"Alas, Madam, is he still so ruthless?" said Adelaide ; "while all the Court rejoice in your Majesty's clemency?" The Queen, instead of replying to this appeal, abruptly inquired, "Have you observed in Chatelard aught towards me to justify the malice of evil tongues. Answer me plainly, for you can have been no negligent observer of him. You do not answer. It is enough, and I forgive you. But tell me sincerely, have ever I, by accident or inadvertency, showed him any particular favour ?" "I have not myself," replied Adelaide, with diffidence and gentleness: "but I have been told, that on more than one occasion your Majesty has been too gracious to him." "It is "Who dare say so ?" cried the indignant Queen. some idle fancy of the ante-chamber. Twice he touched my hand with too much of fellowship; and I made him conscious he was too bold. But such foolery cannot be again: he is dismissed my service; and by the first vessel and favouring wind he goes to France." This sudden intelligence smote the enthralled heart of Adelaide; she became pale, and, almost swooning, sank into a seat. “Why, thou weak girl, what hath overcome thee? Verily, thou art more forwards in thy love than accords with modesty. I take blame upon myself for not reproving thy too-well seen affection before. He is not worthy of it; nor doth it much enhance thy discretion, to have made such a choice, when one so far surpassing him in all manly and mannerly excellence is pining unrequited. Think no more of him; and give such heed to young Southennan as in time may draw that cherished folly from thy breast. But I will urge thee no farther at this time, than that thou should prepare to meet thy father with happy looks; for doubtless he will presently be in quest of thee here. Go then, and set thy countenance in better plight. It would argue little for thy good-nature, which has hitherto been all gentleness, to meet thy father with a visage so wobegone. Go at once, and send in Livingstone. Verily, she is a better companion for one who hath discarded a suitor, than the hapless nymph who long in hopelessness hath loved too well!" 7 CHAPTER LIX. "With what greediness Do I hug my afflictions! there is no mirth FORD. KNOCKWHINNIE, from the time of his incarceration, had suffered much in his mind. He did not greatly dread the ignominy, nor the result of his trial, being persuaded that as his offence had not proved fatal, the indictment would be restricted to an arbitrary punishment, according to a prerogative which the public prosecutor of Scotland, the Lord Advocate, has long exercised; but still his anxieties were sharp and manifold. He had been now for a long period of years absent from his lands and castle, which, in the interval, had fallen into decay. He thought the Lord Kilburnie, his father-in-law, had acted towards him with a rigour that could only be justified by some great wrong, and he was unconscious of having committed any towards him. He considered him as the spring of all his domestic misfortunes, by having, as he supposed, influenced the Lady Ellenor to remain in Scotland when she was so earnestly entreated to come to France. His heart was also troubled on his daughter's account, both with respect to the state of her affections, and the relationship in which she stood to the Count Dufroy by the adoption; for habitual reflection, even after he had ascertained the innocence of that high-minded nobleman, made him still think of him with something of the heat and irritation of an enemy. But the chiefest source of his annoyance arose from the confinement. Accustomed to the freedom, activity, and adventure of an outlaw, he felt as if his spirit were girded within a hoop, and he moved in agitation through his gloomy chamber, like a wild bird when first imprisoned. This physical suffering, however, for it was of that nature, though arising from the ineffectual struggles of his mind, subsided in the course of the first night, and by the time Southennan was admitted to him, a gloomy melancholy had succeeded to the vivid emotions and VOL. I.-18 sudden fluctuation with which he was at first so violently affected. In its calm, however, there was no peace. It was like the unwholesome fen, which in its sullen silence breathes forth infection. He became afflicted with misanthropical antipathies; his reminiscences were sour and indigestible; and his spirit, sickened with the nausea of self-dissatisfaction, revolted against the world for the sufferings he endured, unjustly disproportioned, as he thought them, to the extent of his errors. When Southennan entered he was standing near the grated aperture of his dungeon, into which a dim reflection of the sun from the glass of an opposite window shone with a dull and sallow lustre upon the ruins of his tall and manly form ; his arms were folded on his breast, and his head was slightly bent in rumination. On hearing the door opened he turned round his eyes without changing his position, and on observing that it was not the jailer who entered, he assumed a proud attitude until his visiter had come into the light. Our hero advanced with cheerfulness; and, animated with the news he had to tell, held out to him both his hands. Knockwhinnie coldly acknowledged the warmth of his friendly eagerness, and with a seeming reluctance touched only one of them. Southennan, though sensible of this ungracious return, suppressed his feelings, and joyously told him that the Queen had consented to his immediate pardon, and that he might expect his release in the course of the day. At this important information the mood and temper of the prisoner underwent no immediate change. He heard it with apparent indifference, and only inquired for his daughter. "How is this Knock whinnie?" said Southennan; "you hear me as if I were the bearer of some household errand." "'Tis even so, and I am grieved at being unable to return your zeal and ardour with but the words of thankfulness. dark, damp, narrow chamber, and the prohibited door, have chilled my heart with a morose torpidity. I am a thing dischaged of its uses--of a humour to be pleased with a sight of miseries." This Southennan remonstrated with him on the indulgence of such unprofitable fancies, and endeavoured to dispel his dejection; but until the officer with the pardon had been admitted, all argument was unavailing. His countenance, however, then brightened, and when he reached the open street, he fetched a long deep breath, as if he drank a refreshing draught, and said, "How delicious is the free air-how wide the path of liberty!" They had proceeded together to Knockwhinnie's lodgings, where he dressed himself for the palace, being eager to visit his daughter, before Southennan recollected what the host of the Unicorn had told him of Cornylees's confinement. This induced them to separate; for our hero was constrained by his humanity to hasten back to the Tolbooth. Knockwhinnie had not proceeded many steps down the street, when suddenly recollecting that he had neglected to inquire to whose mediation he was indebted for his pardon, he hastily turned back, and overtaking our hero, begged to be informed as to this. The question was discordant to Southennan's feelings. It implied a sense of obligation on the part of Knockwhinnie : but he, however, disdained to conceal that his gratitude was due to Chatelard. "Say you it was the young Frenchman !" exclaimed Knockwhinnie, "he who professes such affection for my daughter ?" Our hero felt, as it were, the chill shadow of a cloud overcome his spirit, and he replied in a marked and emphatic manner, "The same. He does indeed openly profess the most inextinguishable love-too openly." He would have added more, but was restrained by motives of delicacy. He knew that the gossip of the Court would soon set the professions of Chatelard in their proper light; and he therefore rejected the suggestion as mean, which prompted himself, though but for an instant, to think of deteriorating the ́grateful sensibility by which Knockwhinnie was then animated. But his fears were awakened; for by this time he had learned enough of Court practices to think it not beyond the scope of probability, that Chatelard would accept the hand of Adelaide, to disguise the daring and ambitious passion which he had cherished for the Queen, and which he so sedulously but insufficiently endeavoured to conceal. END OF VOLUME I. STEREOTYPE WORKS 1 RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY J. & J. HARPER. COOPER'S SURGICAL DICTIONARY. 8vo. MILMAN'S HISTORY OF THE JEWS. 3 v.18mo. RUSSELL'S MODERN EUROPE. 3 vols. 8vo. New-York, October, 1830. |