicing on
which my daughter should become Lord Dan-
vers' bride. For to gaze upon them, they
seemed admirably suited«for each other; and
there appeared to be a remarkable fitness in
the union of that fine elegant noble of an al-
most wondrous lieauty, and that tall, graceful,
charming girl of a loveliness surpassing that of
any other maiden in Castile. As for my son
Juan, he was delighted with the new friend
whose acquaintance he made now for the first
time: and, indeed, the conduct of Danvers in
having risked his life for the purpose of pun-
ishing a traitor was full well calculated to win
the esteem and admiration of a frank, confid-
ing, and high-spirited youth as Juan was.
"Lord Danvers now became a constant
visitor at our house, where he was received as
the affianced suitor of Dolorosa. I learnt from
an eminent Goldsmith in Toledo, with whom I
was well acquainted, that Lord Danvers was
the richest nobleman in Europe, as he not
only possessed three or four estates in Eng
land, but likewise immense territorial proper-
ties in Spain, France, Germany, and else-
where. Thus, in every point of view, did the
alliance appear to bit the most eligible thai
Dolorosa could possibly form. And she lovid
Humphrey Danvers with the sincerest and
most heartfelt devotion: it was a love based
not only upon admiration, but «leo upon g'«


246
titudo—n love too which seemed to he fully
reciprocated. I was supremely happy: for
the more I saw of Danvers, the more was I
possessed in his favour. His mind appeared
to be of the most wondrous contexture—stored
with all possible accomplishments, and with
funds of knowledge which were rare indeed
on the part of even the most erudite sages,
much more so than that of a nobleman who did
not appear to h.ive yet reached the prime of
life.
"The day was fixed for the bridal; it was
to take place exactly three months after the
release of Dolorosa and Juan from the prison
of the Alcazar palace. Lord Danvers had
suggested that it should be celebrated with as
little ostentation as possible; and to this I
willingly yielded my assent. A few select
friends only were invited; but I had given
orders for a banquet of the most elegant
description. Never did a man rise from his
couch with a happier heart than I, on the
morning which I fondly believed was destined
to give me a son-in-law every way worthy of
my esteem and my daughter's love. Scarce-
ly was I dressed, when Juan came to my
apartment, apparelled in his gayest costume,
and with radiant looks, to offer me his filial
congratulations upon the blissful event which
we both deemed about to take place. Wt
embraced each other, and then descended tc
the apartment where the banquet was to be
held. But our happiness was of brief dura-
tion, and was destined to be destroyed by a
blow as violent as it was sudden. A domes-
tic came hurrying into the room with conster-
nation upon his countenance; he had just
heard from Dolorosa's maid that her young
mistress had disappeared! I could not be-
lieve the statement—it seemed utterly prepos-
terous; but the next moment the maid her-
nelf came to confirm the dreadful tidings.
Yes, Dolorosa was gone; her bed had not
been slept in all night, and she had departed
in the same apparel she had worn on the pre-
vious evening. It was therefore evident that
she had been absent some hours; but what
could it mean? Juan rushed frantically to
the house where Lord Danvers had been liv-
ing during his residence in Toledo. There
my son learnt that his lordship had abruptly
taken his departure on the preceding evening,
between ten and eleven o'clock, and that his
attendants had risen very early on that same
morning of which I am speaking, and had
likewise quitted the city of Toledo. It farther
appeared, that on the previous evening, Lord
Danvers had ordered his two most splendid
hones to be saddled, but that dispensing with
•II attendance, he had mounted one and led
•way the other. These were all the particu-
lars that could be gleaned; and not the
•lightest clue existed as to the route the fugi-
tives had taken.
* When Juan returned to me * ith this |
intelligence, I was nearly distracted. To*
clear, too evident, was it that Dolorosa had
been beguiled away by the treacherous Dan-
vers, at whose perfidy I was as much enraged
as I was shocked and astounded by Dolorosa's
frailty. Juan was perfectly infuriate. Fall-
ing upon his knees and drffwing his sword
from its sheath, he kissed the blade, calling
heaven to witness his vow that he would
never rest, until he had either compelled the
treacherous Danvers to make reparation to
the dishonoured Dolorosa, or else had wreaked
upon him a fearful vengeance. Catching the
infection of the same spirit which animated
my son, I promised to accompany him in pur-
suit of the fugitives. Mounting our horses,
and accompanied by six well-armed retainers,
we commenced our journey, bending our
way in the first instance to Lord Dan-
vers' estate in the neighbourhood of Madrid.
But on reaching his castle on that domain,
we learnt that he was not there. Cruelly
disappointed, but by no means dispirited, we
now resolved to proceed to France; and,
accordingly, journeyed with all possible ra-
pidity to Danvers' estate in Normandy. But
the treacherous seducer was not there. Thence
we continued our way to the coast and em-
barked for England, where we visited the
se-eral domains belonging to Lord Danvers
in Essex, n Cumberland, and in the Isle of
Wight. Still we could hear naught of him
At the two first-mentioned castles he had not
been seen for some years past; and that in
the Isle of Wight was untenanted and shut
up. After a long absence we returned to To-
ledo, where nothing had been heard of Dolo-
rosa during the time we were away.
"I was now seized with a serious illness;
and for some time my life was despaired of,
Juan attended me affectionately day and
night: but where was my daughter, who
should have been with me to smooth my pil-
low and minister unto me in my sickness?
Alas ! no tidings of her came; and as soon as
the physician pronounced me beyond the
reach of danger, Juan, in accordance with his
vow, set off again in search of Danvers. A
year passed away, during which I suffered the
tortures of suspense relative to my son, dread-
ing lest it were heaven's doom that I should
thus be deprived of both my children. Ano-
ther year passed—and still no tidings of my
absent Juan! Then, reduced to despair, I
breathed a srlemn vow to heaven, that if he
were restored to me, even though it were but
for an hour, I would retire from the world,
make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and
devote the remainder of my life to prayer and
religious observances. Within a week after
I had made this vow, Juan returned. But
heavens! how changed was he—and in what
a condition did he come back to his afflicted
j parent! Pale—emaciated—worn out with
j fatigues, privations, and sufferings, my well


248
THE NECROMANCER.
morning; for I have yet many things la say
onto thee," replied the Spaniard: "and as
tbnu haul already experienced the danger of
wandering amid these hill■ when 'the orb of
da; pour iu effulgence upon them, thou may-
■sl estimate the perils which would be attend-
ant upon retracing thy atop* at night."
Having thus spoken, the venerable hermit
rose Iron) his seat; and striking a light, he
set fire to a quantity of dry wood collected at
the extremity of the grotto. Then, as ihe fag-
gots blazed and crackled, he threw thereon
several large logs; and a genial heat was
speeddy shed through the cave,—the smoke
escaping by an aperture above, which served
the purpose of a chimney.
"For tnenly-seven yeara, as I have already
informed you," he said, as he resumed his
aeal, "have I made this grotto my home,—
dwelling thus a solitary hermit upon the height
of Lebanon! During this long space of time,
my existence has been devoted to heaven;
and I have endeavoured to the utmost of my
power to banish from my mind the recollec-
tions of the past and the arlairs of the great
busy, bustling world, so that naught should
interfere with my devotions. But at times I
have felt arising within me a dark hatred for
that man whose treachery wrecked all my
earthly hopes of happiness. Aye—and I have
longed too. to rush back into that great world
which I have deserted, and fulfilling the dying
injunctions of my son, pursue Lord Danvers
with an unrelenting vindictiveness. But on
those occasions, when the thought of revenge
has thus stolen into my mind, have I recol-
lected the sublime maxim which enjoins us to
leave vengeance unto the Lord: and thus has
my sense of duty towards heaven triumphed
over the remnants of earthly paasions which
smoulder in my heart. And to a rigid perse-
verance in the life of seclusion which I have
adopted, has my soul been encouraged by vi-
sions from above. In those visions much that
relates to the author of my sorrows has been
revealed to me; and it is doubtless for the
purpose of hearing from my lips the revelation
of these deep mysterious secrets, that you have
been sent hither. Listen then, Gerald St.
Louis, to what I am about to say."
The countenance of the venerable ancho-
rite assumed, if possible, a deeper solemnity
than it had previously worn, as he thus spoke;
•nd as the lambent light of the fire played
upon his features, St. Louis thought that
never had he beheld a figure so venerable and
so entitled to the profoundest respect as the
hermit of Mount Lebanon.
"A hundred and forty-nine years have
elapsed," continued the anchorite, "since
Lord Walter Danvers, then only twenty-five
years of age, made his compact with the
Evil One. This compact, as I have already
informed you, involved the peril of his immor-
tal soul For a period of one hundred and
fifty years was the lease of life, and powt'
and riches, extended. In one year more that
lease will expire; and then, unless certain
conditions be fulfilled, the unhappy Danvers
must surrender up his soul to Satan V
"One year more 1" murmured St. Louis,
a cold shudder quivering throughout hie
frame, "Oh! how dark, how dreary, hovf
desolate, his thoughts must be!"
"Perhaps less so than you may imagine,"
rejoined the hermit; " for, if the conditions of
his compact be fulfilled by him, he emanci-
pates himself from the power of the Evil
One."
"And those conditions V asked St. Louis,
with mingled curiosity and awe.
"That he should fumish six victims,"
replied the old man. "who, for the love of
him, pledge themselves to surrender up even
their immortal souls at his bidding!"
"Heavens! unhappy Arline V ejaculated
St. Louis, a light suddenly breaking in upon
his mind. "Was it thus that thou wast be-
guiled, O Arline 1"
"Alas! and my unhappy daughter like-
wise!" rejoined the old man, clasping his
hands and bending his head down in deep
despondency. "But let us hope," he observed,
somewhat suddenly looking up again, and
with the sacred light of a sublime confidence
beaming upon his countenance, "that youi
mission hither tc me was to prepare the way
for breaking the spell which has already given
five victims to the infernal compact that Dan-
vers made with the Enemy of Mankind."
"Five victims?" echoed St. Louis, inter-
rogatively.
"Yes—five," rejoined the anchorite. "I
have seen them in my visions; and amongst
them was my hapless daughter Dolorosa. So
recently as last night did I behold them flit-
ting in shadowy shapes before me, as I lay
stretched upon my bed of dry leaves; and
thus is it certain that Lord Danvers has not
as yet found a sixth victim! He therefore
has but one year left in order to find that
sixth and last victim, who in the infatuation
of a virgin love, will consent to be his both
body and soul.'"
"One year to find his sixth and last vic-
tim V said Gerald St. Louis, as he repeated
in a musing tone, the old man's words.
"Yes—it is so," responded the anchorite.
"But I have yet more to reveal. In my
visions I have beheld the interior of a chamber
containing six black panels bordered with red
lines, and originally planned for the inscrip-
tion of the names of six victims. I know not
where upon the face of the earth that chamber
is situated; for my dreams have been limited
as to circumstances, and shadowv as well as
indistinct in respect to many things connected
with these awful mysteries. But upon five
of those panels have I read as many names,
traced in letters of fire and fearfully distinct


THE NECROMANCER.
249
There »re times when my memory becomes
confused, and I recollect not all that I have
teen in my visions; but at this moment every
thing which has thus been so mysteriously
revealed to me, is wonderfully distinct in the
cells of my brain. Yes—now I behold those
panels; and I can read the names which burn
upon five thereof. Bianca Landini—Marga-
ret Dunhaven—Arline dc St. Louis—Dolorosa
Cortez—and Clara Minners!"
"Arline, Arline!" muttered the noblemar.
between his teeth; "thou shalt be avenged!
thou shalt be avenged!"
"8ay rather, my son," rejoined the old man,
in a tone of mingled rebuke and encourage-
ment, " that the soul of your ancestress shall
be rescued and saved, and not that her spirit
shall be avenged. Have I not already made
thee understand that vengeance belongeth
unto heaven, and not to man? It was one of
the circumstances of Lord Danvers's wild and
mysterious destiny that wherever he succeeded
in finding a victim, he should leave the germs
of a dark and almost implacable vengeance
behind. Thus, so far as the revealings of my
nights' dreams have lifted the veil to my com-
prehension, have I been made to know that
each family which experienced the sad destiny
of furnishing a victim to Lord Danvers, has
likewise cherished hopes and projects for re-
venge. Such would also have been the domi-
nant thoughts and aspirations of my soul, had
not I devoted myself to the service of heaven,
and abandoning the world, sought the holy
seclusion of this grotto on the heights of Le-
banon. Therefore is it that heaven, in the
working out of its own inscrutable will, hath
made such revelations unto me as will perhaps
lead to the emancipation of the souls of the
five departed maidens from the power of the
Evil One, and frustrate the designs of Lord
Danvers in his search for a sixth and last
virgin-victim!"
"And perhaps also," added St. Louis, deeply
touched by the old' man's piety, "it is because
for many years past I also have renounced all
thoughts of vengeance, that 1 am now destined
Id become an instrument of good to accom-
plish the high purposes of heaven?"
"Let us hope so, my son," answered the
old anchorite, crossing himself devoutly; "and
I already feel a presentiment arising within
me that our anticipations will not be disap-
pointed. Let us now lie down to rest; and
it may be in the morning that I shall have
farther revelations to make, and positive in-
structions to give, so that your mission to
Mount Lebanon will not have been accom-
plished in vain."
The old anchorite and the great English
nobleman then stretched themselves side by
side upon the bed of leaves; and in a few
minutes a deep slumber fell upon them both.
The visions of Gerald St. Louis were cheering
and full of h *oe. He fancied that he beheld
that same preternatural lustre which he had
seen in his magnificent chamber at Constan-
tinople, now diffusing itself throughout th■
grotto, and supplying with its holier and more
translucent radiance the light of the fire which
had died away;—and in the midst of that
shining halo he perceived the figure of Arline
gradually appear. The shape was still appa-
relled in sable garments; but its countenance
was no longer pensive md mournful. It shone
with the radiance of hope; and her features
were beaming with smiles of approval and
thankfulness, as she fixed her blue eyes upftn
Gerald St. Louis. Then she appeared to
raise her hand—not in a warning manner,
but as if invocative of a blessing; and she
said in a soft musical voice, " Again am I per-
mitted to appear unto thee! Thou hast done
well to obey my injunctions; and all things
shall henceforth prosper thee in life if thou
dost pursue thy mission faithfully until the
end. See that thou obeyest to the very letter
the words which the venerable anchorite will
breathe to thee in the morning."
Having thus spoken—or rather having thus
appeared to speak—the figure of Arline grad-
ually grew dim and indistinct, the lustre also
fading away; and utter darkness once more
prevailed in the grotto. St. Louis dreamt no
more, but slept on tranquilly and serenely un>
til the morning—when he awoke, as the orient
heavens were glowing with the effulgenee of
a new-born day.
Rising from his bed of leaves, St. Louie
found that he was alone in the grotto; and
having performed his ablutions—the conveni-
ences for which, rude though they were, he
found at hand—he issued forth from the cave.
Antonio Cortez was now descried kneeling on
the summit of the hill, and offering up hie
1prayers to heaven. St. Louis, silently ad-
vancing to the spot, knelt down by his side,
and joined in the old man's devotions. Pre-
sently they rose; and the anchorite said, "Lot;
us first break our fast, and I will then impart
to you the inspirations of my sleep's vision■."
They sat down at the entrance of the grotto,
and partook of the frugal fare which the an-
chorite produced.
"For this," be said, "as well as for every •
morsel of food that I have put into my mouth
for twenty-seven years past—yea, also for the
garments which clothe me—am 1 indebted to
the piety of a few Christians who dwell
amongst the hills farther along the chain of
Lebanon."
Antonio Cortez gave St. Louis a few more
particulars relative to his mode af life; but
these would prove but little interesting to the
reader. We will therefore suppose the frugal
meal ended and a thanksgiving pronounced
by the venerable hermit. Then addressing
himself to Lord St. Louis, he spoke as
follows:- —
"The presentiment which had arisen in ray


250 THE NECROMANCER.
mind ere we retired to rest, and which was to
the effect that the visions of my slumber would
to]low up the chain of previous revelation!
• nd divine promptings, lias been fulfilled.—
Angel-voices have whispered the most cheer-
ing language to my ears, and have indicated
yourself as the instrument whom heaven has
chosen to accomplish its high purposes. But
of the future I can read little; and what I
have to say is limited to a few instructions,
which nevertheless I feel assured are destined
to serve as the means for accomplishing all
desired aims. Return you without delay to
Constantinople: in > few months'time your
negotiations there wdl be accomplished suc-
cessfully; and this shall lie a sign unto you
that you may likewise hope for success in the
holy and mysterious mission with which you
are entrusted by a power superior to all earth-
ly kings. In due course you will retrace your
way te England. And now mark well what
I am about to say. On the last night of the
month of May of the next year—namely, the
year 1532—and soon after ten o'clock on that
same night, do you present yourself at the
gate of Carisbrook Castle in the Isle of Wight,
and accost the first person whom you shall
■ee coming forth thence. In that person's ear
thou wilt whisper these words: ' This night
a victim must be saved from the power of
Lord Danvers I' Then that person—I know
not whom it will be, nor whether male or fe-
male—will aid thee to the accomplishment of
the rest. But one word more. Thou wilt
require a talisman to save thyself and thy
companion from the vengeance of Lord Dan-
vers: and this holy relic shall suffice."
Thus speaking, the old man drew forth a
•mall ebony crucifix from beneath the folds of
his garment; and having devoutly kissed it,
he gave it into the hands of St. Louis.
They then parted,—the venerable hermit
bestowing a fervid benediction upon the Eng-
lish nobleman, who forthwith began to retrace
his way down the slopes of Lebanon to the
fishing-village where he had left his depen-
dants. They were rejoiced to liehold their
master return; for they were apprehensive
that some evil had befallen him amidst the
mountains. Without farther delay, St. Louis
■nd his menials embarked on board the ship,
which set sail on its voyage back to Con-
stantinople.
CHAPTER LV.
linn,
Thi town of Chelmsford was already a
thriving and by no means unimportant place,
in the age of which we are writing. It is to
the environs of this town that we are about
to direct the attention of the reader.
A neat little cottage, standing in the mit'st
of a flower-garden upon the bank of the
Chelroer, was occupied by an aged gentle-
woman and a beautiful young maiden. The
former, was the widow of an officer who had
fallen when righting the battles of his coun-
try, many years previous to the date of
which we are speaking. There were no
pensions in those times for widows in such
cases; but as Captain Musgrave had been a
distinguished and highly respected townsman
of Chelmsford, the wealthy inhabitants of the
place had taken care that his widow should
be placed above want. Sne had no children
nor any relations to care for her; but she had
adopted the young maiden to whom we era
now alluded.
The circumstances of this adoption were
so singular as to require special mention
here. It was in the summer of the year
1517, that a man and woman bearing the
name of Bradley, and having an infant fe-
male child with them, came to settle in tha
town of Chelmsford. The man was about
thirty years of age—the woman, two i r
three years younger. They hired a respec -
able house, and appeared to be possessed oi
ample means, although the sources of their
income were not known, the man pursuing
no trade, profession, or calling of any kind.
They did not appear to be of the rank of
gentlefolks; and, indeed, it somehow or an-
other got whispered nbout that they had held
menial offices previous to their marriage, or,
in plainer terms, had been servants in some
wealthy family. However, be this as it may
they conducted themselves with the utinosf
propriety; and if they lived in a manner
which appeared to be somewhat above their
real condition in life, they at all events paid
their way honourably. The house which
they occupied was at no great distance from
Dame Musgrave's cottage, a little way out of
the town, and on the bank of the river.
The man Bradley's chief amusement con-
sisted in angling in the stream; and, for this
purpose he purchased a little boat, which he
kept moored at the bottom of his garden.
Sometimes his wife, with the child in her
arms, woaid accompany him in his fishing
excursion* and he seemed fond of rowing
his boat up nd down the river when his wife
thus became his companion. It was about a
year after the Bradteys had settled at Chelms-
ford, that the tragedy took place which gave
the child over to the care of Dame MusgraVe;
for one day the boat upset in a wide and
deep part of the river, and Bradley and his
wife were drowned. The child, buoyed up
by its garments, floated upon the water; and
some persons who witnessed the accident,
hastened to tender such assistance as they
could. Bradley and his wife had sunk to
rise no more; but the child was rescued ftoir
a watery grave.


252
THE NECROMANCER.
Ike windings of the river had thua brought
her within a few yards of the stranger ere she
perceived him: and then she was about to
turn away and begin retracing her steps
homeward, when he suddenly sprang to his
feet, and doffing his plumed cap, made her so
courteous a salutation that she was of ncces-
i ty compelled to return it. Then he advanced
towards her, putting some question relative
to the direction in which certain paths, branch-
ing away from that point, led off; so that she
found herself constrained to pause and give
bun the information which he sought.
While thus conversing with the stranger,
Marian could not help noticing the beauty of
his person, the elegance of his manners, and
the sweetness of his voice. Moreover, he was
quite a youth—apparently not more than two
or three years above her own age; and thus
there was less real awkwardness or embarrass-
ment on her part in conversing with him, than
it he had been farther advanced in manhood.
But his personal beauty—it was indeed of
• rare perfection! The reader cannot fail to
remember the description which we gave of
Reginald Dan vers at the '..me when he as-
sumed that boyishness of appe- ••nee after
imbibing the liquid from the phial a. Sis castle
in the Isle of Wight. That very same de-
scription will exactly suit the elegant stripling
who thus introduced himself to the notice of
Marian Musgrave. His long dark hair, curl-
ing as beautifully as that of a woman, and
parted above a brow of noble height—the
classic regularity of his delicately chiselled
features—the brightness of his splendid eyes
—the pure vermillion of his lips—the pearh
Whiteness of his teeth—and the soft carnation
appearing through the clear olive of his com-
plexion,—all were precisely the same as those
characteristics which distinguished the exqui-
site beauty of Reginald Danvers. There was
likewise an ingenuous frankness and a cap-
tivating affability in his manner, as well as a
softness in his speech, with the gloss of the
most polished courtesy and well-bred refine-
ment thrown over all, that it was no wonder
if the susceptible heart of Marian Musgrave
at once experienced a feeling *f interest in
her new acquaintance.
He had asked her those questions concern-
ing the pathways and he had received the
information which he appeared to seek. But
stdl he found some additional queries to put
—some more intelligence to obtain; and
Marian, even without the secret and scarcely
comprehensive promptings of her own heart,
would have been compelled for mere courtesy's
sake to linger a few minutes thus to converse
with the elegant stranger. Insensibly, too,
did she find herself listening to some tale
which he had already begun to tell concerning
aiimelf. He stated that the family to which
ta belonged, and which was of the highest
rank and greatest wealth, had given displea-
sure to the king and been much persecuted.
He went on to say that he himself at that
moment, though so young, was an object of
the same rancorous proscription; and that his
head would be forfeited if he were entrapped
by the royal emissaries.
It required nothing more than such a tale
as this to enlist the tenderest sympathies of
Marian's generous heart; and as she fixed
her fine dark eyes with a compassionating
look upon the stranger, she could not help
thinking how shocking it would be if so hand-
some and graceful a young man were to un-
dergo a violent death. He saw what was
passing in her mind—he read all her emotions
in her eloquent eyes; and taking her hand,
he said, in that soft musical voice which in its
very tones is laden with the language of love,
"Fair damsel, I perceive that you sympathise
with me—and I thank you—Oh! I thank
you, from the very bottom of my heart! But
there is a boon which, were I bold enough, I
should beseech at your hands—a boon that
will give you little trouble to grant, and which
may perhaps be the means of saving my life."
What could Marian dol what could she
say? Guileless herself, she was unsuspicious
of guile in others: never having harboured a
deceitful thought in all her life, it occurred not
to her for a single moment that there was a
possibility of being deceived. She therefore
at once declared, with a blush upon her cheek
and a tear glistening in her eye, that she
would cheerfully do all that lay in her power
to assist one who seemed to be so cruelly
persecuted, and over whose head such immi-
nent peril was hanging.
"All that I require, sweet maiden," he re-
sponded, " is to be informed whether any of
the king's officers are at present lurking about
in the town of Chelmsford. If at this same
hour to-morrow evening you would not deem
it indiscreet to come hither and bring me in-
formation on that head, you would be confer-
ring a lasting obligation upon me."
"My grandmother"—(for so was Marian
accustomed to call Dame Musgrave)—" is in
the town at this moment, and I will presently
seek from her the information you require.
To-morrow evening, therefore—or earlier if
you wish—I will return hither in company
with Hit relative."
"A}-: fair maiden," cried the youth, a cloud
suddf*dy settling upon his countenance, "if
yor Breathe to a single soul, even y ,ur dear-
est and nearest relation, that I am • oncealed
in this neighbourhood, I should not consider
myself safe. Without the intention to do ma
barm, the most fatal results might be produced
by a mere word inadvertently uttered."
"Then I will take the task upon myself,"
at once replied the generous-hearted Marian:
not understanding in her girlish irtlnssness


THE NECROMANCER.
253
that it was nothing more nor less than an
appointment she was thus making with the
youthful stranger.
"Thanks—a thousand thanks!" he ex-
claimed, his beauteous features suddenly light-!
ing up vrith joy. "For heaven's sake do not
disappoint me!"
Without giving her time to reply, the ele-
gant stranger doffed his plumed cap once more
in grao t'ul salutatim; and then plunging
amidst the trees, disappeared from her view.
Marian retraced her way to the cottage, her
mind filhd with the image of that captivating
youth whose alleged misfortunes had already
enlisted her warmest sympathies.
CHAPTER LVX
tqz l or x as.
It vrts not till the gentle Marian reached
the threshold of the cottage that it struck her
how she had given c pledge to the beautiful j
you'll rrom whom she had just parted, that
would compel her to keep all the particulars
of their meeting, and indeed the meeting it-
self, rigidly secret from Dame Musgrave.
The young girl stopped short, and a painful
sensation smote her heart, even with the vio-
lence of a pang. She stood irresolute how
•. ict. On tho one hand was a deep and
affectionate sense of the duty which she owed
to her kind guardian ; on the other hand was
the promise she had given the youth, to ob-
serve a strict silence in respect to all that
concerned him. Ingenuous, sincere, and open-
hearted a* Marian was, she naturally looked
upon any thing that savoured of dissimulation
as a crime; and she felt sorely distressed at
the embarrassment in which she was placed.
For nearly a minute did she remain at the
door ere she lifted the latch; and then she
entertd the dwelling without having been
able to make up her mind to any particular
course. The little parlour was empty ; Dame
Musgvavc had not yet returned. Greatly re-
lieved at thus finding she had leisure for
reflection, Marian sat down and continued her
inward communings. She felt towards that
youth as never she had yet felt in respect to
any human being; his image had made a
sudden and deep impression upon her heart.
Chaste and ingenuous though she were,
guileless even to an angelic simplicity, she
could not help experiencing a secret desire to
behold that youth again; and when she
caught herself sighing, she wondered, in her
innocence, wherefore what she believed to be
so trivial a circumstance as the mere encoun-
ter of a stranger, should have produced such
an effect upon her. Still, as she went on
thinking, she could not satisfactorily settle the
poiul whither she should tell her grand-
mother (as she called Dame Musgrave) every
thing, or whether she should maintain a rigid
silence. But then, as she reflected—aml
shuddered, too, as she thus reflected—upon
the words which the youth had spoken, to
the effect that the leoet inadvertent syllable
let drop would send him to the scaffold, she
was naturally led to the conclusion that it
would be more prudent to say nothing upon
the point. Yet, even as Marian made up her
mind, she felt some slight compunction and
some little misgiving at the course on which
she resolved; then, again, as the dread of in
any way compromising the safety of that
beautiful and elegant youth recurred to her
heart, she was confirmed in the decision to
which she had come.
Therefore, when Dame Musgrave re-ap-
peared, Marian held her peace us to the
adventure on the river's bank. f?he and her
worthy protectress took their usual little walk
in the garden; and though the young maiden
was more pensive than ever she had been before,
yet her kind guardian did not perceive it, she
being herself somewhat pre-occupied with the.
solemn thoughts excited by the visit which
she had just paid to a dying friend.
It was a long time before Marian could
compose herself to sleep that night; the image
of the beautiful youth was never absent from
her mind. The charming girl was in love—
but she knew it not. It was lovr at first
sight,—that love which poets have depicted,
but which serious-minded people have seldom
put faith in. Nevertheless, whether afford-
ing an instance of the rule or the exception,
matters not to our story; for certain it is that
Marian Musgrave had been smitten by the
tendcrest sentiment in respect to the elegant
stranger. When sleep fell upon her eyes, his
image was re-produced in her dreams; the
soft melody of his voice seemed to be waited
to her ears—his fine durk eyes ap|>eareil to be
gazing upon her with all the witching tender-
ness of love—and her heart beat with rap-
tures as new as they were ecstatic, Her first
thought in the morning, when she awoke—
or rather the continuous chain of her thoughts,
still kept the image of the youthful stranger
present in her mind; and she experienced an
inward rejoicing at the prospect of meeting
him again, although she felt the colour mount-
ing to her cheeks as she became aware that she
was harbouring such a thought.
Immediately after the morning meal Dame
Musgrave bade her put a few little things into
her basket, and take them, together with a
nosegay of flowers, to her invalid friend in
the town. Marian lost no time in obeying
these directions, as it afforded her an opportu-
nity to make the inquiries enjoined her by
the youthful stranger. On entering the town,
she soon acquitted herself of her errand in re-
spect to the invalid; and then, in ■ guarded
manner, she questioned two or three of the
--


THE NECROMANCER.
unto her invalid acquaintance in the town,
afforded Marian ho mnny opportunities of
meeting her lover without exciting the sus-
wcimi of her old guardian. Thus did nearly
a month pans, and the cloae of the genial
jpring-time of May was about to be succeeded
bv the summer warmth of June.
CHAPTER LVII.
Til HIT APPOINTMENT.
It was the evening of the thirty-first of
May. The sun was descending to his western
home, a gentle breeze had begun to agitate
the heavy sultry air, and the birds were
pouring forth their blithe carols from amidst
the trees and the hedge-rows, as Conrad
Danvers and Marian Musgrave walked slowly
along the verdant bank of the Chelmer.
Had they been observed by a stranger
utterly unconscious of the fearful destiny
attaching itself to the young nobleman, they
would have been admired with a tender and
almost a saint-like enthusiasm; for each was
so faultless in face and in form, and both
were so characterized by an air of youthful
ingenuousness, that there seemed a remark-
able fitness ic the circumstance that two
such beings should cherish so deep a passion
for each other. Marian was listening with
downcast looks to the tender words that Con-
tad was breathing in her cars; and the lan-
guage of love was far sweeter to the young
viaiden than the delicious harmony of the
waiblers on every bough.
With one arm lightly engirdling the slender
waist of the fair damsel, Conrad bent grace-
fully towards her in a manner which, though
to completely unstudied, displayed the slim
elegance and willowy elasticity of his tall,
stripling figure; and as the sunbeams shone
horizontally from the west upon his beardless
countenance, his features seemed lighted up
with the radiance of a glorious beauty, as
well as with the reflection of the heart's in-
ward happiness. Yet, was he happy! Ever
Mid anon for a moment, and only for a single
moment, did a withering expression of mingled
anguish and horror sweep over that counte-
nance; but as the maiden's eyes were bent
down in the bashfulness of her virgin love,
she perceived not those occasional and tran-
sient indications of a soul that was inwardly
ill at ease.
"To-morrow, my angel," said Conrad Dan-
vers, in tones more melting than ever lover
bad yet spoken in to his enraptured fair one,
"to-morrow snail behold you the bride of him
who worships and adores the very ground
upon which you tread. Oh, dearest Marian!
what happiness awaits us! Restored to the
tout if my King—about to possess the
greatest treasure existing upon the face of th«
earth—what more can I need! what mora
can I desire?"
It is scarcely necessary to pause here for i
moment to acquaint the reader, that the
alleged persecutions of Conrad Danvers were
utterly false, and had merely served as a pre-
text in the first instance to enlist the sympa-
thies of Marian Musgrave in his behalf. For.
on the one hand, King Henry experienced too
profound a dread of the terrible name of
Danvers even to dream of working him a
mischief; and on the other hand, Danvers
himself could as easily have triumphed ovei
every such attempt, as a giant could crush a
miserable worm beneath his heel. •
"Yes—to-morrow, sweetest Marian," con-
tinued the treacherous Danvers, speaking ss
if honey only were upon his lips, untainted by
the gall which was distilling from his heart,—
"shalt thou be the bearer of my name—the
sharer of my fortune—the partner of my rank!
And then, too. my well beloved, when the
priest has united our hands in sacred bonds,
we will repair with a brilliant cavalcade of at-
tendant knights and ministering ladies, to that
cottage which has hitherto been your home;
and then shall I experience the ineffable blis■
of conducting thee by the hand, arrayed aa
thou wilt be in thy rich bridal garments—
and thus shall I present thee to thy venerable
relative, bidding her embrace thee as tba
chosen and cherished wife of Lord Danvers.
And then the good dame shall quit her hum-
ble abode and depart with us, and in our
mansion shall she dwell, a witness of our hap-
piness, until the end of her days."
"Dear Conrad," murmured Marian, in the
low soft voice of the heart's most deeply stir-
red emotions, '* what prospects of bliss do you
present to my gaze?"—and she looked up
with love beaming in her fine dark eyes, and
the radiance of ineffable joy sitting upon her
countenance as if it were a heavenly halo.
"
 art thou not worthy, dearest Marian,"
cried Danvers, straining her to his breast, "of
all that I can do for thee? Hast thou not
given me thy first and purest affections? In
one short month hast thou not learnt to love
me as if by a year's unwearied devotion I had
studied to win that love of thine? Ought I
not to be grateful to thee for thus consenting
to render me the happiest of mortals?"
"O Conrad, you speak of gratitude," said
Marian, once again raising her looks with a
most earnest and trustful devotion: "but it is
I who should experience gratitude towards
you! I, the humble and obscure girl—never
dreaming of love at all, and scarcely knowing
of its existence,—I who never entertained the
thought of what might occur to me beyond
the day itself, and who never sent a single as-
piration beyond the limits of the poor co'tags
in which I dwell,—for me, I say, to he loved
by you, and to be told that to-morrow I steal


THE NECROMANCER. 257
become Ihy bride,—O Conrad, how can I ever
testify towards thee all the gratitude I expe-
rienced Would to heaven that in return for
ao much Iotc and goodness, and generosity on
your part, there were some way in which I
could afford thee a proof of my fondness in
return!"
"Ah! now I nm reminded," said Danvers,
*' that there is a certain ceremony which we
must pass through—a ceremony in assenting
to which my sweet Marian will be enabled to
afford me the proof of love which she so much
longs to give."
"Oh, name it! name it!" cried Marian, in
a voice ringing melodiously with the exulta-
tion that gushed up as it were from the foun-
tains of her soul. "Tell me what I may do
to prove my trustful and confiding love in you,
my worshipped Conrad I"
"Listen, sweetest," rejoined Danvers, press-
ing her still more closely to him as his arm
encircled her waist. "There was a certain
eccentric and whimsical ancestor of mine, who
some centuries ago decreed that every de-
scendant of his, when about to enter the mar-
riage state, should receive in a particular room
of the family mansion the solemn pledge and
plight of love from the lips of her whom he
proposed to lead unto the altar. And now
that I bethink me, this singular injunction on
his part becomes all the more important, not
only as an hereditary duty, but likewise in a
legal point of view; for it is on the fulfilment
of the condition thus laid down that the tenure
of my titles and estates is made to depend.
Do you understand me, sweetest Marian?"
"Yes, dear Conrad," she answered. '• But
was it not a strange wild whim on the part of
your ancestor."
i' Yes—a strange wild whim," he responded,
looking anxiously, or rather earnestly for a mo-
ment into the depths of her gazelle-like eyes, as
if to assure himself that no expression of doubt
or mistrust was lurking there: then, as he
perceived that naught but the most endearing
Confidence and the tenderest devotion was to
be read in the lustrous depths of those black
orbs, he said, « But there are many noblo
families in England who hold alike their titles
and estates upon a tenure fraught with condi-
tions still more preposterous and absurd."
"But it is enough for us to know, dear
Conrad," replied Marian, " that such was the
will of your ancestor—and it must be accom-
plished."
"You assent then, my own adored one V
he asked: and his arm, rising from her waist
to her neck, drew her gently towards him, so
that his cheek rested against the clustering
tresses of her raven hair.
"Yes—can you doubt it V exclaimed the
artless, unsuspecting girl; and in the effusion
of her innocent love and impassioned gratitude
she kissed him unasked.
"To-night then, dearest Marian," resumed
Conrad Danvers, " most you steal forth from
our cottage bome to meet me here. I will
ave steeds waiting in readiness; your ab>
aenre will not last beyond a couple of hours—
and long ere the dawn of morning shall peep
through the lattice of your grand-dame's cham-
ber, will you have returned. It is a mere cer-
emony—but one which you yourself have
with so much good sense observed must at
fulfilled. This, dear Marian, is the proof ol
love I ask."
'• And is that all V exclaimed the fond con-
fiding girl, in the heartfelt fulness of her de-
votion, as she gazed tenderly up into Conrad'*
countenance. "It is a mere duty which we
have to perform; and yet you regard it as a
proof of my attachment."
"Nevertheless, beauteous Marian," he re-
joined, " I do receive it in such a sense, be-
cause it is a testimony of thy trust and confi-
dence' in me."
'- How can I doubt thee 1 what is there to
doubt?" exclaimed the innocent girl, gazing
upon him in the simplicity of her surprise.—
"I love you—and you love me—and we are
every thing to each other. Have you yourself
not said so' ami not repeating your own
words V
"Yes, yes, my angel—my adored one!" he
cried, and abruptly strained her to his breast
—as if to prevent her from catching a glimpse
of the expression of mingled anguish and hor-
ror which he felt at the moment to be spring-
ing up from his soul and passing over his coun-
tenance.
The lovers now separated, with the under-
standing that so soon as night should have
spread her veil upon the earth and the eyes of
Dame Musgrave should be sealed in slumber,
the young damsel was to come stealthily
forth ami meet Conrad at the usual trysting-
place. Then, utterly unsuspicious of evil—
mistrusting naught—but, on the contrary, as
full of a sublime confidence as such a loving
heart as her's could possibly be— Marian
tripped lightly back to the cottage, pausing
and turning now and then to wave her
kerchief to her lover who stood lingering on
the spot where she had left him.
On re-entering that humble home which
Marian so fondly lielieved she wns soon to ex-
change for a castellated mansion, she found
Dame Musgrave waiting for her. Then en-
sued some serious conversation—or rather
some revealings made by the good woman to
the young girl,—but with which we need not
trouble the reader at present. Suffice it to
say that when the dame retired to her own
room and Marian found herself free to keep
the appointment with her lover, all that her
kind-hearted guardian had told her, slipped
completely out of her memory. How could it
be otherwise? Were not all her thoughts
engrossed by the image of Conrad Danvers1
The appointment was therefore duly kept,
h


THE NECROMANCER.
259
lars sustaining the vaulted roof, and the war-
like embellishments of mouldering flags and
rustling panoplies that decked the walls. She
felt not afraid: she was too virtuous and too
good to fear—too guileless and too confiding
to suspect—and too fondly devoted to her
lover even to have a doubt of his sincerity
flash to her mind.
Through the hall they passed, and soon
reached the spot where the two suits of com-
plete armour stood like giant-sentinels to guard
the broad and vast ascent dimly lighted from
the painted glass window. Marian had started
for a moment on beholding those figures
looming through the obscurity: but a word
from Conrad Danvers instantaneously re-as-
sured her—and Oh! it was so sweet to be
frightened for no more than a moment, that
the loving girl might cling all the more ten-
derly and tenaciously to her worshipped com-
panion.
Up the staircase they went; and passing
ihrough an interval of darkness, they entered
the long gallery crowded with pictures. Nor
here did Marian tremble, but still with girlish
simplicity gazed in silent wonder upon the
scene, and then looked up with trustful devo-
tion to the countenance of her lover.
From the gallery they passed into that suite
of spacious rooms where the furniture was all
blackened and the foot-prints were on the
floor: and here for an instant did that strange
wild look again flit over the countenance of
the treacherous one as he thought within him-
self, " It shall not be with Marian as it was
with Musidora. The female steps that now
leave their marks in the dust shall never be
retraced!"
But the young creature, so sweet in her
confiding artlessness, beheld not that wicked
look which for a moment marred the god-like
beauty of her stripling lover's countenance;
and in a few moments they entered a narrow
passage where utter darkness prevailed. Then
tl.e click of a secret spring was heard—a low
narrow door flew open—and Marian was con-
ducted by Danvers into the room, where the
fiery names were traced upon the wall.
Thus :—
1. Bianca Landini .... 1390.
2. Marsaret Dunhavzn . . 1407.
3. Arlink di St. Louis . . 1463.
4. Dolorosa Cortez . . . 1500.
5. Clara Manners .... 1510.
CHAPTER LVm.
THE TALISMAN.
Percy Rivers and Musidora had now been
married upwards of eleven years. No chil-
dren had blessed their union; but Sir Percy
(for he hadrece ved the honour of knighthood)
was happy in the possession of his first and
only love. To say that Musidora was happy
also, would be an exaggeration. Attached to
her existence there was a Past too full of trou-
ble, and pain, and anguish to allow her me-
mory so far to lose sight of it as to leave scope
for the complete tranquillity of her mind. But
that she found in Percy a sincere friend and
affectionate husband, and therefore a great so-
lace and comfort, we can scarcely aver. She
had gradually discarded somewhat of that ici-
tiess of mien which in the beginning she had
only tutored herself to assume as a veil be-
neath which she might the more effectually
conceal the inward emotions of her wounded
spirit, and likewise as a mask to protect her
against the betrayal of any feeling suddenly
stirred by the passing remarks that might in
any way conjure up distressing reminiscences.
Yea—she had studied to lay aside, after her
marriage, that glacial demeanour to some ex-
tent: for she felt that having iccepted the des-
tiny of a wife, she had no right to seem cold
and reserved, distant and passionless, towards
one who loved her so fondly and so well.
Eleven years had passed, we say; and Lady
Rivers was now in her thirty-seventh year.
The lapse of time had enhanced rather than
diminished the splendour of her beauty, devei
loping her form into all the richness of tile
most glorious contours, without in any way
marring its noble symmetry. Her hair re
tained all its raven darkness and superb luxu-
riance; her eyes had ' lost no spark of their
fire; nor her lips the brightness of their ver-
milion tint; while that half-vanishing smile
which ere her mock-marriage with the treach-
erous Lionel Danvers had been wont to linger
upon her countenance, but which had disap-
peared altogether on her return home from
Grantham Villa, had gradually come back
again with all its pristine serenity yet devoid
of its glacial coldness.
Nevertheless, there were times when Musi-
dora experienced intervals of real Dnhappinen
—almost of anguish; yet carefully did she
conceal these seasons of despondency and
pain from her ever-loving and affectionate hus-
band. The faithful Annetta, who still re-
mained in her service, was the only living be-
ing who ever beheld the silent and secret
grief of her beloved mistress; and on these
occasions she said nothing, attempting no
consolation—because she knew that the dark
hour would pass all the more quickly if Musi-
dora's mind were not forced to dwell upon it
by means of discourse relative to the said topic
of the past.
Lord and Lady Grantham had been dead
some years: Dr. Bertram, alias Benjamin
Welford, was likewise dead: Dame Bertha, the
Earl of Grantham's housekeeper, had equally
gone to her last home; and thus all who were
acquainted with Musidora's terrific secret in
respect to Danvers (save the King, St. Louis,


THE NECR
263
0 M A N C E R.
But one word of explanation is here neces-
sary. For during the rapid ride from Caris-
brook to Danvera Castle, Lord St. Louis had
given Musidora a few hurriedly outlined par-
ticulars of all he had learnt from the old man
of Mount Lebanon relative to the mysterious
existence of Lord Danvers; and thus Musi-
dora was aware that he who she now beheld
was the same whom she had known as Lionel,
and that though wearing a shape of youthful
beautv, he was indeed a man of a great and
wondrous age!
For upwards of a minute, as we have al-
ready said, did Musidora continue lavishing
all a mother's fondest endearments upon that
young creature whom she had not only all in
an instant discovered to be her daughter, but
whom she had thus so providentially rescued
from the terrible power of Danvers. A thous-
and conflicting ideas swept like a flight of
birds through Musidora's brain: a thousand
different feelings agitated her heart all at the
same moment. Her soul seemed to be tossing
on a buoyant but a troubled sea, where bil-
lows of pain rolled under surges of joy. Her
conscience smote her for having ever aban-
doned her child at all; and her heart thrilled
with rapture at having thus arrived in time
to rescue her. The past came sweeping be-
fore her with bitter memories; while the
Present had its emotions of relief. Yet even
with this Present, there were sensations of
norror derived from the consciousness that
Danvers—the father of her child—was devo-
ted to the Enemy of Mankind. But it were
impossible to find space for the complete ana-
lysis of all that Musidora remembered, thought,
felt, sorrowed over, or rejoiced at, during the
swift brief interval which elapsed ere Danvers,
recovering somewhat of his presence of mind,
accosted the injured mother of his daughter.
"Musidora," he said, in a low deep voice
which seemed laden with despair, " it were
better that Marian should remain here no
longer."
Lady Rivers at once comprehended what
Danvers meant. There was deep contrition
in his words—remorse in his looks; and she
felt that for once in his life he had spoken
with sincerity. Indeed, what he meant, and
what she understood him to mean, was to the
effect that it were better for Marian's sake
that the veil should be lifted no farther from
the secret of her birth.
"I will take her away with me," at once
said Musidora, still clasping Marian fondly
round the waist with one arm. •
"Tell me—oh! tell me," exclaimed the
young girl," what is the meaning of all this?"
—and she gazed up with a kind of anguished
entreaty into Musidora's countenance: for
she felt that there was something wrong in
respect to him whom she had loved so tender-
ly—bu* what the wrong was, appeared to be
enveloped in the deepest mvstery to her.
"Do not ask me now, my sweet child," re-
sponded Musidora; " but come away with me
—come away!"
"No — you will not depart thus?" said
Danvera, as he fixed a look of moumfLI ap-
peal upon Musidora's countenance. "Ah!
think not"
She knew what he was about to say—but
she checked him with a gesture; fcr she
would not have her daughter hear him m-
ise that he meditated no injury to her—that
girl's mother! Besides, Musidora suddenly
felt herself inwardly prompted to remain with
Lord Danvers; while the possession of the
talisman was felt to be a sufficient safeguard
against evil, should any be attempted. Her
mind was therefore promptly resolved how to
act; and turning to St. Louis, she said, " My
lord, you will conduct my daughter Marian
away from this chamber. I will rejoin you
presently in the great hall below;"—and she
spoke quickly with nervousness and excite-
ment. ,
The young girl threw an affrighted glance
from her mother towards St. Louis, and then
upon Danvers: but she Was shocked, now
that her eyes settled upon the latter, at ob-
serving how strangely altered he had within
the last few moments become. It is true that
he was still in appearance the same youthful
being she had known and loved: but upon
that countenance of eighteen the care of ages
might be traced. There was a blank despair
in his looks; it seemed as if the touch of a
reed would strike him down.
"Marian, I beseech you to go with Lord
St. Louis," whispered Musidora, in a still
more hurried voice than before, but with en-
dearing manner. "He is a friend—he will
take care of you—he is a great nobleman—
a man of honour: and besides, I shall join you
again in a few minutes. Depart, my child
—depart I"
St. Louis hastened forward to take the
hand of the young damsel whom Musidora
had now disengaged from her maternal clasp;
and the door having remained open, Marian
was led away, though still somewhat reluc-
tantly, by St. Louis. As her foot touched
the threshold she cast a rapid glance over her
shoulder towards Danvers: but he made no
sign—he said not a word—yet he gazed on
her as sh.e was departing from his view in a
manner that she could never afterwards for-
get. It was no longer the fervid look of love
which he thus bent upon her retreating form;
but it was a look of profound and ineffable
sorrow—of remorse—of entreaty—almost ol
utter despair,—as if he would have asked her
forgiveness for something which she could
not comprehend, but that yet he dared not!
A dizziness suddenly came over the poor
girl; some instinctive feeling made her aware
that she was parting from Danvers for ever;
—and yet, blended with that feeling, there


264
OMANCER.
THE NECR
was a vague and unknown sentiment, like-
wise whispering in her soul, which made her
equally aware that it would be wrong to
think of him thenceforth an she had been
wont to do. Her brain appeared to turn—
b,er footsteps faltered— and Lord St. Louis,
pel ceiving that she was about to faint, took
bci into his arms and hurried away from the
vicinage-of that chamber. The door closed
behind them of its own accord; and Musido-
ra now remained alone with I,ord Danvers.
"Fe.ir nothing," said the latter, in a voice
so low, so broken with utter misery, that it
filled Musidora's heart with compassion not-
withstanding all she had suffered at his hands:
"I would not attempt to harm you, even if I
had the power. But that power I possess no
longer in the presence of the holy symbol
which you carry in your hand. Besides," he
continued, in tones of a deepening despond-
ency, " a great and sudden change has been
wrought within me during the last few mi-
nutes. I no longer cherish vindictive senti-
ments towards you, Musidora: and I have
asked you to remain that you may witness
the last moments of my troubled existence!"
"The last moments '." echoed Lady Kivers,
a cold shudder passing through her entire
frame, as if an ice-snake had crept from the
crown of her head to her very feet. "What
mean you, unhappy man? Is it indeed so
near the time"
But she stopped short: she could not give
utterance to the horrible question which had
risen up to her lips ;—and she stood gazing
on Danvers with the profoundest commisera-
tion.
"Yes—this is my last hour; and at mid-
night it will be my last moment!" he said,
perceiving that she hesitated. "Now, alas!
there rises within me—too late—a cry of de-
spair and woe, — a cry, which comes from
the uttermost depths of my soul, and which,
though you cannot hear it, is full of the awful
wail of lamentation and bitterness for me !—
Mine are now feelings so infinitely beyond all
human experience, that you can comprehend
them not. You have had your sufferings,
Musidora—you have known what anguish is
—you have writhed upon your couch in fear-
fullest agony—and, alas! it is 1 who have
been the cause. Oh! would that I could re-
call it all: but it is impossiole! It belongs
unto the Past: and the Past is absorbed in
its own irrevocable self. The Future is mine
—an J, ah! what a Future !" he added, the
withering look of unutterable despair passing
slowly over his countenance. "But I spoke
of your sufferings, Musidora : I reminded you
of all the afflictions which you have known,
and which were entailed upon your head by
the love which you bore for me. Yet where-
fore have I alluded to all this? It is to make
you 'inderstanathat the direst anguish which
you Vave ever known, is bliss—elysian happi-
ness—joy ineffable—aye, ecstacy beatific, in
comparison with the tremendous horror which
into at this moment upon my appalled soul.—
And not horror only—but an agony in my
heart so poignant, so excruciating, that even
at this instant, deliberately as I am speaking
to you, I could scream forth—I could tear ont
my hair by the roots — I could rnsh away
madly, madly—for my soul is scourged by
the lashes of invisible fiends V
He ceased for a few moments, and shook
shudderingly from head to foot, as if grasped
by the hand of some unseen power. It was
a horrible whirlwind of the mind's tempest
that was evidently passing through him.
Musidora felt as if she herself must fall down
and faint; but as she grasped the talisman all
the more tenaciously, her strength of mind
returned—her courage revived—and she again
bent her looks full of compassion upon that
man, the father of her child!
"Musidora," he continued, after a brief
pause, " mine has been a wild and fearful life
—I will not say how wild, hint' fearful! That
you have this night learnt much concerning
me, I am aware. There is a voice whispering
in my soul which tells me whence came the
inspirations that brought about the circum-
stance of your presence here this night, in
company with St. Louis. Ah! Antonio Cor-
tez, though thou hast buried thyself in a grott.-
on Mount Lebanon—and though devotinir
thyself to heaven, thou didst renounce th •
thought of vengeance in respect to me—ye:
art thou avenged! Yes—even from the Holy-
Land hath thy vengeance overtaken me: but
it is the vengeance of that heaven which thou,
Antonio Cortez, dost serve—a holy, a sacred,
and a righteous vengeance, which I acknow-
ledge, and to which I bow!"
Thus speaking, the unhappy man slowly
inclined his head forward until it drooped to
his breast: and thus he stood for 'wards ow
a minute, evidently absorbed in the profound
despair of his ineffable thoughts. During
that interval an idea full of hope flashed to
Musidora's mind. Would not the talisman
which she held in her hand, have the power
to emancipate the unhappy Danvers from the
thrall of the Evil One 1 With a sudden start
of joy at the prospect of being enabled thus
to save the soul of that erring man, she lifted
the crucifix, exclaiming, "Lord Danvers,
herein behold your salvation!"
He raised his looks slowly—shook his head
with an awful despondency—and observed,
"No, Musidora! my crimes have been too
great—my guilt has proved too enormous!
Midnight is approaching—and then my doom
will be sealed. You will behold strange sights:
but I need not say that there is no cause for
you to fear, inasmuch as the consciousness of
possessing that holy emblem will sustain your
courage and allow you to experience no othei
feeling than joy at th« emancipation of tin


THE NECROMANCER.
265
•ouls of those five beings whose names are
inscribed on yon tablets!"—and he pointed
tow ards the black squares on which the names
were inscribed in letters of fire. "Yes," he
ad . dd slowly, " there may be another feeling
liesides joy, which you will entertain. Per-
haps you may feel some sentiment of pity for
him who at the same time will be borne away
to a doom the appalling horrors of which are
even now forcing themselves in anticipation
upon his mind!"
"Oh! yes—I will pity you, I will pity you!
I do already pity you—deeply, deeply!" ex-
claimed Musidora: "and I will pray for you—
Ah! shake not your head thus despondingly
—1 will pray for you!' Morning and night
will I kneel and pray that a higher power than
that to which you have devated yourself, may
have mercy upon you! And there is another
who shall kneel and pray by my side for the
welfare of her lather's soul; and yet her inno-
cent mind shall not be shocked by having the
veil of mystery torn away from before it—nor
shall she know that he for whom she will thus
pray was her sire, the author of her being!"
"Say then, Musidora, you forgive me for
the past!" exclaimed Itanvers: "for even
amidst the tremendous horrors which now ait
upon my soul, it will be some consolation to
near that I am forgiven by you whom I have
outraged so cruelly!"
'• Yes—I forgive you—from the very bottom
of my soul do I forgive you!" answered Musi-
dora. ," Not once during this last interview
have I experienced a revengeful feeling against
3'ou. No, Danvers—your punishment is now
too great at the band of heaven, for me, a
mortal pigmy of earth, to superadd the mere
atom-weight of any wretched hate or venge-
fulness on my part . Besides, I pity you—
yes, I pity you— and I forgive you! Would
to heaven that I could save you also!"
"Musidora, I thank you for those generous
words which you have spoken," answered
Danvers: but he offered not to accost her—
made not the slightest movement even to
touch ber hand. "1 have persecuted you bit-
terly but my heart at the time was filled
v jth a demoi. fea red. It was the rage of dis-
appointment in having lost you as a victim—
and likewise the *nad dciire to possyss you!
Thus was it that I hated and loved you it the
same time—and 1 resolved that at the £ame
time ulso would I wreak my vengearce and
gratify niy passion. Therefore did I watch
for the opportunity of achieving this twofold
aim. And t.t length the occasion presented
itself. Your lather, the late Sir Lewis, was
one day walking with yourself and him who
is now your husband, in the orchard attached
tu Sinclair House. I wtu> concealed in the
forest. Presently you and Percy Rivers en-
tered the house; and your sire remained alone
la he orchard. He drew forth a letter, and
read it: it filled him with joy—and in the
excitement of his feelings, he dropped it. I
possessed myself of that letter, which proved
to be one of invitation for you to visit the Earl
and Countess of Grantham. The wily court-
ier and his equally astute lady had conceived
the project of throwing you in tlie king's way
that your beauty might attract him and lead
to your elevation to the queenly rank. Need
I say another word to explain how this letter
suddenly prompted me with the idea of grati-
fying the two passions which I entertained
towards you ?—need I add—"
"Enough, Danvers—enough !" interrupted
Musidora, with feverish haste. "Recall not
that terrible past to my mind!"
"Ah! you would have me think then only
of the present!" he said, his voice and look
becoming deeply, Oh! so deeply despondent
again,—" this present which is so brief and
fleeting for me, and which is but the threshold
of a long and terrible future—a future stretch-
ing away like an illimitable ocean that is
bounded by no shore and stops at no horizon!
Well, then, Musidora, if I am thus to fix my
ideas upon the present, how is it possible that
I can avoid a retrospection over U.e past, and
recall those dread circumstances which have
brought me to this sad present and is about
to plunge me into so tremendous a future?
Listen! It was in the year 1357 that my
eyes first opened to the light of this world.
Oh! accursed be that year of my birth! would
that I had never been born! would that the
date of my existence could be blotted from
the annals of time, and my own existence
erased from the history of the human species!
But these repinings are vain; and what I
have to say must be briefly said—for midnight
is approaching! Know then that at the h~*
of twenty-five, and in the year 1362,1 made
my tearful compact with the Enemy of Man-
kind. No matter how it was done. I will
not harrow up your soul by the details of the
tremendous night on which the fell agreement
was concluded. Suffice it to say that on my
aide the conditions stipulated for, were long
life—riches wherewith to bless it—and unfail-
ing youth to enable me to enjoy them. Add
to these the faculty of assuming whatsoevei
shape I chose, and that of transporting myself
from place to place, no matter how great the
interval, with a wondrous rapidity—and you
may then estimate the extent of the tempta-
tions thrown in my way by Satan, and to
which I succumbed. Rest assured that I even
asked for more: but more it was not in the
Evil One's power to grant. For the period
of one hundred and fifty years was the com-
pact made, with the condition that if during
that interval I could find six young virgins,
wht, ncv^r bavinc" loved before, would bestow
their love op rr.e—and i"ho in the purity, the
chastity, and the holiness of that love, would
devote ihemsclve* in tuuj as well as in bod|
unto me"


266
THE NECROMANCER.
"Oh! dwell not thus upon the details of
your terrific history!" exclaimed Musidora,
with a cold shudder from head to foot.
"And yet you must listen," said DanTers,
with a sudden access of vehemence: « for
there is some feeling within me that compels
me thus to speak. Five victims have been
offered up—five young, beauteous, and confid-
ing maidens, who in the stainlessness of their
virgin purity have been snatched away from
the earth which they have adorned and plunged
into the gulf of death! Yes—and the arm of
Death, too, thrusting its fleshless hand forth
from beneath those panels, hath on each occa-
sion given me a token in acknowledgment of
the offering up of a victim. Behold them!"
With these words Danvers tore open his
doublet, and produced a gold chain on which
were five rings of the same metal and enam-
elled in black.
"Take them, take them," he said with pas-
sionate vehemence; "and when the fatal mo-
ment comes, let the crucifix which you hold
in your hand be placed in contact with those
five rings. The spell which binds the victims
whom they sy mbolize, in a profound and dream-
less trance, will be broken—their souls will be
emancipated from the dull deep lethargy in
which they are now held—and they will
ascend to the mansions of the blessed
those mansions which I may never hope to
enter!"
Musidora took the chain on which the rings
were suspended: and in so doing her hand
came in contact for a moment with that of
Danvers. She started, even with a sensation
af pain as well as of horror: for the hand
which she thus touched was as hot as if it
were burning with a fierce internal fire.
"Oh! did I not tell you ere now," ex-
claimed Danvers, " that I already experienced
tortures so maddening that you yourself could
not possibly comprehend them! Nearer and
nearer approaches the dreadful moment; and
I have but a few more words to say. Think
not, Musidora, that when 1 sought to make
her—your daughter—our child——Oh what
fire is there in my brain—what agony in my
heart! think not, I say, that when I
sought to make her a victim, I knew who she
was. No—vile as 1 have been, I was not so
vile as that: desperate as my condition was
and is, I would not have redeemed it at such a
sacrifice—the sacrifice of my own child! I
knew her not. Believe me when I give you
this assurance. From the moment that you
and I parted on that tremendous night when
the presence of the monarch whose shape I
had assumed so suddenly compelled me to
take back my own, I ceased to watch your move-
ments—ceased almost to remember that there
was such a being as yourself in the world. I
knew not therefore that you had become a
mother. No, no—I would not have been so
base as to offer up my own child to Satan!
For every good feel ,ng has not been altogett'fti
dead within me during the strange wild lifi' I
have led for a hundred and fifty years sines
the date of my dreadful compact. I have
known what love is' Each of my victims did
I love—and my heart was torn as if with vulture
talons and goaded as if with scorpion-stings,
when I was wont to gaze upon those fond,
loving, and too-confiding creatures, and felt in
my desperation that there was an imperious
necessity compelling me to make them my
victims. Oh! I have felt that in spite of my-
self—in spite even of the iron bands with
which I have girt and strengthened my soul—
that there were moments when an expression
of ineffable anguish would sweepover my coun-
tenance; and as years flitted away and I drew
nearer and nearer unto the last, more frequent
in their recurrence and more anguished in
their expression would grow those looks whick
in that transient appearance on my features
reflected the dire anguish of my heart. Anc
now, Musidora, I have no more to say. Mid
night is at hand—and I feel a sensation com
ing over me that warns me of the approach of
the fatal moment when Satan will come to
claim his own. Oh! the last fatal instant is
near— it is now present—its dire influence is
upon me! Musidora, Musidora, be not sur-
prised at the change which is already begin-
ning to take place in my form!"
While the unhappy man was thus speak-
ing in a voice of minged anguish and mourn-
fulness, horror and despair, he was rapidly
losing the exquisite beauty of his youthful
appearance; and with an extraordinary si-
multaneousness did his shape and all his fea-
tures receive the impress of advancing decre-
pitude and old age. His figure, losing its
willowy elasticity, became bent—his limbs
lost their straightness — wrinkles gathered
upon his countenance—his hair turned grey,
and then white—his eye« vrew d'lll and glas-
sy—his mouth fell in—and in less tlan n mi-
nute, that being, late so bright and beautiful,
tottered towards a seat and fell upon it a
withered, silver-haired, powerless old man!
Awfully shocked by this appalling ch ingft,
Musidora herself staggered back with u sen
sation of faintness; but as she grasped the
little crucifix all the more firmly, her presence
of mind returned, and she felt herself t.rmed
with ine necessary courage for the terrific
crisis which she now knew to be at hand.
Hitherto the chamber where all these, inc I
dents occurred had been lighted not merely
by the beams of the stars which shone through
the windows of the four walls of the tower,
but also more brightly still by the preterna-
tural lustre shed by the names inscribed with
characters of fire upon the panels. But now,
almost immediately after Lord Danvers had
sunk down upon the chair, a miserable old
man —a strange and awful gloom began deep-
ening in the apartment. Danvers hitnseU


THE NECROMANCER. 267
and all other objects gradually disappeared
from Musidora's eyes; and the fiery names
simultaneously subsiding, the darkness in-
creased, until in a minute or two it filled the
room with the intensest blackness. Musidora
held the crucifix firmly in her hand and
pressed it to her lips; so that she was inspired
with a marvellous courage as well as by the
deep inward consciousness that no harm
would happen to her.,
And now, from the midst of the more than
Egyptian darkness which filled the chamber
—a darkness which could be felt — piteous
moans, and subdued lamentations began to
arise, sent forth upon the voice of extreme old
age; and therefore Musidora knew that they
came from the lips of the unhappy Lord Dan-
gers. Her first impulse was to raise her voice
and entreat him to pray: but a spell was on
her lips, sealing them in silence,—and there-
fore she sank down upon her knees, and from
the depths of her own soul sent up mute but
fervid intercessions to heaven on behalf of
that wretched man who now hovered upon
the threshold of doom, j
Suddenly there was a sound as of huge
and mighty wings sweeping through the
heavy black atmosphere which filled the
chamber; and then the voice which had pre-
viously been sending forth such piteous la-
mentations, swelled into tones of the wildest
agony—so that yells and cries, shrieks and
■creams, of the most terrific character struck
upon Musidora's ears and pierced like barbed
arrows of fire through her brain. But an in
a moment these appalling sounds ceased—not
gradually, but with a strange and fearful ab-
ruptness, accompanied by the repetition of the
mighty gush of those huge invisible wings
through the air. And then all was still!
"Musidora, instantaneously recollecting the
directions she had received relative to the five
rings, placed them in contact with the cruci-
fix; and at the very moment this was done,
the glimmering of a light appeared in the
midst of the chamber. Misty and indistinct
was it at first; but gradually it expanded and
grew stronger, brightening more and more
until it spread throughout the room—chasing
away every vestige of the black darkness that
had previously prevailed. It was a halo of
the most transcendent effulgence; and yet,
though enveloping Musidon in its glow, it
hurt her not to gaze upon it. All over the
floor in the middle of the room, clouds of blue
and fleecy white were spread; and from the
midst thereof five shapes gradually ascended,
—the shapes of females of transcending beau-
ty, clad in robes of azure and gold, which
floated arnuad them, and with smiles of soft
ecstacy and angelic bliss upon their counte-
nances. Bending their looks, which were
full of gratitude and beatific joy, upon Musi-
dora, they slowly ascended,—b)rne upward by
those clouds of white and blue on which they
seemed to float; and in this manner they ap-
peared to pass through the roof of the tower
—the halo of lustre gradually subsiding, so
that at the instant when tbey ceased to be
visible there was no other light in the-rham-
ber than that soft faint glimmering which the
stars shed through the windows. ,
Then Musidora knew that if on the one
hand Satan had possessed himself of his Own,
on the other the souls of the five maidens
whom Danvers had sought to make his vic-
tims, had been :eleased from the spell which
had hitherto retained them in dull dark
lethargy—that they were emancipated—and
that they had ascended to the mansions of the
Gternal!
But Musidora likewise became aware that
the gold chain with the five rings had departed
from her hand—in what manner she knc.v not,
and at what moment she had not perceived.
They were gone—they had vamshed: and in
her hand she held the crucifix alone!
All this while still remaining on her knees,
she offered up fresh prayers to heaven—prayers
of thankfulness for the salvation of the souls
of Bianca Landini, Margaret Dunhaven, Ar-
line De St. Louis, Dolorosa Cortet, and Clara
Manners,—and prayers of intercession cn be-
half of the soul of Lord Danvers!
Then Musidora, rising from her knees, is-
sued forth from that chamber: and passing
rapidly through the suite of apartments with
the mouldering furniture—next threading the
picture gallery—she reached the staircase,
which she descended. At the toot therecf
she beheld the two colossal suits of armour
fallen from their pedestals and stretched upon
the pavement of the gothic hall—as if the duty
of those sentinel panoplies was over, and there
were no more mysteries in Danvers Castle to
guard and defend against the approach of in-
trusive stops.
In the middle of the mighty gothic hall
Lady Rivers perceived her daughter clinging
in affright to the arm of Lord St. Louis, who,
though himself under-the influence of awe-
stricken feelings, was saying all he could to
cheer and reassure the young maiden. Il ap-
peared that the sudden fall of the two suits of
armour, accompanied by a terrific crash, had
so dismayed poor Marian that she had not re-
covered from ths effects of the fright at the
time Musidora thus rejoined her and St. Louis:
but the presence of that being whom she now
regarded as her mother infused hope ™d con-
fidence into her gsntls breast.
"Let us spse:! hence," seid Musidora, as
through the cathedral light of that gothic hall
she flung upon St. Lo'jia a rapid but signifi-
cant look to make him aware that all was
over is the chamber of mysteries. ''Now,
dearest girl," she added, straining her daugh-
ter to her bosom, "you will accompany me to
Carisbrook Castle, which is my home—and
God grant that it may likewise prove your's!"


THE NECROMANCER. 269
profoundly enamoure'1 ji him before she even
knew his name: for be it remembered that
Musidora was at thai time a mere artless, in-
genuous, and confiding girl, without any of
that knowledge of the world which subsequent
experiences had so sadly but impressively
given her.
At length she learnt that the unknown ob-
ject of this devoted love of her's was Lord
Lionel Danvers, the owner of the uninhabited
castle which stood on the south-western point
of the Isle of Wight; and when he declared
his affection, she in her unsuspecting simpli-
city at once invited him home to Sinclair
House that he might form the acquaintance of
her father. But Lord Lionel had a tale
ready as a pretext for keeping their love secret.
There could be no doubt that he feared lest
her cousin Percy Rivers might prove a suc-
cessful rival. At all events whatever his mo-
tives were, he did invent some specious ex-
cuse, but which it is needless to detail. Mu-
sidora, in whose noble heart love and con-
fidence were closely blended, put the most
implicit faith in her lover's representations;—
and thus some weeks went on, each day
being marked by a fresh interview, and each
interv,ew by the deepening of the pure and
chaste affection which the knight's daughter
had formed for her lover.
Then came another pretext on his part;
and this was to induce her to accompan^him
to Danvers Castle. The tale that he told for
this purpose was the same which, as Conrad
Danvers, we have seen him insidiously whis-
pering in the ear of the gentlt Marian—the
same too which in the prologue we saw him
repeat to Clara Manners—the same, in short,
with which on former occasions and at
different times he had deluded other confiding
damsels whose names are well known to the
reader. Musidora listened and believed: the
story seemed so simple—the ceremony one
merely to be accomplished in fulfilment of the
stipulation of some whimsical ancestor of her
noble lover! She therefore readily promised
to steal forth from the house and meet him at
the usual place- of appointment. Her pledge
was kept—the ride to Danvers Castle was
short, consisting only of some sixteen or
seventeen miles from Sinclair House; and she
was conducted by her lover into the deserted
fortalice.
But now, from this point the history of
Musidora Sinclair in its relation with Danvers
differs from that of all the other maidens
whom he had succeeded in deluding to his
castle. For from the very first moment that
she entered the Gothic hall & misgiving
sprang up in her mind,—a misgiving which
continued to increase the farther she advanced
in that lonely and awe-inspiring place.
Vainly did Danvers breathe the tenderest and
most reassuring words in her ear: the mis-
giving was enhanced into suspicion;—and a
presentiment of evil, stronger even than he!
love, fastened itself upon her soul. Still sh<
went on, and at length reached the chamber
of mysteries. There, on beholding those fiery
names upon the wall, she was seized with a
wild affright; and turning suddenly round to
her lover, she caught upon his countenance a
look so strange, so wild, so wicked that all
her suspicions were confirmed, and she felt
assured she had been brought thither for no
good purpose. Danvers threw himself at her
feet, pouring forth the most impassioned prc-
testations of love, and sincerity, and honour-
able intents: so that Musidora, wrestlinc
against her terrors, suffered herself to bc
cheered, encouraged, reassured, and almost
deluded. Believing her to be entirely at his
mercy, Danvers led on the discourse, which
was accompanied by the tenderest caresses,
unto that point when obtaining from her the
fondest avowals of love, he ardently besought
her to pledge herself unto him body and soul.
Then all in an instant, did her suspicions
come back with renewed force: a sense of
terrible danger seized upon her—she felt as
one who suddenly awakening from a walking
dream, finds herself upon the brink of a pre-
cipice—and without precisely comprehending
the nature of the peril which threatened her,
she exclaimed, " No, Lionel—no! I will not
pledge myself thus fearfully."
It would be impossible to describe the look
of rage and disappointment which all in a
moment seized as it were upon Danvers' coun-
tenance, distorting every feature and giving
to it a fiend-like expression. At the same
instant a wild mocking laugh, coming from
unseen lips, rang through the apartment—a
veil fell from Musidora's eyes—and a secret
voice whispered in her »oul that she had es-
caped from becoming the victim of a treacher-
ous deceiver!
Wild and precipitate was the flight of Mu-
sidora from the chamber of mysteries; and
without once looking behind her, she gained
the outer gate of the castle. There was she
overtaken by Lionel Danvers. Too much a
prey to terror to be able to lavish reproaches
upon him, she listened almost in total silence
to what he said. His words were few—but
they were impressive; and the tones in which
they were uttered were terrible. He bade
her beware how she ever betrayed the secret
of what she had seen within the walls of his
castle; and having compelled her by threat*
of instantaneous death to swear so long as he
lived she would retain the secret, he seized
her in his arms, sprang upon one of his de-
mon-horses, and bore her rapidly back to the
place where they had met. There they
parted!
When Musidora descended to the breakfast
table in the morning, her countenance was
marble-pale—her look was cold as ice---her
very nature seemed to have been frozen- And


270
THE NECROMANCER.
^—
no wonder: for was not her heart the deposi-
tory of a tremendous secret? The reader has
already been informed how from that time
forth she preserved the glacier-aspect with
which horror had at first invested her, and
how she adopted it as a mask to fonceal her
inward feelings, and also to guard against
the betrayal of that fearful secret in a moment
of surprise. The colour had fled from her
cheeks to return no more: the shock she had
recoived was powerful enough thus to pro-
duce this physical change with regard to the
bloom that was wont to rest upon her counte-
nance like the vermeil on the damask of the
peach.
Leaping over a period of upwards of three
years and a half, let us now follow Musidora
to Grantham Villa, at Greenwich. From the
first moment that the supposed King made
her the offer of his hand, she resolved to ac-
cept it. She felt that the power of love was
dead within her—that she could therefore
never marry from motives of aifection—and
the void thus left in her heart afforded room
for the entrance of a feeling of ambition. But
her ambition was not selfish; for if she expe-
rienced a glow, of pride, and satisfaction, and
triumph at the prospect of placing a queenly
crown upon her brow, she Lkewise longed
for the possession of power in order to do
good. Besides, she was an affectionate
daughter; and it was naturally agreeable to
her filial feelings to become instrumental in
restoring her father to wealth, prosperity, and
happiness. She knew not that Lord Gran-
tham had written such a letter to her sire as
that which had led to her visit to the villa.
Had she for a moment suspected that it was
through a coldly calculated and selfishly con-
trived pre-arrangement between her noble
kinsman and her father that she had been in-
vited to Grantham Villa in the hope of attract-
ing the King's notice, she would at once have
spurned the idea of reaching a sovereign rank
in such a manner. Of the contents of that
letter she had all along remained in ignorance,
until Lord Danvers explained it on the me-
morable night when she saw him for the last
time.
The history which she heard from the lips
of old Manners had justified her suspicion
that she had narrowly escaped being made
the victim of Lord Danvers; and if further
confirmation thereof were required, it was
furnished a few weeks afterwards when acci-
dent threw in her way the Memoirs of Bianca
Lahdini at the old banker's house in Lombard
Street . The reader will recollect that the
Landiuis were both much alarmed on that
occasion, when they learnt that Musidora had
not only been dipping into the volume, but
had actually read the very history which
least of all would they have had thus meet
her eyes. But here some explanation is
necessary. In the diamonds which Musi-
dora, accompanied by her noble relatives, had
brought to be repaired, the Landinis had re-
cognized those which they had sold to Lionel
Danvers. They therefore inferred that Dan-
vers had presented them to Musidora—conse-
quently that she must be well acquainted
with him; and they naturally feared that she
might mention to him the circumstance of
having read the history of Bianca Landing
whom they believed to be the victim of an
ancestor—little suspecting that Walter and
Lionel were one and the same person!
Therefore was it that the elder Landini had
on some pretext requested Musidora to ac-
company him into the recess opening from
the saloon of his house. When thus alone
together, old Landini had said to Musidora,
"You have read a history in which the name
of Danvers occurs. Should you ever meet
the present bearer of that name, may I im-
plore that you will not betray the circum-
stance that such a history, bequeathing an
hereditary vengeance to myself and nephew,
is in existence?" Musidora promised; and
no wonder was it that when she issued forth
from that recess, her countenance had even
more of the marble's whiteness than usual:
for the mere mention of the name of Danvers
had profoundly stirred all the keenest emo-
tions of her heart.
We need not recapitulate how, after hav-
ing prescribed a becoming interval of court-
ship so as to satisfy her feminine feelings of
strictest deticacy and propriety, Musidora gave
her hand to the mock King; nor need we
remind the reader of all the painful circum-
stances which occurred when the astounding
truth was so soon after revealed to her that it
was Lionel Danvers whom she had thus re-
ceived to her arms. But what language can
depict the feeling of horror and despair which
seized upon the poor lady's mind when in
due course she found that she was in a way
to became a mother 1 The idea of bringing
into the world a being that would have for its
father a man whose fearful doom she more
than half suspected, was ten thousand times
more horrifying than the sense of that disgrace
which would attach to herself if her condition
became known to her relatives and friends
And with regard to this disgrace, she could *
not avert it by displaying her certificate of
marriage; for Danvers, with a fiendish malig-
nity of purpose, had taken it from her when
she lay in a swoon at his feet. His object in
thus acting was no doubt to deprive her of
the only valid testimony to show that she had
been deceived by a mock-marriage, and thus
rob her alike of the consolation and the power
of displaying to the world, in case of need,
that she had been beguiled and that she was
innocent!
The Earl and Countess of Grantham were
of course interested in many ways in hushing
up the secret of Musidora's condition; and


THE NECROMANCER.
27 J
thus, by the aid of Dame Bertha and the
faithful Annelta, she became a mother un-
known to the other domestics of the house-
hold. At that time a tenant upon an estate
which Lord Grantham possessed in another
part of Kent, some distance from Greenwich,
arrived on business at the villa. His name
was Bradley; and he had recently married.
To this man and his wife was the child con-
fided, the ntroe of Marian having been given
to it. A considerable sum of money was placed
in Bradley's hand; and he was ordered to
betake himself, with his wife and -the child,
to some part of England where he was alto-
gether unknown,—there to settle down, with
the understanding that from time to time
Lord Grantham would furnish him with far-
ther funds. But the reader has already seen
how Bradley and his wife were prematurely
cut off by an accidental death, and how Ma-
rian fell into the hands of Dame Musgrave.
As so short a time had elapsed since the re-
ceipt of the first sum of money, and as it was
not near exhausted, Bradley did not in the in-
terval apply for a replenishment of his re-
sources; and thus the Earl remained in igno-
rance of where the man had settled.
The reader now knows why it was that
Musidora's stay at Grantham Villa was so
prolonged ere she came back to Sinclair
House. After that return home years elapsed
—and in her occasional communications with
Lord Grantham she learnt from him that he
had never heard any more of the Bradleys.
Death in due course summoned the Earl and
his lady to their last account; and thus all
means of ever again hearing any thing more
of the Bradleys and her child appeared to be
totally cut off. But there were often moments
when Musidora, with a mother's natural long-
ings, yearned for some tidings of her off-
apring; and hence that secret grief which
often seized upon her, and to which Annetta
knew that no consolation could be adminis-
tered! It was however willed by Providence
that the child should be ultimately restored to
its parent: and this end was brought about
in the manner already described.
Such was the history which Musidora, with
frankness and candour, related to her husband
as they sat together in the shady arbour to
whvh i»y had retired for the purpose. And
now d;J Sir Percy Rivers exhibit all the noble
generosity of his heart. Flinging his arms
round Musidora's neck, and straining her to
his breast, he said, « My beloved wife, I adopt
your Marian as my own! Let the world be-
lieve it is our child, lost in its infancy, and
recovered in a miraculous manner. By these
means also will you be saved from blushing
when Marian shall again ask you concerning
her father! And now, dearest Musidora,
from this time forth let not a word—no, not a
I single word, ever be breathed relative to the
past. I attach no blame to you. In the
belief that you were the wedded wife of Eng-
land's King, you received a traitor in your
arms. The treachery was most foul; but you
were innocent. And if, when you bestowed
your hand on me, you kept this tremendous
secret treasured up in your own bosom, it
was natural—most natural! Again, there-
fore, do I say, Musidora, let a veil be thrown
over the past; and never by word, or look, or
deed, will you experience reproach from one
who loves you so fondly and so well!"
Musidora wept in her husband's arms; and
never had she bestowed upon him such warm,
such affectionate caresses as those which she
now lavished, and felt a joy and delight in
thus lavishing!
Marian was thus owned as the daughter of
Sir Percy Rivers; and Lord St. Louis was
sincerely rejoiced when he learnt from
Musidora's lips the noble conduct of her
generous-hearted husband. His lordship re-
mained some days at Carisbrook Castle; aml
when he took his leave it was with the satis
faction of knowing that he left a happy fam-
ily living in love and contentment there.
On repairing to London, Lord St. Louis
visited Deadman's Place, where he learnt that
many long years had elapsed since old Dun-
haven had disappeared in a sudden and mys-
terious manner; but the nobleman felt con-
vinced in his own mind that the cause there-
of had been in some way connected with
Lord Danvers. The hoarded wealth of old
Dunhaven had been pillaged and self-appro
priated by the lodgers in the house; but sin
gularly enough the huge trunk, though emp
tied of its valuable contents, had not b«en re
moved, and the false bottom covering the
skeleton had remained without discovery.
The room itself had never been tenanted since
old Dunhaven's disappearance; and it was
in a sad dilapidated condition when St. Louis
penetrated into it. He caused the trunk
containing the skeleton to be privately interred
in consecrated ground; and thus, after all,
the vow of old Sir Poniers Dunhaven, recorded
so many long years back, was ultimately
fulfilled—the bones of his nephew having re-
mained above ground until after vengeance
was wreaked upon Danvers! But that ven-
geance had been awarded by no mortal power
—though the venerable hermit of Mount Le-
banon was made the instrument of ensuring
its accomplishment through the rescue of the
last intended victim of the terrible Danvers!
THE
END


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A New Way to Win a Fortune.
The Discarded Wife.
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The Gipsy's Warning.
Why Did He Marry Her f
The Mysterious Gnest.
The Cancelled WIU.
Who Shall Be Victor 1
The Hidden Sin.
Was He Guilty* or, How He Did It.
Michael Rudolph.
The Planter's Daughter.
All For Love.
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Count of Monte Crlsto. By Alexander Dumas.
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The Initials. A Charming Love Story*
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Family Pride. By author of '* Pique.''
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A Woman's Thoughts about Women.
High Life In Washington. By Mrs LasseUe.
Heinaira of ** Vldocq/' the French Policeman
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Country Quarters. By Countess Blesstngton.
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Plod'lj's Dream " etc. With Humorous Illustrations
by Darley aud others. Price 75 cents.
AUNT PATTY'S SCRAP BAt.. By Mrs Caroline Lee
Hentz, author of "Linda." With Humorous Illustra-
tions by Darley. Price 75 cents.
THE QUORNDON HOUNDS i or, A Virginian at Mel-
ton Mowbray, By Frank Forester, author of "My
Shooting Box," •* The Deer Stalkers," " The Warwick
Woodlands," etc. With Original Illustrations by the
author. Price 75 cents.
MY SHOOTING BOX. By Frank Forester, author of
"The Quorndon Hounds/' "The Deer Stalkers," etc-
Wlth Illustrations by Darley. Price 75 cents.
THE DEER STALKERS. A Sporting Tale of the
South Western Counties. By Frank Forester, author
of "My Shooting Box," "The Warwick Woodlands,"
"The Qnorndou Houids," etc. With original illustra-
tions by the author. Price 75 cents.
THE WARWICK WOODLANDS ( or. Things as they
were there Twenty Years A»o. By Frank Forester,
author of " The Quorndon Hounds," « My Shooting
Box," "The Deer Sialkers," Ac. With original illustra-
tions by the author. Price 75 cents.
ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN FARRAGO. By
Hon H. H. Brackenridse, for sixteen ye.irs one of the
Judges of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania. With
Humoroas Illustrations from designs by Darley Com-
plete In one volume. Price 75 cents.
MAJOR O'REGANS ADVENTURES. By Hon. H. H.
Brackenrititie, author of " Adventures of Captain Far-
rago." With Illustrations by Darley. Price 75 cents.
SOL. SMITH'S THEATRICAL APPRENTICESHIP.
Comprislt g a Ske'eh of the ttrst seven years of his Pro-
fessional Life i together with Anecdotes aud Sketches of
Adventure in After Years. With eight humorons Illus-
trations by Darley. Price 75 ceuts.
SOL. SMITH'S THEATRICAL JOURNEY-WORK*
The Theatrical Journey-work and AnecUolial Recollec-
tions of Sol. Smith, Esq., Comedian, Attorney at Law,
etcwith a portrait of Sol. Smith. It comprises a sketch
of the second seven years of his profesrlonal life, with
sketches of adventure In after years Price 75 cents.
WIDOW RUGBY'S HUSBAND a Ni,tht at the Ugly
Man's, aud twe*ty-two other Tales of Alabama. By ,
Johnson J Hooper, author of "Adver*tur* a ot Captain
Simon Sufsrs." With Humorous Illustrations, from
original designs by Elliott. Price 75 cents.
YANKEE YARNS AND YANKEE LETTERS. By
Sam Slick, alias Judge Halfburtou, author of ''Yankee
Stories." It is full of the drollest humor that has ever
emanated from the pen of any author. Every i age will
set you in a rear. Price 75 cents.
PFRCIVAL MAYBERRY. HIS LIFE AND AD-
VENTURES. B7J II. I ;urra* am. It will interest and
piease everybody. It is a delightful book. All who enjoy
a good laugh should get It at once. With Humorous
Illustrations. Price 75 oents.
FOLLOWING THE DRUM. By Mrs. BrUadler-Ge■-
eraLVlele. With an Illuminated Cover. Price 50 cents.
TH1 AMERICAN JOE MTLLERi or, Punchforthe
Mil ion. With over 100 engraving». Price 50 cents.
ABOVE BOOKS ARE FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. Copies of any or all of the above books wiB
be sent to any ene, to any place, postage pre-paid, on receipt of the price of the ones ordered, by the publishers,
1. B. PETERSON & BROTHEBS, 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.


CHEAPEST BOOK HOUSE IN THE WORLD
IS AT THE PUBLISHING AND BOOKSELLING ESTABLISHMENT OF
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia.
t B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, are tne American publishers of thl
rpular and fast-selling books written by Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Souti worth, Mrs. ANB
Stephens, Mrs. Caroline Ler Hentz, Miss Eliza A. Dupuy, Mrs. G. A. Warfijli\
Mrs.. Henry Wood, Q. K. P. Doesticks, Emerson Bennett, T. S. Arthur, George
LlPPAKU, HASS BtElTMANN (CHARLES G. LKLAND), JaMES A. MaITLAND, CHARLE?
Dickens Siu Walter Scott, Charles Lever, Wilrie Collins, Mrs. C. J. Ne«vby,-
Justus Lieuig, W. H. Maxwell, Alexander Dumas, George W. M. Reynolds.
Samuel Warren, Henry Cockton, Fredrika Bremer, T. Adolphus Troliopk,
Madame George Sand, Eugene Sue, Miss Pardoe, Frank Fairlegh, W. H. ains-
WORTH, FhANK FORRESTER (HENRY W. HERBERT), MlSS ELLEN PICKERING, CAI TAlif
Marryatt, Mrs. Gray, G. P. R. James, Henry Morford, Gustave Aimard and
hundreds of other authors; as well as of Dow's Patent Sermons, Humorous Ameb ;CAN
Books, ami Miss Leslie's, Miss Widdifiei.d's, The Young Wife's, Mrs. Goodfell.iw's.
Mrs. Hale's, Petersons', The National, Francatelli's, The Family Save j.ix,
The Queen of the Kitchen, and 8.11 the best and popular Cook Books published.
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS take pleasure in calling the attention of the bjtire
Reading Community, as well as of all their Customers, and every Bookseller, News Agent, and
Book Buyer, as well as of the entire Book Trade everywhere, to the fact that they are now
publishing a large number of cloth and paper-covered Books, in very attractive style, including
a scries of 25 C6nt, 50 cent, 75 cent, $1.00, $1.50, $1.75, and $2.00 Books, in new style covers and
bindings, making them large books for the money, and bringing them before the Reading
Public by liberal advertising. They are new books, and are cheap editions of the most popolai
and most salable books published, are written by the best American and English authors, ainl
are presented in a very attractive style, printed' from legible tyj.e, on good paper, especially
adapted to suit all who love to read good books, as well as for all General Reading, and for sail
at Hotel Stands, Railroad Stations and in the Cars. They are furnished by us to all Bookseller
and News Agents at such a lov price that they pay the seller a large profit, and will meet with a
ready sale wherever they are properly introduced. They are in fact the most popular series of
works of fiction ever published, retailing at 25 cents, 60 cents, 75 cents, $1.00, $1.50, $1.75, and
$2.00 each, and they comprise the writings of the best and most popular authors in the world,
all of wliich will be sold by us to the trade at very low prices, and also at retail to everybody.
New books are issued by us every week, comprising the best and most entertaining
works published, suitable for the Parlor, Librarv, Sittintr-Room, Railroad or Steamboat reading
and are written by the most popular as well as by the best writers in the world.
^Sr- Vny bookseller, or any person wanting any books at all, from a single book, to a dozen,
a hundred, a thousand, or larger quantity of books, had better send a letter to us at once, asking
for a copy of Petersons' New Illustrated Catalogue, thea look carefully over it, marking what
books you may want, and then send on the order at once to T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
Philadelphia, Pa., to fill, who publish over One Thousand Books, and have the largest and most
salable list of popular books to select from in the country.
Unclose a draft for five, ten, twenty, fifty, or one hundred dollars, or more, to us in a
letter, an 1 write for what books you wish, and on receipt of the money, or a satisfactory refer
ence, the b ,oks will be packed and sent to you ut once, in any way you may direct, witX
circulars, sinw-bills,.etc., to post up.
^S- We want every Bookseller, and every News Agent, everywhere, to sell our books, and
to keep a:i assortment of them on hand, and to send at once for a copy of our New and Com
*>'.ete Descriptive Catalogue, which contains a list of all books published by us, all or anv of
<chich will be sold to everybody in the Book Trade, to Booksellers, or to News Agents, at v■rj
low rates. Tlwre are no books publiehed you can sell as many of, or make as much money on
it Petersons'. Sen 1 us on a trial order. All orders, large or small, will be sent the day the
frier is received, and small orders will receive the same promptness and care as large orders.
^SST- VI1 Books named in Petersons' Catalogue will be found for sale by all Booksellers and
Mews Agents, or copies of anv one book, or more, or all of them, will be sent to any one, at once,
to anv place, per mail, post-paid, or free of freight, on remitting the retail price of the booki
wanted to the Publishers, T. B. Peterson & Brothers, 306 Cl-estnut Street, Philadelphia.
WANTED.—A News Agent, Bookseller, or Canvasser in every city, town or ylllag*
on this Continent, to engage in the sale of Petersons'- New and Popular Fast Selling Books,
ou which large sales, and large profits can be made.
Booksellers, Librarians, News Agents, Canvassers, Pedlers, and all other pe"Kmf
whatever, who may want any of Petersons' Fast Selling and Popular Books, will please address
iheir orders and letters, to meet with immediate attention, to
T. B. PETERSON and BROTHER'S, Publishers,
SOS Chesiant Street, Philadelphia, Fa





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