O sea, O shore, true and secret sanctuary of the Muses, how many things ye dictate, how many things ye discover!
However this be, I had cheated myself into the belief that my conjecture was true, and I had petitioned my uncle, when, on leaving school, he assigned to each of us our several apartments, to grant me the exclusive right to this dilapidated tower. I gained my boon easily enough; andso strangely is our future fate compounded from past triflesI verily believe that the strong desire which thenceforth seized me to visit courts and mix with statesmenwhich afterwards hurried me into intrigue, war, the plots of London, the dissipations of Paris, the perilous schemes of Petersburg, nay, the very hardships of a Cossack tentwas first formed by the imaginary honour of inhabiting the same chamber as the glittering but ill-fated courtier of my own name. Thus youth imitates where it should avoid; and thus that which should have been to me a warning became an example.
In the oaken floor to the outer chamber of this tower was situated a trap-door, the entrance into a lower room or rather cell, fitted up as a bath; and here a wooden door opened into a long subterranean passage that led out into a cavern by the sea-shore. This cave, partly by nature, partly by art, was hollowed into a beautiful Gothic form; and here, on moonlight evenings, when the sea crept gently over the yellow and smooth sands and the summer tempered the air from too keen a freshness, my uncle had often in his younger days, ere gout and rheum had grown familiar images, assembled his guests. It was a place which the echoes peculiarly adapted for music; and the scene was certainly not calculated to diminish the effect of sweet sounds. Even now, though my uncle rarely joined us, we were often wont to hold our evening revels in this spot; and the high cliffs, circling either side in the form of a bay, tolerably well concealed our meetings from the gaze of the vulgar. It is true (for these cliffs were perforated with numerous excavations) that some roving peasant, mariner, or perchance smuggler, would now and then, at low water, intrude upon us. But our London Nereids and courtly Tritons were always well pleased with the interest of what they graciously termed an adventure; and our assemblies were too numerous to think an unbroken secrecy indispensable. Hence, therefore, the cavern was almost considered a part of the house itself; and though there was an iron door at the entrance which it gave to the passage leading to my apartments, yet so great was our confidence in our neighbours or ourselves that it was rarely secured, save as a defence against the high tides of winter.
The stars were shining quietly over the old gray castle (for castle it really was), as I now came within view of it. To the left, and in the rear of the house, the trees of the park, grouped by distance, seemed blent into one thick mass of wood; to the right, as I now (descending the cliff by a gradual path) entered on the level sands, and at about the distance of a league from the main shore, a small islet, notorious as the resort and shelter of contraband adventurers, scarcely relieved the wide and glassy azure of the waves. The tide was out; and passing through one of the arches worn in the bay, I came somewhat suddenly by the cavern. Seated there on a crag of stone I found Aubrey.
My acquaintance with Isora and her father had so immediately succeeded the friendly meeting with Aubrey which I last recorded, and had so utterly engrossed my time and thoughts, that I had not taken of that interview all the brotherly advantage which I might have done. My heart now smote me for my involuntary negligence. I dismounted, and fastening my horse to one of a long line of posts that ran into the sea, approached Aubrey and accosted him.
Alone, Aubrey? and at an hour when my uncle always makes the old walls ring with revel? Hark! can you not hear the music even now? It comes from the ball-room, I think, does it not?
Yes, said Aubrey, briefly, and looking down upon a devotional book, which (as was his wont) he had made his companion.
And we are the only truants!Well, Gerald will supply our places with a lighter step, and, perhaps, a merrier heart.
Aubrey sighed. I bent over him affectionately (I loved that boy with something of a fathers as well as a brothers love), and as I did bend over him, I saw that his eyelids were red with weeping.
My brothermy own dear brother, said I, what grieves you?are we not friends, and more than friends?what can grieve you that grieves not me?
Suddenly raising his head, Aubrey gazed at me with a long, searching intentness of eye; his lips moved, but he did not answer.
Speak to me, Aubrey, said I, passing my arm over his shoulder; has any one, anything, hurt you? See, now, if I cannot remedy the evil.
Morton, said Aubrey, speaking very slowly, do you believe that Heaven pre-orders as well as foresees our destiny?
It is the schoolmans question, said I, smiling; but I know how these idle subtleties vex the mind; and you, my brother, are ever too occupied with considerations of the future. If Heaven does pre-order our destiny, we know that Heaven is merciful, and we should be fearless, as we arm ourselves in that knowledge.
Morton Devereux, said Aubrey, again repeating my name, and with an evident inward effort that left his lip colourless, and yet lit his dark dilating eye with a strange and unwonted fire,Morton Devereux, I feel that I am predestined to the power of the Evil One!
I drew back, inexpressibly shocked. Good Heavens! I exclaimed, what can induce you to cherish so terrible a phantasy? what can induce you to wrong so fearfully the goodness and mercy of our Creator?
Aubrey shrank from my arm, which had still been round him, and covered his face with his hands. I took up the book he had been reading; it was a Latin treatise on predestination, and seemed fraught with the most gloomy and bewildering subtleties. I sat down beside him, and pointed out the various incoherencies and contradictions of the work, and the doctrine it espoused: so long and so earnestly did I speak that at length Aubrey looked up, seemingly cheered and relieved.
I wish, said he, timidly, I wish that you loved me, and that you loved me only: but you love pleasure, and power, and show, and wit, and revelry; and you know not what it is to feel for me as I feel at times for you,nay, perhaps you really dislike or despise me.
Aubreys voice grew bitter in its tone as he concluded these words, and I was instantly impressed with the belief that some one had insinuated distrust of my affection for him.
Why should you think thus? I said; has any cause occurred of late to make you deem my affection for you weaker than it was? Has any one hinted a surmise that I do not repay your brotherly regard?
Aubrey did not answer.
Has Gerald, I continued, jealous of our mutual attachment, uttered aught tending to diminish it? Yes, I see that he has.
Aubrey remained motionless, sullenly gazing downward and still silent.
Speak, said I, in justice to both of us,speak! You know, Aubrey, how I have loved and love you: put your arms round me, and say that thing on earth which you wish me to do, and it shall be done!
Aubrey looked up; he met my eyes, and he threw himself upon my neck, and burst into a violent paroxysm of tears.
Aubrey shrank from my arm, which had still been round him, and covered his face with his hands. I took up the book he had been reading; it was a Latin treatise on predestination, and seemed fraught with the most gloomy and bewildering subtleties. I sat down beside him, and pointed out the various incoherencies and contradictions of the work, and the doctrine it espoused: so long and so earnestly did I speak that at length Aubrey looked up, seemingly cheered and relieved.
I wish, said he, timidly, I wish that you loved me, and that you loved me only: but you love pleasure, and power, and show, and wit, and revelry; and you know not what it is to feel for me as I feel at times for you,nay, perhaps you really dislike or despise me.
Aubreys voice grew bitter in its tone as he concluded these words, and I was instantly impressed with the belief that some one had insinuated distrust of my affection for him.
Why should you think thus? I said; has any cause occurred of late to make you deem my affection for you weaker than it was? Has any one hinted a surmise that I do not repay your brotherly regard?
Aubrey did not answer.
Has Gerald, I continued, jealous of our mutual attachment, uttered aught tending to diminish it? Yes, I see that he has.
Aubrey remained motionless, sullenly gazing downward and still silent.
Speak, said I, in justice to both of us,speak! You know, Aubrey, how I have loved and love you: put your arms round me, and say that thing on earth which you wish me to do, and it shall be done!
Aubrey looked up; he met my eyes, and he threw himself upon my neck, and burst into a violent paroxysm of tears.
I was greatly affected. I see my fault, said I, soothing him; you are angry, and with justice, that I have neglected you of late; and, perhaps, while I ask your confidence, you suspect that there is some subject on which I should have granted you mine. You are right, and, at a fitter moment, I will. Now let us return homeward: our uncle is never merry when we are absent; and when my mother misses your dark locks and fair cheek, I fancy that she sees little beauty in the ball. And yet, Aubrey, I added, as he now rose from my embrace and dried his tears, I will own to you that I love this scene better than any, however gay, within; and I turned to the sea, starlit as it was, and murmuring with a silver voice, and I became suddenly silent.
There was a long pause. I believe we both felt the influence of the scene around us, softening and tranquillizing our hearts; for, at length, Aubrey put his hand in mine, and said, You were always more generous and kind than I, Morton, though there are times when you seem different from what you are; and I know you have already forgiven me.
I drew him affectionately towards me, and we went home. But although I meant from that night to devote myself more to Aubrey than I had done of late, my hourly increasing love for Isora interfered greatly with my resolution. In order, however, to excuse any future neglect, I, the very next morning, bestowed upon him my confidence. Aubrey did not much encourage my passion: he represented to me Isoras situation, my own youth, my own worldly ambition; and, more than all (reminding me of my uncles aversion even to the most prosperous and well-suited marriage), he insisted upon the certainty that Sir William would never yield consent to the lawful consummation of so unequal a love. I was not too well pleased with this reception of my tale, and I did not much trouble my adviser with any further communication and confidence on the subject. Day after day I renewed my visits to the Spaniards cottage; and yet time passed on, and I had not told Isora a syllable of my love. I was inexpressibly jealous of this Barnard, whom her father often eulogized, and whom I never met. There appeared to be some mystery in his acquaintance with Don Diego, which that personage carefully concealed; and once, when I was expressing my surprise to have so often missed seeing his friend, the Spaniard shook his head gravely, and said that he had now learnt the real reason for it: there were circumstances of state which made men fearful of new acquaintances even in their own country. He drew back, as if he had said too much, and left me to conjecture that Barnard was connected with him in some intrigue, more delightful in itself than agreeable to the government. This belief was strengthened by my noting that Alvarez was frequently absent from home, and this too in the evening, when he was generally wont to shun the bleakness of the English air,an atmosphere, by the by, which I once heard a Frenchman wittily compare to Augustus placed between Horace and Virgil; namely, in the bon mot of the emperor himself, between sighs and tears.
But Isora herself never heard the name of this Barnard mentioned without a visible confusion, which galled me to the heart; and at length, unable to endure any longer my suspense upon the subject, I resolved to seek from her own lips its termination. I long tarried my opportunity; it was one evening that coming rather unexpectedly to the cottage, I was informed by the single servant that Don Diego had gone to the neighbouring town, but that Isora was in the garden. Small as it was, this garden had been cultivated with some care, and was not devoid of variety. A high and very thick fence of living box-wood, closely interlaced with the honeysuckle and the common rose, screened a few plots of rarer flowers, a small circular fountain, and a rustic arbour, both from the sea breezes and the eyes of any passer-by, to which the open and unsheltered portion of the garden was exposed. When I passed through the opening cut in the fence, I was somewhat surprised at not immediately seeing Isora. Perhaps she was in the arbour. I approached the arbour trembling. What was my astonishment and my terror when I beheld her stretched lifeless on the ground!
I uttered a loud cry, and sprang forward. I raised her from the earth, and supported her in my arms; her complexionthrough whose pure and transparent white the wandering blood was wont so gently, yet so glowingly, to blush, undulating while it blushed, as youngest rose-leaves which the air just stirs into tremblingwas blanched into the hues of death. My kisses tinged it with a momentary colour not its own; and yet as I pressed her to my heart, methought hers, which seemed still before, began as if by an involuntary sympathy, palpably and suddenly to throb against my own. My alarm melted away as I held her thus,nay, I would not, if I could, have recalled her yet to life; I was forgetful, I was unheeding, I was unconscious of all things else,a few broken and passionate words escaped my lips, but even they ceased when I felt her breath just stirring and mingling with my own. It seemed to me as if all living kind but ourselves had, by a spell, departed from the earth, and we were left alone with the breathless and inaudible Nature from which spring the love and the life of all things.
Isora slowly recovered; her eyes in opening dwelt upon mine; her blood rushed at once to her cheek, and as suddenly left it hueless as before. She rose from my embrace, but I still extended my arms towards her; and words over which I had no control, and of which now I have no remembrance, rushed from my lips. Still pale, and leaning against the side of the arbour, Isora heard me, asconfused, incoherent, impetuous, but still intelligible to hermy released heart poured itself forth. And when I had ceased, she turned her face towards me, and my blood seemed at once frozen in its channel. Anguish, deep ineffable anguish, was depicted upon every feature; and when she strove at last to speak, her lips quivered so violently that, after a vain effort, she ceased abruptly. I again approached; I seized her hand, which I covered with my kisses.