CHAPTER XVIII.

_Ghost._--"Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold."

_Hamlet._--"Speak, I am bound to hear."--_Hamlet._

"Your Lordship," continued the old sailor, "when tired of Juana pensioned her off, gave her apartments in London, and a handsome allowance, provided she would never more seek after or speak to you again. You then went to Scotland, and soon after your arrival there Miss Ravensworth returned and met you. I was sent by the Captain to hire the Peel of Cessford as a house in which Juana might reside, and Sir Richard Musgrave was enrolled as a conspirator also.

"The Captain, L'Estrange, and he, had an interview with Juana: the two former left for Scotland to visit your Lordship; Sir Richard and the girl followed. Our second plan was to let Miss Ravensworth believe you were married, and if she would not credit it show Juana. L'Estrange called on the young lady and hinted it, even showed your letters to Juana, but she would not read them; indeed, she destroyed them, and seemed rather to love you the better, as many girls do love unsteady men with the hope of reforming them. Whilst I and the girl Juana were at Cessford's Peel, a picnic, or some such mummery, was made to the ruins, and the Captain, though very angry at it at first, tried to turn the mischance to good account.

"Juana was dressed as an Italian minstrel and taught a part to play; it was thought likely you would, with your usual hospitality, give her a shelter at the Towers, and L'Estrange was then to show Miss Ravensworth how false you were to her, in harbouring the girl thus in disguise, whilst paying her attentions. This plan was overthrown in a curious way; Juana followed you and the lady up the wood to a cave, where she heard you propose, and Miss Ravensworth accept, on the condition you never afterwards spoke to _her_. I said she was deluded by a false hope of becoming a Countess: now she saw things in a new light, and absolutely refused to go to the Towers. That night, after much trouble, the Captain prevailed on L'Estrange to try the third scheme: he was to disappear mysteriously, and a rumour to be got abroad he had met with foul play. Suspicion was to be thrown on Miss Ravensworth, and, under disguise of officers of the King, we were to carry her to Cessford's Peel, and force her to marry L'Estrange. Sir Richard Musgrave acted his part well as officer, and, as you know, she was carried off: I and Farmer Forbes and his son played a part too as assistants. No clue would ever have been found, till we had terrified Miss Ravensworth into submission, had Juana not found out she was sister to her old lover, George Ravensworth. She went and betrayed us on the very night things were to be brought to an issue.

"The Captain and I accompanied L'Estrange to the girl's room, and then left him to settle it with his sweetheart: it appeared he had little fancy for it, and had made the preconcerted signal for assistance, when the Captain saw your Lordship and several others in sight! He and I fled by secret passages, and whilst I lay _caché_, he joined your party with the utmost coolness, and assisted in binding L'Estrange, whispering him he was true under false colours, as well as threatening Miss Ravensworth and Juana with his vengeance if they inculpated him. When L'Estrange was in prison, the night before his trial the Captain visited his cell at midnight, and gave him a file and rope to make his escape with, whilst I and young Forbes waited for him in the Hunter's Bog; it was a terrible night of thunder and lightning, but he made his escape, and that night he and I sailed for Germany. He was pretty hard up for money then, and not long after he married a Polish lady, the Countess Czinsky, whose name he assumed. But he never loved her, and cared only for her money, and when the Captain, after having shot Musgrave, joined him, they both left for St. Petersburgh.

"It was about this time Juana gave birth to a daughter, Leonora,--who brought you here; she died soon after, and I often thought she had met with foul play; this afternoon her murderer confessed he had poisoned her in revenge for her treachery--there he lies--he was a bad man! About the time of Christmas, a year afterwards, L'Estrange, still hankering after his old lady-love, hearing from Archy Forbes the Countess was living in retirement at the Towers, proposed reconnoitring, and if practicable carrying her off. The Captain did not much admire the plan, thinking it impossible, but we came across, and he rode up to see how matters stood. The news had been false, the Towers were full, so we weighed sail, and were off in our schooner in the very dirtiest night of snow and storm I ever recollect. We had intended to go straight to Naples, but cruised down Africa, and getting aboard some Algerines, tried our hand at the slave trade a year or two, and took many a black cargo across to the West Indies, but we grew sick o' that, and having a good ballast of shiners went to Italy. From that time the Captain and L'Estrange became brigands, and taking the name of Vardarelli, a name famous, inspiring fear in every bosom, carried on a successful trade. This morning they made an attack on an Englishman going to visit your Lordship at Foggia, and carrying rich jewels. I have already told you the rest."

The old man ceased his narrative, and again took a long draught of wine. For some moments the Earl moved not nor spoke. Tumultuous thoughts disturbed his mind, and he scarce knew what to say, or how to express his surprise at thus listening to the long records of conspiracy, plot, and crime he had been exposed to by his nearest relatives. He felt now inclined to disbelieve the whole story, now half doubting; and then his position,--the whole scene around seemed to verify the old man's tale.

"Whoever you may really be," said the Earl, "your story is one of the blackest villanies I ever heard; the actors seem to have been allied with the Evil One. And yet, what proof have I this is not an ingeniously devised tale? I must have proofs."

[H]"And you shall. Old Bill would but half have done his work had he no proofs,--there, my Lord (taking a bundle of papers), there lie the proofs. Those papers are signed by all the actors in my tale, and are no forgeries; you may examine them at your leisure."

The Earl took the parcel and secreted it beneath his cloak; then, rising once more, approached the mortal remains of John de Vere; once more he looked on the brother of his youth, and could scarce believe him capable of such atrocities. What a life had his been! The wild, cruel boy had grown up the careless, dare-devil, vicious, young man, the infamous desperado whose power and malice terrified the whole of Southern Italy! But death pays all debts, says the poet, and even here it hid a multitude of sins. There were softer memories connected with the departed: He had been the child who had shared his childish amusements; the youth with whom he had hunted, ridden, and shot; the young man with whom he shared many a scene of joy or danger. In these associations he forgot how, while he ate his bread, he had been intriguing against him; how he had plotted to procure his misery, and, by unparalleled dissimulation, seemed his friend whilst he was his worst foe,--despite all, he was his brother still. The fixed eye, the pale brow, the lifeless face asked his pity; the tears started in the good Earl's eyes as he bent over all that was once John Captain de Vere, and it was some time ere he could frame the question:--

"At least you will allow me to procure Christian burial for my poor brother?"

"It is impossible," said old Bill; "by the rules of this band he must be buried here, with all our rites. You must forget you had a brother; he will sleep as soundly here as in a marble tomb."

"By what right do you deny me my proper power? Surely it rests with me to inter my own brother."

"I know not by what right saving the right of might. You are not lord here, but I am."

"But, my fine fellow, I will soon assert my power; let me once get free from this accursed nest of robbers, and--"

"But you will not get free, my Lord, till you have solemnly sworn you will never divulge our hiding place, nor strive to find it out."

"Your terms are hard, yet I have no resource but to submit to numbers, though I dare try you all had I fair play one by one."

"You will not be put to the test, but, after you have taken the oath, will leave as you came, and need only think of all this as a wild dream. Your brothers need not trouble you; one is dead, and will be buried with due pomp; the other is an outcast even from outcasts, and will know better than to show his face in these quarters."

"You said my brother, as I must call Edward L'Estrange, married. Had he any family? For if he had, it would seriously affect my position. As it is, I must take the highest legal advice, and see if this is all reliable evidence."

"You need not fear about your title or possessions; no son of Edward L'Estrange's will ever trouble you."

"Then he had no family?" said the Earl.

"I never said so; but you're free to think what you will."

"But tell me, had he a son, or daughter?"

"I suppose I may tell what I please, and needn't tell what I don't."

"But for God's sake tell me the truth!"

"I never have told you aught but the truth."

"I gain, from your unwillingness to tell me, he had a child; was the marriage an acknowledged one?"

"The marriage was sure enough; there is the certificate with the papers I gave you; but as to whether they had children or not, you may even think what you will."

Lord Wentworth, seeing he should gain nothing on this subject by further inquiry, dropped it, inwardly wondering at the old man's contumacy.

"I have said my say," said Bill Stacy, "and now I have only to get your oath you will never by word or deed directly or indirectly betray our retreat or ourselves, and you may go."

"Old man," said the Earl, "I give my promise I will by no means directly or indirectly betray either you, your comrades, or your den; but I do not pledge myself to make no inquiries about Edward L'Estrange."

"You are quite free to do that, but I'll warrant you will scarce find him. He is a sly fox is Edward L'Estrange, and won't put his head into the snare if he knows it."

"Then I am free to go, and you will at least allow me to return with my child,--the unhappy child of her I so ill treated,--and let her be brought up away from scenes and men ill suited to her age and sex."

"You must promise more in that case. The girl shall pilot you back to the place she brought you from; but she must then and there leave you. You must swear that also."

"What! Am I not to have my way with my own child? You trespass on the rights of nature, and because I am now in the power of evil men, exert an undue and mean advantage over me."

"I am not here to argue whether it is right or not right. You are the prisoner here, and must abide by my terms if you wish your freedom. In Scotland they say, 'He is a proud beggar who names his alms,' and he is a proud prisoner who makes his own terms, I may add."

"On my soul this is enough to drive a man mad. Here I am, curbed and fettered on all sides--"

"My Lord, you have too long been accustomed to rule, and to see everybody obey you. It is good to be under the yoke sometimes. Will you swear to abide by your promise neither to betray our resort, nor by any means win Leonora to follow you? Indeed the girl knows better than to do so, and if you tried to carry her off, neither your name, rank, nor riches should save you; so I warn you not to try. Do you swear?"

"I give my word I will not."

"Nay, but you must swear."

"Old man, were I capable of breaking my word, I were capable of breaking my oath too!"

"It matters not; you cannot leave without swearing."

"Listen; a peer of England, even in Court, swears only by his honour. You little know the worth of a peer's word; his pledged, inviolate word is the most solemn promise he can give. I give that, and my oath were not a surer pledge."

"I believe you. You may then go. Good night, my Lord. You will never again see me; but be sure of this, it was only the hospitality, the goodness, and generosity of your character saved you too from falling a victim to my snares. I can see and approve the better, whilst I follow the worse. I have not forgot that in my school-training. Farewell!"

"Farewell," said the Earl, as the old man disappeared behind the black curtain once more, "and I shall not offend you by wishing you may turn to some better occupation."

When Bill had disappeared, the Earl sat down, and, bending his eyes on the ground, he began to recapitulate in his mind the extraordinary events and the _éclaircissement_ he had heard that evening, whilst he waited for his guide. His thoughts also reverted to the Countess as he looked at his watch, and found it was not very far from nine o'clock, and he began to think she would indeed have cause for anxiety. From his reverie he was awoke by a soft foot approaching, and, looking up, he saw Leonora close beside him. She seemed to read in his face he knew the secret, and as he exclaimed, "Leonora, my child," threw herself into her father's arms.

"And you know now who I am, and why I loved you so well, and are come to take me from this dreadful place?"

"Alas! my child, I do know who you are; I do know you are my daughter, child of one who was worthy better things than my false love, and believe me, I shall ever dearly regard you as such. But I cannot, much as I wish it, take you from this bad place; I have given my word I will not by any means entice you to leave with me."

"And why did you give your promise?"

"Without it I should not be able to leave this cave; it was extorted from me, Leonora; but as I have given my word I cannot, under any pretext, break it, and did I do so, I believe in this lawless country it would be of little avail. But at least, Leonora, you know you have one who loves you dearly, and if ever you are without a friend, you have a friend and a father in me."

A shadow of deep disappointment passed over Leonora's brow.

"It is too bad!" she cried, striking her hands together with Italian gesture. "What power has that cruel, bad, relentless man over me? Dark and cruel as my uncle there was" (pointing to the coffin), "he was not so dreadful as the old man; but I will run away! I will throw myself on the King's protection and yours! I will--"

"Hush, Leonora, for heaven's sake! you will be overheard. At least so far I will stoutly defend you as a suppliant; but to-night it must not be; for, dear as you are,--dearly as I should love to see you ever beside me, and thus in a way pay back the debt of gratitude the Countess and I owe to your mother,--I must not do more than follow you home to-night; but shall, you may be sure, try all expedients on your behalf that do not in any way compromise my honor given."

"I am sure you will, my father," said Leonora, pressing his hand to her lips. "I do so long to see my sister, that I feel quite sad at the delay; and I so long to show how I will love you, and the Countess, and Lady Augusta, that to be obliged to stay here among murderers and wicked men is very sad."

"It is indeed, my child; but we will pray that God will overrule it to your advantage. And now I must ask you to hasten my departure, or else my wife and your sister will grow quite alarmed: we have a long way to travel, and shall have plenty of time to speak by the way."

"You must then be blindfolded again--you will not fear your guide's faith now?" said the young girl, as she drew the scarf across her arm and folded it, with a sad smile.

"I shall not, indeed; but first I must take a parting glance at my poor misguided brother. Ah, Leonora! you cannot think what different feelings arise in my mind as I look on that cold form. As each of my race fall away in their prime, a link is broken--a blank, nothing can fill, made; and it seems like a warning voice to me that my turn must soon come!--that I should be preparing for my last change. I hope I am prepared, Leonora: and how I hope we shall all be brought to the narrow pleasant paths of righteousness! To-day I have lost and found a brother; and it makes my heart bleed to think what and who he is. But I forgot--you know nothing of these things: how much I seem to have before me!"

Intently, for some time after he had ceased speaking, did the Earl gaze on the face that was dead. His thoughts are unutterable--not to be written: that they were intense and burning his face showed; the expression sometimes approached to that of torture,--as if he was forced to credit what he least wished to believe.

He laid his hand on the marble brow of his brother; its coldness shot a thrill through his frame; and then he turned away as though utterly cast down, and sickened in heart and soul, and with a choking voice bade Leonora bind the scarf across his eyes, glad to have the sight veiled from his view. As he stooped to allow the maiden to do so, she heard him sigh deeply; and, as she bound the Indian fabric across his eyes, she saw more than one heavy tear glide down his cheek, and drop on the folds of her scarf. She felt an answering weakness within herself, and the tears flowed faster down her cheek, as she took her parent's hand and led him on silently.