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 L162
 
 TRANSFUSION: 
 
 THE LATE WILLIAM GODWIN, JUN. 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 
 BY HIS FATHER. 
 
 Some noble spirits— judging by themselves— 
 May yet conjecture what I might have been. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 JOHN MACRONE, ST. JAMES'S SQUARE. 
 
 MDCCCXXXV.
 
 PRINTED BY A. J. VALPV, 
 RED I.ION COURT, FLEET STRFET.
 
 8c5 
 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR 
 
 BY HIS FATHER. 
 
 oi 
 
 The writer of these Yolames was born on 
 ^ the twenty-eighth of March, 1803. He 
 was my only son. He had from nature, 
 rand he early discovered, great clearness 
 ^and precision of understanding. He had 
 much quickness of study. What he set 
 himself to learn scarcely cost him any la- 
 bour in acquiring. I was desirous of giv- 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ing him the best education that my means 
 would afford. I sent him at eight years 
 of age a day-scholar to the Charterhouse. 
 He continued there for three or four 
 years ; but he was of an impatient tem- 
 per, and could not brook the disdain 
 with which the boarders at the school 
 were accustomed to look down upon the 
 day-scholar. To humour his disposition 
 in that respect, I sent him in September, 
 1814, to the school kept by the younger 
 Dr. Burney, at Greenwich. Here he con- 
 tinued again for three or four years, to the 
 end of the year 1817. 
 
 It seems to me that it is at a later 
 period than is usually imagined, that a 
 youth for the most part manifests original 
 powers of mind. Not having remarked
 
 THE AUTHOR. VU 
 
 indications of this kind, I therefore des- 
 tined my son to some mercantile or me- 
 chanical profession. I placed him in the 
 beginning of the year 1818 at a celebrated 
 school for preparing youth for the pursuits 
 of commerce at Woodford. Early in the 
 next year, he having professed a fondness 
 for mathematical studies, I put him under 
 Mr. Peter Nicholson, in London Street, 
 Fitzroy Square. * 
 
 It has always been my opinion that the 
 partialities and propensities of young per- 
 sons deserve great attention in choosing 
 for them a destination in life. My son, at 
 this period, (early in 1820) professed a 
 considerable inclination for engineering. 
 I consulted Mr. Rennie ; I tried Mr. Don- 
 kin ; and finally fixed him upon probation
 
 Vlll MEMOIR OF 
 
 with Mr. Maudslay at Lambeth. Here 
 he early met with an accident (the loss of 
 a finger) which seemed to put an end to 
 his views in that direction. 
 
 He then spoke of architecture ; and 
 I consulted Mr. Telford and Mr. Nash : 
 the latter of these gentlemen most liberally 
 said, ** I do not know, Mr. Godwin, ex- 
 actly what may be your thoughts in com- 
 ing to me (I went to both gentlemen with- 
 out any other introduction than my name), 
 but if you would wish to place your son as 
 a pupil with me, I will only say that my 
 usual fee is five hundred guineas. In 
 the mean time, I feel that respect for your 
 character, that I will willingly receive your 
 son to precisely the same advantages with- 
 out a fee."
 
 THE AUTHOR. IX 
 
 During these experiments however my 
 son betrayed an unsteady and roving dis- 
 position. None of the occupations he had 
 chosen perfectly suited him. He had 
 nearly completed the twenty-first year of 
 his age, when he first shewed any exter- 
 nal indications of a vocation to literature ; 
 and up to that time I had had no reason 
 to suspect that he could, with any degree 
 of taste, turn a sentence or construct a' 
 paragraph. He worked his way in silence ; 
 and in November and December, 1823, I 
 was agreeably surprised at having put 
 into my hands two little Essays of his, 
 printed in the ** Literary Examiner:" one 
 entitled '' Country Church-yards," and the 
 other '*The Cottage." The scene of the 
 first was laid in Woodford Church-yard,
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and both of them are pregnant with 
 striking indications of the peculiar turn of 
 his mind, being marked all through with 
 an agreeable egotism, as well as with 
 strong tokens of sensibility. 
 
 Having, however, given no more de- 
 cided evidences of a special vocation, and 
 it being on all accounts proper that he 
 should engage in some mode of gaining 
 a subsistence by his own industry, he, in 
 the course of the year 1823, engaged in the 
 business of a Reporter to *' The Morning 
 Chronicle," which with a short interval he 
 continued to pursue to the period of his 
 death. Beside this, he employed himself 
 latterly in regular contributions to '' The 
 Mirror of Parliament." 
 
 But in the midst of all this industry,
 
 THE AUTHOR. XI 
 
 he was constantly uneasy. He felt that 
 he was not in the position that properly 
 belonged to him, and that he was born to 
 better things. He therefore always found 
 time to engage his thoughts and his pen 
 in other matters, that might lead to some- 
 what of a higher character. He essayed 
 various pieces of a dramatic nature. It 
 was his propensity to engage with fervour 
 and an eager impatience in what he thus' 
 projected, and, being little satisfied with 
 what he had done, then to throw it aside, 
 and seemingly to forget that it had ever 
 existed. He wrote a slight piece in the 
 nature of an opera on the story of Robin 
 Hood, and even attempted a tragedy on 
 the fate of Regulus. He wrote in the 
 same manner a story in the form of a
 
 XU MEMOIR OF 
 
 novel, which he afterwards consigned to 
 oblivion. Among his papers was found 
 a catalogue of subjects for the Drama 
 and for miscellaneous compositions. 
 
 He formed a sound estimate of his own 
 productions, even at the moment that they 
 came fresh from his pen ; those which he 
 regarded as inconsiderable, he caused to 
 be brought out in the minor periodical 
 publications. But having traced a thought 
 and a feeling with extraordinary energy 
 of purpose under the name of '* The Ex- 
 ecutioner," he sent it to '* Blackwood's 
 Edinburgh Magazine," and designed to fol- 
 low with other contributions of a similar 
 nature. 
 
 He instituted, about two years before 
 his death, a club in commemoration of
 
 THE AUTHOR. XUl 
 
 Shakspeare, which he named ** The Mul- 
 berries," that held its meetings once a 
 week, and a more solemn meeting an- 
 nually on the birth-day of the great poet. 
 It was part of the plan of this club that 
 each member should in rotation produce 
 and read before his fellows, on certain 
 select occasions, an original Essay on any 
 subject he might think proper, provided 
 it bore some reference to the object of the 
 club. Accordingly, two of the Essays pro- 
 duced by him were, the first entitled 
 ''On Shakspeare's Knowledge of his own 
 Greatness," and the second *' A Disserta- 
 tion on the Dramatic Unities," which were 
 after his death printed in the *' Court Ma- 
 gazine." Both of these pieces were worthy 
 of the maturity of his mind. In the first.
 
 XIV MEMOIR OF 
 
 he examined, and, it will perhaps be 
 thought, satisfactorily refuted the vulgar 
 idea that our great poet wrote his im- 
 mortal effusions in total unconsciousness 
 of their unparalleled grandeur ; shewing, 
 on the contrary, that the writer was fully 
 aware that what he was penning could 
 never afterwards perish. The second was 
 a learned and perspicuous explanation of 
 what the Greek poets understood by the 
 Unities, and what was their conception 
 of the nature of dramatic composition, 
 which has been so much and so grossly 
 misunderstood. 
 
 A year or two before his death he 
 framed the plan of the following work, 
 and endeavoured to apply the energies of 
 his mind to its correspondent execution.
 
 THE AUTHOR. XV 
 
 The original conception is not a little ex- 
 traordinary ; and it will perhaps be ad- 
 mitted that a very considerable fervour 
 and mastery are displayed in the deve- 
 lopment. If he had lived, I make no 
 doubt that he would have achieved more 
 memorable things. But he was cut off 
 just when he began to know himself, and 
 when his mind was most pregnant with 
 lofty conceptions and purposes. 
 
 To many readers it will be the more 
 interesting to follow him in his intellec- 
 tual development, and to conceive what 
 he might have been, if the Great Disposer 
 of all things had allowed him to fulfil his 
 career, agreeably to the ordinary duration 
 of human life.
 
 XVI MEMOIR OF 
 
 But he was cut oflf almost without a 
 warning. He had certainly of late ex- 
 erted himself beyond his strength, and 
 thus became a prepared victim to the 
 malignant and terrible disease which de- 
 stroyed him. On Tuesday, the fourth of 
 September, 1832, he appeared capable of 
 exti^aordinary bodily exertion, and in fact 
 exposed himself to an undue degree of 
 fatigue. He went to bed that night appa- 
 rently in health, and at no unseasonable 
 hour. But, during the hours of darkness, 
 he became very considerably indisposed. 
 In the course of the succeeding day he 
 grew worse. I and his mother were sent 
 for on Thursday morning ; and we at- 
 tended him almost incessantly, till his
 
 THE AUTHOR. XVll 
 
 death, at half-after five on Saturday morn- 
 ing, the ninth. But he was almost im- 
 mediately laid prostrate. He knew every 
 body on Thursday, but on Friday was 
 almost insensible to the persons about 
 him. His distemper was cholera; and, 
 in compliance with the apprehensions of 
 those who were near him, he was buried 
 the next day, Sunday, in the nearest 
 church-yard, St. John the Evangelist, 
 Waterloo Road. 
 
 William Godwin, the subject of these 
 pages, was of a somewhat fiery disposi- 
 tion, but easily disposed to listen to 
 reason when it was duly presented to 
 him. He was inclined to be somewhat 
 reserved and self-concentrated, where he
 
 XVm MEMOIR OF 
 
 apprehended an opposition which came 
 to him in the shape of authority. But if 
 you could once shew that there was sound 
 sense and sobriety in what was alleged 
 in opposition to his views, he instantly 
 became attentive and tractable. He was 
 a being of the warmest affections and the 
 most entire generosity of temper. He had 
 great powers of conversation, and could 
 easily pass through all its humours, ''from 
 grave to gay, from lively to severe." And 
 accordingly, all his chosen associates felt 
 a very earnest attachment to him, and a 
 strong sense of his extraordinary gifts. In 
 the last two years of his life, he in a 
 striking degree shook off the errors that 
 occasionally clouded his earlier years, and
 
 THE AUTHOR. XIX 
 
 would infallibly have distinguished himself 
 with honour in any career in which he 
 had engaged. 
 
 He has left a widow whom he affec- 
 tionately loved, and had no children. 
 
 May 1, 1835.
 
 TRANSFUSION; 
 
 OH, 
 
 THE ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he 's at the door ; 
 Insidious Death ! Should his strong hand arrest, 
 No composition sets the prisoner free. 
 
 Young's Night Thoughts. 
 
 The vale of death ! that hushed Cimmerian vale, 
 Where darkness, brooding o'er unfinish'd fate, 
 With raven wing incumbent, waits the day. 
 Dread day ! that interdicts all future change ! 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Have this scene before you, if a poor description 
 may do it. Though it is but an humble cottage that 
 occupies the foreground and presents the scene 
 of action, Nature around this unassuming abode 
 has been most prodigal. Look far away to both 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 the east and west, and see how mountain after 
 mountain tops its neighbour, and cUmbs beyond 
 the power of sight, as if these swellings of Old 
 Earth were, indeed, to kiss the sky, but clothed 
 in such mystery as God alone can weave to cloak 
 the meeting from ail human eyes. Survey the 
 more gentle South, where first soft plains, par- 
 celled out by ever-running streams ; and then 
 bright uplands, giving a green reflection to the 
 westward sun, present themselves. These are the 
 fragrant places, where the denizens of yonder 
 village — sweet Unwalden, — waste their easy 
 hours ; these are the honied spots where tottering 
 childhood, upright maturity, and wavering old age 
 meet as one, — the common creatures of a mother 
 that has been bountiful to them. Surely this is a 
 scene which claims to be always lovely ! Then 
 how much more so now, when the bright sun is 
 getting larger, as he gets lower, in the west; 
 when thin streams of purple, gold, and radiant 
 crimson, stealing his rays, do homage to his part- 
 ing ; when the light air knows no disturbance ;
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN, 
 
 when the brisk birds, the lowing flocks, and all 
 the tinier things of the creation speak their joy as 
 Nature best has taught them. 
 
 '' In the midst of life we are in death." Look 
 into that cottage which occupies the foreground 
 of all this pleasantness, and see how ill the scene 
 there accords with what is extant without. Tread 
 softly, as you approach the sick-bed, which may 
 scarce be seen, so carefully has some kind hand 
 excluded the severer rays of light. She that Hes 
 there, with death touching her cheek, and decay 
 fining the thin veins of her wasted hand, is a 
 mother — and such a mother ! Oh, think of the 
 softest moments of care ; bring back, if they 
 need it, to your recollections, the tenderest soli- 
 citudes that your own mothers have on deep- 
 drawing occasions spent upon you ; such as they 
 were, under trials, have emanated from this 
 mother on all occasions, and ever. Trust me, 
 this is a good parent, and needs not the iron 
 hand of death for the closer drawing of those 
 bonds of affection which are now about to be
 
 4 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 snapped asunder. Give a glance, too, at the 
 gentle form that overhangs the bed where his 
 parent is undergoing this mortal arbitrament with 
 death. It is young Albert, who, as he props her 
 pillow, answers each broken respiration of the 
 sufferer with a tear. Mark how he gazes upon 
 her murmuring lips, as though he would drink in 
 each syllable before it had utterance : and yet it 
 is but pitiful foolery, for he hears her not ; nature 
 at his birth killed this communing sense, and 
 although art and practice have taught him to 
 speak, he receives no reply but by signs. 
 
 I have said that her lips murmured. Was it 
 that her intellect failed her, or that her sight 
 grew so dim that she could not see that only her 
 poor deaf boy lingered by her side, and that the 
 daughter of her heart was even at such a moment 
 absent. Be it as it may, thus she spoke in 
 scarcely audible sounds. 
 
 *' Press closer to me, children. Give me thy 
 hand, my Madeline ; and sign to Albert to do 
 likewise. Alas ! it is all weakness with me,
 
 ?Jrphans of UNWA^D'EX, 5 
 
 or I myself would have instructed the dear boy. 
 Death is my bedfellow, Madeline : I feel him 
 pressing closer and closer, and I have not com- 
 mand of either soul or body to withstand his 
 approach ! Oh, children, now I feel the wrong 
 that I have done ye. But why not your hand, 
 dear Madeline ? Now I feel that in affording to 
 myself the selfish enjoyment of shrinking from 
 society, I have scared from you those friendly 
 faces which should have supported you in such 
 an hour. I have looked coldly on those neigh- 
 bours that would have courted our love and 
 companionship, and now there is not one to pay 
 the last services of humanity, — to promise me 
 that, when I am nothing, my children shall still 
 find protectors and friends. Why not yet your 
 hand, Madehne?" 
 
 And then, as if rousing herself, to account for 
 this omission, she opened her eyes and gazed 
 around the curtained chamber. — Poor soul, in 
 vain ! The pang that she received at finding 
 her wanting whom most she looked for, seemed
 
 O TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 to lend the dying woman strength, for, by a 
 sort of convulsive half-unmanageable effort, she 
 signed to Albert to tell her what had become of 
 Madeline. 
 
 " By and bye, mother — by and bye she will be 
 here,'' was all the boy's reply, for he dared not 
 tell her how long his sister had been absent or 
 how uncertain her return. 
 
 *' I want my Madeline," exclaimed the sufferer, 
 in a way that left it almost doubtful whether she 
 had attended to her son's reply ; it sounded so 
 like the mere vibration of a mind that had 
 overstretched itself upon the impulse, and was 
 fast returning to its former helplessness. 
 
 Albert could not hear the sounds she uttered, 
 but he interpreted them aright, for his own 
 heart taught him the same words ; and even 
 as his mother spoke, he whispered unconsciously 
 to himself, ** I want my Madeline ;" for he was 
 as one unnerved and actionless by the fearfulness 
 of the scene that pressed upon him. 
 
 Again the poor sufferer murmured the name of
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 7 
 
 her truant child. The keen eye of Albert (for 
 ever where one sense is wanting, the others gain 
 effect) took from the modulation of her lips 
 the significance of the word. He released his 
 hand from that of his mother, and stole gently, 
 — once more, stole gently to the casement, in the 
 hope that the looked -for one might have arrived 
 in sight. His eye rapidly glanced the whole 
 scene; — lovely as it was, to him it was but 
 vacancy, for the form of Madeline occupied no 
 portion of it. Still he would not be satisfied : 
 overlooking the immediate plain, his eye ever 
 rested on the brilliant upland (lighted to a 
 dazzling green by the sun's retiring ray), for 
 there he knew were his sister's favourite walks. 
 But no Madeline yet ! Presently his eyes were 
 strained, as though they would penetrate the 
 thickly-studded copses that graced the hill- side: 
 he marked the outlet of each winding path 
 that gave egress from the clumps of trees, as 
 though he would catch the coming shadow of 
 her he sought. But still no Madeline !
 
 8 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 What could this mean ? Was she ill ? Was 
 she astray ? Had feet been untrue, and cliffs 
 and torrents wide and fierce? — All was one 
 vast sea of confusion and distraction, and Albert 
 still had to gaze, — hoping, doubting, despairing 
 in succession, rapid as thought only can ac- 
 complish. 
 
 It was true that, when Madeline had quitted 
 the '' Single Cottage "at noon, there was nothing 
 in the appearance of her mother that denoted 
 speedy dissolution. She had been ailing for days 
 and even weeks, but had ever forbidden any 
 notice of her condition to be carried to the 
 neighbouring village. Madeline had pressed it 
 upon her that very morning ; but the answer 
 was, " No, dear girl, I feel better to-day, and 
 by to-morrow shall again be able to take my 
 walks with you." The smile of satisfaction with 
 which this was said deceived Madeline, and she 
 herself went abroad with a lighter heart than she 
 had experienced for some days before. 
 
 But in the afternoon a painful change took
 
 ORPHANS OP UNWALDEN. y 
 
 place. Albert was reading by his mother's bed- 
 side, consoling himself with the thought that she 
 was in the comfort of a soft sleep, when a 
 suppressed but hurried movement of the bed- 
 clothes aroused him from his study. As he 
 turned to look at his mother, he half-thought 
 that he saw a head withdraw from the exterior 
 of the window ; but the action, if one, was so 
 sudden, and his mind was so immediately called 
 to other considerations, that it remained upon 
 his impression little more than something fanciful 
 and ideal. He looked at his mother, and agony 
 had possession of every feature of her face : pre- 
 sently moan succeeded moan, and the body of 
 the patient writhed as if to be free from some 
 monstrous oppression that was paramount upon 
 it. Before Albert recovered presence of mind to 
 determine what course to pursue, there was some- 
 thing like a recovery of her senses, and she 
 signed to him for water. To be brief — the actual 
 fit was over, but it had left fearful tokens of 
 its power; and the mother from that moment
 
 10 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 felt that she was in the hands of death. Had 
 her strength permitted, there would presently 
 have been a melancholy scene to have marked 
 the absence of Madeline ; but she had for the 
 most part remained quiet, probably in the hope 
 of gathering one last residue of strength to enable 
 her to take a long farewell of her children. Yet 
 still as she reclined upon her bed of pain, nature 
 would break out, and she would call upon their 
 names almost involuntarily. These were Albert's 
 trying times renewed : as often as he saw her 
 lips move, he would flit to the window to look 
 for the absent girl, and then as suddenly return 
 to the bedside to take glimpses of the dear 
 pale form, whose cheek he had so often kissed ; 
 whose neck he had so often entwined in childish 
 playfulness within his arms, and whose signs 
 of instruction he had so often bowed before 
 and reverenced. 
 
 But the last asking for Madehne had been 
 too painfully distinct; — it had been followed 
 up ; — it had had its steps and its grades : — it
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 11 
 
 had evinced a train of thought which Albert 
 for some time had feared would arrive, and 
 yet which he knew not how to meet. The poor 
 boy was almost maddened by mingled terror and 
 grief — for, as he stood gazing at the window, 
 hope died away in sickly pangs, and his heart 
 sunk within him — No Madeline was to be seen. 
 
 At length he stole back again to his mother's 
 side. All was quiet and uninterrupted : she 
 looked as if a gentle sleep had again overtaken 
 her. It was the event for which Albert had wished, 
 and on the instant he glided from the cottage, 
 and might be seen tracing the plain with rapid 
 steps towards the upland, on which he had so 
 long gazed from the window. But, however 
 swift his motions, they still gave evidence of 
 the irresolution of his thoughts. Indeed, he 
 scarce himself could have told what was his 
 purpose : — it was impulse, rather than motive, 
 that was thus dashing him along ; and the only 
 formed idea that he possessed was the necessity 
 of Madeline's re-appearance to speak words of
 
 12 TllANSFrSION ; OR, THE 
 
 balm to her mother. For this he sped the 
 plain — for this he was hurrying to the upland ; 
 and though, had some strong hand suddenly 
 seized him and detained his course, he would 
 have struggled fearfully and from his soul to be 
 released, he had hardly built to himself a hope 
 to urge him to the effort which he was making. 
 His was the act of doing something towards alle- 
 viation, with nothing but an undefined vagueness 
 to carry it to the end. 
 
 The little plain which he had to traverse to 
 reach the upland, finished with a streamlet, 
 fresh and sparkling as the remainder of the 
 scene ; and across this had been constructed by 
 the villagers a rustic bridge, barely wide enough 
 for two to pass abreast, but protecting the heed- 
 less passenger in his crossing by means of a 
 hand-rail on either side. Albert, on his arrival 
 here, found the bridge occupied by a stranger 
 of venerable but not very ancient appearance, — 
 though even thus much the stripling would 
 scarcely have perceived but for after circum-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN, 13 
 
 stances, for, on his reaching the bridge, he 
 looked but once, — saw it was not Madehne, 
 and would have passed. The stranger, however, 
 who seemed to have been gazing on the glittering 
 sheet that fled beneath, either from idleness, or 
 in that absence of mind which is attendant upon 
 deep thought, suddenly looked up, on hearing the 
 boy's footsteps sound upon the wooden planking 
 of the bridge, and, regardless of the evident 
 hurry of the new comer, placed himself so that 
 the bridge was impassable. 
 
 " Gently, gently, my young friend," said the 
 stranger, as he perceived that Albert was going 
 to use very little ceremony in effecting a passage — - 
 " Gently, gently — spare a moment, if it is only 
 that I may gaze on features with which, me- 
 thinks, I might almost claim acquaintanceship, 
 
 though I cannot Come, boy, let me have 
 
 the privilege of age, and ask your name." 
 
 Albert, with no time to explain that he was 
 unable to hear the observations of the stranger, 
 shook his head impatiently, in token of all
 
 14 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 parley being in vain, and again would have 
 pushed by. 
 
 The stranger was somewhat offended at the 
 motion, which he naturally enough interpreted 
 to signify the youth's refusal to satisfy his 
 curiosity ; but, recovering himself in a moment, 
 he cried, '^ Well, well, perhaps I had no right 
 to demand ! But at all events, with all courtesy, 
 I may, as a stranger, ask if you can direct me 
 to the ' Single Cottage,' which I understand 
 to be in the immediate neighbourhood of Un- 
 walden ?" 
 
 Albert's patience was exhausted ; and this time, 
 not even deigning a shake of the head, he thrust 
 the querist on one side, and rushed on for the 
 upland with redoubled speed, while the stranger 
 gazed at him on his eager course with a mixed 
 sensation of wonder and resentment. 
 
 Albert was unaware of the rudeness of which 
 he was guilty. His mother's dying form was 
 before his eyes, and the necessity of finding his 
 sister — of leading her to their parent's side to
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDExV. 15 
 
 comfort her — to hear her last injunctions — over- 
 came every other feeUng : he saw, he thought 
 of none else ; and probably all that he knew 
 about the interruption that he had just under- 
 gone was, that a something had impeded his 
 path, and that he had circumvented it in the 
 best way he might. Having conquered this 
 difficulty, he surmounted the rising ground, 
 threaded the thick copses that graced its sides, 
 and was still at his speed where the upland 
 gradually increased into a hill. With panting 
 haste the youth clambered up the precipitous- 
 sides, and at length reached the top. Then 
 how his neck stretched forward — how his eyes 
 strained, as he stood on the very summit, 
 and turned his gaze around to have the whole 
 space it commanded within his gaze ! Still on 
 Madehne ! — It could not be I he would not be- 
 lieve it. He had climbed the hill for her: — as 
 he rose, his hopes rose with him, and there 
 she was to be. Again and again he looked 
 from side to side, and presently made the
 
 place resound with her name—" Madeline ! Ma- 
 deline !" 
 
 " Still no Madeline/' thought he, but with a 
 strange revulsion in the tenor of his thoughts* 
 ** I must have passed her in the deep copse. 
 She must have threaded the Gipsy Brake, while 
 I sped round by the Fairy Circle. She must 
 have gone a circuit by the mountain. She must 
 have been loitering in the village. For home, 
 then, — for home !" 
 
 These, and the like thoughts, were the work 
 of a moment, and the next saw him again at 
 his speed retracing the hill, the copse, the up- 
 land, the bridge, the plain. 
 
 But the cottage threshold he could not for 
 his soul pass at the same speed. There was a 
 flitting thought that made him pause ere he 
 lifted the latch ; and with a sigh, such only as 
 comes from the heart of hearts, he crept on to 
 the door of the sick room. 
 
 He opened the door, and there was one kneel- 
 ing at the bed of his mother. Madeline then
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 17 
 
 was come ! No, — it was a man ; and as the 
 kneeler raised his head to see who entered, 
 Albert recognised the stranger, who a quarter of 
 an hour before had arrested his progress on the 
 bridge. Under other circumstances, or at a more 
 distant date, the youth probably would not have 
 remembered him ; but the time elapsed was so 
 short, and so strangely had he twice looked to 
 see a well-known form in that of the unknown 
 visitor, that the recognition was instant and un- 
 avoidable. 
 
 The dying woman had also heard the door 
 open. ** Madeline ! Albert!" cried she ; and the 
 latter was at her bedside. He saw her lips 
 move, and it was no difficult matter for him to 
 guess the import of what she said. He crept 
 closer and closer to her pillow, and by his own 
 lingering kiss taught her to repay him in the 
 like. 
 
 Then there was a pause; and to have looked 
 upon the three was to have believed that a triad 
 of death had been accomplished ; so motionless
 
 18 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 each limb, — so solemn the silence, — so mute the 
 interval. 
 
 The last rally came ; the dying woman some- 
 what raised herself, as if strength again was hers. 
 *' Henry," said she, '^ dear Henry, as I may now 
 say," looking at the stranger with eyes where 
 affection was contending for mastery with the 
 growing thickness, " you have well arrived, and 
 I feel grateful that I have been able to exchange 
 some few words with you. To your care I be- 
 queath my orphans : when you look on them, 
 remember me, and — forget their father. It is 
 all that I require to secure your unfaihng affec- 
 tion to them. And — and — is it said? — Yet a 
 little ! — For a last office, give to Madeline, and in 
 my name, as dear a blessing as I now give to you 
 and this poor bereaved boy." 
 
 Another pause : — the sufferer sunk from her 
 strength — her lips moved as if to repeat the fare- 
 well : her hands, as they rested on the bed, 
 motioned as though in benison to Albert, and 
 as he might best understand it — her eyes closed.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEiV. 19 
 
 A shadow rested on her face, and death took 
 
 possession of that mortal tenement which was 
 
 once among the loveliest that the earth ever 
 knew.
 
 20 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Whilst I remember 
 Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
 My blemishes in them, and so still think of 
 The wrong I did myself. 
 
 The Winter's Tale. 
 
 Since eveiy man who lives is bom to die, 
 
 And none can boast sincere felicity, 
 
 With equal mind what happens let us bear, 
 
 Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. 
 
 Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend ; 
 
 The world 's an inn, and death the journey's end. 
 
 Dryden, Palamon and Arcite. 
 
 Yes, she was dead ! And oh, how entirely was 
 that truth felt by the two who knelt beside her 
 bed, and had watched the last sigh of her lips — 
 the last tremor of her hands, and the last palpi- 
 tation of her heart ! But to have looked at 
 them would have been to think that they yet 
 waited for another word, or for some still coming
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 21 
 
 token of returning life. They watched by the 
 bedside as if immovably intent on a hope that 
 did not yet fail them. Yet their countenances 
 belied such hope. In the stranger's face was all 
 the solemn severity of a tempered but deep-felt 
 grief; while in Albert's the passion was more 
 openly and undisguisedly displayed. But even 
 in his the proper reign of sorrow was not yet 
 established ;-— he had shed no tear — he had 
 burst forth into no vehemence of exclamation, 
 and, instead of the relaxations of open-hearted 
 grief, every lineament of his countenance was 
 fixed, as though charged with one deep un- 
 governable feeling ; and, as he gazed upon the 
 form that had once been a woman, he himself 
 might have been taken for something inanimate, 
 but for the thick breath that he drew through his 
 nostrils, whither it was forced to seek a passage 
 by the strict compression of his lips. 
 
 How long these two would have thus remained 
 it would be difficult to tell ; but suddenly a 
 visiter broke in upon them, which, on the in--
 
 22 TRANSFUSION ; OIJ, THE 
 
 stant, aroused them from the horrid dream of 
 their first grief. The latch of the cottage was 
 heard to open, and a woman's voice, that at 
 other times would have struck upon the ear, 
 soft and musical as the summer bird's carol, 
 trolled a few lines of a well-known fairy 
 song : 
 
 Let us flit as bright as spring ; 
 Let us nought but pleasures bring ; 
 Let us teach the world to be 
 Happy, blithe, and gay as we ! 
 
 As the last line was given, the chamber-door was 
 thrown open, and Albert on the instant recog- 
 nised the form of his sister. It seemed as 
 though the boy had waited for this signal for 
 his tears to flow, for, on the moment, like a 
 long pent stream, they gushed forth from his 
 eyes, and, as he threw himself around his 
 sister's neck, the circumstances of the day 
 forced from him, ^' Oh, cruel, cruel Madeline !" 
 
 The girl's sudden entry from the full light of 
 a brilliant sunset prevented her for the instant
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 23 
 
 from seeing beyond the boy who thus greeted 
 her ; and with an impetuosity of disposition for 
 which she had always been remarkable, and 
 which had ever been dreaded by her mother, 
 she shook Albert from her with an angry ex- 
 clamation at the presumption of a younger 
 brother thus arraigning her conduct. The few 
 words that had passed, however, were sufficient 
 to explain to the stranger who the new-comer 
 was ; and, rising from the bedside, he ap- 
 proached her, and would have led her from the 
 room. 
 
 " Madehne," said he, *' the word was ill said ; 
 but come with me, my child, and let me ex- 
 plain." 
 
 A second rebuke, and from the lips of a person 
 whom she had never seen before, was not calcu- 
 lated to check her turbulent spirits. — " And 
 you, too, sir?" said she; — ** What now, I 
 pray?" 
 
 " For shame, girl, for shame," said the old 
 man, in a hasty manner ; ** look on this, and
 
 24 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 let it teach you to soften your tone to the sorrow 
 of the occasion." 
 
 As he spoke, the stranger drew back the cur- 
 tain of the window, and the dying hght of the 
 sun struck directly on the palUd form that 
 occupied the bed. It told the whole at once ; 
 and with a suddenness too great for Madeline 
 to sustain, she sank, senseless, at the feet of her 
 monitor. 
 
 But we have already dwelt too long in the 
 abode of death. Let us now pass over a few 
 days with a rapid glance. The grief of the 
 bereft orphans took its full vent; and the only 
 consolation that the senior, who by this time had 
 announced himself, and was received as their 
 mother's brother, could afford, was to join in 
 their lamentations. To say that the sorrow of 
 Madeline was greater than that of Albert would 
 be wrong, but nevertheless it appeared to be of 
 a more harassing and distressing nature. She 
 seemed to be continually reproaching herself with 
 her ill-timed absence at the close of her mother's
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 25 
 
 existence. It was in vain that her uncle assured 
 her of her mother's tender recollection of her, 
 even in the very agonies of death : it was in 
 vain that he dwelt upon the tenderness of her 
 tone, or depicted the affection of her counte- 
 nance, when she transmitted to the poor girl her 
 last and d«arest blessing. Madeline would listen 
 to his words in mournful silence, save when she 
 burst forth into fresh and more copious excla- 
 mations of grief, or fruitlessly murmured to her- 
 self, '* Why not to me — why not to myself?" 
 At other times she would make Albert point out 
 the very spot on his burning cheek where his 
 mother's lips had last rested, and then fasten her 
 own on the place, as if she would imbibe the spirit 
 that had preceded her. Albert's grief was more 
 open and undefiled with self-reproach ; with his 
 pain, even when keenest, was mixed a soft and 
 tender melancholy resting on the recollection of 
 his mother's calmness and undisturbed serenity, 
 even in her most distressing moments. To 
 temper the acuteness of hi^ own feelings he had 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 26 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 ever before his mind the picture of her placidity ; 
 and before many days had elapsed he could dwell 
 with tranquillity — almost with comfort — on the 
 memory of her manner : the kindness, too, with 
 which she had looked upon this new-found 
 uncle was a sort of balm to his wound, and he 
 would sit and gaze at the stranger with a pro- 
 portionate share of pleasure. 
 
 At length the day for the funeral of their 
 mother arrived. As on that of her death, the 
 sun shone brightly, and the fields looked gay. 
 When the procession issued from the cottage, 
 and gained the open air, Madeline started, as 
 if the broad glare of day was intruded in mockery 
 of her sorrow, and she felt as if she could have 
 welcomed the bursting of her heart, when she 
 remembered that the last time the sun had shone 
 upon her was on the day when she so heedlessly — 
 or, as she herself would have termed it, so guiltily 
 — absented herself from the cottage. 
 
 When this sensation had abated, there was a 
 strange medley of feelings in her heart. She
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 27 
 
 felt, — she knew that this last act of consign- 
 ment to the earth was the completion of all 
 separation from her mother : while the corpse — 
 only the poor corpse, lifeless, senseless, soulless, 
 had remained in the cottage, the chain, though 
 stretched to the uttermost, was not yet entirely 
 broken ; there was yet a link of union remaining, 
 and though it was the dreadful one which only 
 binds the living to the dead — still it was a link ; 
 and, as the drowning wretch will catch at a 
 feather or a leaf that floats upon the billow, 
 so Madeline would steal to the coffined remains 
 of her mother, and, leaning over them, still 
 fancy that she had not entirely lost her. But 
 now even this hold was to be plucked away: 
 custom claimed" its prey, and the last demand of 
 death was to be satisfied. With these feelings, 
 the slowness of the procession was as the race- 
 horse's speed to her ; every yard of ground 
 passed over seemed to confirm the dreaded 
 separation, — and as much too soon as the law's 
 lame progress is for the spendthrift debtor, was
 
 28 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 the arrival at the spot where earth yawned for 
 her accustomed allowance. But here crept in 
 the incongruity of the poor girl's sensations. 
 The ceremony, too, rapid as it urged the inevi- 
 table separation, was all too slow as it held her 
 every faculty in aching suspense. Each step 
 that she took onward gave a new feature to 
 the one same scene in her sorrowing fancy : first, 
 she would behold her death-stricken parent 
 searching around the room for the daughter, 
 who should have been there to sustain her un- 
 easy head ; — then the well-known voice pro- 
 nouncing " Madeline ! My own dear Madeline !" 
 would vibrate in her ear; and anon a sad por- 
 traiture of her mother's grief-tempered anger at 
 her absence would creep upon her; and though 
 perhaps the moment before she had whispered 
 to herself, *' Oh that this nearness to all 
 that is left of her might endure for ever," she 
 would at these thoughts exclaim, ** An end 
 — speedy, and at any price-^to such pains as 
 these."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN, 29 
 
 The ceremony was concluded, and the mouTners 
 returned. On their way they were joined by a 
 young man whose countenance well entitled him 
 to the privilege of enlisting himself in their 
 sorrowing party. Long did he walk by the 
 side of Madeline ere she noticed him. Silence 
 was on the four; and as they paced along it 
 might have been imagined by the uninitiated 
 passenger that they were some group stepped 
 forth from the sculpture of ancient times, 
 tipt with only so much of the Promethean fire 
 as gave them power of motion. So pale and 
 solemn was their show, — so stealthy, and unim- 
 pressive their retreat from death's abode, that, 
 could Holbein but have seen them, eagerly 
 would he have seized upon their model to give 
 a crowning spirit to his ' Dance of Death.' 
 
 At length Madeline looked up, and saw by 
 whom she was attended. The sight shook her 
 as though something had thrilled her to the very 
 core. " Wahrend," she said, *' away ! In all 
 earnestness of heart, I pray you — go ! I give
 
 30 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 you no blame — I attach to you no fault ; but 
 between us lies more than half the wretchedness 
 I feel. That I have lost my mother is Heaven's 
 good-will ; but that I lost her without sharing 
 her dying blessing with poor Albert (oh, how 
 much poorer I 1) is either your reproach or mine ! 
 Be it mine ! I will not argue otherwise ; but 
 even so, I cannot forget that it was with you I 
 wasted the precious hours which should have 
 been spent at her bedside — with you, in idle talk, 
 I lingered, when I should have been listening to 
 solemn things. Leave me then, Wahrend ; for 
 never again can I look upon you without re- 
 membering that our that day's walk, however 
 innocently conceived, has robbed me of what 
 ought to have been the most precious moments 
 of my life." 
 
 Wahrend would have remonstrated ; but the 
 vehemence with which Madeline gave utterance 
 to these words, added to the recollection of the 
 freshness of her affliction, taught him that it was 
 wiser to reserve himself for a less agitated oppor-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 31 
 
 tunity. He withdrew — and again silence over- 
 came the three, till each was buried in the 
 solitude of their respective apartments in the 
 cottage.
 
 32 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Tell me then the reason why 
 Love from hearts in love doth fly ? 
 Why the bird will build a nest 
 Where he ne'er intends to rest ? 
 
 Lord Rochester. 
 
 It was not till nearly a month after the mournful 
 day with which the last chapter concluded, that 
 Wahrend ventured to present himself at the 
 Single Cottage. Time had been at work, and 
 ministered its never-failing comforts. The sor- 
 rows of Madeline had softened down into 
 melancholy recollections, and those violent and 
 overwhelming paroxysms of grief that had shaken 
 her to the very soul had given place to a sobered 
 sadness — a tempered sorrow, which cast a mel- 
 lowed and thoughtful sentiment over her fine 
 countenance, and subdued that '* wondrous fire
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 33 
 
 of eye," and vivacious tone of expression, which 
 was her wont in her days of heart's ease and 
 carelessness. 
 
 But the sight of Wahrend re-awakened all her 
 sad story. His entry into the cottage operated 
 on her spirit as though he were her evil genius, 
 only come to rekindle pain and misery. But 
 even with this the visiter could perceive that 
 there was not that energy of refusal when she 
 bade him go, that had characterised her speech 
 on the day of the funeral. It was a negative 
 decided and absolute, but tempered with a 
 womanly show of modesty. Her ears were not 
 now shut, as then, to the sound of his voice ; and 
 though her command for his absence still re- 
 mained the same, he was afforded an opportunity 
 to plead his own cause, and describe his parti- 
 cipation in all her sorrows. But on one point he 
 was still unsuccessful : in vain he used all his 
 village store of eloquence to persuade her to 
 permit another visit — in vain he intreated for a 
 second opportunity to speak of his grief for
 
 3.4 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 having unintentionally been an instrument in that 
 piteous absence which was still the chief of 
 Madehne's sorrow : the girl's answer was, ** No, 
 Wahrend, no! I can never meet you without 
 its remembrance reviving in my breast, and 
 withering all hope of pleasure in your society." 
 
 Wahrend took the wise course. He forbore 
 pressing his suit more closely on that occasion, 
 and resolved to apply to the maiden's new-found 
 relation as a mediator. 
 
 '^ The task you would impose upon me," said 
 the old man, after having listened to Wahrend 's 
 request, " is a difficult one, for it is manifest 
 that Madeline feels most acutely on the subject. 
 I have the more difficulty, too, from not knowing 
 how far you were the tempter on the day in 
 question." 
 
 *' My good sir," replied Wahrend, " there was 
 no matter of temptation on either side. It was 
 merely the hand of chance that brought Made- 
 line and myself together on that day, I had 
 been out with my fishing-rod seeking sport in
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 m 
 
 the brooks on the plain below, till the sun be- 
 came too high and hot to give me further hope 
 of success — just at that moment Madeline ap- 
 peared ; she was full of buoyancy and spirits at 
 the apparent change for the better in her mother's 
 health ; and, as we had not met for several 
 days, it was almost unconsciously, while engaged 
 in our various subjects of conversation, that we 
 pursued our course from home so far that it 
 was impossible to get back sooner than we did. 
 Believe me, sir, there was blame on neither 
 side." 
 
 ** I can hardly allow that, my young friend," 
 said the uncle ; '' for, at least, Madeline should 
 have felt that no improvement so soon after such 
 an illness could have justified her quitting her 
 mother for so many hours." 
 
 Here Wahrend zealously undertook to defend 
 Madeline altogether from the imputation. 
 
 " Gently, gently, good Master Wahrend," cried 
 the elder ; " it is not quite high treason of which 
 I have accused her, so there is no need of so
 
 36 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 able an advocate, even though he be fee*d with 
 the hope of a lady's smile. A little indiscretion 
 and want of calculation is the sum of what has 
 happened ; or, rather, I would say, if I have 
 yet read Madeline's character rightly, it was 
 an impetuosity of temperament, which so in- 
 volved her in the affair of the moment as to 
 leave her no judgment for the consideration of 
 the future." 
 
 Wahrend looked grave at this speech. Was 
 it that he did not like the observations that fell 
 from the monitor ; or, that his heart silently con- 
 fessed to him that the uncle had already dived 
 into the real depths of Madeline's character ? 
 
 '* Come, come," continued the stranger, " there 
 is no occasion for such seriousness of demeanour. 
 Before the day is past I will endeavour to take 
 an opportunity to make Madeline view the case 
 in the true light ; and if you will be here be- 
 times to-morrow, I take upon myself to venture 
 an assurance that you shall be received as was 
 the wont before the occurrence of the melancholy
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 3!7 
 
 event, which for the last month has clouded all 
 our brows, and leaded all our hearts." 
 
 On this assurance, and happy at having won 
 so powerful a pleader to his cause, Wahrend took 
 his leave. 
 
 The old man had his reasons for the promise 
 he had so freely given. After what had passed 
 on the day of the funeral, he had not suffered 
 a whole month to elapse without making inquiries 
 respecting the young man who had been a party 
 to Madeline's lamented absence on the day of 
 her mother's decease. Albert had been inter- 
 rogated in writing, and inquiries had also been 
 made in the village. Every thing that he had 
 heard had tended to give him a respect for 
 Wahrend 's character ; and though Madeline as 
 yet had not completed her seventeenth year, he 
 looked forward to the probabiHty that a period 
 would arrive when a marriage between these two 
 might take place. To this conclusion he was led 
 by a very natural train of reasoning. From the 
 short conversation he had had with Wahrend, it
 
 38 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 was plain that his sentiments towards Madeline 
 were of the most affectionate order ; and though 
 he had not yet had an opportunity of sounding 
 Madehne on the subject, he could not doubt that 
 the fact of her having chosen this youth as her 
 companion ought to be a strong inference of a 
 feeling on her part towards him, such as might 
 ripen into affection and regard. His inquiries 
 had also afforded him information respecting 
 Wahrend's property, which, for a Swiss denizen, 
 he found to be ample and unincumbered, and 
 such as would afford to any moderate disposition 
 all the means of worldly comfort ; joined to 
 which, his family was one of the most respected 
 in the canton in which he resided. 
 
 Satisfied on these points, the uncle promised ; 
 — and he performed his promise. That same 
 evening he took an occasion to remonstrate with 
 Madeline on the subject. Young as their con- 
 nexion was, and respectfully as she regarded 
 her mother's brother, the hot spirit of her temper 
 would peep out. It seemed as though she could
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 39 
 
 hot brook the idea of other persons thinking for 
 her. She might have said with Shakspeare's 
 Richard, though on another ground — " I am 
 myself alone !" It was as though her judgment 
 was supreme and complete in all its parts, — a 
 panoply wherein she stood entire; — and that to 
 aim a dart against it was treason self-confessed. 
 She however yielded to her uncle's representa- 
 tions, and consented to admit Wahrend to his 
 former station. As to what that station was, 
 nothing was said : — it was not for a young 
 maiden to speak on such a subject, and the 
 senior trusted to his penetration to be able to 
 discover it from the opportunities that would be 
 afforded when the pair were together. 
 
 And now we must let in Time with his swoop- 
 ing wings : the edax reriirn must arise to the 
 imagination, and quickly devour a year of all 
 the lives of those that have yet made their 
 appearance, or are to make their appearance, on 
 the tablet of these events. Autumn, winter, and 
 spring must pass on more swiftly than Banquo's
 
 40 
 
 ghostly line on witches' mirror, and summer in all 
 her loveliness again spread her bounties around 
 Unwalden and the Single Cottage. 
 
 By this time the new-found uncle had had 
 ample opportunities for studying Madeline's dis- 
 position towards her young attendant; but this 
 study had afforded him no satisfaction. He did 
 not see in her behaviour any of those germs 
 which promised in lapse of time to shoot forth 
 goodly blossoms of affection. There was too 
 much of indifference in her manner towards 
 Wahrend, — there was too broad a carelessness 
 in her address of him to give hopes of future 
 regard. Nor was this all : — there was a fast and 
 loose in her mode of dealing with him that was 
 most distasteful to her elder friend : it was 
 evident that she was unwiUing that Wahrend 
 should know when or where he was to depend 
 upon her: — it was as though she would only 
 do such things, and pursue such a course, as 
 could not be quoted against herj so that if 
 ever he turned to reproach, there was to be
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 41 
 
 no text found whereon he might build his 
 lecture* 
 
 These observations afforded exquisite pain to 
 her uncle. He saw in them unhappiness for 
 Wahrend, unhappiness for Madeline, and unhap- 
 piness for all that were connected with either of 
 those parties : but as her conduct was such as 
 to avoid affording the complaints of Wahrend a 
 corner-stone, so the elder could not see whereon 
 he was himself exactly to found remonstrance. 
 But this was not the worst. In examining one 
 part of Madeline's character, he could not avoid 
 studying another : this was that impetuosity of 
 disposition of which two instances have already 
 been mentioned. Indeed, this very feature was 
 combined with, and formed part of, her coque- 
 try towards Wahrend ; for no otherwise could 
 the rapidity with which she turned from rough 
 to smooth — from kind to cruel — be accounted 
 fbr. 
 
 The uncle, willing to give the case its full 
 interpretation, next turned his attention to the
 
 42 TRANSFUSION ; OK, THE 
 
 mode in which she treated her brother. He was 
 wilHug to learn from that, what was her senti- 
 ment towards Wahrend ; for that she should love 
 Albert with deep affection was natural, and that 
 there should be no occasion to conceal that love 
 is consanguinity's command and happiness. This 
 examination confirmed the senior as to her in- 
 difference towards Wahrend. Her whole mind 
 seemed fraught with affection towards her brother : 
 if he only walked across the room, her eye chased 
 him uneasily; she was ever ready to watch and 
 care for his smallest desires ; and her hours seemed 
 never so happily spent as when she was endea- 
 vouring by explanations and tuition to make up 
 the deficiency which nature had imposed upon 
 him. Biat still, amid all this, the tinge of 
 authority prevailed : it was not the sister with 
 her brother, so much as the mother with her 
 child : the difference in their years, though not 
 great, and Albert's natural affliction, were to be 
 admitted as some apology ; but the spirit of 
 her movements, doubtless, betokened the same
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 43 
 
 feeling as that which was exercised on Wahrend, 
 — subdued indeed in tone, but essentially iden- 
 tical. 
 
 Her uncle felt deeply the mischief of this grow- 
 ing evil. He searched the subject with all his 
 knowledge of the world, and traced that love 
 of power was the hot-bed from which this noxious 
 herbage had its growth. He felt that each day 
 was precious, — that each hour the thing was 
 suffered to slip by unnoticed was confirming the 
 strength of the disease, and making it hopelessly 
 irradicable. 
 
 Why, then, did he not struggle against its 
 growth ? — I pray you understand this man of 
 sorrows aright : yet another chapter, and you 
 shall know his history; but, meanwhile, let it 
 be observed that he was a being broken down 
 with affliction; — kindly of heart, but disappointed 
 of hope, his best energies had long since been 
 withered, and he was little more than an animal 
 vegetating on the earth, deprived of that potent 
 mastery of soul which gives the human creature
 
 44 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 all his more valuable properties. Thus, then, 
 though he had wit to discover MadeHne's error, 
 he was too infirm of purpose, or rather too bent 
 from inward bruising, to venture on a task to 
 which his sense of duty was ever impelling him. 
 Often and often did he resolve that Madeline 
 should be recalled from the error of her steps : 
 frequently did he exclaim to himself, '^ Before 
 another day passes, will I point out to this head- 
 strong girl the mischief to which she gives herself 
 up." But days, weeks, and months passed by 
 without the attempt. He was too unnerved, too 
 coward to be able to force himself to face the 
 impetuosity of her character, and to decry the 
 fearless vivacity, or worse, with which she yielded 
 to every movement of her mind. 
 
 All these things that had been estimated by 
 the uncle, Wahrend had also observed, but he 
 lacked the microcosmical glass by which the 
 former had been able rightly to interpret the 
 meaning that lay beneath the surface : — he pro- 
 bably had heard of allowances to be made for
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 45 
 
 maiden modesty, and might think that Madeline 
 acted on grounds which Cressida confesses — 
 
 Who shall be true to us, 
 When we are so unsecret to ourselves 1 
 But though I loved you well, I woo'd you not ; 
 And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ; 
 Or that we women had men's privilege. 
 Of speaking first.* 
 
 But practically he brought to the examination 
 of the mysterious methods of the sex nothing 
 but a villager's simplicity and a Swiss straight- 
 forwardness of honesty. The properties were 
 altogether useless : he might as well have tried 
 to read Hebrew by the aid of Ainsworth, or 
 rightly understand the world's revolving system 
 by the book of Tycho Brahe. It was a mystery I 
 That was all that could be said for it. But who 
 is he so wise of self to know that mysteries are 
 better let alone, and that their very essence is 
 to be inexplicable ? Not Wahrend surely !— He 
 would interpret. — The interpretation in good truth 
 
 * *Troilus and Cressida.'
 
 46 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 was wrong ; but nevertheless 'twas a good inter- 
 pretation ; she acted upon it. 
 
 To this, then, it led him. Madeline had not 
 yet understood him aright ; perhaps he had not 
 been sufficiently clear in explaining his intentions, 
 and her bashful modesty stood in the way of 
 giving too much encouragement till he had been 
 explicit. Oh, it was admirably thought, and he 
 hugged himself in the plenitude of his wisdom. 
 
 Further consideration taught him that it were 
 better to proceed, if possible, upon assurance ; and 
 he resolved to seek a private interview with the 
 uncle of his mistress, to state to him at once his 
 desire of making Madeline his own, and to solicit 
 his powerful aid and assistance as an advocate 
 in behalf of his cause. 
 
 This application and offer on the part of Wah- 
 rend were hke a thunderstroke to the old man. He 
 saw at once that the moment of trial was come, 
 and that his hitherto deferred duty could no longer 
 be put off. For an instant he hesitated whether he 
 would at once explain to Wahrend that his hopes
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 47 
 
 were vain, and so endeavour to induce him to 
 withdraw his pretensions altogether. His honesty 
 of heart, however, combined with his feehng of 
 nervous indecision, would not permit such a step. 
 It might be possible that he had interpreted Made- 
 line's sentiments a- wrong : — it might be that at 
 the bottom of all her coquetry and surface-spread 
 indifference there was a stratum of affection ; and 
 he resolved to make the trial. But he took care 
 not to commit himself with Wahrend. All that 
 he would engage for was to speak to Madeline on 
 the subject, and to give a fair statement of the 
 young man's proposals. 
 
 That same evening he roused all his latent ener- 
 gies to the task. 
 
 *• Madeline," said he, after having summoned 
 her to the little room that went by the name of 
 his study ; " my dear Madeline, 1 have for some 
 months been anxious to speak to you — I may say 
 to remonstrate with you, on your conduct towards 
 Wahrend." 
 , ** Towards Wahrend !" cried she, colouring at
 
 48 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 the suddenness of the attack, and ill-digesting the 
 term " remonstrate." 
 
 "Be not angry at my interference, dear girl," 
 said her uncle, '' it is your own welfare and hap- 
 piness that are in my heart, and that prompt me to 
 tread on such tender ground. I have long looked 
 with pain at what has been taking place between 
 you : — I have long been resolving to speak to you 
 on the subject. But ifyou feel unprepared, let us 
 defer it till to-morrow, that you may have time to 
 search your own feelings." 
 
 ** Oh, no, Sir," replied the girl ; *' pray, not. 
 On the subject of Wahrend, as on all other in- 
 different subjects, 1 am ready without prepara^ 
 tion." 
 
 .'* Be not rash in words," said the uncle, *' for 
 much depends on this night's resolve. Wahrend 
 is an excellent young man,^-Tperhaps I never met 
 with one who had so little to blame in him ; — but 
 even if he were one of fauHs, it would justify no 
 unfair treatment." 
 
 *' Unfair treatment, uncle ! I know of neither
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 49 
 
 fairness nor unfairness on the subject. If he seeks 
 me, he seeks me with my humours ; and if one, he 
 must take the two together." 
 
 '' Madehne " 
 
 " Allow me for one moment," continued she, 
 somewhat eagerly ; — " his visits are not of my 
 seeking ; his pretensions — if, as you insinuate, he 
 has any — are not of my raising. He comes here, 
 I presume, not as my visiter, but as the visitep of 
 the family: as such he can of course expect nothing 
 from me but my usual manner. Sorry shall I be 
 if those manners are offensive to any one ; but, 
 even so, the mischief recoils on myself, and on me 
 be the burthen." 
 
 *' Madeline, Madeline, I expected this. But 
 am / to have no weight in the business ?" 
 
 " If," said she, '* you speak as my uncle — 
 every weight ; but if you come as the advocate of 
 Wahrend, how can I treat you other than I would 
 treat the gentleman himself?" 
 
 *' For shame, for shame, Madeline," replied 
 her uncle ; '' you must well understand my mo- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 50 transfusion; or, the 
 
 tive. What can it be but your happiness ? And 
 if Wahrend forms part of our consideration, it is 
 because you have encouraged him to pursue his 
 hopes." 
 
 " I encouraged him, uncle ! Was it I that re- 
 called him after his former dismissal 1 — Has it been 
 I that have given him invitations day after day to 
 the cottage? Tax your own memory, and you 
 will soon discover whence the encouragement has 
 proceeded/* 
 
 *' So young," cried the uncle, ^' and already so 
 in love with sophistry ! If I interfered to have 
 Wahrend recalled, on what principle could it have 
 been but for your sake ? I did not even know 
 him then. And if the invitations to him have ver- 
 bally emanated from me, was it not in your power 
 to stop them in a minute by the slightest inti- 
 mation?" 
 
 '* Well, Sir, be the fault where it will, I have 
 nothing to recall, — nothing to wish undone. I 
 defy Wahrend to specify one single act on my part 
 that marks my reception of his pretensions ; — and
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 51 
 
 if the young man will be mad-o'-love, Narcis- 
 sus-like, making me his mirror, and therein ad- 
 miring himself without an ay or a no left to me, 
 the affair must rest with him, for I discard it. And 
 so, uncle, good even !" 
 
 " Stay, Madeline; we must not part so. Have 
 I your consent to dismiss Wahrend ?" 
 
 " Neither consent nor refusal. I say again, I 
 discard the whole business. Wahrend may come, 
 or he may send his spaniel in his place, if he 
 please. They are both pretty fellows, and I 
 don't know but that I like Fidel the best of the 
 two." 
 
 *^ Niece, this is beyond endurance. Methinks 
 if an honest Swiss, like Wahrend, must be ill used, 
 at least some respect is due to my age, my expe- 
 rience, and the character which I bear. Steps, 
 Madeline, must be taken to insure reason a fair 
 hearing, if you have not wisdom enough of your 
 own to accept it when offered." 
 
 " Uncle ! — sir ! " — cried Madeline, her face 
 springing to the depth of colour with passion at the 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY,
 
 62 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 shadow of a threat ; " be assured that let what 
 steps be taken you please, I am, and ever will be, 
 my own free agent. I know no bond but that of 
 inclination, and all else must be fruitless of ma- 
 nagement. I would rather fly to earth's confines 
 than submit, — ay, rather than hear the words 
 that convey the thought of it." 
 
 '' Madehne— " 
 
 '^ Be quiet. Sir, I say. It is for me to be heard, 
 or never shall we understand each other. For 
 your protection I thank you, — for your advice I 
 am grateful — but commands, threats, and the 
 favour of another cause contrary to mine must 
 ever make me lament the day that first brought 
 my mother's brother to Unwalden. I pray you, 
 Sir, ponder on this, and let it pass for earnest ; 
 for it is as fixed in my mind as the unalterable 
 fiats of eternity. I can know a counsellor and a 
 friend, good uncle; but no master." 
 
 With these words she left the room. 
 
 The old man was seen no more that night. 
 Albert, when their little supper was spread, would
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 53 
 
 have tapped at his uncle's door to summon him to 
 the meal, but Madeline with frowning signs for- 
 bade. Passion, with all its tortuous chain of 
 argument, was still alive in her bosom, and would 
 not let her see that she had done more than vin- 
 dicate her j ust rights, and establish on an equi- 
 table basis the relative position between her uncle 
 and herself. 
 
 But when she retired to rest, and was buried in 
 the seclusion of her own room, other thoughts 
 recurred to her in spite of herself. She could not 
 forget the ever-living anxiety which her uncle had 
 displayed for the interests of herself, and of her 
 brother, which perhaps she estimated still more 
 highly. She could not omit recalling to her 
 memory the blandness of his manner, the mild- 
 ness of his demeanour on all occasions, and the 
 fond readiness with which he gave in to any pro- 
 ject that was set on foot for the happiness or 
 hilarity of his darlings. All these things entered 
 her heart like many-edged swords, and ever as 
 they passed through her conscience made gashes
 
 54 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 as they went. Then too she thought of the con- 
 stant show of sadness that sat upon his coun- 
 tenance, and the hints that he had dropped of the 
 misery of his foregone hfe ; and could she, whom 
 he had so tenderly cherished, be the cruel one to 
 inflict fresh injury on his galled heart? The 
 thought haunted her all night, as they say the 
 ghost of the murdered victim stalks in darksome 
 hour before the ruffian whose bloody hand per- 
 formed the deed. Continually did she cry, " I 
 will go and seek pardon where I have offended ; " 
 and as often feelings of shame and wrong-minded 
 timidity held her back. 
 
 Thus for the night, for not till the sun first 
 shot his early ray above the horizon did sleep 
 relieve her from her present grief.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I am a wretch of honest race : 
 A^Iy parents not obscure, nor high in titles were : 
 
 They left me heir to no disgrace. 
 My father was (a thing now rare) 
 Loyal and brave, my mother chaste and fair : 
 The pledge of marriage-vows was only I ; 
 Alone I lived, their much-loved fondled boy : 
 They gave me generous education ; high 
 They strove to raise my mind ; and with it grew their joy. 
 Thus my first years in happiness I pass'd, 
 Nor any bitter cup did taste ; 
 But, oh ! a deadly portion came at last. 
 
 Otway's Complaint of the Muse. 
 
 On the next morning, Madeline was awakened 
 by a kiss from Albert. She eyed the boy, and 
 perceived there was something amiss by his 
 manner. By the usual method she inquired, and 
 learned that their uncle, though it was nearly two
 
 56 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 hours past his usual time for rising, had not yet 
 made his appearance. Madehne herself had over- 
 slept the time, but that was to be accounted for 
 by the lateness of the hour at which sleep over- 
 took her. 
 
 She hastily dressed herself at the intimation 
 she had received from Albert, for her heart told 
 her that something was wrong. As soon as she 
 was ready, she went to her uncle's room. He 
 was not there : — the bed had not been slept in, 
 and the apartment was in disorder. 
 
 What could this mean ? Of what strange tra- 
 gedy had her violence been the author? She 
 longed to know the worst, that anticipation with 
 its thousand horrid phantoms might be stifled by 
 the truth, — and yet she dreaded the arrival of the 
 moment that should explain the mystery. 
 
 It came. A peasant arrived from the next 
 village to the south, which was about eight miles 
 off, and he brought with him a letter. All that 
 he could tell was, that an elderly and reverend 
 looking gentleman on horseback had given it
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 57 
 
 to him, and paid him his own price for bringing 
 it to the Single Cottage. 
 
 Madehne took the letter with a trembling hand. 
 She partly guessed its contents, yet still wanted 
 resolution to break the seal. Albert, innocent, 
 and eager to know of what stuff this mystery 
 was made, urged her to a speedy execution. 
 
 The missive was opened, and its contents ran 
 thus : — 
 
 ** My Children — for I must ever call you 
 so ; though, when you receive this, you will 
 understand that I have withdrawn myself from 
 you, — that I have for ever quitted Unwalden, 
 — and that search or pursuit after me will be 
 equally in vain. It may be possible for you to 
 find me, but never for you successfully to follow 
 me, for your approach will ever be the signal for 
 me to fly from realm to realm. 
 
 '* I may be wrong in my resolve, — even as 
 I write my heart half-confesses to me that I am 
 so ; but I seem to be hurried on by an irresistible 
 impulse in saying — Farewell for ever !
 
 58 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 " Will you not condemn me for the step I 
 am taking ? Will you not, if mischiefs over- 
 take you, cry out upon the uncle (and yet no 
 uncle) who, in your early days, forsook you, 
 and bade you fight your own way through the 
 thoroughfare of life ? Alas, I fear me — yes, and 
 justly. 
 
 *' But, even if it be so, my resolution is yet 
 unaltered ; and I confess myself too great a 
 coward to dare the risk of encountering such 
 scenes as passed between us yesterday. 
 
 *' But I ramble from my purpose, which is 
 to give you a fair and faithful history of the 
 things that have been, in the hope that you will 
 see the principle on which I seek to avoid the 
 things that may be. Nor do I offer you the 
 narrative on this account only. While your 
 mother, or subsequently myself, was at hand to 
 guide and instruct you, there was no pressing 
 necessity to acquaint you with the circumstances 
 of your earher life, or the events that led to those 
 circumstances. The case is now altered : — even
 
 t)RPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 59 
 
 at this moment you stand alone ; and I should be 
 guilty of an injustice were I, knowing this your 
 situation, to forbear giving you all the infor- 
 mation within my power. 
 
 '* Let me, in opening my story, begin by 
 informing you that your mother and myself had 
 not the ties of blood to unite us. Anon you will 
 hear how much more nearly and dearly we ought 
 to have been connected. We were both of us 
 natives of the same village in England j and, from 
 the connexion which existed between our families, 
 may almost have been said to have been inti- . 
 mates from our first entrance into the world. I 
 shall not, however, carry you so far back. Suffice 
 it to say, each succeeding day found us together : 
 as children, we might be seen hand in hand ram- 
 bling through my father's grounds ; and, when 
 further advanced towards adolescence, we were 
 still to be found together in our studies, our 
 amusements, and our thoughts. No objection to 
 this frequency of intercourse was entertained 
 on the part of our friends ; for, as we alike were
 
 60 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 only children of the families we represented, the 
 parents of both looked fondly forward to the 
 day that should see their friendship united by 
 marriage as well as by affection. 
 
 *' For ourselves, marriage was an idea that 
 never distinctly entered our imagination. It was 
 a word that I had never uttered to Agnes, simply 
 because it had never had possession of my 
 thoughts. The constant recurrence of our inter- 
 views had so far assimilated our tastes, that the 
 idea of departure came upon us with the same 
 fearful image as that of death ; but beyond 
 companionship we had never thought. To be 
 together was our paradise, beyond which we 
 neither looked nor cared ; and our casual separa- 
 tion was the signal for the exertion of all our 
 simple cunning and ingenuity to abridge and cir- 
 cumvent. It was this that had caused our mutual 
 education at home ; for even now I can re- 
 member, with all the freshness of to-day, the 
 passionate flood of tears that burst from Agnes 
 when my father announced his intention of send-
 
 ORPHANS OP UNWALDEN. 61 
 
 ing me to a public school to pursue my education. 
 The girl sorrowed like the young kid that has 
 lost its dam ; and the week that was to have 
 intervened between the notice of my departure 
 and the act itself was sufficient to steal colour 
 from her cheeks to such an extent, that her 
 alarmed parents petitioned — and successfully — 
 that the plan might be altered for that of a 
 home education. 
 
 '* A day of separation, however, at length 
 arrived, most unexpectedly. My father, who was 
 a retired merchant in the West India connexion, 
 received a letter one morning by the post, announ- 
 cing the arrival in London of his West Indian 
 agent from Jamaica, where my father still re- 
 tained a lai^e estate, and from which he derived 
 his principal income. He had long wished for an 
 opportunity of a personal communication with 
 this gentleman, as it was generally understood 
 throughout the country that West Indian property 
 WQ.S greatly depreciating, so as to render it advi- 
 sable for those who had large property at stake
 
 62 transfusion; or, the 
 
 there to be on the alert. At the time of the 
 arrival of this letter, however, my father was 
 suffering so much from an attack of the gout that 
 it was impossible to go himself to town ; and the 
 agent, in his letter, announced that he had only 
 time to stay three days in London, previous to his 
 departure for the Continent, where he had busi- 
 ness of the greatest importance to transact. Under 
 these circumstances my father came to the resolu- 
 tion of despatching me to London. 
 
 ** Against such a commission as this it was 
 impossible for either Agnes or myself to struggle ; 
 but the necessity of the errand could not take 
 away from the bitterness of the separation, and a 
 flood of tears marked my departure. 
 
 *^ On my arrival in London I found my father's 
 agent had been so much curtailed, even in the 
 short stay that he had purposed to make, that he 
 had already quitted the metropolis. In his place 
 I found his son, a young man apparently about 
 five-and-twenty years of age, who, having received 
 full instructions from his father on the subject.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 63 
 
 together with himself having had the advantage 
 of Uving the greater part of his hfe near my 
 father's West Indian estates, v^^as fully competent 
 to answer all the questions it most concerned 
 our family to ask. 
 
 *Mt is not my intention to dwell on the cha- 
 racter of Stephen Warner ; neither may I do it, 
 my children, for this man was no other than your 
 father. The day, too, for invective and anger has 
 long since gone by. I write but to tell the facts 
 that occurred : it is for you to draw the con- 
 clusions. 
 
 '* When I first introduced myself to Warner, 
 I thought it impossible not to be captivated with 
 his style and manner. As a companion I found 
 him replete with information, and a fund of never- 
 ending gaiety and description. Under his gui- 
 dance I was speedily initiated into all the mys- 
 teries of London ; under his tuition, with shame 
 do I say it, I shortly became acquainted with its 
 follies and dissipations. I neither palliate nor 
 excuse ray conduct; but I tell it that you may
 
 64 transfusion; or, the 
 
 both be warned how easy it is for a young 
 and ductile mind to be led away by the first glare 
 of the splendours that await its first visit to the 
 more luxurious haunts of men. 
 
 " This course was pursued for a fortnight, 
 during the latter part of which period we were 
 waiting in expectation of the elder Warner's re- 
 turn from Paris. At the expiration of that time a 
 letter arrived to state that he was still unavoidably 
 detained in the French capital, and that he must 
 not be expected in England for a month, when he 
 would be able to come down to the village where 
 my father resided. 
 
 '^ On this information being communicated to 
 my father, I received a recall to the country. In 
 courtesy I could not do less than invite Warner to 
 accompany me : but with me it was a matter of 
 more than courtesy ; I felt as if I could never 
 have enough of his conversation, and pressed him 
 with proportionate warmth to spend the month in 
 question at my father's house. The invitation 
 was accepted, and next day we arrived at Mor- 
 field.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 65 
 
 *' Warner had frequently heard me extol my 
 Agnes, as I then so fondly called her, with all the 
 enthusiasm of a young heart deeply involved in a 
 single feeling, of which she was the Alpha 
 and the Omega, and had as frequently laughed at 
 the overflowing of my soul in praise of her many 
 excellences. He was now introduced to her. * I 
 cry you mercy,' I well remember his saying to 
 me after the first interview, — * I cry you mercy ! 
 This was indeed a topic worth dweUing on. I 
 could myself be a six-hour poet on so admirable a 
 subject! ' 
 
 *' Fool that I was, I felt proud of having won 
 so good a judge to my side, and spent myself 
 in devices to exhibit the more hidden excellences 
 of Agnes to his gaze. 
 
 " I had not been back at my native village 
 many days, before I found the mischief of the 
 spirit in which I had entered into the dissipa- 
 tions of London. Every thing in the country 
 seemed so dull and so monotonous : — even the 
 conversation of Warner seemed to flag for the
 
 66 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 want of those gay accompaniments that had 
 helped to make it hving. My only delight was 
 to recount to Agnes the scenes I had witnessed 
 in London, and these descriptions in their turn 
 only served to confirm my disease, and I pined 
 once again to behold the gay metropolis, — to 
 launch into its amusements, and to taste its 
 pleasures. My situation might be called a sort 
 of parody on the well-known couplet of the 
 poet : — 
 
 A little learning is a dangerous thing ; 
 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. 
 
 The short admission I had had into the gaieties 
 of London had not satisfied. Had I always been 
 ignorant of them, in my ignorance I should have 
 been contented ; but having once had my feet 
 wetted by the spring-tide of luxury, I longed to 
 dash into the depths and the rapids, and to be 
 hurried along the torrent. 
 
 '^ This sentiment soon grew too large for my 
 own single bosom, and I communicated it to 
 Warner. I could not have made a more happy
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 67 
 
 disclosure for him ; for already had he felt the 
 force of Agnes' charms — already had he sworn 
 to supplant me, and make her his own. His 
 active mind was brooding a plan for removing 
 me from the scene of action, when I thus 
 furnished him with one entirely fitted to his 
 purpose. 
 
 '' My proposal was simple enough : it was to 
 ask my father's leave for a renewed absence, and 
 to get Warner to undertake the task of soothing- 
 Agnes' sorrow at my own seeking of a separation 
 for a while. This, however, did not suit the 
 foresightedness of my confidant ; his plan required 
 something more than a mere week or two of 
 friendly separation ; and he, therefore, urged me 
 to take my departure clandestinely, on the ground 
 that he was sure from what my father had heard 
 in hints from others, and from my own mouth, 
 in shape of anecdote, he would be opposed to 
 any second visit to London. For awhile I with- 
 stood this unauthorised absence ; but the man 
 of the world was too much for the simple villager,
 
 68 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 and, on his promise to soften anger and soothe 
 displeasure, I made my escape from the village 
 on horseback one morning before any of the 
 family were stirring. 
 
 '* From that hour Warner was triumphant. 
 
 The grey light of dawn is breaking in upon me 
 as I write; and in what I have further to say 
 I must be brief. Neither is it necessary that I 
 should delineate in full all the false and cruel 
 artifices by which he worked his plot to its 
 crowning mischief. Falsehoods unnumbered — 
 insinuated calumnies against my character — 
 forged letters which kept me at a distance, and 
 him in the stronghold, wrought the consumma- 
 tion of his project : — Agnes, in despair of heart 
 at my supposed neglect and infidelity, gave her 
 hand to my treacherous companion. 
 
 *' Nor was this all. As if to make the devas- 
 tation of my happiness complete, my father, who 
 had long been suffering more and more severely 
 from the complaint which had forced me to take 
 that first accursed visit to London, sunk under
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 69 
 
 the disorder, united with the grief he felt at my 
 unexplained absence. An old servant, who had 
 tended me when a babe, and watched each 
 growing year of my life, sought me out with 
 unwearied determination. He found me ; and 
 the double news of your mother's marriage and 
 my father's death, burst upon me at once, even 
 as one storm hurls the two dread attributes of 
 Heaven on the unprotected wayfarer that is ex- 
 posed to the fury of the smiting clouds. 
 
 '* Those who have not undergone the same 
 blow cannot have imagination for the pang in- 
 flicted. Grief, rage, despair, and revenge heaped 
 their accumulated tortures on my soul, and I 
 gave vent to curses, imprecations, and prayers 
 in one and the same moment. 
 
 '^The servant who discovered me was alarmed 
 at my energy of passion, and, dreading its con- 
 sequences, despatched a letter to Morfield, with 
 an account of the paroxysm under which I was 
 labouring. But it had not yet reached its height. 
 The more I dwelt on the infernal arts of which
 
 70 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 Warner had made use to inveigle my sweet Agnes 
 from her first affections, the more my heart— my 
 whole soul — swelled with inextinguishable fury. 
 They tell of the old martyrs of the church having 
 live coals thrust into the sockets of their eyes, 
 but with me the burning embers had penetrated 
 to the very brain, and I felt as if the fortitude 
 of a thousand men would have been unequal to 
 sustain the anguish which I endured. Warner's 
 form was ever before my imagination : — it even 
 excluded the remembrance of my lost Agnes and 
 my deceased father, and it appeared as if there 
 was to be but one act consummated to complete 
 the drama — Revenge ! — Revenge ! 
 
 "The intenseness with which this single 
 thought took possession of my soul was too 
 much for the strength of my intellect, and the 
 result was a violent attack of the brain fever. 
 The malady held its dominion over me for several 
 weeks, during which time it remained doubtful 
 with the physicians whether I should ever recover 
 further than to be consigned to a madhouse for
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 71 
 
 the rest of my life. At length I was pronounced 
 to be convalescent, and, after a lapse of more than 
 two months from the first arrival of the news, 
 I was permitted to quit my room. 
 
 "The first step that I took when I found 
 myself sufficiently master of my actions, was to 
 make inquiry respecting Agnes. The only intel- 
 ligence that I could gain was, that Warner, with 
 his wife, had taken his departure from Morfield 
 within a day or two after his hearing of the 
 threats in which I had indulged against him. 
 He was no coward, physically speaking ; but he 
 had that within him which made him shrink 
 from the presence of his victim. Whither he 
 had gone no one was able to pronounce — not 
 even his wife's parents, whom, on my arrival 
 at Morfield shortly after, I found complaining 
 bitterly of the unkind treatment they were re- 
 ceiving at the hands of their son-in-law. 
 
 *' This information well nigh caused a relapse 
 in the delicate state of health to which I was 
 reduced. All the sober reasonings that had been
 
 72 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 preached to me by my physicians — and which, 
 indeed, I had begun to preach to myself — of the 
 necessity that there was for my restraining my 
 passions, disappeared at the thought that Warner 
 was behaving with unkindness to Agnes. Could 
 he, indeed, be so all-in-all a monster ? — And 
 yet, as her parents well observed, if he was not 
 placing her under restraint, well persuaded were 
 they that their girl would never have suffered 
 so long a period to elapse, without, at least, letting 
 them know to what part of the world her husband 
 had conveyed her. The constant prevalence of 
 this thought in my mind set me upon the task 
 of finding out her hiding-place. By dint of 
 exertions I traced their route to Dover and Calais, 
 and, with no other guide but this, I wildly re- 
 solved to search the Continent for the spot 
 whither they had removed. I cannot now look 
 back at the hopeless prosecution of this scheme, 
 without confessing to myself that there was a 
 taint of madness in the thought. Then, how- 
 ever, I thought otherwise, and accusing myself
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 73 
 
 of being the means of entailing on Agnes the 
 wretchedness which I supposed her to be under- 
 going, I felt as if my heart dictated me to offer 
 myself as the peace-offering, in the hope that 
 the most unrelaxing exertion would be the means 
 of discovering her retreat. 
 
 " With this sentiment in my mind I set forth 
 on my travels, and for six tedious years scru- 
 pulously applied myself to the task that I had 
 imposed upon myself. But in vain. — Aye, in 
 vain did I search city and village ; in vain did 
 I expose myself to the rigour of a Russian winter, 
 or to the sweltering ray of a Sicilian sun : every 
 effort was fruitless and nugatory ; and after having 
 searched every portion of the Continent, not only 
 by myself, but through well-instructed agents, 
 I returned to England and to Morfield, after an 
 absence of more than six years — a man of sorrow 
 and stricken with grief. 
 
 " On my arrival at my native village, I found 
 the parents of Agnes had long since died, without 
 even hearing one word from their daughter ; and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 74 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 that her father, who survived his lady but a few 
 months, had willed the whole of his property to 
 public charities. 
 
 " For myself, I had nothing further to do, or 
 to hope. The remembrance of Agnes still clung 
 to my heart — somewhat more soberly, but still 
 most anxiously. Each house, each field, each 
 garden of Morfield, assisted the recollection, and 
 I resolved to sit me down there for life, with the 
 memory of past times for my companion, and 
 the thousand cherished mementos of Agnes for 
 my society. 
 
 " It was thus that two more years passed away, 
 — and thus, doubtless, my days would ever have 
 been spent,— but for a most unexpected incident. 
 I was sitting one day in my study, trying to tempt 
 myself to read, while thoughts of what had been 
 and what might have been insisted on their right 
 of intrusion, when the servant brought me a letter 
 that had just been delivered by the postman. It 
 was long before I thought of opening it, but at 
 length, finding my ideas would settle on nothing
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 75 
 
 but those foregone scenes, the recollection of which 
 formed all my melancholy, I opened the letter, on 
 a chance that its contents might for a moment turn 
 me from my source perpetual of inward woe. But 
 what words shall describe my astonishment when 
 I found that the letter was from Agnes ! I will not 
 give myself the misery of describing all the heart- 
 rending circumstances that this letter contained. 
 Suffice it to say, it was too apparent from its con- 
 tents that Warner, having begun his course in vil- 
 lany, had continued it in hard-hearted brutality, 
 and that my gentle, kind, misled Agnes had, from 
 the first hour of her marriage with him, been his 
 slave rather than his wife. Long, very long had 
 she borne this : ignorance of her parents' fate — 
 spy-like watchfulness to prevent the least commu- 
 nication with England — and cruel tauntings on her 
 early regards for me, formed the basis of that su- 
 perstructure of wretchedness which Warner, in 
 mere recklessness of cruelty, delighted to build 
 around her. Yet still was she the patient wife. 
 But even patience such as hers was to be exhaust-
 
 76 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 ed : in a moment of anger brought on by the last of 
 sufferings she reproached him with the miseries 
 he had heaped upon her. It was then indeed that 
 the fiend was let loose : the bully, the tyrant, and 
 the traitor were charactered three in one ; and his 
 raging eagerness to make his victim writhe to the 
 very marrow under his harrowing words made him 
 tell all that he had heretofore concealed. With 
 fiend-like bursts of laughter he described how I 
 had been cheated by his devihsh arts — in the same 
 spirit he narrated my unwearied search through 
 Europe for the fugitives — and with tenfold, with 
 ten times tenfold barbarity he mapped out in living 
 colours the broken-heartedness of her parents, 
 their still- lingering hope when yet expectation was 
 dead, their death with, blank despair for her fate, 
 deep-seated in their just palpitating bosoms. Of 
 all these things he had with cunning wile taken 
 care to inform himself, and what wanted detail he 
 filled out with drafts upon his own demoniac in- 
 vention. Till this moment Agnes had with re- 
 solved spirit of endurance borne every thing that
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 77 
 
 he had heaped upon her. But the die was now 
 cast — the fiend incarnate stood confessed before 
 her — and deeply within herself did she vow that 
 never again would she dwell or exchange word 
 with the man whom in an evil moment she had 
 made her husband. All this, with many accusa- 
 tions against herself, did she detail to me ; and her 
 letter concluded by throwing herself on what she 
 painfully called my generosity for a little pittance 
 for herself and her two children, with whom she 
 had already eloped from her husband. 
 
 " Generosity ! — Gracious Heaven! was it not I 
 that had brought her to this ?— The mad freak of 
 my hey-day blood had cast her into the arms of a 
 wretch on whom the most abandoned of the sex 
 would have been ill bestowed, if deserts were to 
 form his claim : was it not I that had been the 
 originator of this mountain of ill that was over- 
 whelming the frail tenour of her life ? — And to ap- 
 peal to my generosity after that ! Oh, Agnes, how 
 my heart bounded when I read the word, to pour 
 at thy feet in act of merest justice the uttermost
 
 78 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 farthing my wild wanderings in search of thee had 
 yet left me to bestow ! 
 
 *^ But I wander from the letter. Agnes told me 
 that in Geneva she had found a friend — too poor 
 indeed to assist her with money, but rich enough 
 in honour and in conscience to be trusted with 
 worlds and worlds' worth, to whom I was to ad- 
 dress my answer. * But, remember/ added she, 
 ' that answer is to be in writing — the first attempt 
 to discover me separates us for ever not only in 
 person but in act, for never from that moment can 
 I receive kindness or bounty from you. I say this 
 for both our sakes : — our coming together would 
 be the renewal of grief which can never be so 
 healed by absence as to be forgotten, and which a 
 meeting would inevitably lay open to fresh anguish 
 and torture.' 
 
 *' I could not deny the wisdom of this decision, 
 but I felt a bitter pang at the necessity that there 
 was for our still remaining separate. There was, 
 however, no alternative ; and by return of post I 
 sent her my answer, directed to Madame Lalande,
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 79 
 
 her friend at Geneva, to whom I also wrote, re- 
 questing that she would suffer no opportunity to 
 slip in acquainting me with whatever changes 
 might take place in Agnes' situation. 
 
 '* At this time you, Madeline, were but seven 
 years old, and Albert not quite five. Your mother, 
 through the recommendation of Madame Lalande, 
 installed herself in the Single Cottage at Unwalden ; 
 and years passed on, which, if they did not bring 
 happiness to her poor broken spirit, at least 
 afforded her outward peace, and was a sort of 
 paradise compared with the daily and hourly 
 torture of mind she underwent while at the beck 
 of her ill-conditioned husband. At the suggestion 
 of the same kind lady, your mother not only 
 altered her name, but changed your Christian 
 names also, to prevent, as far as possible, any 
 attempt that Warner might make in tracing your 
 retreat, and from that day you became Albert 
 and Madeline Schvolen. 
 
 " There is, however, reason to believe that all 
 his attempts to find you were in vain, and that
 
 80 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 he never traced your mother's retreat even as 
 far as Geneva. I caused inquiry to be made at 
 Florence, at which place he v^^as residing v^rhen 
 your mother fled from him ; and, subsequently, 
 at Rome and Naples, whither he was known to 
 have gone in pursuit of her. At Naples it is 
 probable that he met with an untimely end, for 
 in a drunken frolic he made a wager with one 
 of his Bacchanalian companions to penetrate the 
 fortresses of the famous Abruzzi bandit Latroni, 
 and join his troop for one week. He set out on 
 this mad attempt, and doubtless perished in the 
 effort, for never since has he been heard of. As 
 your mother, however, had thought proper to 
 change her name, I resolved, when I deemed it 
 my duty to seek her retreat at Unwalden, to do 
 the same, — not from any apprehensions that I 
 myself entertained, but that I might in every 
 way prove to her the desire that I had to cul- 
 tivate her tranquillity of mind. It is for this 
 reason that you have always known me by the 
 name of Seaton, and not by that of Mervyn.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 81 
 
 •* Now let me come to the cause of my visit 
 to Unwalden, and so arrive at the end of the 
 painful task I have been obHged to impose on 
 myself. About three weeks before my arrival 
 here, and while yet at Morfield, I received a 
 letter from Madame Lalande, in which she gave 
 so distressing a picture of your mother's decli- 
 ning health, that I resolved, at all hazards, to 
 visit Unwalden in the hopes of alleviating her 
 sufferings. I felt that the certainty of Warner's 
 death could be better urged upon her by my- 
 self than any other person, and I still cherished 
 the hope that happiness might be in store for' 
 us. 
 
 ** I reached Unwalden ; —but you know the rest, 
 and my task is at an end. 
 
 ** Again and again, 1 have fearful misgivings on 
 the step I am about to take. You are the chil- 
 dren of Agnes, and from the first moment I saw 
 you, I forgot in that consideration who your other 
 parent was. But the scene which has taken place 
 between me and Madeline has roused it all within
 
 82 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 my heart. Do not be angry with me, child, when 
 I say that I saw in it some of the first buddings of 
 your father's violent temperament — a sacrifice of 
 the sense of what is right at the shrine of passion 
 and impulse. Perhaps this very thing ought to 
 arrest me, in the hope of crushing this early seed 
 by timely care, and it is this that makes me doubt 
 the step to which I am impelled. But with shame 
 I confess that T am unequal to the task. I am a 
 shaken — pithless creature — my spirit gone — my 
 strength of mind exhausted ; — and disappointment 
 is the landmark of my existence. 
 
 *' I go then, and, in the words of your mother, I 
 say * the first attempt you make to discover me 
 separates us for ever, not only in person, but in act.' 
 You will find by the inclosed papers that I have 
 made sufficient provision for your worldly welfare. 
 
 *' Fare ye well, dear ones ! Think of me sor- 
 rowfully — not angrily ; and ever as the hot and 
 evil passions of our nature come over you, let my 
 last words come upon your recollection to mode- 
 rate your temper and awaken better feelings in 
 your bosom.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 83 
 
 " And these are my last words. — Be unto one 
 another as the eye is to the understanding. Let 
 the one be ever ready to picture the truth, and the 
 other to give a just interpretation to the record. — 
 Be unto one another as the blossom is to the fruit 
 — the one forerunning an excellent maturity — the 
 other repaying the early foundation from which 
 sprang all its sweetness. 
 
 '* Fare thee well, MadeUne ! Fare thee well, 
 
 Albert ! Think of me, and of your mother ; and 
 
 be more happy than either, by learning to avoid 
 
 the errors from which we have reaped misery for 
 
 so many years. 
 
 '* Henry Seaton."
 
 84 TRANSFUSION : OR, THE 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 He, seeing her depart, arose up light, 
 Right rose agrieved at her sharp reproof. 
 And followed fast ; but when he came in sight 
 He durst not nigh approach, but kept aloof, 
 For dread of her displeasure's utmost proof. 
 
 The Fairie Queen. 
 
 I charge thee never after this sad day 
 To see me, or to meet me ; or to send 
 By word, or writing, gift, or otherwise. 
 To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends. 
 
 Heywood's Woman Killed with Kindness. 
 
 Thus then their fate was sealed: — the world to 
 them was an open and unprofitable waste : they 
 had but themselves to cherish and make much of 
 their misery, for he that should have cared for them 
 was gone, and strangers girt them in on every side.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 85 
 
 Sorrow was deep-seated in their hearts. The 
 gentle Albert, gentle as the gentlest portion of his 
 mother's bland spirit, would have wept, not in 
 reproach at his sister's fault, but in sorrow for the 
 kind friend whose smile had been so welcome, 
 and whose motive seemed ever to be their hap- 
 piness, but who now was as dead to them as the 
 poor Agnes, who at last had found quiet beneath 
 the sod — her first and only resting-place. But 
 even tears did the youth forbid himself when he 
 gazed upon the countenance of his sister, settled 
 into anguish of the deepest die. The letter had 
 told him enough of his sister's fault to make him 
 understand the extremity of her sorrow ; but the 
 only advantage he took of his so-gained know- 
 ledge was to throw his arms around the poor 
 girl's neck, in the hope of soothing the violence ot 
 her grief. 
 
 Madeline understood the appeal ; and, though 
 neither of them yet had found words to express 
 the sensations that were beating at their hearts, 
 she pressed her brother closer and closer to her
 
 86 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 bosom, as though she would more and more 
 tangibly assure herself that he at least of all her 
 sometime good was left to comfort her. 
 
 Thus for a while they paused before affliction 
 found its vent. Presently tears flowed bountifully 
 down Madehne's cheeks, and taught Albert's 
 honest eyes to overflow. 
 
 When grief has mastery, tears are the presages 
 of words. It is as though the sluices of humanity 
 being ready to be opened, those hquid mute 
 appellants were ever for the van, gently to prepare 
 the way for more sounding demonstration. Let 
 eyes discharge their waters of affliction, and lips 
 are trembling on the instant to avouch their truth. 
 
 So with them. 
 
 " Madeline— my sister!'* said the boy, '* let us 
 not in our sorrow forget the only reparation we 
 have it in our power to make to our kind and 
 unhappy uncle; for still must I call this Henry 
 Seaton by the name he taught us. The con- 
 cluding words of his letter should be a never- 
 failing lesson to our heart, — more cherished, more
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 87 
 
 regarded, and more followed than the precepts of 
 philosophy, or the truths of nature. Bethink 
 you, my sister, the good man may repent his 
 resolution; and, should he return, what joy, what 
 pride for us, to be able to hold out his own letter 
 to him, and when he asks our doings while he 
 was away, to have for answer, ' The whole has 
 been but a paraphrase of this your own dic- 
 tation.' " 
 
 At the thought of the possibility of Seaton*s 
 return Madeline's heart fluttered with a momen- 
 tary hope ; but it was but a passing expectation, 
 for, when she remembered the sad and serious 
 resolutions he had penned, she felt that such a 
 hope was vain, and that they had indeed lost his 
 protection for ever. The whole was a thought 
 of less than a minute, and in reply to Albert she 
 shook her head in mournful silence. 
 
 '' Nay, dear Madehne, if he return not," con- 
 tinued the youth, made eloquent by the fulness of 
 his affection for the sorrowing maid, *'even if he 
 return not, be assured he is not altogether absent. 
 We may not be able to refer to him for each petty
 
 88 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 event of our lives, but have we not in his letter 
 a general rule for all that more deeply concerns 
 us ? And more than this, my heart teaches me, 
 and will not have the truth of the lesson denied, 
 that, though absent in person, our uncle will still 
 hold watch over us, ready to intervene his friendly 
 arm when danger threatens most." 
 
 Still poor Madeline shook her head. Albert 
 understood her; it was as though she would 
 have said, " Oh that that were true ! " 
 
 *' And why not true ? " continued her brother ; 
 " remember the many weary years his zeal urged 
 him on through Europe's various countries to seek 
 his Agnes ; think of the kindness of heart that 
 on Madame Lalande's first intimation tore him 
 away from his habits and long-accustomed home 
 at Morfield to seek our mother's dying bed. Is 
 he not the same man? Do not the same affec- 
 tions and the same goodness still possess his 
 heart ? And does not his letter — that sad fare- 
 well — abound to the very final syllable with an 
 iteration of the same spirit of love ? " 
 
 But Madeline still wept for hor uncle, and would 
 
 .»
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 89 
 
 not be comforted. So much solace as the words 
 of Albert conveyed was in its turn destroyed by 
 the thought that this poor boy, too, as well as 
 herself, was left desolate by the unguarded vehe- 
 mence of her temper. Albert, whom nature in its 
 unkindness had rendered most needful of a pro- 
 tector, by her had been deprived of one,; — the 
 best, the kindest, and the most affectionate. 
 The thought was overwhelming, and forth in a 
 fresh paroxysm burst her grief. 
 
 ** Sister," said Albert, almost desperate at the 
 task imposed upon him, " we have but one course 
 to pursue. We will quit Unwalden, and even, 
 as Seaton has done before us, search Europe for 
 our uncle." 
 
 Madeline's eyes brightened at the idea. She 
 thought of the eagerness with which she would 
 search each village and each town: her imagi- 
 nation pictured to her with what devotion she 
 would run to the world's extremity for Seaton. 
 Young, romantic, and imaginative, she almost 
 conceived that in the eloquence of her heart she
 
 90 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 could persuade kings to sanction, and emperors 
 to proclaim rewards for the discovery of the lost 
 one. 
 
 ''And yet," continued Albert, ''may we forget 
 the caution in his letter ? ' The first attempt you 
 make to discover me separates us for ever, not 
 only in person, but in act/ " 
 
 The picture was on the instant reversed to 
 Madeline's gaze. Would a man with such a 
 resolution in his heart be found? What were 
 they'^^ The children of inexperience, and Un- 
 walden all their earth. What hel A man of 
 travels, learned in all the difficulties of a journey. 
 How was one full in his experience of routes and 
 countries to be dogged by a pair, whose only 
 knowledge was the honesty of the single sen- 
 timent that would pervade their hearts ? 
 
 But again Albert spoke; and, as his lips 
 moved, his whole expression brightened at the 
 thought he was about to convey to his sister. 
 
 " Madehne," cried he, " will not this do ? 
 Unwalden we will quit — Geneva we will seek—
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 91 
 
 It is there that Madame Lalande lives. She is 
 the friend of Seaton ; and be assured either we 
 shall find him there, or at least he will have 
 left token with her what his movements are likely 
 to be." 
 
 These few words again removed a portion of 
 the cloud from Madeline's brow. Up to that 
 moment they had been beating about on the sea 
 of uncertainty, — conjecturing, speculating, doubt- 
 ing, wishing, but nothing having. Now some- 
 thing practicable was afloat. Their road to Ge • 
 neva was plain and easy; it was a postillion's 
 experience, and not their own, on which they had 
 to rely for their route ; and when there, it was 
 still to be some one else that was to guide them. 
 They remembered nothing indeed of Madame 
 Lalande, but they could not doubt that she was 
 easily to be met with in Geneva. They knew 
 the names of every inhabitant of their own village, 
 and from this deduction it was justly to be argued 
 in their logic that every inhabitant of Geneva 
 knew all his fellows.
 
 92 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 With a swiftness of execution which naturally 
 accompanies a temperament so rapid as that of 
 Madeline, she resolved to lose not a moment in 
 proceeding on the journey. Little more than an 
 hour served to communicate the whole of her 
 scheme to Albert, to put the farmer who owned 
 the Single Cottage in present possession of the 
 building till they should return, and to prepare 
 the chaise that was to convey them towards the 
 city, where it was decisive in Madeline's mind 
 that something of Seaton was to be ascertained. 
 
 Madeline, her active mind once impregnated 
 with the idea that success was at the bottom 
 of her plan, did all. As for Albert, he was but a 
 machine in her hands — a willing instrument, how- 
 ever, for he saw each moment add fresh brightness 
 to his sister's looks, fresh courage to her eye ; 
 so that to him it appeared as if each step that 
 was taken advanced them from misery towards 
 happiness. 
 
 The chaise arrived at the Single Cottage : every 
 thing was ready : a moment more, and Albert and
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 93 
 
 Madeline would have had their once happy abode 
 behind them, perhaps never to be revisited. But 
 even before that moment elapsed, their progress 
 was prevented by the appearance of Wahrend. 
 He knew nothing of what had taken place ; and 
 the usual hour for his visit to the cottage being 
 arrived, he was there, full of expectation that the 
 intercession of the senior had carried his point, 
 and that Madeline was prepared to listen to his 
 proposals. 
 
 The chaise at the door was a little beyond his 
 comprehension, but he had no time to inquire of the 
 postiUion its destination, for at that instant Made- 
 line made her appearance, fully equipped for her 
 journey. 
 
 '* What, you the traveller, Madeline!'* cried 
 Wahrend ; '' whither away, dear girl ? " 
 
 Heavens, what a sensation came over Madehne 
 at that instant ! From the moment of Seaton's 
 departure, she had not once given a thought to 
 Wahrend. But now he rushed upon her presence 
 like some ill-omened ghost, and her heart sick-
 
 94 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 ened to the death : a thousand thoughts at once 
 took possession of her brain, each harrowing 
 deeper than the other. ** Confusion worse con- 
 founded" was upon her, and she tottered as 
 though she would have fallen to the earth. 
 
 Wahrend, with scarcely time to be astonished, 
 threw his arm round her waist for support. 
 
 " My dear Madeline !" exclaimed he. 
 
 The perception of being within his embrace 
 restored her strength, and she flung herself 
 from his arms with that sort of expression of 
 horror which escapes the lips when the whole 
 frame's blood is curdling with disgust. 
 
 Wahrend was astounded. He had not words 
 wherewith to remonstrate. 
 
 ** Man," cried Madeline, with uncontrollable 
 energy, *' is it not enough that you have robbed 
 me of my mother's dying blessing, and forced my 
 uncle hence, without wringing my heart with 
 a presence that speaks it all in words of bitterest 
 anguish. Evil was the hour when first I saw 
 you ! Evil — thrice evil !"
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 95 
 
 Albert by this time had followed his sister from 
 the cottage. He had already half-guessed that 
 Wahrend was the corner-stone of the dispute 
 between his sister and Seaton, and her manner 
 now confirmed it. 
 
 *' Sister," whispered he, as she was going on to 
 pour out her wrath against the innocent cause of 
 what had been nurtured into evil fruit by her own 
 ungovernable violence — " Sister, remember our 
 uncle's letter! — Remember the sacredness of our 
 present mission ! " 
 
 The appeal was effective ; for the chord on 
 which it struck was too newly fretted not to be 
 sensitive to the merest touch. Her passion 
 dropped; and she resolved, what a thousand 
 times before had been a resolution, for ever and 
 for ever to master these outrageous proceedings 
 of a hasty mind. 
 
 " Wahrend," said she, more gently, ** my 
 anger may be wrong ; and I will therefore ex- 
 change what I intended for a command into 
 a supphcation. Never, — oh, never again let us
 
 96 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 meet ! Once before I said this to you. Let it 
 now come with tenfold solemnity to your soul ; 
 and as you would not inflict fresh misery on 
 a creature all too miserable already, I beseech 
 you never again let us cross each other's path/' 
 
 Wahrend would have replied, but, too swift for 
 words, she sprang into the carriage, and, having 
 beckoned Albert to follow, the chaise drove off, 
 leaving the poor Swiss as desolate as he was 
 astounded.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Sweet pleasure ! 
 Delicious pleasure ! Earth's supremest good, 
 The spring of blood, though it dry up our blood. 
 
 Decker. 
 
 That which a man is bre up in he thinks no cheating ; 
 as your tradesman thinks not so of his profession, but calls it a 
 mystery. Selden's Table Talk. 
 
 The orphans' road to Geneva led them through 
 the village of Unv^^alden. It would have saved 
 them both something of pain had it been other- 
 wise, for the sight of the well-known objects 
 which each moment flitted past them awakened 
 them to a sense of the danger of the step they 
 were taking; and the " curious busy eye " of the 
 street-loiterers that met their gaze, told them that 
 
 VOL. 1. E
 
 98 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 all beyond what might be called their native 
 village was a perilous maze of uncertainty and 
 suspicion. They were quitting — for ever, perhaps, 
 — ^the only place where they were known — the 
 only place they knew. All the rest of the world 
 was to them as the great African desert is ta 
 the eager merchant that seeks the cities beyond 
 its fearful bounds. Albert, to a certain extent, 
 was in leading-strings ; he had resigned himself 
 to the guidance of his elder and more venturous 
 companion, and whatever misgivings he might 
 have were more than compensated by the thought 
 that the act, in the commission of which he was 
 engaged, was furnishing satisfaction to the human 
 being that he loved best. The lad's heart was a sea 
 of affection that knew no ebb, but was ever 
 ready to acknowledge the impulse of the spring- 
 tide of love. But Madehne, the more he resigned 
 himself to her, the more she had to consider; 
 and the thoughts that possessed her, as she 
 passed through Unwalden, were fit and compa- 
 rable associates for those which Caesar held when
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 99 
 
 he stood in debate with Pollio on the banks of the 
 Rubicon. It was not too late to return. Seaton 
 by his letter had placed a skaunt mirror before 
 her eyes, and had compelled her to see every thing 
 ** with a difference." Was she indeed in the 
 commen<:ement of an attempt that should deprive 
 Albert and herself of the very means of existence i 
 <^ould Seaton really have been in earnest when he 
 threatened that an effort to find him would cause 
 him to withdraw his bounty ? 
 
 This was a heart- heavy question ; and more 
 than once the word trembled on her lips that 
 should stop the postiUion, and cause him to return, 
 to the Single Cottage. 
 
 But presently other thoughts relieved the 
 feverish anxiety of her mind. What was her 
 motive ? Surely any thing but selfishness, or a 
 cold-hearted indifference to the happiness of 
 others. She wanted to restore Albert to Seaton 's 
 fostering protection. For herself, she cared not. 
 Give her but an opportunity to throw herself 
 at her uncle's feet, and ask his forgiveness for
 
 100 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 what had been rash, but not wicked, in her 
 conduct, and she would not flinch at his casting 
 her ofF, and leaving the world and her to fight out 
 the battle of good and evil. 
 
 This thought resolved her. She would go on : 
 - — nay, she would do more. With the sincerest 
 hope of showing what amelioration genuine peni- 
 tence and sorrow could work upon her mind, she 
 would summon that mind to the use of all its 
 proper and native strength : she would dismiss 
 the more worthless particles of grief, and only 
 reserve so much as should give sobriety and dig- 
 nity to her purpose. 
 
 There was something consolatory in all this ; 
 it cheered her to the labours that were fast 
 spreading before her, and it braced her heart 
 to that vigour of action which would command 
 half the victory. 
 
 Albert, to whom her countenance was as a never- 
 ending book, read what her passing thoughts 
 there set down ; and before the carriage arrived at 
 the inn where they were to stop for the night,
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 101 
 
 both brother and sister felt that half their troubles 
 were over, in the consciousness that they had 
 gained strength to bear the whole of them. 
 
 The auberge, at which they put up, was a 
 delightful specimen of a Swiss road-side inn. The 
 low roof, far spreading beyond the walls which it 
 sheltered, was nearly overrun with the luxuriance 
 of a vine, which, in its turn, crept up those walls 
 to shelter the roof: near at hand stood a rude 
 model of * purple Bacchus, jolly god;' and the 
 tendrils of the luxuriant creeper seemed to stretch 
 towards him, that they might afford him a crown 
 worthy of his reputation. The deep panelled door, 
 always open to welcome the wayfarer, proclaimed 
 an age gone by ; while the smoking chimney as 
 evidently announced that hospitality had not yet 
 forsaken the antique dwelling. 
 
 When our two young travellers descended from 
 their conveyance, they were ushered into the 
 kitchen, — that huge receptacle for all sorts of 
 guests, from the highest to the lowest on the 
 Continent, — where sat two or three of that mixed
 
 ]02 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 sort which might be expected to be the chance 
 product of such a place. Albert and Madeline 
 both cast their eyes uneasily round the room, for 
 both felt that at that moment they were no fit 
 companions for so promiscuous a company ; there 
 were many things yet to be talked over, many 
 points to be considered, all of which required 
 solitude and quiet. 
 
 Madehne at length took courage to inquire for 
 a private room, though she hardly knew whether 
 in so doing she was not infringing the rule of 
 road into which that day was her first initiation ; 
 and truly it is not every inn in Switzerland that 
 can boast of the accommodation which she was 
 seeking. Fortune, however, this time was on her 
 side, and the good woman of the house showed 
 them into a Httle apartment up stairs, adorned 
 with a venerable portrait of WilHam Tell, or 
 Moses ; for on this particular there was a standing 
 dispute of many years between the hostess and 
 her husband, — where every thing seemed as 
 promising of tranquillity and uninterruptedness 
 as even Madeline could desire.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 103 
 
 Scarcely, however, were they fairly established 
 an their retirement, when the sound of horses' 
 hoofs was heard clattering at the door of the 
 hostel. MadeUne, with the thought of Seaton 
 €ver uppermost in her mind, could not help 
 casting a glance from the window of her apart- 
 ment, with a hope that was hardly acknowledged 
 to herself. That one glance, however, was suffi- 
 cient to check the embryo, for her eye told 
 her at once that there was no uncle among 
 the gay and noisy party that had just made the 
 road-side inn their resting-place. 
 
 But who is he that rides so gay and debonair 
 among the foremost of the knot 1 It is the young 
 Count de Mara, the pride of the party, the very 
 oracle and chief commander of the troop, the as- 
 piring spirit to whom all lesser looked for the 
 life of the day, the high master and promoter 
 of all their mad revels and hey-day frolics. 
 
 As we have said, it was not alone that De 
 Mara approached the road-side inn. Half a 
 dozen sparkling gallants rode in his company,
 
 104 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 and ever and anon they made the old rocks 
 that overhung the road by which they tra- 
 velled echo to their laughter. The joke, the 
 bon-mot, and the repartee passed briskly from 
 the one to the other ; but it was when the Count 
 spoke that the loudest laugh followed; and it 
 was in answer to his tropes and figures that 
 the gay welcome of enjoyment was most freely 
 ceded. He was, as it were, the Mercury of 
 the party ; the very head and front of all that was 
 joyous amongst them, and from whom the re- 
 mainder were content to borrow their tone and 
 lustre. 
 
 *' An inn ! and in good time !" cried the young 
 Chevalier Altoz, who was the first to perceive the 
 abode where we have for a while safely housed 
 the orphans of Unwalden. 
 
 ** Gentlemen," said the Count, " I know what 
 admirable Quixotes ye be, — Altoz claiming no less 
 than to come from Mancha himself. For the 
 nonce we will castellate yonder inn, that we may 
 adjudge ourselves the more honour in taking it by 
 storm. Forward! Charge!" —
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 105 
 
 And away the party galloped for their destina- 
 tion, pricking their horses to as venturous a pace 
 as though their course lay over some wide unde- 
 viating plain, instead of along a track barely 
 nicked into the slant of a rock, with a cliff on the 
 one hand and a precipice on the other. 
 
 They neared the inn, and in another minute 
 clattered up to the door, each at his fullest speed. 
 The landlord was pretty well aghast at this new 
 accession of company : it was something quite out 
 of his routine, and he knew no more of what 
 would be fitting behaviour to put on, than if he 
 had been called upon at the moment to give the 
 becoming salaam to the Emperor of China on being 
 summoned to the footstep of the celestial throne. 
 One look was a sufRcer ; he saw that the whole 
 cortege was beyond his element, and he left the 
 affair in the more skilful hands of his wife. 
 
 She, good woman, fumed and bustled ; but it 
 was not much that remained for her to do. The 
 intruders, finding the door open, took it for 
 granted that the garrison surrendered at discre-
 
 106 
 
 TRANSFUSIOxV ; OR, THE 
 
 tion ; whereon they rushed into the kitchen to see 
 what plunder was to be had, and, after a while, 
 called on the landlord, qua commandant, to offer 
 his terms of capitulation. 
 
 The landlord, however, declined in favour of 
 the hostess. It was a wise policy: the besiegers, 
 in regard to the fair sex, consented to sink the 
 castle, and stand upon the fact of their being mere 
 
 guests at an mn. 
 
 Wine was brought ; such eatables as the place 
 could afford were produced; and in a few mi- 
 nutes the roof of the kitchen was taught, as the 
 rocks before it, to echo to the tune of their merri- 
 ment. 
 
 *' But, most noble Count," cried Altoz, taking 
 advantage of a pause in the conversation, " with 
 all respect for the powers and skill of so renowned 
 a leader, will it not please you to allow your fol- 
 lowers by this time to know the reasons for 
 bringing them so many miles from Geneva ? " 
 
 *' And on so rough a road too !" said another of 
 the party : ^' as I hope to see Geneva again, and
 
 t/nPflANS OF UNWALDEJf, 107 
 
 never more look down a precipice five hundred 
 feet deep with blackness at the bottom ; — nothing 
 but a most just reason will content me." 
 
 "A reason you would have," cried the Count; 
 ** listen to a most just one. I brought you here 
 for pleasure ! " 
 
 " Pleasure ! " exclaimed three or four at once. 
 
 " I claim the right of interpreting," said one 
 who might be taken for the eldest of the party, 
 and who on that ground was desirous of being 
 held somewhat oracular in his observations. 
 
 " List, oh, list to the Pythoness," cried Altoz. 
 
 " For shame. Chevalier," joined the Count ; 
 ** what ! make an old woman of Maravelli, and at 
 least a year before his time too ?" 
 
 ** Nor only that," added the one who had com- 
 plained of the roughness of the road, and whom 
 De Mara ludicrously distinguished by the title of 
 * Mon Petit,' to which he had about as small 
 a claim as the celebrated English Little John 
 of Greenwood-tree fame — ■^' nor only that, but an 
 old woman, and a witch to boot — else I have 
 forgotten my schooling."
 
 108 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 " The laws against witchcraft in Switzerland 
 are very severe," gravely remarked Altoz. 
 
 " Nay, be of good cheer, Maravelli," said the 
 Count ; " it is only in CathoHc Switzerland that 
 they will give you the chance of sinking or swim- 
 ming : here you may enjoy your otiiim cum dig- 
 nitate, secure under the banner of Calvin." 
 
 " Gentlemen, gentlemen, I demand fair play," 
 cried Maravelli somewhat hastily : "you are fond 
 of calling yourselves ' The Knot,' — and with good 
 cause, for you draw so close together that one 
 cannot get in a word among ye. Here you have 
 set me down for a witch without waiting to learn 
 whether I had wisdom enough to support the 
 character." 
 
 " Good reason why,*' cried Altoz ; " we judged 
 your merits by the beard." 
 
 This produced a laugh against the Italian, for 
 of all things he prided himself on the care with 
 which he cultivated the adornment to which Altoz 
 had so mahciously alluded. 
 
 ** Well, gentlemen," said he, peevishly, '* if
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 109 
 
 you choose to let the Count off at my expense it is 
 all very well." 
 
 "Truly remarked," cried Mon Petit ; " I claim 
 a verdict against the Count, or a sufficing reason 
 from him, for my whole frame is involved in one 
 perpetual ache with the jolting I and my horse 
 have received over these intolerable roads. The 
 animal is twenty louis worse in value than when 
 he quitted his stable this morning." 
 
 *' I will stand," said De Mara, ''on the reason 
 I have already given. I brought you here for 
 pleasure." 
 
 " And I will stand on my interpretation," cried 
 Maravelli, again pushing himself forward: *'the 
 Count has omitted a little word wherein lies the 
 difference ; not for pleasure, but for his pleasure 
 has he brought us here." 
 
 " Maravelli is a wise interpreter," cried Mon 
 Petit, ** on the faith of a jolted gentleman." 
 
 **Then is he a good witch," said the Count, 
 *' that stands confessed on his own pleading, and 
 his beard may come off with a sauve qui peut.^^
 
 10 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 '* The Count plays his game skilfully," ex- 
 claimed Maravelli, ^' and hopes to be quit by a 
 counter-attack, but I trust to the support of The 
 Knot that his strength may not escape through 
 my weakness." 
 
 */A verdict, or a defence," cried those that 
 were appealed to. 
 
 " Now can I call you no other than the most 
 ungrateful of men," replied De Mara; *'were 
 you not when I called you together this morning 
 yawning and dozing your faculties away — 'won- 
 dering what next you might do to get rid of the 
 too long hours ? Have I not tempted you from 
 the weariness of brick buildings and regulated 
 streets to the rock-raised marvels of nature, and 
 the wildernesses of the same creation, knowing 
 neither law nor rule save the eternal, which hath 
 fitness for its foundation? Have I not in my 
 bounty — -but save me from a defence, wherein the 
 poetic has so large a share, in a public kitchen. 
 Yonder bumpkin looks as if he could swallow 
 rocks and wildernesses both at a mouthful."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. Ill 
 
 " The offender," cried Altoz, " has some sort of 
 claim to our consideration, for his defence opened 
 well, though I am afraid that what he admits 
 to be poetic will end in fiction. Call hither our 
 hostess, however, and we will indulge him with a 
 private room. Good dame," continued he, seeing 
 the landlady at hand, *' what can you do for us in 
 the way of an apartment to ourselves ? " 
 
 The hostess, thus queried, was full of apologies, 
 that her house could afford no better accom- 
 modation for persons of their rank ; but the only 
 room to which the term private could be given, 
 was already occupied by a young lady and gen- 
 tleman, who were resting there for the night on 
 their journey towards Geneva. 
 
 *' Are you quite sure," cried MaraveUi, *'that 
 there is a gentleman as well as a lady of the. 
 party ? for if not," added he, looking significantly 
 at the Count, ** I should be strongly confirmed in 
 interpretation of the word ' pleasure," which I so 
 lately offered to the notice of The Knot." 
 
 " Oh dear, yes," said the hostess ; *' the gen-
 
 112* transfusion; ou, the 
 
 tleman is the brother of Mademoiselle ; but, poor 
 young man, he was born deaf; — at least so says 
 ZurofFhere, who is well acquainted withUnwalden, 
 from which place they are travelHng to Geneva. 
 For my part, I can't think how they have taught 
 him to speak so prettily, if he can't hear a word 
 that has been said to him all his life." 
 
 *' The young lady," cried Altoz, *' must find 
 him but dull company. What say you, hostess, 
 will you be the bearer of our respects, and an 
 addition to the effect that we shall be glad to 
 join her company for the evening, or even to see 
 her safe to Geneva (as it is that road she travels) 
 at her own time and opportunity ? " 
 
 ** I am afraid the message would but ill 
 accord," replied the good dame, " for they both 
 appear in a somewhat melancholy mood, and I 
 could see their eyes glisten so moistly, dear 
 souls, that it seemed to want but little to make 
 their glistening tears." 
 
 '' Poor things !" cried Mon Petit, '' from my 
 soul I pity them : to-morrow's road once at-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 113 
 
 tempted, and the tears will be jolted from them, 
 if they are indeed to-night so near the full." 
 
 '^ And so, Goody," asked Altoz, ** you hold my 
 message to be naught ? " 
 
 "Truly, sir, all is naught that injures. The 
 young lady's mind is in no cue for such visiters." 
 
 " But are you sure," cried De Mara, *' that 
 your conclusions are correct ? Instances," added 
 he, looking at Maravelli, — '^instances have been 
 known of false interpretations of the simplest 
 matters." 
 
 ^* Oh, sir," cried our hostess, somewhat tartly, 
 at having her womanly powers of penetration 
 questioned ; *' it is no difficult matter to know 
 what downcast looks, unsteady steps, and tearful 
 eyes signify. I would not disturb them, if I had 
 a right ; and even that I have not, for the room is 
 theirs till they choose to resign it." 
 
 And thus having told all she knew, all she 
 concluded, and all she determined, the good 
 woman set busily about cooking some little dish 
 that Madehne had ordered for supper, and with
 
 114 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 which she was resolved to take extraordinary 
 pains, as it was to be partaken of by * the poor 
 young gentleman who was born deaf.' 
 
 Maravelli seemed determined to let no interval 
 effect the Count's escape ; for no sooner had the 
 hostess concluded her little narrative about the 
 interesting pair that were sojourning at her hostel, 
 than he revived the accusation against him again. 
 
 " What say you, gentlemen of The Knot," said 
 he, *' shall we not generously spare De Mara the 
 trouble of a defence, and in our mercy proceed to 
 judgment? My brain is dancing even now with 
 the universal shaking it has undergone. The 
 least we can do is to mulct him in the day's 
 expenses." 
 
 '*A judgment! A judgment!" cried two or 
 three of the party. 
 
 " Gently, gently, my worthies," interrupted the 
 Count ; '' would you have me declare you to the 
 world the very princes of ingratitude ? I will not 
 shrink from any thing in the shape of a fair pro- 
 posal; and now the whim is on me, will even
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEJ*r. 115 
 
 make one. Here are Maravelli, the complainant, 
 and De Mara, the defendant. I give our respect- 
 ed interpreter this offer. I will wager the day's 
 expenses, which he has so liberally proposed to 
 place to my account, that I not only join the party 
 upstairs, but am invited to partake — nay, more, 
 actually do partake in their supper." 
 
 " A fair proposal, and as fairly taken," cried 
 MaraveUi. " I accept the wager, but on one con- 
 dition, that you ask not for the supper, but are 
 freely and fairly invited to it." 
 
 ** My very terms," said the Count. 
 
 " But will it be fair," asked Altoz, ^' after our 
 hostess's pretty story, to trespass on the poor 
 girl's seclusion ? I protest 1 have quite a picture 
 of their sorrows before my eyes, and am mightily 
 taken with the scene." 
 
 ** On the faith of a gentleman," answered De 
 Mara, '* it shall be done most graciously on my 
 part : perhaps a little romance may creep in, but 
 nothing offensive. Am I not a Frenchman, and 
 the most devoted of my nation to the service of
 
 116 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 beauty ? Tell me, then, when does it look so 
 lovely, and when has it so great a claim on such 
 vows as I have taken in its favour, as when it is 
 overborne by the heaviness of sorrow? The 
 bland smile, the cunning dimple, and the laughing 
 eye, all in my estimation give place to the young- 
 bud that has its sweets closed, not crushed, under 
 the clouds of affliction." 
 
 *^ Bravo," cried a Spaniard, one of the party ; 
 '* the fit is on De Mara, and 1 would not give 
 a maravedi for poor MaraveUi's chance." 
 
 *♦ It is no fit," said De Mara, " but the settled 
 conviction of my mind. I have no objection to a 
 smile ; heaven forbid that I should, for many a 
 sweet one have I had lavished on me. But 
 women always appear to me to think that they 
 were made to smile. They carry their smiles 
 about with them, as they do their parasols in 
 sunny weather ; and that man is a bold one who 
 shall undertake to pronounce on the genuineness 
 of each that flits across a lady's cheek. Tell 
 a fair one that she looks like Venus fresh from
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 117 
 
 her native sea, and she smiles while she cries 
 * Oh, fie ! ' Tell her that her favourite gossip 
 lies sick of the small-pox, and she smiles, while 
 she cries, ' How I pity the poor soul !' " 
 
 '' But all this argues nothing in favour of 
 sorrow%" 
 
 '* Pardon me ! It gains half the battle. Destroy 
 your opponent's argument, and you have already 
 nearly secured an easy victory for your own. But 
 I have stronger grounds on which to set my 
 position. I am in love with a pretty woman's 
 affliction for its own intrinsic excellences. In the 
 first place, it has novelty to recommend it : a 
 woman never looks grieved for the look's sake : 
 she may falsely write pleasure, sulkiness, slyness, 
 or wisdom, on the look of her countenance, but 
 when sadness is there, it has the heart's honesty 
 to justify it. A woman's heart was never made 
 for grief; its fine elasticity enables it to get rid of 
 sorrow as the breeze of spring drives the April 
 cloud beyond the demi-cerulean ; so that what 
 might otherwise be painful has its sting extracted
 
 118 transfusion; or, the 
 
 by the reflection, that yet a Httle, and the eye's 
 dulness will pass away, and you feel that you 
 must be quick in enjoying the melting novelty, or 
 the opportunity will have vanished, and left no 
 trace behind. But novelty is not the only recom- 
 mendation. Sadness gives a dehghtful sobriety 
 to a countenance, otherwise too much in sunshine. 
 A picture all gamboge affords no enjoyment — so a 
 face all sunshine, and for ever, approaches the 
 usque ad nauseam : if you know not darkness you 
 cannot appreciate the advantage of light ; and 
 v/hen you find a lady's face never otherwise than 
 smihng, it is time to suspect a want of meaning — 
 a blank within." 
 
 ** Most admirably delivered," cried Maravelli, 
 '' and I begin to fear the fate of my wager." 
 
 '* And now for its execution," said De Mara ; — 
 *' you have made your bargain with me, and I, in 
 return, condition that none of The Knot are either 
 to recognise me, or notice my proceedings, what- 
 ever they may be, unless I should call upon them 
 to do so."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 119 
 
 The condition was accepted, and De Mara with- 
 drew to make his preparations. Zuroff, to whom 
 the landlady had alluded in her conversation, and 
 the postillion that drove the orphans to the au- 
 berge, were summoned to his council, in order that 
 he might know, as far as possible, on what 
 grounds he might be able to rest his scheme. 
 Things were put in motion on all hands ; and the 
 Count, whose very soul was project, seemed ab- 
 sorbed in the luxury his nature derived from the 
 operations in which he was soon plunged to his 
 heart's content.
 
 120 TRANSFUSION J OR, TH£ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 What an ill orator has virtue got here ! 
 
 MiDDLETON AND RoWLEy's FaIR QuaRREL. 
 
 Ceremony has made many fools. 
 It is by timorous honours, pale respects, 
 Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways 
 Hard of themselves. — Old Play. 
 
 As no one was present at the Count's course of in- 
 quiry with ZurofF and the postillion, it is difficult 
 to pronounce how much information he obtained 
 from them as to the true state of our young tra- 
 vellers' condition. A departure from Unwalden 
 in a travelling carriage, however, was so far a ra- 
 rity, that it cannot be doubted that such an event,
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 121 
 
 when coupled with the fact of its being undertaken 
 by a young lad and his sister, who, till that day, 
 had been supposed to form part of the most staid 
 and sober family in the village, gave rise to that 
 freedom of speculation in which people will in- 
 dulge, who think it preferable to attend to other 
 persons' affairs than to their own. Some of these 
 profound and illustrating speculations must of 
 course have reached the ear of the postillion, for 
 he was in a manner the nucleus wherein all these 
 conjectures centered, seeing that he was the only 
 member connected with the departure at whom 
 the gossips could get for the purpose of talking 
 over their infinite nothings, which formed a budget 
 worthy of Sancho Panza's most talkative inter- 
 vals. 
 
 Whatever the postillion knew, either from his 
 own or these most veritable sources, was most un- 
 questionably made over to De Mara, for it was im- 
 possible for the driver of horses to withstand the 
 touch of a Louis- d*or, especially when the pur- 
 chase in return was merely a tale of babble, that, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 122 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 for aught he cared, any body might have had for 
 nothing, when no larger sum was to be got by it. 
 ZurofF's brain fully admitted the force of the same 
 argument ; and the consequence was, that their 
 knowledge on the subject, whatever its extent 
 might be, was speedily made over to him who paid 
 so liberal a largesse to obtain it. 
 
 We cannot take upon ourselves to say that De 
 Mara was satisfied with the information that had 
 thus been gained. But here was no matter of choice : 
 — it was one of sheer necessity. All that was to 
 be learned for the nonce he had obtained ; and on 
 that capital, whether large or small, he was bound 
 by the limit of his wager to trade this venture. 
 
 Thus far armed then towards his success, and 
 seeing no obstacle to his at least entering the apart- 
 ment where MadeUne and her brother had taken up 
 their quarters for the evening, he proceeded thi- 
 ther at once, determined to trust to his own vein 
 of invention to excuse the intrusion which he me- 
 ditated. Matters, however, were not destined to 
 run quite so smooth. Just as he had gained the
 
 OUPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 123 
 
 landing that led to their room, and deemed him- 
 self safely within sight of harbour, he was met by 
 the landlady, who was that moment quitting her 
 young guests, having again forced herself upon 
 them in her officiousness to make the orphans, 
 whom she had greatly taken into her favour, as 
 •comfortable as her means might afford. 
 
 '* Sir," cried she, somewhat surprised at find- 
 ing the nobleman in this forbidden part of the 
 auberge, " you must have mistaken your way. It 
 is down stairs that your friends are carousing." 
 
 *' By no means," replied De Mara, internally 
 cursing his evil stars at being thus crossed upon 
 the very threshold of the undertaking — " by no 
 means, my good lady. It is your wine, and not I, 
 that has mistaken the way. The air below is 
 somewhat close : — now, in yonder room, if I might 
 be indulged with a window-seat and five minutes' 
 enjoyment of the mountain breeze, I will warrant 
 the abatement of the oppressiveness I feel." 
 
 " It is no bedchamber, that," said the hostess, 
 drily: — *' nor does it even contain a couch ; and
 
 124 TRANSFUSION 
 
 without the one or the other, I fear the rehef you 
 seek is somewhat questionable.*' 
 
 ** Oh, for shame, hostess, for shame !" cried De 
 Mara, '* would you do your own liquor so little 
 credit as to insinuate that it must be slept off ? 1 
 tell you, dame, five inspirations of pure air from 
 yon window, of which I caught a ghmpse as you 
 opened the door, would work a miracle towards 
 my recovery, and save the character of your vin- 
 tage into the bargain." 
 
 " Sir, to be brief, into that room you must not 
 enter. I pray you in courtesy to descend " 
 
 *' I never descend," interrupted the Count with 
 a laugh, " especially after a carouse. — Va Id! In 
 good sooth I must pass." And he began play- 
 fully to endeavour to elude the hostess, who reso- 
 lutely kept her ground between him and the door 
 of Madeline's apartment, while she cried — " Now, 
 good Sir : — indeed, as a gentleman ; — you will 
 force me to call the servants ! " 
 
 The Count in part gained his point; — not, in- 
 deed, that he obtained an ingress, but she whom
 
 OUPHANS OP UNWALDEN. 
 
 126 
 
 he sought appeared at the door by which he would 
 have entered. 
 
 " Good hostess/' said MadeUne, mournfully, 
 ** I intreat that this noise may be spared. I am as 
 one distraught already." 
 
 " Indeed/' replied the mistress of the auberge, 
 more than ever angered that her guest should have 
 been disturbed, '* indeed, it rests not with me. This 
 uncivil person — for I no longer know him as a 
 gentleman — would have forced an entrance into 
 your apartment, and I only sought to stop him." 
 
 " Force an entrance !" cried Madeline, and her 
 eye half-kindled to its wonted fire at the thought 
 of her melancholy privacy being intruded upon. 
 
 The nobleman saw his danger, and that there 
 was not a moment to spare, for scarcely so long 
 did the opportunity promise to last. 
 
 *' Nay/' cried he, ''one word in defence! Our 
 hostess has somewhat overcharged the statement. 
 I was but faint with heat, and sought the nearest 
 window, little imagining that in so doing I should 
 disturb any lady's right of solitude. I wish," ad-
 
 126 TRANSPUSIOK^ ; OR;. THE 
 
 ded he, suffering his tone to brighten on, perceiv- 
 ing that the maiden bowed in acknowledgment of 
 his apology^ " I wish that the good dame would 
 take a lesson from the way in which I saw another 
 of her sisterhood tend a traveller this morning on 
 his road to Geneva. The poor old gentleman 
 seemed to have ridden to the utmost oF his 
 strength, for scarcely was he oif his horse, when 
 his head drooped, and his countenance turned 
 ashy pale/*^ 
 
 Madeline was caught in the first cast of the 
 wily fisher's net. An elderly stranger on his way 
 to Geneva, his strength worn out with riding. The 
 whole picture stuck hard upon her heart, 
 
 *' Ah, my obstinate hostess,'^ continued De 
 Mara, warily following up his advantage, " then 
 might you have taken a lesson from the good dame 
 of the Bouteille de Vin. Had you seen how she 
 cherished the elder, — how she pillowed his weak 
 head on her shoulder, — how she supported his tot- 
 tering steps into the house,--you would have felt 
 proud of the opportunity my dizziness lately
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 127 
 
 afforded you of imitating so admirable an ex- 
 ample." 
 
 *' Good Sir/' cried Madeline, eagerly, " I pray 
 you walk in. The window and the room are 
 heartily at your service. — Perhaps," continued 
 she, with a slight tremor in her voice, — and they 
 entered the room together — " perhaps you may 
 remember somewhat further of this story. — I — I — 
 feel deeply interested — in — ** 
 
 And then no longer able to withhold herself, 
 she burst into a passionate flood of tears. 
 
 ** Dear Madam," exclaimed the Count, sooth- 
 ingly, " any thing I may remember or know is 
 entirely at your command. The gentleman, (fi 
 whom I spoke, was a reverend elder, — if I might 
 guess, I should say a clergyman, save that the se- 
 renity of his countenance, which I could trace to 
 be its habit, was disturbed, and convulsive invo- 
 luntary movements would spread themselves over 
 his fine face, as though it were responsive to the 
 inward workings of a troubled heart.'' 
 
 '< 'Tis he ! 'tis he !" sobbed Madeline.—" Oh
 
 128 TRANSFUSION J OH, THE 
 
 that mine had been the shoulder — the bosora to 
 pillow his afflicted head ! By all that is sacred, I 
 intreat you to guide me to the inn where you left 
 him in his sorrow. Why should the darkness of 
 night stay us ? A heavier darkness overshadows 
 his peace, and a thousand guilty stings call on me 
 to speed to his injured presence, and sigh out 
 my repentance at his feet." 
 
 De Mara was somewhat confounded at the sud- 
 denness of this request. For himself, he did not 
 care much about the proprieties, but it was some- 
 what beyond his calculation to find so young and 
 beautiful a female thus throwing herself upon the 
 honour and guidance of a stranger at a bare mo- 
 ment's notice. The most annoying point, however, 
 was, that he was a little too far involved in fiction 
 to avail himself of the offer ; for, with all his inge- 
 nuity, he doubted whether he could find a Bou- 
 ieille de Firiy where an elderly gentleman had been 
 so obliging as to faint away for the occasion. 
 Consummate, then, as he was in the arts of de- 
 ceit, the whole of these difficulties, facing him at
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN, 
 
 129 
 
 once, made him pause for a moment ere he fur- 
 nished a reply to the maiden's eager petition. 
 
 " You hesitate !" cried Madeline : — *' indeed, — 
 indeed — " 
 
 " If I hesitate," answered the Count, "it is 
 from the fear that what I have to say may wound 
 your excited feelings more than I could wish." 
 
 Madeline became alarmed, and the blood was 
 with her cheek, and away again, in less than a 
 moment. At length, — *' If," said she, *' there is 
 yet worse for me to hear, be merciful, and deliver 
 it quickly. You would say that my uncle — " 
 
 " Your uncle ! Was that reverend indeed your 
 uncle ? — Then it was fortunate that I stayed afr 
 the Bouteille de Vin long enough to see the end of 
 the affair." 
 
 '* Fortunate !— End ! " cried Madeline ;— "oh, 
 for mercy, what end ?" 
 
 " Nay, be not alarmed," answered the Count. 
 " When I said that I might wound your feelings, 
 it was because I had to confess my incompetency 
 to conduct you to your uncle ; for before I quitted
 
 130 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 the Bouteille de Fin, he had so far recovered from 
 the fatigue which had overpowered him as to 
 mount his horse again, and proceed on his road 
 towards Geneva." 
 
 MadeUne for the moment felt relieved. It was 
 true she had lost her present chance of meeting 
 with Seaton, but she had gained the knowledge 
 that that which had raised such terrible apprehen- 
 sions in her mind had passed off as a momentary 
 sickness, and not unfitted him whom she sought 
 for the renewal of his journey. 
 
 '* But perhaps," continued she after a pause, 
 and with one sole object still in view, — " perhaps 
 he mentioned at the inn where he was likely to 
 stay on his arrival at Geneva V 
 
 ** That could hardly be,'* returned the noble- 
 man, '* for I was with him the whole time that he 
 rested at the Bouteille de Vin ; and I could not 
 avoid observing that there was a secresy about his 
 intentions, which he was determined to preserve^ 
 and which appeared to have entire concealment of 
 his motions for its object*
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 131 
 
 Madeline sighed ; but still her heart was some- 
 what at rest with the thought that she had pro- 
 cured certain information of Seaton*s progress to 
 Geneva, and that Madame Lalande's abode there 
 still furnished a hope that she might be able to 
 trace him as soon as she reached that city. 
 
 The recurrence of that lady's name to her 
 thoughts brought it to her utterance. 
 
 '^ May I ask, Sir," said she, " if you are an in- 
 habitant of Geneva?" 
 
 '''It is at present my abode," replied the 
 Count, " but I am a native of France." 
 
 " Possibly you may know a lady of the name 
 of Lalande, a resident in Geneva ?" • 
 
 The Count was obliged to acknowledge him- 
 self ignorant on that point ; ''but was it essential 
 to Mademoiselle to procure that lady's address ?" 
 
 The answer to this question led to further 
 conversation, in the course of which Madeline, 
 who in her calamitous situation was ready to 
 look upon any one that would listen to her mis- 
 fortunes in the light of a friend, was induced to
 
 132 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 relate the circumstances which had brought 
 her thus far from Unwalden on her road to 
 Geneva. The stranger had already shown him- 
 self interested in her story ; he had even in a 
 manner acted a part in the little drama of the 
 day ; and she saw no necessity to suppress those 
 fuller details, of which he had already gathered 
 the outlines by those passionate exclamations to 
 which she had yielded when the memory of 
 Seaton was so vividly presented to her mind. 
 It is one of the attributes of a frank and candid 
 disposition, uncontaminated by the world's cold 
 selfishness, to believe that all others, with which 
 it may come in contact, are cast in the same 
 mould ; and it adopts in all the conscious- 
 ness of its own sincerity of intention the first 
 overtures that are made to it in the way of 
 kindness. 
 
 It is iaipossible for words to do justice to 
 the manner in which Madeline related her simple 
 story ; and Count de Mara, all-accomplished as 
 he was in the ways of women, was compelled
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 133 
 
 to acknowledge to himself that this was nature 
 indeed, — nature in her loveliest shape, to which 
 till that moment he had been a stranger. Up to 
 this period he had looked upon the knowledge 
 and interpretation of women as a sort of science, 
 to which by right of innumerable instances he 
 had fully attained. But here w^as something with 
 which he had never met before. It was impos- 
 sible to resist the enthusiastic praises which 
 Madeline lavished on the care-bent Seaton; — it 
 was impossible to gainsay the generous indigna- 
 tion with which she upbraided herself for having 
 caused his departure so abruptly and unkindly ; 
 — it was impossible to listen to the sweet flow 
 of eloquence with which she bedecked her 
 brother's character without believing that he must 
 be every thing worthy of being loved, if capable 
 of drawing such words from a being, herself so 
 lovely and persuasive. 
 
 It was well for the Count, perhaps, that 
 Madeline's ardent detail called for no interrup- 
 tion on his part ; or, with all his ready wit and
 
 134 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 spirit of invention, he might have forgotten the 
 character up to which he had to act, and have 
 so irretrievably lost himself in truth as to be 
 unable to recover the tortuous path which he 
 loved so well, and out of which (so much had 
 habit prevailed) he felt himself beyond his 
 element. 
 
 Ere she paused, however, he had found time 
 to resolve his mind as to what course he would 
 pursue; and with this object before him, he led 
 her to speak of her future prospects — of what 
 she expected, what she hoped, and what she 
 feared* 
 
 ''But after all," continued Madehne, "the 
 whole must depend on my meeting with Madame 
 Lalande. After what I have related to you," 
 added she, ''you will not be surprised when I 
 tell you that I look upon this old friend of my 
 mother as the best known hope I have in the 
 world, either to restore me to my uncle, or, in his 
 absence, to guide my steps aright." 
 
 De Mara's eyes kindled at this announcement,
 
 OllPHANS Of UNWALDEN. 135 
 
 which so well accorded with the plan that he had 
 already concocted in his mind. 
 
 Madeline perceived it. " You smile, Sir,'* 
 said she ; *' I hope it bodes good fortune for 
 your suppliant.'' 
 
 " It is at the thought that I may be able to 
 discover this Madame Lalande for you," replied 
 the Count. 
 
 '' Oh, Sir, do that, and indeed you will prove 
 my friend." 
 
 ** I have a friend below,'* continued De Mara, 
 **who is much better acquainted with Geneva 
 than I can pretend to be, as he has resided there 
 for some years. We will consult him, with youf 
 permission ; and at all events, if he knows not the 
 lady, he may be able to point out some method 
 by which her place of residence is likely to be 
 found." 
 
 Madeline intreated the Count to request the 
 presence of his friend immediately ; and he ac- 
 cordingly withdrew for that purpose. 
 
 Ere many minutes had elapsed, and almost
 
 136 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 before Madeline had found time to communicate 
 by signs to Albert what was taking place in the 
 prosecution of their object, De Mara returned 
 with the Chevaher Altoz, and introduced him by 
 that name to the lady. 
 
 '*We are indeed fortunate," continued the 
 Count, " for the Chevalier is not only acquainted 
 with Madame Lalande by name, but has a shght 
 personal knowledge of her also; so that you 
 have only to reach Geneva to meet with her 
 directly." 
 
 Madeline could hardly believe that she heard 
 aright, for so convinced was she, that through 
 Madame Lalande she should be able to trace 
 Seaton, that the finding this lady appeared to 
 her to be the cast upon which she had set her 
 soul ; and to have the introduction to her thus 
 easily unravelled, was an event almost beyond 
 her expectation; for, although on Albert first 
 originating the idea, the thing had appeared easy 
 to her unsophisticated mind, yet subsequent re- 
 flection, and some conversation which she had
 
 OnPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 137 
 
 had on the matter with the postiUion and the 
 hostess, had had the effect of considerably damp- 
 ing her hopes. 
 
 "And may I trust to your friend," said she, 
 almost with rapture in her voice, " to guide me 
 to the dear lady, on whom all my hopes of hap- 
 piness are now resting ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly," said Altoz ; *' and I cannot 
 but congratulate myself on being able at so cheap 
 a rate to oblige a lady, who has a right, both 
 from circumstances and appearance, to command 
 all my services." 
 
 *' And what sort of a lady is my dear Madame 
 Lalande?" asked Madeline, whose heart was 
 overflowing at the thought of meeting her on 
 the morrow, and who was eager to be prepared 
 on all points for the approaching interview. 
 
 Altoz looked somewhat confused, while De 
 Mara stopped any thing he might have attempted 
 to say with a laugh, observing — " Poor Chevalier ! 
 you could not have asked him a more unlucky 
 question. Sorry am I already to have to an-
 
 138 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 nounce my friend's failings on so short an ac- 
 quaintance ; but, in honest truth, never was there 
 a man of less observation. If he had seen 
 Madame Lalande a thousand times, I v^^ill venture 
 to say he would hardly know whether she was 
 a giant or a dwarf. I can give it you as a 
 fact " 
 
 " No facts, De Mara," cried Altoz with a 
 half-blush : " as to your comments, when this 
 lady knows you as well as 1 do, she will under- 
 stand the spirit in which they are made, and heed 
 them as little." 
 
 ''Oh, but you must have the fact," continued 
 the Count, "it illustrates so beautifully. Believe 
 me, dear Madam, this gentleman, modest though 
 he seems, had the assurance, when in Spain, to 
 propose to some Don Magnifico or another for 
 his daughter ; and by dint of certain rumours 
 that went abroad touching the largeness of his 
 fortune and the ancient blood that flowed in his 
 veins, he obtained permission to make a visit of 
 form. His audience lasted an hour and a half. —
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 139 
 
 Heaven only knows what Sir Bashful found to 
 say to occupy all that time ; but when I sought 
 him to learn his success, and was all impatience 
 for a most florid description of the lady, he posi- 
 tively broke down on the very first stage, not 
 being quite sure whether her hair was auburn 
 or black." 
 
 The laugh that De Mara raised against his 
 friend by this anecdote was interrupted by 
 the entry of the landlady, who, with not 
 the pleasantest look in the world, whispered 
 Madeline. 
 
 " Let the supper be brought in," said the 
 maiden aloud, *^for I trust both these gentlemen 
 will give me the favour of their company." 
 
 Altoz gave the Count a look of participating 
 triumph, as much as to say, *' So your wager is 
 won!" While the hostess, astonished at the 
 fluctuation of her young guest, who but a short 
 time before had made it her special request 
 to be left alone and uninterrupted, protested that 
 she had only prepared enough for two, and that
 
 140 transfusion; or, the 
 
 were the party doubled, she should be unable to 
 provide sufficient. 
 
 *' My good friend, the hostess," said De Mara 
 with a laugh, " need not alarm herself, for both 
 the Chevalier and myself are absolutely compelled 
 to reach Geneva to-night, and consequently have 
 not the hour to spare which otherwise would be 
 so well bestowed, of availing ourselves of Made- 
 moiselle's obhging invitation." 
 
 Altoz stared as if he did not well comprehend 
 the game his friend was playing ; but at length 
 imagining that he was only fighting off to be 
 pressed more zealously to stay, he exclaimed, 
 " Do not you think our business at Geneva 
 might be postponed till to-morrow ? " 
 
 ''I trust so indeed," added Madeline, "for I 
 had hoped to be ushered by you into Geneva, 
 that my meeting with Madame Lalande might 
 be rendered the more assured." 
 
 "That meeting most assuredly shall be made 
 certain," replied the nobleman, " though una- 
 voidable business prevents our staying to super-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 141 
 
 intend your journey to the city. The roads, 
 however, are perfectly safe, and your postillion 
 to-morrow morning will drive you under your 
 directions to the hotel which is known by the 
 name of the Coq d'Or, where it shall be our 
 care to be in attendance to receive you, for the 
 purpose of conducting you to Madame Lalande 
 at least, if any unforeseen circumstance should 
 prevent her coming to the hotel." 
 
 *' Many, many thanks for the trouble you are 
 taking," said Madeline; ''the dehght you will 
 see depicted on my brother's countenance and 
 mine, should it lead to the recovery of my uncle, 
 will, I think, reward you." 
 
 The Count bowed his acknowledgments, and 
 then, after a somewhat more formal leave-taking, 
 in which he was joined by Altoz, the two gen- 
 tlemen withdrew.
 
 142 
 
 transfusion; or, the 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
 The woods, wild-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides, 
 Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hills. 
 The eye with wonder and amazement fills. — Burns. 
 
 The one of them, the false Duessa night, 
 TJiat now had changed her former wonted hue ; 
 
 For she could don so many shapes in sight, 
 As ever could cameleon colours new ; 
 So could she forge all colours save the true. 
 
 The Faerie Queene. 
 
 "In the name of wonder," said Altoz to his 
 friend, as they descended the stairs, ''what is 
 the meaning of this ? It is a new movement 
 of pride for the most redoubtable and unaccount- 
 able Count De Mara to be within grasp of his
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 143 
 
 object, and then throw down the whole machinery, 
 as children in a pet get rid of a house of cards. 
 Now, prithee, what was it ? Did my Countship 
 smell garlic when the hostess opened the door 
 to announce supper ? Or is the rumour true, 
 that even the stoutest heart quakes at the dis- 
 pleasure of a landlady ? " 
 
 " Most admirably spoken !" replied De Mara, 
 with a laugh ; '' what pity that 'twas not 
 grounded in common sense ! Oh, most short- 
 sighted friend, cannot you imagine that I may 
 have been so struck with the girl up-stairs as to 
 wish to find in her something beyond a mere 
 supper acquaintance?" 
 
 *' In truth, I guessed as much," said the 
 Chevalier ; '^ but that only serves to make the 
 thing stranger. Rome was not built in a day ; 
 and to my simple comprehension, an accepted 
 supper invitation, with a promised escort to 
 Geneva in the distance, would have formed no 
 bad commencement to greater opportunities." 
 
 " Simply comprehended, indeed, my friend !
 
 144 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 Oh that I could teach you wisdom in the ways 
 of women ! Believe me, while I speak it in all 
 seriousness, this Madehne Schvolen, for such she 
 tells me is her name, has to her share no small 
 power of mind. I can in part excuse your not 
 discovering it, as you had not all the advantages 
 that I had in hearing her tell her own story, 
 and draw her own conclusions." 
 
 '* But holding that she be a very Madame 
 Dacier in learning, or no less than a Queen Ehza- 
 beth of England in power, still, where was the 
 reason for our turning our backs when she offered 
 us so fair-faced an opportunity of improving our 
 acquaintance ? " 
 
 ** Positively, Altoz, you get beyond endurance. 
 Have I not told her that you can conduct her to 
 Madame Lalande ? Have I not promised to be 
 in attendance at the Coq d^Or by noon to-morrow, 
 to introduce her to that particular acquaintance of 
 yours ? Think you then, that with these tasks on 
 my hands, I had any time to stay and sup, when 
 there is yet a Madame Lalande to be found, and
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 145 
 
 a thousand instructions to be given before to- 
 morrow noon, in order to set matters in a right 
 train for the maiden's reception ? " 
 
 '^ Cry you mercy," said the ChevaUer, " I do 
 begin to see wisdom in our departure." 
 
 *' Prodigious ! Have I already enHghtened you 
 so far ? Then, prithee, good ChevaHer, make 
 bold, as I do, to tread lightly along this passage, 
 and to horse, before' those boisterous messmen of 
 an idle hour, who are now doubtless under Mara- 
 velli's tuition, drinking ill success to our supper, 
 get a hint that we have given them the slip." 
 
 '' But, think ye, they will not resent our unce- 
 remonious absence, and, by some unlucky disclo- 
 sure, mar the plot which already promises to be 
 worthy of even your plotful genius ? " 
 
 *• Well bethought," replied De Mara ; " I will 
 pass a word to Maravelli, which shall prevent so 
 ill-omened a change in my worship of Cupid and 
 his freakful mother. It is only giving the Italian 
 a supposed triumph over me for the time. And 
 now. Chevalier, lightly — lightly by this turning, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 ]46 transfusion; or, the 
 
 and without a breath. To have them upon me in 
 their present hurly-burly mood would be death to 
 all my projects." 
 
 Altoz did as he was requested, and in a few mi- 
 nutes the pair found themselves in front of the inn ; 
 the horses were out in a minute, and De Mara, 
 having handed a pencil note to the ostler to be 
 delivered to Maravelli in explanation of his depar- 
 ture, vaulted into his saddle in a twinkling, and, 
 accompanied by Altoz, galloped off for Geneva. 
 
 Long time they pursued their hurried pace 
 without a word falling from either. Indeed, the 
 rapidity with which they pushed for the city 
 pretty nearly precluded them from conversation. 
 At length Altoz, willing to know something 
 further of his leader's intentions, called out to him 
 that he believed his horse had picked up a stone, 
 and that he must stop to ease him of the incum- 
 brance. 
 
 *' Not for a moment, dear Altoz !" said the Count ; 
 '* for once, for my sake, let him hold his pace 
 even at a discomfort. Each moment grows more
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 147 
 
 precious as I lose it ; we are already far into the 
 night, and my task, as I survey it, grows larger 
 and larger.'^ 
 
 And with this, clapping spurs afresh to his 
 horse, on he bounded with increased velocity, as 
 though struggling to exceed the pace of the very 
 car of night. 
 
 Altoz, not so full heated with the project that 
 moved them forward at so fearful a rate as his 
 companion, could not but observe the sort of road 
 along which they held their course ; bold-browed 
 rocks and deep-mouthed precipices were upon 
 them on every side ; and, as they came to each 
 winding in the road, it seemed to him as if 
 De Mara, who was precursor in their swift career, 
 had devoted himself, like a second Martins Cur- 
 tius, to the yawning of the gulf before him, 
 and was ready on the instant to perform his vow. 
 Both the riders, however, were admirable horse- 
 men ; and with little more than a glance at the 
 strange cracks which past ages had made in 
 Nature's bosom, they rode vehemently yet warily
 
 148 transfusion; or, the 
 
 onward, now under the deep shade of some super- 
 imminent crag, and anon emerging thence into 
 the full moonshine, given over and over again 
 from the surface of a dozen petty streams and tiny 
 lakes that crossed their path, — till at length they 
 reached the stream and lake, indeed, where the 
 great and noisy Rhone rushes in double chan- 
 nel from the huge expanse of water that ever sup- 
 plies its course, and where that same expanse, 
 spreading on every side, with waves for its sur- 
 face, and mountains for its crowning, looks Hke 
 some vast immeasurable inland sea pent up and 
 beating its patient shores for egress and permission 
 to devastate the southern champaign with its roll 
 of waters. 
 
 Geneva was gained. Then, and not till then, 
 De Mara saw fit to slacken his pace ; and, in a 
 few minutes, Altoz, who had been getting more 
 and more into the background during the latter 
 part of the gallop against time, was by his side. 
 
 ^' That may be called a very tolerable moon- 
 light ride," said the Count, as soon as the Cheva-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 149 
 
 lier joined him ; *' and, had it been performed 
 in England, the newspapers there would have 
 rung of the feat for a week, with a daily bulletin 
 of the health of our horses after their exertion." 
 
 *' It is just as well for you/' said the Chevalier, 
 *' that the newspapers should not ring with the 
 feat ; for, when it is known that men have ridden 
 five-and-twenty miles at the rate we have to- 
 night, and over such prettily broken ground too, 
 they are apt to inquire for the motive that induced 
 such an undertaking." 
 
 " Any one may know my motive," cried the 
 Count, with a laugh ; " for it was simply this — 
 my extreme anxiety to pay my earliest respects 
 to Madame Deboos." 
 
 " Deboos ! " cried Altoz ; " Oh the hag ! — 
 Give you good night, my noble Count ; you shall 
 not get me to go an inch nearer her dwelling. I 
 thought this last turning we made had evil in it, 
 for Guzman stumbled as I reined him round. 
 When a horse, that has borne me so truly over 
 such places as I have seen to-night, comes to
 
 150 
 
 a stumble in a smooth street, I might have guessed 
 that there was mischief brewing. I would sooner 
 face Hecate, with a thousand minor witches in 
 her train, than that infernal Deboos. 1 never 
 cross her path but I think she smells sulphureous, 
 savouring to a degree of what Virgil would attri- 
 bute to Avernus.'* 
 
 '* Bravo ! " exclaimed the Count ; " these 
 midnight rambles agree with my Chevaher; for 
 he has become superstitious and poetical both in a 
 breath. We shall make something of you yet, 
 Altoz ! " 
 
 '^ Any thing you will,*' rephed Altoz, ^^ save 
 and except a disciple of Deboos. I forswore her 
 for ever yesterday was a week." 
 
 *' Oh, if you have dates and oaths to quote, I 
 must rescind. But, be of good courage : my 
 friend Deboos is but a woman after all ,• and I 
 thought the Chevalier Altoz was too valorous to 
 shrink from any of the kind. Tell me your cause 
 of quarrel at least? '* 
 
 *' How can you ask it? It lies on the surface,
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 151 
 
 and is evident to all that have once been in her 
 company. It lies on the surface, Count.'* 
 
 " Nay," said De Mara, *' if you are quarreUing 
 with an old woman's complexion, there is nothing 
 to be said." 
 
 '* Psha !" replied Altoz, pettishly, *' who spoke 
 of her complexion ? There is such a thing as 
 the surface of the mind as well as the surface 
 of the body. What ! is it my turn to become 
 instructor to the all-wise Count de Mara ? " 
 
 " No— no," cried the Count, *' only interpreter 
 of your own meanings. But now that you have 
 mentioned the matter of grievance, I will venture^ 
 a wager — and, as I have lost one to-day, I shall 
 take care to do nothing rash in that way, — but I 
 will venture a trifle that I can lay my finger on 
 the flaw in her mind's complexion (if that must be 
 the phrase) with which you have fallen out." 
 
 " Let me hear. You shall have a candid con- 
 firmation if you have lighted on the true source." 
 
 *' It is, then, her wisdom which has made these 
 odds between you."
 
 152 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 *^ Humph !" said Altoz; *' perhaps, — peradven- 
 ture, — and so on." 
 
 " Which ' so on/ " cried the Count, '* means 
 certainly, and out of doubt. I knew it, and will 
 tell you why ; — simply, because I have been 
 acquainted with you both full time enough to dis- 
 cover your contrarieties of character. If Deboos 
 is not allowed to think that she is the very pilot 
 of all the ocean she is called upon to sail in, she 
 becomes as unmanageable as a young horse the 
 first day he is committed to the breaker's care, 
 and will not be ruled by ay or nay." 
 
 *' You have hit it in part," said Altoz, '' but 
 forgot to sum up the conclusion, which is, that in 
 shunning Scylla, you get upon Charybdis ; for, 
 though to avoid her guidance is a quarrel pre- 
 pense, to yield to it is ruin fore-ordained." 
 
 '^ But," replied the Count, '* there is a happy 
 medium still left to him who can truly piay 
 the game of life, and handle the sinuositiies of 
 disposition with that niceness of touch which 
 shows the master. Deboos would be pilot. Have
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 153 
 
 with her ! But in your manceuvres be sure that 
 she is only the rudder — the apparent instrument 
 of what takes place, but in reality nothing but the 
 passive result of the skilful helmsman's move- 
 ments. See, Altoz, my lecture has brought me to 
 her door. Pluck up your courage, man, and in 
 with me, that I may practically illustrate what I 
 flatter myself I have not mal-adroitly laid down 
 in principle." 
 
 ^' To give my commander-in-chief," said Altoz, 
 with a shrug, ** so fair an opportunity of illustra- 
 ting his principles, I will for once make a sacrifice 
 of mine. Believe me, De Mara, it is no small 
 effort for me to consent once again to face that 
 domineering devil in petticoats, and I therefore 
 pray you to observe I attend only as a listener, — 
 to con a lesson, if you will have it so. Not a 
 word shall escape my lips, for, if I once encourage 
 her attack, I shall gain nothing but a bout at 
 scolding, and you still less, for it may go near to 
 spoil the purpose for which you are here." 
 
 ** Wisely resolved, my prince of laconics," cried
 
 154 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 the Count ; '' and lest so excellent a determina- 
 tion should evaporate, I will make the door 
 my tell-tale, and see how much beating it takes to 
 rouse a woman at two in the morning/' 
 
 It was some time, however, before there ap- 
 peared any likelihood of either the one or the 
 other obtaining ingress ,• and while the Count was 
 impatiently engaged knocking at the door, Altoz, 
 who had no such eagerness for admittance, stood 
 laughing at the hurried exclamations with which 
 his friend accompanied each repetition of the 
 stroke. 
 
 " Bravo, Count, bravo !" cried he, after a more 
 noisy performance of the nobleman than ever: — 
 ** bravo! — if this were but the poet's street of 
 Geneva, that last attack would have roused one 
 of the tribe from his bed to discharge his genius 
 in a simile, in which you would have figured 
 as Jove the Thunderer. What ! another peal ! 
 Was not the former hint loud enough to justify a 
 minute's pause ? Would that you were cloud- 
 compelling Jove as well as Jove the Thunderer^
 
 ORPHANS OP UNWALDEN. 155 
 
 that yon bright moon might be hid, and her Hght 
 a Httle dimmed ; for, if my eyes do not deceive 
 me, I see more than one head peeping at us 
 through neighbour windows. Besides, if a stray 
 passenger should be drawn this way by the 
 knocking, there is light enough to show our 
 plight, which, with the dust of five-and-twenty 
 long miles on our dress, is none of the most 
 splendid." 
 
 " Do, for the love of success," cried the Count, 
 " cease that wonderful flow of wit for a few 
 minutes. I think I hear some one stirring within ; 
 so that it be a human being, I care not who or 
 what." 
 
 *' There you are wrong, my friend. If that be 
 not Deboos herself, the chances are that you get 
 no admission ; for she will discover that it was 
 wrong in any one to rise at such an hour without 
 her specific orders, and so deny the opening 
 of the door; and, if it be Deboos, why then the 
 chances still are that you get no admission, for 
 she will discover that such a knocking at such an
 
 156 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 hour was essentially improper, and not to be 
 countenanced by suffering him that knocked 
 to gain the object for which he knocked." 
 
 " Most admirable logician ! Oh that Nature 
 should have made such a one a Chevalier instead 
 of an advocate ! But I was right : I hear a 
 renewed movement within. A confirmatory knock 
 may chance to quicken their pace/' And again 
 the Count, in his impatience, made the door 
 resound. 
 
 Before he had arrived at the end of this con- 
 cluding peal, the door flew open, and Madame 
 Deboos herself appeared in the opening. The 
 figure that she presented was not a little extraor- 
 dmary, and, often as the Chevalier Altoz had seen 
 her, he could not forbear shrinking by an involun- 
 tary motion of his body, as it were, from the sta- 
 tion which he occupied, when he first cast his eyes 
 upon her. Madame Deboos was a woman that 
 had probably never been handsome in her best 
 days, further than expression can make the human 
 countenance so ; and now that time had marked
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 157 
 
 her line by line, till the deep and expressive fur- 
 rows of her face were striking and perspicuous, 
 any thing that came under the idea of beauty was 
 of course out of the question ; but she still was 
 what she had ever been — a most commanding crea- 
 ture, something within human nature indeed, but 
 far beyond what we understand as definitely ap- 
 plicable to feminine human nature. Her stature 
 was towering and lofty, but at the same time fully 
 borne out by her general proportions and the per- 
 fect carriage which she applied to her conditions. 
 The whole head was such a one as Michael Angelo 
 might have invented in his boldest moments, when 
 his whole soul was on fire to produce something 
 overpowering and out of all comparison. But the 
 prodigy above all of the whole countenance was the 
 eye; full, large, and magnificently shaded with 
 nature's fringe, she could, when she pleased, sub- 
 due its gaze, and soften it even to soothingness ; 
 but when she was roused, — when her soul was ex- 
 cited to put on its armour, and launch its dart 
 through that medium which has been so finely de-
 
 158 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 signaled " the soul's window," then it was that 
 the power of her eye was felt and acknowledged ; 
 then it was that it sent forth its invisible but 
 heartfelt messengers, ranging and ranging till it 
 swept into its own circle of influence the whole fa- 
 culties of those it encountered. It was this power, 
 still more than her words, — and they wanted neither 
 refinement nor searchingness, — that had excited 
 more awe in the mind of Altoz than he chose to 
 confess, and which had not passed De Mara by 
 unfelt, though he was too much in love with him- 
 self ever to admit, even to his own most inward 
 thoughts, that aught in the shape of woman could 
 excite an emotion in his bosom to which he was 
 unwilling to give harbourage. 
 
 But though one of these two extremes made up 
 her general appearance, this night her countenance 
 had an aspect with which those most accustomed 
 to her looks were unacquainted. Her countenance, 
 which usually had something of the hectic in it, 
 and which, when excited, became even florid, was 
 now deadly pale. It was as though the hand of
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 159 
 
 death had traversed her face, and left its palUd 
 mark behind. The whole of her limbs were 
 affected by a slight palsy ; and even her voice par- 
 took of the emotion, and evinced a tremor never 
 before its wont, as she exclaimed, '' I thought so. 
 None short of De Mara could have ventured on 
 such a disturbance at an hour when weak hearts 
 and prudent heads deem it wiser to keep the cus- 
 tom of the world and sleep away their cares. But 
 you are welcome, my friend ; and for the sake of 
 this visit, I can even tolerate Altoz's impertinen- 
 ces, of which I had hoped I had heard and seen 
 the last," 
 
 "It is a choice meeting on both sides, then, 
 Deboos," said the Count, '' for, be sure, I am 
 otherwise too much in love with the decencies, to 
 intrude at such an hour ;" and as he spoke this he 
 gave it emphasis with such a sneer as men seldom 
 indulge in, till they feel confident of the ground, 
 upon which they stand, and the persons by whom 
 their motions are surveyed. 
 
 ** Make it choicer," said the female, '* by send-
 
 160 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 ing away that loiterer ; and we will to business on 
 the instant." 
 
 '^ That cannot well be/' replied the Count, ** for 
 as my present errand in part includes the Cheva- 
 lier*s services, I must intreat your patience both 
 for my story and his presence." 
 
 The Count then, as briefly as the facts would 
 permit, related his adventures with Madeline, 
 and repeated the story which she had given 
 to him in explanation of the motives which 
 had induced her and Albert to quit Unwalden 
 for Geneva. 
 
 ** And now," continued he, " that you have 
 heard all the circumstances of the affair, you may 
 easily guess my motive in coming here. I have 
 the honour to salute Madame Lalande." 
 
 *' Thank Heaven, Count," said the newly- 
 christened lady, ** that the task you have imposed 
 is an easy one ; for whatever its amount might 
 have been, I was in no condition to refuse, as you 
 will presently hear. But as my business, unlike 
 yours, does not require the services of the Cheva-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 161 
 
 Her, perhaps I may now be allowed to reduce the 
 dialogue to a teie-d-tele ?" 
 
 Altoz understood the hint, and, true to his text, 
 without uttering a word, withdrew. 
 
 *' And now^, Lalande-Deboos, or Deboos-La- 
 lande," cried the Count, *' how is it that I am to 
 balance the account ?" 
 
 ** Shortly thus. Count ; you must let me have 
 three hundred Louis-d'ors before noon; for without 
 that I shall be neither in temper nor condition to 
 play this new Lalande's part, which at best has 
 been given me at short notice, and which ought to 
 have some consideration." 
 
 *^0n that head," replied the Count, ** I have 
 no fears. My Deboos has her wits too much 
 about her to miss in so small an undertaking : be- 
 sides, all my hints on the subject are contained in 
 this one, — Remember, the girl has sense. But, 
 then, three hundred Louis-d'ors ! Positively, the 
 sum is beyond a joke." 
 
 '* Very likely ; but not a whit the less certain 
 that I must have them. If I had not been the
 
 162 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 most reasonable of women, I should have asked 
 for four, for the three hundred must be paid away 
 by noon." 
 
 *' Paid away ! That is a new feature in your 
 character," cried the Count; '* I never before 
 knew you to be in such a hurry to pay money, as 
 to dispose of it before you had it. Suppose we 
 make the three hundred payable when Madeline 
 has adopted you ? " 
 
 '* Then she never will adopt me," exclaimed 
 Deboos, passionately ; " for I stir neither hand 
 nor foot in the business till the Louis-d'ors are 
 paid. Come, come. Count, you and I have been 
 too long acquainted to need ceremony now ; and 
 you know me well enough to understand, that 
 when I have said the money must be forthcoming, 
 it is in vain to hope to shake me." 
 
 *' Well, but at least let me have the satisfaction 
 of knowing how my money is to be spent." 
 
 " Ask it not," cried Deboos with a shudder : — 
 " would I knew not myself. A claim has been 
 made on me this night, which I have not power to
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 163 
 
 resist. Long 1 fought, boldly I contested, but the 
 monster was too much for me : his hold was too 
 griping and irresistible ; and I have not only pro- 
 mised, but must perform my promise." 
 
 " Well, well,'' cried De Mara ; *' the money 
 shall be ready for you if you will come to my hotel 
 by ten this morning. But you are a strange un- 
 accountable creature. I thought when we entered, 
 something extraordinary must have passed to have 
 excited you to such a degree." 
 
 ** No, no ! nothing had happened. Never heed 
 the matter. 'Tis but the remains of last night's 
 fever, and by noon I shall again be myself to re- , 
 ceive your visiter. At ten, you said, the money 
 should be ready." 
 
 '* At ten : till then, adieu I I must seek an 
 hour's repose to brace me for the coming day, 
 which promises to be a busy one. Good repose, 
 Deboos ! " 
 
 And with this the Count withdrew to the street, 
 where he found Altoz ready mounted and waiting 
 for his arrival.
 
 164 transfusion; or, the 
 
 *' Good repose ! said he ;" cried the female 
 whom he had just quitted: — ** that must be by 
 and bye, when the cold earth and I lie cheek to 
 cheek. Till then, thorns for my pillow, and 
 spiked boards for my resting-place : unless, in- 
 deed ah, that was well thought of. It shall be 
 
 tried." 
 
 And, as if under the impulse of some sudden 
 and unprepared emotion, she passed quickly 
 to the back of the premises, where a sort of 
 out-house was erected, which appeared to be 
 filled with all kinds of lumber and ill-assorted 
 stores. 
 
 ** Urfort, Urfort,'* cried she, '* come forth, thou 
 creature of shade and night.'' 
 
 •'A man, stunted and thickset in his appear- 
 ance, and whose somewhat grizzled locks bespoke 
 the passage of some fifty winters over them, made 
 his appearance at her bidding. — The contrast be- 
 tween the two was extraordinary. — She of a tow- 
 ering height and figure — he stunted and ill grown 
 — made but an ill-matched pair. But, look in their
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 165 
 
 faces, and the comparison was still more distinct. 
 She, in her worst moments, had a deep-seated, 
 intellectual expression spread over her counte- 
 nance, which gave token of what the creature 
 might have been, had not ill passions and swerv- 
 ing temper been predominant. But seek for soul 
 in the lineaments of his face, and how vain the 
 search! His best expression was reckless jollity, 
 which, as the passions moved him, retrograded ra- 
 pidly, but surely, to staring audacity, malicious 
 cunning, and fixed brutality. 
 
 As soon as he stood before her — " Urfort," said 
 she, " let us parley no further. The three hun- 
 dred Louis you ask for shall be yours on one con- 
 dition." 
 
 "One condition!" cried Urfort : ''you shall 
 make three hundred conditions if you please, — or 
 three thousand, — or three millions. I love con- 
 ditions ; — they sound so diplomatic and states- 
 man-like. It always makes me think that I am 
 at last quitting the poor rogue to become the rich 
 one."
 
 166 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 " Peace, peace, man ! and listen to my pro- 
 posal. The three hundred Louis shall be yours." 
 
 '*Ay; you said that before: but never mind, — 
 I can bear the repetition of such a sentiment, — or 
 rather fact — (pray, let me mind my grammar) a 
 score of times." 
 
 '* Yours on condition that never again you cross 
 my path : — never, while life holds us, see me, 
 speak to me, or write to me ! What say you ?" 
 
 *' I say — of course ! Why, what now, Goody ? 
 — Our days of love are long since passed. Why, 
 then, should I say ' Ay ' when you say ' Nay ? ' 
 Did you fear that part of the gold would be spent 
 in a serenade under your window ? That might 
 have done when we were in sunny Italy, and all 
 our raptures young ; but now neither the climate 
 of heaven nor of our feehngs suits such puling 
 crotchets." 
 
 " Oh, Urfort, speak not of Italy." 
 
 *' What, out of conceit with poor Italy too, as 
 well as with me ? Why, we had jovial hours 
 there, child. Do you remember the gardens of
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 167 
 
 Paulini, where we were all laughter? Do you 
 remember the woods of Arva, where we were all 
 love ? Do you remember the casino of your uncle 
 — requiescat in pace — where — " 
 
 *' Monster, villain ! dare you name him? Dare 
 you remind me of that deed of blood, and wicked- 
 ness V 
 
 " Well, well, let it pass then ! not but what it 
 was a good argument when you refused the three 
 hundred Louis. Apropos, how am I to receive 
 the same?" 
 
 '^ You have not yet sworn never again to see 
 me." 
 
 ^' What, must I swear? Now, what silly work 
 is this ! Not but what I '11 swear if you insist. 
 What shall I swear by ? — yourself, your uncle, or 
 your three hundred Louis ? Psha, woman ! can 
 you really want an oath from me ?" 
 
 '' You say truly, Urfort. I will ask none ; for, 
 if you feel disposed to break it, it would be no 
 bond ; and I should, therefore, only be unneces- 
 sarily adding another sin to your list, already too 
 long."
 
 i68 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 " Many thanks, mother Confessor," cried Ur- 
 fort; " had I time I would officiate as father in 
 the same line ; and we would give each other mu- 
 tual absolution. — As it is, adieu ! Leave the mo- 
 ney beneath the filbert- tree in the garden, and do 
 not fear my ever troublmg you again."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 169 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Forsake the pleasure to pursue the vice. 
 
 Lord Rochester. 
 
 Nay, but we '11 admit no pause. 
 
 Heywood's Challenge for Beauty. 
 
 When the Count De Mara returned to his hotel, 
 after his interview with Madame Deboos, he 
 again and again conned over the features of 
 his design upon Madehne, to be quite sure that 
 the enp-ines which he intended to brins: to bear 
 upon his scheme were not only proper in them- 
 selves, but likely to work in a proper way towards 
 the end which he had in view. He was like some 
 deep-scheming general on the eve of a great 
 battle, that was expected to make all or to mar 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 170 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 all — all his faculties alive — and all his attention 
 applied with the soul of energy to the various 
 points of attack that were likely to present them- 
 selves. De Mara, who was a quick and accurate 
 diver into the depths of human nature, felt well 
 persuaded that the labour he had now entered 
 upon was one that would require all his skill — 
 for what Madeline wanted in knowledge of the 
 world, she more than made up in rapidity of 
 perception and in soundness of judgment: her 
 mind seemed ever to be on the alert, and nothing 
 crossed her without being weighed, balanced, 
 and an opinion formed upon its good and evil 
 proportions. The Count, who during his resi- 
 dence at Geneva had been in vain on the search 
 for a conquest worthy of his arts, was delighted 
 at having at length found one whom he 
 deemed every way sufficiently tempting to com- 
 mand his pains. The beauty of the maiden, which 
 had first struck his admiring eyes, was almost 
 forgotten, or at least had passed considerably 
 to the back-ground, as he listened to her silver
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN, 171 
 
 tones ; and even now, when alone, his chief 
 thoughts were directed towards the mental quali- 
 fications which she had displayed ; and if he ever 
 reverted to her beauty, it was only for the sake of 
 remembering how admirably its character har- 
 monized with her power of mind and tone of 
 conversation. 
 
 It was in the midst of these considerations that 
 he passed the first hour after he arrived at his 
 hotel, and then remembering that it might be 
 as well to embrace the opportunity which the 
 time afforded of obtaining a few hours' rest, he 
 threw himself on his couch in the hope of en- 
 joying so much sleep. But his mind was in too 
 active a state to allow the body that repose which 
 it required ; for even when he dozed, the disturbed 
 starts which he underwent, and the broken sen- 
 tences which he murmured throiigh the mazes 
 of his half-waking dreams, indicated that the veil 
 which Somnus had thrown around him was of 
 the frailest texture, with too little of obUvion 
 (sleep's prime ingredient) in it to allow his senses 
 to withdraw from their present ^^ be all."
 
 172 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 At length the morning came, and gave him 
 signal to arise. Impetuous, eager, and full of 
 urgent blood, he stepped from his couchj and 
 though he could hardly be said to have been 
 restored by the doubtful rest he had procured, his 
 spirit W2LS as though his whole frame was in its 
 freshest condition, and fatigue and he were little 
 known to one another. He had not, however, 
 got rid of the hurry of his manner. Expectation 
 had taken possession of his soul ; and he seemed 
 only fit to count the hours, whose death pro- 
 mised to bring him life. 
 
 There are two sorts of love. One — pure, ex- 
 quisite, and lovely ; founded on affection for a 
 single and invaluable object, and resting its 
 whole hope on that object's happiness : the other 
 is single and insidious, built only on self-gra- 
 tification and the desire of indulging at all 
 hazards an unsharing principle. But both the 
 one and the other — the good and the bad — sum- 
 mon ardour to their aid ; and, as Sylla to serve 
 himself could be as daring, bold, and resolute as 
 Regulus to serve his country, so the selfish lover
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEX. 173 
 
 is just as able to be hot in pursuit and eager 
 in attack ; nay, even more so than he who still 
 has tenderness for his beloved to check his trans- 
 port, and an honest doubt of his own worthiness 
 to possess this goddess-supposed to subdue his 
 passion's inebriety. 
 
 Altoz and Deboos were with their principal 
 by ten o'clock, and again the whole bearings of 
 the affair were commented on by the Count. So 
 anxious did he seem that every possible point 
 should have its consideration, that probably he 
 would have gone on with his instructions till 
 Madeline arrived, had not Deboos, who dreaded 
 the effects of an eclaircissement with Urfort, 
 reminded him of the money which he had en* 
 gaged to provide. 
 
 *'True, true," said the Count, ''the greatest 
 general must pay his way till he is able to forage 
 on the enemy's land. And, therefore, I have 
 prepared myself for your demand as far as the 
 urgency of the case would permit. Here are two 
 hundred and fifty Louis, all I happen to have in
 
 174 transfusion; or, the 
 
 my escritoire at this moment, and Altoz must lend 
 me the difference for a day or two, till I have time 
 to make my letters of credit available." 
 
 " Lend you the difference!'* cried Altoz; 
 "hark-ye, Count, fifty Louis or five hundred are 
 heartily at your service ; but it would go against 
 my conscience to advance even five for such a 
 purpose as this.'* 
 
 De Mara perceived that the lady was going 
 to reply in no very tender strain, and he inter- 
 posed. '* Never mind your conscience," cried 
 he ; " or strain it for once to oblige a friend. I 
 pledge you my word to show you reasons anon 
 why the thing is advisable, and even to my 
 profit." 
 
 '* Well, well," said Altoz ; " if you put it upon 
 your wisdom, I suppose the pupil must yield to 
 his master ; but, for a profitable bargain, it has as 
 Jewish a look, as if the whole were taken up 
 on bond of Israel Solomons at his risk-rate of 
 interest." 
 
 Deboos, having obtained the full amount, was
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 175 
 
 in too great a hurry to be gone to be able to 
 spare time for any remarks ; and after she was 
 again warned by the Count to be in attend- 
 ance at twelve to receive Madeline, she was 
 suffered to depart. 
 
 *' Now, dear Count, in the name of every 
 wisdom at once, I entreat you to explain; for, 
 were the reward of being made grand professor 
 of logic to three German Universities staring me 
 in the face, I could not for the soul of me invent 
 so much as a half sentence to be spoken in favour 
 of paying three hundred Louis beforehand to this 
 cousin of Lucifer, even before it is known whe- 
 ther she will execute three hundred sous of ser- 
 vice in the whole business." 
 
 " I will answer your question," said the Count, 
 '* in the first instance by asking another. Do 
 you remember why last night you advised me 
 to have nothing to do with Deboos ? " 
 
 " To be sure I do ; a deep cut is not so easily 
 healed as to prevent the smart being felt after 
 the lapse of so short a time."
 
 176 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 "Then I may tell you, by way of soothing the 
 smart, that the full force of your objection was 
 felt even by me. But there were reasons to weigh 
 against it. The notice at which our newly-made 
 Madame Lalande's part was to be played was 
 so short, that it was absolutely necessary to con- 
 fide it to a woman of talent; and Deboos was the 
 only one at hand sufficiently trustworthy in that 
 respect. Had I been in dear Paris, indeed, I 
 might have had the choice of a hundred or two 
 — all of them Debooses, or better. But here the 
 spirit of Calvin, when the stiff-backed fellow 
 died, seems to have taken up with the women 
 of the place, and, on its coming in, out went tlie 
 genius of intrigue." 
 
 " But still why was Deboos to have three hun- 
 dred Louis for doing nothing ? " 
 
 "Bless me! what a quantity of matter-of fact 
 talking you require before your brain can conceive 
 a position ! In the first place, she absolutely 
 refused to work without cash in advance : in the 
 second place, humouring her in this has made
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 177 
 
 her what your groom would call 'tender in the 
 mouth/ and turned an animal whom you might 
 well describe to be intractable as a mule into 
 something reasonable and manageable : and in 
 the third place — I like to come to your thirds, 
 it looks so categorical and argument-hke — in the 
 third place, this loan puts this wayward woman 
 somewhat in my power, and if I can but bring 
 her also to that opinion, the chances are that I 
 shall be able to guide her tolerably safely, till we 
 come to the crisis, and there I want none to 
 help me." 
 
 '' One — two — three ; finely concluded indeed ! 
 It was worth the fifty Louis to hear the general 
 explain his motives." 
 
 *' Shall we cry quits then ?" said the Count, with 
 a laugh ; " they will go nigh to help me through 
 my losings to Maravelli yesterday." 
 
 ** That was not so well concluded, speaking 
 quoad myself; and the footing you put it upon 
 makes it still worse, for it reminds me that to suit 
 your purpose I lost a supper, — a loss not to be
 
 178 transfusion; or, the 
 
 held lightly, when accompanied with the presi- 
 dency of the fiftieth Queen of the constant Count 
 de Mara's heart." 
 
 " The fiftieth she may be, — but at all events 
 the dearest." 
 
 *' Of course," replied the Chevalier, drily, — 
 ** because the last. I never could understand. 
 Count, what made you such a desperado at the 
 Change." 
 
 *' My mother, dear Altoz, — simply, my mother. 
 She tauglit me early in life to make her my confi- 
 dante. As long as my secrets went no further than 
 a truant holiday or a school-time robbery, the 
 system worked well enough : I gave her my confi- 
 dence, which she returned with her protection, 
 and we both thought ourselves gainers; but 
 when young master sprang up towards manhood, 
 the case wore its complexion ' with a difference.' 
 It was some time before I found out the change, 
 and that meanwhile was sufl3cient to fix my feel- 
 ings as to women. The first of those dear 
 decoyers of man's idle hours that I fell in love
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 179 
 
 with was a pretty brunette, whose mother was in 
 the habit of visiting at our chateau. As soon as I 
 had ascertained the fact myself, my mother had 
 the full particulars from me. ' My dear boy,' 
 quoth she, ' you must avoid her. To love, in the 
 abstract, I have no objection, but to Mademoiselle 
 Mignelle there are insuperable objections : she has 
 no temper, and her thoughts are all on a pigmy 
 scale.' Either, at that time, I was the most obe- 
 dient of sons, or my mother's manner had extra- 
 ordinary influence over me, for Mademoiselle Mig- 
 nelle la Brunette was given up, and I lost my 
 heart three days afterwards to a blonde. But 
 here there was another insuperable objection again 
 on the mother's side; and so it would have 
 probably been ad infinitum, for as fast as I fell in 
 love, my mother conjured errors * from the vasty 
 deep.' " 
 
 *' But still this must have been soon at an end/' 
 said Altoz, ** for I have always heard you say that 
 you lost your mother before you had reached 
 manhood."
 
 180 transfusion; or, the 
 
 '* That is true ; she died just as I was falling in 
 Jove for the thirteenth time. But young minds 
 both easily and forcibly receive impressions ; and 
 mine was indelibly stamped with the imperfectibi- 
 lity of women. My mother — a wise woman by 
 the way — with all her zeal for the sex, found 
 more faults than virtues in each, as they passed in 
 survey across my mirror of love ; and the conse- 
 quence was, a young but earnest resolution on my 
 part to handle the sex as wise men handle straws ; 
 — used lightly, and with a judicious hand, they 
 tickle and are pleasing ; but thrust them incau- 
 tiously into the eye or ear — give them a place 
 within, and they irritate instead of tickling, — they 
 inflict pain, instead of pleasure." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the 
 re-entry of Deboos, who, true to her appointment, 
 made her appearance as the clock struck twelve, 
 with her dress somewhat altered ; or, to use her 
 own expression, '' her external style subdued so 
 as best to soothe the daughter of Madame La- 
 lande's friend."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. J 81 
 
 The Count walked round her in the same dispo- 
 sition of mind in which Sir Giles Overreach sur- 
 veyed his daughter ; and as Margaret's gown did 
 not affect the usurious knight, so De Mara fell 
 out with the cap of his female coadjutor. 
 
 " Ye gods, what a cap, Deboos!" cried he ; *^ is 
 it borrowed from the model of the ancient Per- 
 sian fire -worshippers, or a modern Spanish auto- 
 da-f^. Is this what you mean by * subdued ? ' On 
 the faith of a gentleman, I never saw the same 
 idea similarly expressed." 
 
 *' Count de Mara," said the lady, somewhat 
 offended, ^' I beg that the judgment of my own. 
 affairs may be left to myself. Surely you have 
 nothing to do with my particular head-dress." 
 
 *^ There you are mistaken," replied the other; 
 ** itis part and parcel of our treaty of aUiance that 
 all matters were to be in accordance for the peace- 
 able reception of Madehne." 
 
 '* True," cried Altoz ; " and I am sure there 
 can be httlehope of peace under such inflammatory 
 colours. No garrison would dream of surren-
 
 182 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 dering at discretion while they were exhi- 
 bited." 
 
 " Well sung in concert, Mr. Duplicate," ex- 
 claimed Deboos, in a contemptuous tone ; — '* thou 
 poor copy of no very wonderful original, be wise 
 and leave the matter to your master, for your 
 interference does but mar the little that is to be 
 said in his behalf." 
 
 " But, in sober earnest, Deboos," said the 
 Count, *' the cap must be altered. Our expected 
 visiter apprehends, from all that she has heard of 
 Madame Lalande, that she is as staid and puri- 
 tanical in her every thing as a devotee in the last 
 sta^e of self-contradiction." 
 
 '* Is this generous. Count DeMara, — is it just? 
 But I understand the meaning of the scene : you 
 think that because my wants have put me in your 
 power, you may venture this paltry jeu (Tesprit to 
 tickle the Chevalier's siUiness, and thus bribe 
 his vanity as you have my poverty." 
 
 " Absurd, — absurd ! " replied the Count ; *' but 
 this is ever the way with you very clever women ;
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 183 
 
 you are so deep, so profound, so searching, that if 
 a reason lies too near the surface, it is sure to be 
 overlooked for the purpose of fishing up from the 
 depths some fine-drawn motive, that is generally no 
 motive at all. The simple fact is, that the cap is 
 too gay for the taste of a Swiss village girl ; and 
 those who are prudent will consider all things 
 when they have a point at heart to carry." 
 
 '' Well, Count," said the lady, " I do not wish 
 to commence this undertaking in ill blood, and I 
 will therefore yield the point. But I beg that it 
 may be understood that in future my part of the 
 task is to be left entirely to my own control* 
 French counts, of course, may be very clever, but 
 it is woman's privilege to read women ; and, if my 
 services are to be employed, it must be on the con- 
 dition that I am to judge for myself." And with 
 this she withdrew to make the necessary change in 
 her dress, on the understanding that she was to 
 meet the two gentlemen as soon as possible at the 
 Coq d'Or, whither they were to proceed in expec- 
 tation of Madeline's arrival.
 
 384 transfusion; or, the 
 
 On their road thither Altoz thought that there 
 was enough of triumph on his side to justify his 
 referring to the ridiculous ebulhtion that had just 
 taken place, and he therefore opened the attack by- 
 observing — '* Three hundred Louis most wisely 
 spent ! Now a common lover, such as I, might 
 have deemed it more judicious to expend the gold 
 in some pretty bauble for the admired ; but live 
 and learn — live and learn ; and I must indeed be 
 under the tuition of a superior tactitian, when I 
 cannot even understand his very first rnse." 
 
 ''What!" cried De Mara, "rebelling again so 
 soon ! Have a care, or my young volunteer will 
 be cashiered at least, — to say nothing of a court- 
 martial." 
 
 " I have heard that that is a favourite move 
 of some generals, when they find their subalterns 
 more deep- sighted than themselves." 
 
 "Why, what a piece of impatience art thou ! 
 How durst thou pass thyself off to me as a 
 sober Spaniard, when double-heated Welch blood 
 shows itself in every second movement of your
 
 ORPHAXS OF UNWALDEN. 186 
 
 actions. Answer me this, thou modern Fluellen ! 
 did you ever hear Deboos so moderate before in 
 her declamations ?" 
 
 "Oh, tut, tut," cried the Chevalier, "that 
 pass wont serve. You foretold entire submission 
 throughout; and now before three hours have 
 elapsed, content yourself with something Deboos 
 would call ' subdued, &c.'" 
 
 " I content myself, because I have obtained 
 all I expected. When a conqueror proposes to 
 Christianize a nation of savages, he does not 
 expect to make Popes, or Luthers, or Calvins 
 of them all. All these things are to be taken 
 relatively, and in reference to what their former 
 state was. Do you suppose for a moment, that 
 if Deboos had not had my three hundred Louis — " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," interrupted the Chevalier 
 with a shrug, " your two hundred and fifty Louis !" 
 
 'fWell, well, as you please," continued the 
 other; ** but if the money had not been paid to 
 her, and she in bond, do you think any argument 
 in the world would have persuaded her to change
 
 1^^ TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 that cap, which looked as if it had been dipped 
 in Phlegethon, and seta-blaze by Phaeton?" 
 
 "All which plainly goes to show that you 
 have made a dangerous bargain. Rely on it, 
 she will play you some knave's trick before your 
 game is over, — perhaps even overturn the whole 
 machine ! " 
 
 ''Thank you, thank you. Sir Raven of the 
 Croaking Throat!" cried the Count, "but trust 
 me, I shall have a quick eye upon her, with a 
 hand prepared to minister against all such evil." 
 
 And with this they found themselves arrived 
 at the Coq d'Or. The Count's servant had been 
 sent early in the morning to bespeak apartments 
 for the expected strangers, and therefore De 
 Mara, after casting an eye over the appointed 
 apartments, had nothing to do but to sit down 
 and wait quietly till his intended victim should 
 arrive. 
 
 The nobleman and his party did not arrive at 
 the Coq d'Or till past the time at which Madeline 
 was expected. The Count, however, was too old
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 l^ 
 
 a traveller not to know that postillions will be 
 unpunctual, ladies unready, and post-horses un- 
 willing ; and he therefore was not much sur- 
 prised at an hour or two slipping away without 
 his expected visiters making their appearance : 
 but in proportion as still further time passed on 
 with the same lack of profit, his impatience grew 
 to a head ; and when he found four o'clock, — five 
 o'clock, — six o'clock — arrive, without producing 
 Madeline and her brother, the irritation of his 
 mind became perceptible in his manner, though 
 the cause remained unconfessed. The conversa- 
 tron, in which he forced himself to join, lost its, 
 interest, and more and more frequently, as the 
 hour advanced, it became broken and unattended 
 to : his watch was continually in his hand, and 
 he seemed at those moments to devote the whole 
 powers of his mind to the movement of the hands 
 of the machine, as though by the mere act of 
 intense watching he would convert each minute 
 into an hour, and, by keeping up a constant 
 observation on the motions of the enemy, prevent
 
 188 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 the rapidity of his flight. When not thus em- 
 ployed, and as his uneasiness grew upon him, he 
 would start from his seat, and tramp the floor 
 at a rate almost swift enough to induce the belief 
 that he was giving an example of the force at 
 which he would have Madehne travel: hurried 
 exclamations, in themselves nothing, but highly 
 indicative of the sensations that were predominant 
 in his mind, broke from him involuntarily ; and 
 ever as he paced the room, he would make a 
 sudden halt before the window, and cast a longing 
 eye at the road by which his expected was 
 to arrive. But the sound of a carriage almost 
 shook him with expectation, and his whole frame 
 assumed an attitude of intense attention to the 
 interruption. Each carriage was the one for 
 which he looked : each, as it approached, was 
 expected to stop at the gate ; and if but the look 
 of the driver was directed towards the hotel, 
 the Count's pulse bounded in strange and 
 anxious vibration, till the horses' heads got be- 
 yond the entrance ; and then all went back
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 189 
 
 again with a rapid, painful, and sickening re- 
 action. 
 
 It is the prerogative, or rather the curse, of 
 those who are the creatures of passion, and depend 
 upon impulse for their direction, to be governed 
 by the suddenness of their feehngs ; and in pro- 
 portion as their energies have been worked up 
 to a particular expectation, do they feel the 
 magnitude of the impression. It matters not 
 whether the object is a world or an atom : having 
 begun upon it, whatever it may be, the passion 
 feeds itself, and from its own power of nourish- 
 ment becomes gigantic : — heart, blood, mind, and 
 soul seem all involved in the general rush, and, 
 like the frog in the fable, they swell and distend 
 beyond the powers of endurance. The slightest 
 check is felt, as if it were the imposition of some 
 huge mountain ; and the disappointment of no 
 more than a little minute comes ramping and 
 raging on the perturbed and overstretched spirit 
 with a sensation that beats back the previous 
 uprising to a degree as insupportable as it is 
 irresistible.
 
 190 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 It was thus that De Mara was moved j and 
 in proportion as his sensations grew stronger and 
 stronger, the more visible they became to his 
 companions. At length they reached a height 
 that became quite alarming. He seemed to have 
 no control over himself. He could not bear to 
 rest for a moment, — ^but, without ceasing, stalked 
 up and down the room, changing his pace as the 
 picture graven on the camera obscura of his 
 mind changed. It was the reign of passion — the 
 anarchy of reason ! 
 
 ''What shall we do with him?" whispered 
 Altoz to Deboos, for this was a situation in which 
 the unadmitted confession of his mind impelled 
 him to apply to the stronger judgment. 
 
 '* He must be made to talk," answered Deboos 
 in the same low tone; " words to men are what 
 tears are to women ; bring it to that, and you 
 have opened one of Nature's own sluices, by 
 which she intends these hot-headed spirits to be 
 cooled." 
 
 '* Make him talk ! " cried the Chevalier; '' that 
 is easily said ; but an hour ago I exhausted all
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 191 
 
 my talking subjects, and he may think it some- 
 what dull and prosy to go the same matter over 
 again." 
 
 " That was profoundly spoken," said the female, 
 with a sneer : '^ would to Heaven you always 
 knew how to appreciate your own powers with 
 equal justice ! For once take a lesson from me ; 
 and, instead of prating to him on subjects which 
 must be as so many blanks to him in his present 
 state of mind, attack him on the one single point 
 that wraps him." 
 
 '* To my mind," replied the Chevalier with a 
 shake of his head, ** that will be only throwing 
 oil to the flames." 
 
 "Add to my prescription a style that shall 
 alarm his self-love and vanity, and you will see 
 that the medicine will work to its true intent." 
 
 *' Excuse me," rephed Altoz, '' as you under- 
 take the office of physician, I think that it rests 
 with you to administer your own recipe." 
 
 " With all my heart," cried Deboos. ''Pray," 
 added she, raising her voice so as to attract the
 
 192 TRANSFUSION ', OR, THE 
 
 Count's attention; — '^pray, can you tell me how 
 I may meet with the Count De Mara V 
 
 The Count desisted from his rapid traverse of 
 the room, and stood before her. '* Madam,'* said 
 he, hai^dly knowing at what she was aiming, but 
 determined to outvie the calm dignity of her 
 manner ; — '• Madam, the Count de Mara has the 
 honour of standing before you!" 
 
 *' You, the Count?" cried Deboos, with an. 
 affected start of surprise : — '^ Oh, impossible! I 
 have even heard that the Count de Mara prided 
 himself on the coohiess of his judgment and the 
 imperturbabihty of his manner. Besides, I ;know 
 from pretty good authority, that he is in expecta-» 
 tion of meeting a chit in whom he pretends to be 
 deeply interested. Sir, if you were the Count,, 
 under such circumstances, you would be as sober 
 as an Arcadian, and as much under the command 
 of self as a grenadier is of his officer." 
 
 *' The hint is well thrown in, Deboos," said the 
 Count ; " and I am obliged accordingly ; but it 
 appears to me that I am in perfect order."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 193 
 
 '' Rather say in most admired disorder," cried 
 the other: ''half a dozen hours ago you were 
 preaching to us the necessity of having all our wits 
 about us, as your Madeline was a bird not to be 
 netted by unwary fowlers." 
 
 '' And I still hold to the same," said De Mara : 
 *' who says to the contrary ?" 
 
 " The Count de Mara himself ! The essence of 
 unwariness is produced by want of self-com- 
 mand." 
 
 '' Ah," cried the Count, as if in consciousness 
 of the justice of her censure; and then recover- 
 ing himself, '^ but who wants self-command? — 
 as for me I am as steady as a ten-year-old 
 pilot." 
 
 *' And yet he were a rash man who, having seen 
 your last hour's course, would insure you from 
 either shoals or breakers." 
 
 '* Indeed!" cried the Count, his self-love some- 
 what nettled ; — '* why, here is the Chevalier who 
 would do it for a farthing." 
 
 '' Not I, in good sooth !" cried Altoz : " after this 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 194 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 day's experience I intend always to be wise, and 
 never to be rash.*' 
 
 '* A most important vow/' said Deboos ; " I 
 pray Heaven grant you strength to keep it for a 
 day." 
 
 '' Hark !" cried the Count ; " I hear a chaise. — 
 Yes — yes ! — Now, a thousand curses light upon it, 
 — it stops not here. By Heaven, I am in that 
 mind that I would have every villain guillotined 
 that dares drive a chaise down the street till my 
 one, which I almost think will never come, ar- 
 rives." 
 
 *' Coolness personified !" ejaculated the Che- 
 valier. 
 
 ** Patience is the highest perfection," responded 
 Deboos. 
 
 *' In humble parody of ^sop's fox," cried the 
 Count, " I may exclaim, — what pity 'tis, that two 
 such well-shaped heads should hold so little brains ! 
 Of what is it you are complaining? That being 
 in love, I am out of patience. — Well, where is the 
 wonder ? What the marvel ?"
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 195 
 
 ** Both wonder and marvel enough, I think,'* 
 said Deboos, ** when the philosophical De Mara 
 shows such symptoms." 
 
 *' Wrong again," exclaimed the Count; '* it is 
 because I am philosophical that I act thus. Think 
 you that there is no such thing as the philosophy 
 of love?" 
 
 ** Most assuredly there is, and has been ever 
 since the days of Plato." 
 
 '^ And in what does the philosophy of love con- 
 sist V continued De Mara. ** Of what but impa- 
 tient anxiety, fierce desire, uncontrollable palpi- 
 tation ! Even as the philosophy of science is abs- 
 truse, the philosophy of modesty demure, and 
 the philosophy of gambling calculating, so the 
 philosophy of love is ardent and overwhelming." 
 
 *' Mere periods and phrases !" answered the 
 lady ; *' the philosophy of every thing is that 
 which enables the possessor to survey accurately 
 and comprehend justly the nature of the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 ^' A thousand thanks, Deboos J — you have pro-
 
 196 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 nounced my argument to a hair. One such speech 
 from the Chevalier, and 1 shall have to congra- 
 tulate myself on having enrolled you both on my 
 side of the question." 
 
 " I shall say nothing," cried the Chevaher; 
 *' but I follow the maxim doled out to me when I 
 was at school — Hear, see, and say nothing." 
 
 *^ Then hear this, my friend," said the Count, 
 '' and place it in the wisest corner of your mind, 
 Deboos tells us that to taste the philosophy of a 
 matter, wfe must comprehend it justly. Now let 
 me be told this ! — How are we to comprehend the 
 depths of a forest by keeping ever on its skirts ? — 
 or the fastnesses of a castle by walking round the 
 moat ? * Forward ! forward ! ' must be our motto : 
 
 we must force ourselves through the brushwood 
 
 in the one case, or wind through the cunning laby- 
 rinth that the architect has built in honour of his 
 skill in the other, before we can hope to know 
 where to have and where to hold. And why not 
 so with love ? Why are we not to plunge into all 
 its wondrous twists and mazes of passion, if we
 
 OiRPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 197 
 
 want to apprehend its real mystery 1 — Bah ! the 
 man or woman either, that merely stands trem- 
 bhng on the brink, as the fearful school-boy shivers 
 on the edge of the brook without courage to plunge 
 his limbs into the doubtful depths, may talk of 
 love, — mince pretty amorous phrases tipped with 
 shallow tinsel, — but never can he dive into the 
 recesses of Love's abode, and drag the son of Venus 
 into the light of day." 
 
 *' The man certainly talks," cried Deboos, '^ as 
 if he had heard of love before. But, if I may be 
 allowed to put a question to so acute a genius, I 
 would ask, whether there is not some danger of a 
 person who plunges into these depths forgetting 
 his philosophy, and remembering nothing but the 
 excess of his passion?" 
 
 " That must depend on the time he allows him- 
 self to be involved. The true philosopher of love 
 will take care to limit himself, so that his bark of 
 reason is in no danger of being swamped in his 
 stream of passion." 
 
 '* That is too general an answer," cried De-
 
 198 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 boos. *' Take your own case for an example, and 
 tell us how long you may without danger be left 
 in the practice of furious strides, eager gazing up 
 and down the street, bitter ejaculations, elevating 
 of hands, and deep-fetched imprecations." 
 
 *' That must be according to circumstances," 
 replied the Count, " and depend chiefly on the 
 chain that introduces the next and the next up to 
 the very climax. For instance ; — hark ! surely I 
 hear the wheels of a carriage ; — and yet — in my 
 own case, good Deboos; — yes! it is a chaise: it 
 approaches — the proper time for throwing aside 
 the strange list of incoherencies you have men- 
 tioned — Can it be? — the chaise stops here! — 
 Gods, it is my Madeline ! — Yes, Deboos ; the 
 proper time for forgetting incoherencies, and again 
 resuming the reins of discretion, is now, my 
 friends, now^ I" — and with this he rushed down 
 stairs, to be in time to hand Madeline from the 
 chaise.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 109 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We must have these hues when we hawk for friends, 
 
 And wind about them like a subtle river, 
 
 Tliat, seeming only to run on his course, 
 
 Doth search yet as he runs, and still finds out 
 
 The easiest parts of entry on the shore, 
 
 Gliding so slily by, as scarce it touch'd. 
 
 Yet still eats something in it. 
 
 Chapman. 
 
 The reason of Madeline's delay might have easily 
 been explained, had she chasen it ; but, in reply to 
 such inquiries as the Count thought he might 
 venture to make, her answers were such as to 
 leave him somewhat in the dark. On the whole, 
 however, what he gathered led him to the conclu- 
 sion (which, indeed, was a just one) that Albert
 
 200 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 had been the cause of the postponement of their 
 arrival. 
 
 It was not till the morning after the Count had 
 quitted the inn, where he first met the Orphans of 
 Unwalden, that Madeline had an opportunity of 
 gathering Albert's impressions as to their new- 
 found acquaintance. To her great surprise, she 
 found that the youth was in alarm at the Count's 
 freedom of manners ; — that he had viewed with 
 apprehension his intrusion into their apartment; 
 — and that he became acquainted with the ar- 
 rangement his sister had made for meeting the 
 Count at Geneva with proportionate dislike. Why 
 was it that Albert had imbibed these feelings ? He 
 himself hardly knew, — or rather could not, from 
 the novelty of the sensation, define that it arose 
 from the overbearing contrast which the Count's 
 manners, as a man of the world, full of Nature's 
 and Fortune's good graces, formed with his own 
 gentleness of temper and retiringness of disposi- 
 tion. Much passed between the brother and 
 sister on the subject; and more than once Made-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 201 
 
 line was on the point of yielding to the feelings of 
 her companion, though, in that event, a return to 
 Unwalden, instead of an advance to Geneva, must 
 have been the consequence. 
 
 It was this last position that, in the end, turned 
 the scale ; for, when Albert understood that 
 through the Count they were to discover Madame 
 Lalande, and when he remembered that through 
 Madame Lalande was their only hope of discover- 
 ing Seaton, he felt that his dislike for De Mara 
 was but as a feather in the balance ; and, intreat- 
 ing his sister to forget what he had said in detri- 
 ment of their new friend, he insisted on proceeding 
 to Geneva. 
 
 But, though Madeline took care to give none of 
 these circumstances to De Mara on his arrival, 
 she let enough drop in her inanvaise honte excuses 
 to lead him to suspect that the cause of the 
 delay had, in some way or another, arisen from 
 Albert. The hatreds of the Count were as 
 soon bestowed as his affections— as strons: and 
 as resolute ; and no sooner did he conceive that 
 he had for one moment been thwarted throus:h
 
 202 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 the instrumentality of Albert, than he transferred 
 to him a dislike as determined as was the 
 passion which inflamed his heart for Madeline. 
 Nor did it appear likely that this new feel- 
 ing, on the part of the Count, would be lessened 
 by the conduct of Albert ; who, though care- 
 ful not to evince the apprehensions he entertained 
 of the nobleman, could not help, in his want 
 of all knowledge of the savoir vivre, showing 
 in his behaviour a timidity and hesitation 
 which were not calculated to allay the suspicions 
 which De Mara had begun to entertain. 
 
 The feelinos which Albert had thus imbibed 
 with respect to the Count were not of a na- 
 ture to give ease to Madeline in her prosecution 
 of the task she had undertaken ; and if her 
 journey from Unwalden to the inn where she first 
 met De Mara tasted of unpleasantness and discom- 
 fort, still more bitter was that which conducted her 
 from her night's lodging to Geneva. 
 
 What a strange contrast between her jour- 
 ney and that of the Count ! He, in the midst 
 of night, with the heavy shade of indiscernible
 
 ORPHANS OP UNWALDEN. 203 
 
 crags overhanging him, had galloped along, 
 light of heart — hot-blooded and eager in the fur- 
 therance of his desire, — and that desire most sen-^ 
 sual, selfish, and unholy. Madeline, on the other 
 hand, had the bhthe sun to guide her on the way ; 
 while the precipices, that in night's darkness were 
 the parents of terror and dismay, had, by the 
 light of day, softened into the originators of won- 
 der and admiration; and yet, with these diffe- 
 rences in her favour, her course was heavy and 
 grievous. Was it then that her desire was still 
 more selfish and unholy than that of the Count? — 
 Oh, how contrary was it to every thing either 
 selfish or unholy ! Love for Albert — love for 
 Seaton — sorrow for her fault — anxiety to amend it 
 — were the sole occupants of her heart ; and 
 though she travelled with the commission of an 
 error weighing heavily upon her soul, how venial, 
 — how trifling — how less than nothing would it 
 appear when set against that which was in the 
 imagination of De Mara, and which to him 
 was his pride, his glory, and his triumph ! Com-
 
 204 
 
 pare De Mara*s self-willed and determined prose- 
 cution of his greedy passion with the poor maiden's 
 oft- repented fault, and the one was 
 
 — Almost as infinite as all, 
 
 And yet Madeline was the child of sorrow, — De 
 Mara the guest of joy; a true but painful illus- 
 tration that happiness is not always within virtue's 
 command, and that conscience — the hackney and 
 the bug-bear— may as easily be a slave as a tyrant. 
 
 But it is full time to return to the thread of our 
 narrative. 
 
 The first interview between Deboos and Made- 
 line passed off entirely to the Count's satisfaction ; 
 and, though he watched each motion of the 
 former, to see whether she committed herself; and 
 of the latter, to ascertain whether she sus- 
 pected any thing, he could not help, when all 
 was done, confessing that the whole scene had 
 
 * Troilus and Cressida.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 205 
 
 been performed by the counterfeit Lalande in a 
 most masterly manner. 
 
 The consequences of this success were what De 
 Mara had foreseen. MadeUne, full of respect and 
 growing affection for a woman who had been the 
 friend, the confidante, and the adviser of her 
 mother, showed herself ready to adopt her sug- 
 gestions on all points ; and the influence of the 
 Count was thus made sure as far as opportunity 
 and agency could effect. He had too good an 
 opinion of his talents for intrigue to doubt for 
 a moment that the rest must follow in the 
 course that he should be pleased to mark out. 
 
 The only thing that harassed his prospects was 
 the increasing anxiety which Madeline still dis- 
 played to discover the retreat of Seaton. It was 
 in vain that the fictitious Madame Lalande 
 assured her that in the end it must happen that 
 the old man would relent and re-appear, and 
 that her mother's former friend must be the 
 certain channel through which he would signify 
 that alteration ; still Madeline was unable to
 
 206 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 overcome the self-reproach that haunted her. 
 Any unusual sound in the house made her 
 start from her seat as if in expectation of its 
 .being the announcer of the return of the lost 
 one ; and the door could not open without her 
 quick eye being eagerly raised to ascertain 
 whether he who entered was the object of her 
 hope. 
 
 But if this anxiety to discover Seaton had 
 been the sum of the case, the Count's unea- 
 siness would have been materially lessened, for 
 he fairly inferred that, as long as Deboos was 
 to Madeline the real Lalande, the lapse of 
 time must soften her regrets on account of 
 Seaton. His greatest apprehension, however, 
 was, that Seaton might be really lingering in 
 Geneva, or the neighbourhood of Unwalden ; 
 and, in a moment of returning softness, seek 
 out the children of his adoption. If therefore, 
 on the approach of some unwonted sound, or 
 the unexpected opening of the door, Made- 
 line's gaze was one of life and expectation, no
 
 OnPHANS OF UNWA.LDEN. 207 
 
 less was that of the Count one of dread and 
 nervous anticipation. 
 
 De Mara, however, was not a man to remain 
 idle in expectation of an evil. The enervating 
 sensation that arises from an ill-omened anticipa- 
 tion was speedily shaken off by him, and he set 
 himself earnestly to work, to devise the best means 
 to controvert the mischief which appeared to 
 threaten, and to intercept the approach of Seaton, 
 should that elder, in a relenting moment, seek 
 Madeline and her brother. It was not long that 
 De Mara wavered as to the course he should 
 adopt : he determined to invade what might be 
 called the head-quarters of the enemy at once, 
 and thus ascertain the best and the worst of the 
 accident that he anticipated. With this view he 
 set his emissaries to work to discover the abode 
 of the real Madame Lalande, that means might 
 be adopted to obtain from her the secret (if she 
 had it) of Seaton's retreat. 
 
 This was not a task of any great difficulty. 
 Her residence was discovered, and the most care-
 
 208 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 ful and secret inquiry was instituted for the 
 purpose of ascertaining whether within the last 
 few days any stranger, whose description would 
 tally with that of Seaton, had been observed as a 
 visiter to the house. Every information that 
 could be procured on this head seemed to negative 
 the idea that Seaton had chosen — personally at 
 least — to make Madame Lalande his confidante. 
 But the Count still remained unsatisfied as to 
 the general result : it might be possible that his 
 agents were mistaken in the intelligence which 
 they had brought him ; and, still further, it was 
 even probable, that though Seaton might not 
 have chosen to seek a personal interview with 
 the lady, a letter from him might have already 
 informed her of the course he had adopted, and 
 set her on the qui vive as to the movements of 
 the orphans. 
 
 With these reflections pressing upon him, the 
 Count resolved upon an inquiry of Madame 
 Lalande herself, as the only conclusive means by 
 which he could securely ascertain what there was
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 209 
 
 to hope or fear. But the dffiiculty here was to 
 find one competent to undertake the task. For 
 himself, he did not choose to appear so palpably 
 in the business, as, in the event of a discovery 
 taking place, it would so implicate him with th,e 
 deception practised on Madeline, as entirely to 
 shut the door of reconciliation against him. 
 Deboos also appeared to him a dangerous in- 
 strument to employ on this occasion, as it was 
 obviously his cue to keep the two Lalandes as 
 far asunder as possible. With these two excep- 
 tions he could fix his mind on none of whose 
 ability to undertake the office he was sufficiently 
 assured. The more he considered the under- 
 taking, the greater were the difficulties that pre- 
 sented themselves to his mind ; and the danger, 
 supposing that Madame Lalande as yet knew 
 nothing of what had been doing at Unwalden, 
 of rousing her mind to suspicion and inquiry, 
 increased every moment that he had the matter 
 under his consideration. 
 
 In this dilemma he applied to Deboos, though
 
 210 
 
 not without some fear that she would consider 
 herself so all-competent to the undertaking, as 
 to hear of none other for the office. In this, 
 however, he was mistaken : either Deboos was 
 convinced by the reasons which the Count gave 
 for her non-appearance as far as Madame Lalande 
 was concerned, or she had no inclination to un- 
 dertake this extra labour. The Count, however, 
 obtained her advice on the affair, which, bad 
 or good, amounted to this — that De Mara's plan, 
 as far as it went, should be followed, but that 
 in the event of its proving unsuccessful in pro- 
 curing the required information, steps should be 
 taken to remove Madame Lalande from Geneva. 
 
 But still the same difficulty presented itself — 
 a fit and proper person to perform the sinuous 
 office that was to lead to these conclusions. 
 
 ** I wonder," said Deboos with a sneer, 
 when De Mara reiterated the difficulty which 
 this point presented, — *' I wonder that you have 
 not selected your favourite Altoz for the task." 
 
 *^ Altoz !" cried the Count ; " I would as soon
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 211 
 
 appoint that deaf non-entity, Madeline's brother ; 
 for where the one would be deaf, the other would 
 be dumb — and both in the very vitals of the 
 question." 
 
 "And yet you thought the Chevalier worthy 
 of being your aid-de-camp in the very outset of 
 the adventure." 
 
 " It was circumstances, and not I," cried the 
 Count, " that elected him to that post of honour : 
 — besides, I was in hopes, that under your tuition 
 something might be made of him ; but he appears 
 to grow more obtuse than ever. You are the 
 two ends of the needle, and the more exactly' 
 you point to the pole, the further is he from it." 
 
 "Oh, your servant," replied the lady with a 
 curtsey, " I see that I must do something to 
 repay so much concession in my favour ; and yet 
 I know no one to whom in candour I dare re- 
 commend your commission." 
 
 " Candour I I am content that you should use 
 the word. But will you let it hold good for the 
 next five minutes ? "
 
 212 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 Deboos gave the questioner a scrutinising 
 glance, as if to ask his meaning ; and then drily 
 replied, " Certainly, Count." 
 
 ** Then read this billet, and give me a judgment 
 upon it." 
 
 Deboos took the paper which the Count ten- 
 dered her ; but no sooner did she cast her eye 
 on the handwriting, than an involuntarily shudder 
 came over her. After an effort she read the fol- 
 lowing as its contents — 
 
 " Count De Mara — Deboos is not unwise — but 
 there is one still more canny at her elbow. 
 Your last three hundred Louis were handsomely 
 palatable. Perhaps the management of Lalande 
 would be worth another hundred ? " 
 
 '^ Villain!" muttered Deboos. 
 
 '' Many thanks for the compliment," cried De 
 Mara, somewhat bluntly. 
 
 ** Nay, Count, the epithet was not applied to 
 you. I will not pretend to deny that I know the 
 handwriting of the letter ; but beware how you 
 engage with its author."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 213 
 
 "Your caution is just, if I may judge by the 
 price he asks. Besides, I always look with an 
 eye of suspicion on your anonymous correspon- 
 dents. A man that is ashamed to sign his name 
 at the bottom of a letter, cannot, even in his 
 own opinion, be superlatively trustworthy. But 
 these three hundred Louis — I confess I should 
 like your explanation of that." 
 
 Deboos paused for a minute, as if revolving 
 matters within her own mind, and then, with a 
 fixed eye and compressed lips, as though she was 
 forcing herself to do something against her whole 
 soul's inclination, she said, '' Count, on two con-' 
 ditions I will undertake that Madame Lalande 
 shall be both sifted as to her knowledge of 
 Seaton, and removed from Geneva for a while." 
 
 ** Are the conditions reasonable ?" 
 
 '* It is for you to answer that ; but at all 
 events they are the only ones on which I can 
 undertake the task." 
 
 "At least, then, what are they ? " 
 
 " First, that you demand no explanation of my
 
 214 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 agent or my means ; and secondly, that the hun- 
 dred Louis mentioned in this scrawl be paid to 
 me." 
 
 De Mara demurred for a while to these terms ; 
 but at length finding that the proposer was inex- 
 orable, and reflecting on the apparent importance 
 of the points she promised to effect, he agreed 
 to both conditions, after obtaining from her a 
 pledge that she herself was to have no personal 
 interference with Madame Lalande. 
 
 It is not necessary to detail the means by 
 which Madame Lalande was attacked ; it is suffi- 
 cient to state that in both points Deboos kept 
 her word. It was fully ascertained that Seaton's 
 motions as yet were unknown to Madame La- 
 lande, for she was not even aware that he had 
 quitted Unwalden ; and in two days from the 
 period of the conversation just detailed she was 
 on her way to Genoa. 
 
 But the motive that induced Deboos to under- 
 take the task was curious. The letter, which the 
 Count had put into her hand, she at once per-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 215 
 
 ceived to be in a handwriting familiar to her, 
 ^s she had already admitted to De Mara. It 
 was the handwriting of Urfort ; and though she 
 could not very well comprehend how he had dived 
 to the bottom of the Count's intentions towards 
 Madame Lalande, she knew enough of the man 
 to be sure that, once having proceeded so far 
 as to write to her employer on the subject, no 
 argument would be sufficient to stay his future 
 movements towards inducing the Count to em- 
 ploy him, unless indeed his keeping from his 
 presence could be made equally profitable to 
 him. 
 
 To Deboos it was all-important that such an 
 interview should never take place, and she was 
 determined to resist it at any sacrifice. It was 
 for this reason that she volunteered to find any 
 agent suited to the purposes of the Count, on 
 condition that the hundred Louis mentioned in the 
 letter should be hers ; and as soon as De Mara 
 had signified his assent, she hastened to find 
 Urfort, lest his known impatience of character
 
 216 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 should have already induced him to take further 
 steps towards meeting the nobleman. 
 
 '* Urfort," said she, as soon as she had dis- 
 covered his retreat, '^ I will not reproach you with 
 breach of all faith, and violation of all principle, 
 for I know you to be a man who laughs at the 
 one and despises the other." 
 
 ** A well-turned sentence !" cried the man : 
 '^may I ask then, why I have been sought out 
 in this, my sanctum of jollity?" 
 
 *^ You have written to the Count de Mara." 
 ** Humph ! " 
 
 '^ And I bring you his answer." 
 " Good, my Deboos ; now I respect you again. 
 But the terms — the terms ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you them till I know from you 
 how much of this affair you are acquainted with." 
 ** Why, I should expect about as much as you 
 know yourself. The Count has a good audible 
 voice, and if you will talk secrets with one man 
 while another lies concealed in your house, you 
 should not be surprised that the walls blab a 
 little."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN 
 
 217 
 
 *' But you were concealed in the out-house on 
 the night that De Mara and the Chevalier came 
 to my abode on horseback." 
 
 " Not entirely : though no woman, I do not 
 profess to be altogether free from curiosity ; and, 
 as a knock at the door of a peaceable house two 
 hours after midnight had something alarming in 
 it, I took the liberty of shifting my quarters from 
 the out-house to that snug little back-parlour of 
 yours, where I heard enough to give me an 
 insight into affairs/' 
 
 ** Villain!" muttered Deboos — "but then you 
 know not what has taken place since." 
 
 " I cannot exactly say that, either ; for, not 
 knowing what better to do with my time, I fol- 
 lowed up the story. Seaton is a nincompoop — 
 Madeline a pretty creature — and the Count a 
 fine gentleman. Now, may I know the terms of 
 his reply ? " 
 
 " They are these. Discover what knowledge 
 Lalande has of Seaton, and send her on a wild- 
 goose chase for a month, and the Count engages 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 218 transfusion; or, the 
 
 to pay you the hundred Louis that your letter 
 so unconscionably demands ; though, what you 
 can want with them, after having so lately had 
 three hundred, I cannot conceive." 
 
 " Oh, the roulette-table can answer that ques- 
 tion better than I. But are there any other con- 
 ditions?" 
 
 ** Only that I am in all cases to be the go- 
 between in your communications with the Count. 
 He would not in any way personally appear in 
 the matter." 
 
 " With all my heart. Though, if the gen- 
 tleman is so very nice as to his company, how 
 came you to be of the party ? " 
 
 The only answer that Deboos gave to this in- 
 sulting question was a look of supreme contempt. 
 
 *' Well," continued Urfort, ** at least you can 
 look like a duchess, and that is half the battle. — 
 However, au revoir. Two days hence, at this hour 
 expect me at your own house — crowned with suc- 
 cess, and see that the hundred Louis be ready." 
 
 At the expiration of the two days, Urfort punc-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 219 
 
 tually kept his appointment with Deboos — con- 
 vinced her of his success — received his hundred 
 Louis — again solemnly promised to quit Geneva, 
 and took his departure. 
 
 As soon as the Count was assured that the 
 real Madame Lalande was sufficiently removed 
 from the scene of action to be no longer dan- 
 gerous to his schemes, he continued the pro- 
 secution of his design upon Madeline with 
 redoubled ardour. 
 
 The superadded information that Seaton had 
 not yet corresponded with Madame Lalande also 
 greatly contributed to his satisfaction, for it bore 
 tacit testimony of the senior still being in the 
 same state of offended feeling that possessed his 
 mind, when he penned his farewell letter to the 
 now friendless wanderers of Unwalden. 
 
 Hitherto De Mara had not dared to introduce 
 Madeline to the amusements which the place 
 afforded, lest by some unlucky mischance they 
 should light upon the friend of her mother, and 
 the eclaircissement so dreaded by him should take
 
 220 
 
 place : but now that this stumbling-block was 
 removed, he felt that he could not adopt a better 
 course than promote that gaiety, vivacity, and 
 elasticity of mind, which were so peculiarly the 
 characteristics of the disposition of his mistress. 
 The physicians of the human body ever recom- 
 mend their patients to vary the scene, and the 
 air, and the thoughts, — well knowing that such 
 a variety will mainly contribute to an eradication 
 of that diseased state which they have been called 
 in to cure. In like manner De Mara felt that in 
 the first instance he must act as physician to 
 Madeline's mind, and he knew no better way to 
 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain,* 
 
 than by affording her those amusing excitements 
 which should act as '' some sweet oblivious an- 
 tidote." 
 
 To a great extent his plan was successful. 
 
 Educated in a Swiss village, MadeHne's mind 
 * Macbeth.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 221 
 
 had been narrowed in its external opportunities, 
 while, within, it was ready every moment to 
 leap from its boundaries and climb the moun- 
 tain-chain of its own creation. Driven by the 
 sameness of each day's circle to feed upon it- 
 self, her fancy, which could not bear to be 
 inert, had grown eccentric and out of human 
 fashion. It had formed its own theories, solved 
 its own doubts, painted its own pictures, raised 
 its own castles, and blazoned its own track 
 with wondrous facility, but with that natural 
 error of judgment which attends our first ef- 
 forts, immatured by the philosophy of ages, or 
 the experience of a present world. Madeline 
 might have exclaimed, with infinitely more jus- 
 tice than the hymnist, — 
 
 My mind to me a kingdom is ;* 
 
 for it was her only free land of poetry and imagina- 
 tion, and therefore all in all her kingdom to the very 
 
 f Watts.
 
 222 TRANSIfUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 letter of the word. All her ideas being trained 
 in this school, she was necessarily led to make 
 every new fact and thought that crossed her 
 path of knowledge subservient to this system. 
 If, indeed, the whole wisdom of a Bacon, an 
 Aristotle, or a Shaftesbury, could have burst 
 upon her at once, it might have redeemed her 
 from the gulf of fiction in which she was 
 immersed. But the little knowledge that she 
 gained came to her piece-meal : it was extracted 
 in the course of desultory conversation or in- 
 cidental observation, and reached her mind in 
 such small and detached particles, that she 
 had time to fashion one fragment to the esta- 
 blished coinage of her brain before another 
 presented itself for consideration. 
 
 This being the state of her mind, it need be 
 no matter of surprise that the proceeding of 
 De Mara, in this respect, led to the conclu- 
 sion that he expected. Exquisite music, poured 
 forth by a well-trained orchestra, — thrilling 
 songs from the lips of grace and beauty, — the
 
 ORPHANS OP UNWALDEN. 223 
 
 Scenic illusion of a well-imagined drama, man's 
 glorious transfer of Nature's purest excellen- 
 ces to the imitative canvass — all took posses- 
 sion of her soul — all stirred up the seeds of 
 wonder, admiration, and delight, that till now 
 had lain dormant in her composition, and gra- 
 dually roused her thoughts from that cloudy 
 tinge of melancholy which her disappointed in- 
 quiries after Seaton had imposed upon them. 
 
 But this was not the only advantage that 
 De Mara reaped from this introduction of a 
 continual round of amusement* It not only 
 roused Madeline from her feelings of discomfort,* 
 but gave her an enjouissance for the society of her 
 companions. It is difficult to be continually 
 happy in company with a certain set of indivi- 
 duals, without imbibing a kindly feeling towards 
 the individuals themselves; they become identi- 
 fied with our content of mind, and their presence 
 adds to our own self-complacency. Pleasure is not 
 only pleasurable in itself, but receives a fresh 
 accession of the same sensation from anticipation
 
 224 
 
 transfusion; or, the 
 
 and retrospection ; and no circumstance gives 
 more immediate rise to this *' first and last, ''than 
 the presence of those with whom we have enjoyed, 
 or are to enjoy, any given amusement. The 
 heart is filled at such an epoch, and runs over at 
 the tongue : notes are compared, impressions 
 are balanced, images and feehngs are developed, 
 and every moment something new, or hitherto 
 unperceived, is added to what was formerly sup- 
 posed to be the ultimatum of the pleasure 
 capable of being produced by the stated en- 
 joyment. 
 
 Madeline felt all this with an uncommon keen- 
 ness of perception ; for, while she was the child 
 of nature, and only gave utterance to those first 
 impressions which the higher works of art will 
 produce on the simple imagination, De Mara and 
 Deboos, who were her chief companions, supplied 
 her active spirit with quaint allusions, apt illustra- 
 tions, or other supplies, drawn from education 
 and a knowledge of the world, which taught her 
 first to pause at her own ignorance, and then
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 225 
 
 eagerly to pursue the subject to the very ut- 
 termost of their information. 
 
 But though the names of De Mara and Deboos 
 are here coupled, there was a great distinction 
 between the two in the mind of Madehne. 
 For Deboos, as Madame Lalande, she enter- 
 tained affection and respect; but there was, 
 nevertheless, something in the manner of this 
 female which inspired the maiden with awe, and 
 which prevented her drawing close to her as the 
 companion of her hghter hours — as the confidante 
 of her freest thoughts. With De Mara she had 
 none of this restraint. He appeared to her ami- 
 able, attentive, and desirous of meeting her every 
 wish ; he found the means of bringing himself 
 down to her own level of worldly knowledge ; or, 
 if he ever tutored her, it was with the joyous ease 
 of a companion, rather than the superior informa- 
 tion of a master. She had the sensation within 
 her that she could ask him any question without 
 feehng that she was exposing herself to contempt 
 or ridicule ; and she felt grateful, without knowing
 
 226 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 it, for the facility with which he moved on the 
 same plane with herself. 
 
 Although it was no part of the Count's design 
 that Madeline should shrink from the closest inti- 
 macy with the pretended Madame Lalande, the 
 contrary being the case was highly advantageous 
 to his purpose, for it more completely threw the 
 maiden upon him as a companion ; and, in equal 
 proportion, afforded him opportunities of making 
 for himself an interest in her heart. The word 
 love had not yet passed the lips of De Mara, 
 nor had it entered the mind of Madeline ; but, 
 though the word was absent, the sentiment was 
 fast taking possession of her mind. Courteous- 
 ness, amiability, watchfulness, address, and perso- 
 nal beauty, as far as beauty is compatible with 
 genuine manliness, were all in favour of the Count ; 
 and he beheld with secret and well-dissembled 
 rapture, that he was rapidly gaining supreme 
 empire over the heart of his proposed victim.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. i2'27 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Nature, that loves not to be question'd 
 Why she did this or that, but has her ends, 
 And knows she does well, never gave the world 
 Two things so opposite, so contrary, 
 As he and I are. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's Philaster. 
 
 Innocence, the sacred amulet 
 
 'Gainst all the poisoris of infirmity, ^ 
 
 Of all misfortune, injury, and death. 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 The only drawback to Count de Mara*s delight 
 at tlie progress of his scheme was the evident 
 dissatisfaction of Albert at what was going on. 
 The young man had never been able to get over 
 the first impression that De Mara's conduct had 
 left upon his mind ; and the dislike which the 
 Count, on the other hand, had imbibed for. him,
 
 228 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 owing to his supposed interference on the day of 
 the orphans' journey to Geneva, had in no wise 
 tended to bring them more closely together. 
 But, though this feeling was predominant in De 
 Mara's mind, he had by no means permitted him- 
 self to neglect the boy as long as he was unsure of 
 an interest in the heart of his sister. Albert, as 
 well as every other person or circumstance con- 
 nected with Madeline, had been duly considered, 
 and a reception given to him such as appeared to 
 the schemer most likely to afford satisfaction to 
 his mistress. 
 
 Thus far all was sufficient to lull any feeling of 
 neglect towards her brother, that might otherwise 
 have taken root in Madeline's bosom ; but had 
 Albert been disposed to complain, there was still 
 enough in the conduct of the Count to justify the 
 step. Man of the world as De Mara was, there 
 was nevertheless something in his relative situa- 
 tion with Albert to embarrass him. The youth's 
 imfortunate bereavement of hearing refused the 
 Count those opportunities of sifting his character
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 229 
 
 through his own confessions, that in any other case 
 would have been his surety as to the game he was 
 to play ; and the natural hesitation that arises be- 
 tween two persons, both of whom have reason to 
 think that there is a mutual misunderstanding ex- 
 isting in each other's mind, considerably strength- 
 ened the embarrassment that the Count felt from 
 the above-mentioned cause. 
 
 Albert, however, was not of a complaining dis- 
 position. Whatever his sorrows might be, they 
 were always borne with meekness, and he had 
 learned from the state of deprivation under which 
 he had all his hfe laboured, patiently to bow to* 
 that which discomforted him, rather than uselessly 
 to fight against it. Nevertheless, there was no 
 want of firmness of mind in this. In fact, this 
 very characteristic proceeded from strength of in- 
 tellect — but it was the strength of endurance, not 
 that of execution. 
 
 Albert's original cause of dissatisfaction with 
 the Count is already made known : but by this 
 time a second ground had arisen — not perhaps so
 
 230 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 much attributable to De Mara himself as the first — 
 but equally forcible in making Albert regard the 
 meeting with that nobleman as an unfortunate 
 event for himself and his sister. 
 
 We have seen in the last chapter how success- 
 fully the Count pursued his object of gaining the 
 affections of Madeline. If Albert did not also 
 perceive this, at all events he perceived the effects 
 that that success produced. When he was living 
 at Unwalden, he had been in the keeping of his 
 natural counsellors, and the attentions of his pa- 
 rent and of Madeline were as though he had two 
 mothers tending him. It was not the difference 
 of two years only that gave rise to the protecting 
 character which Madeline had thus obtained. The 
 misfortune under which he laboured had doubly 
 thrown him upon her for amusement, instruction, 
 and regard ; and the bonds of affection between 
 them had become proportionably strong. When 
 their mother died, all these feelings mounted still 
 higher, and to Albert his sister was as necessary 
 as the compass to the mariner who has left all 
 trace of land behind.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 231 
 
 Thus much then for their former situation ; — 
 but since their arrival at Geneva things had 
 changed. It vi^as impossible for a young and 
 beautiful woman, with a mind as vivid and as rapid 
 of perception as Madeline's was, to burst from so- 
 litude to what in the comparison was the acm^ of 
 gaiety, without unconsciously admitting a change 
 into her manners and thoughts. The suddenness of 
 the transition took her, as it were, out of her for- 
 mer self: she was wrapt in a novel and irresistible 
 habit of excitement ; and the power which she pos- 
 sessed over the Count — the ease with which he 
 bowed to all her wishes — the facility with which- 
 he adopted her suggestions and turned them into 
 realities — all contributed to make a new creature 
 of her. 
 
 The effect of this alteration of circumstance was 
 keenly felt by her brother. Instead of being a 
 companion— or rather, as formerly, a something 
 between a mistress and a servant to him— Madeline 
 was little more than a sort of dropper-in upon his 
 weary hours. When indeed he did have her to
 
 232 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 himself, and she again devoted her minutes to his 
 amusement, he felt that her powers of giving de- 
 light had been enhanced by the novelties she had 
 gained in her absence ; but this superiority of at- 
 traction again only the more embittered the hours 
 when her presence was wanting. 
 
 This, then, was the second ground of dissatis- 
 faction which Albert found towards the Count. So 
 thorough was his behef in the entireness of his 
 sister's affections towards himself, that he did not 
 for a moment attribute to her the change that had 
 taken place. He looked round for the circum- 
 stances that had caused it, and he found them in 
 the actions of De Mara. It was he who engrossed 
 Madeline's attention when they were within doors 
 — and it was he that was for ever proposing ex- 
 cursions, visits, and parties of pleasure, in which 
 Albert was a mere cipher and dead letter. This 
 being the sum of Albert's observations, it naturally 
 followed that the estrangement which he already 
 entertained towards the Count should be height- 
 ened, and that in his own inward communings,
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 233 
 
 which in proportion as he was deprived of the com- 
 panionship of Madeline became more and more 
 frequent, he should acutely feel the disappointed 
 hours that he owed to the appearance of the 
 stranger. 
 
 Let us, however, here take an opportunity of 
 doing justice to Madeline. Had she for a moment 
 perceived — or even supposed — the pain that her 
 change of manners was inflicting on her brother, 
 from that instant she would again have exclusively 
 become his companion, his solace, and his attend- 
 ant. But how could she perceive the effect that 
 her change had caused in Albert's feelings, when 
 she was not even conscious that that change in 
 herself had taken place ? As we have before had 
 occasion to remark, the essence of the girl's tem- 
 perament was ardency. Ardency was equally her 
 good and her evil genius ; — her good genius, as it 
 had led her to that excess of devotion to the ser- 
 vice of her unfortunate brother, which had so 
 soothed his sorrows ; — her evil genius, as it was now 
 plunging her into too rash and headlong an enjoy-
 
 234 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 ment of the gay scenes with which it was the 
 Count's care incessantly to feed her disposition. 
 If Albert was neglected, it was not that her affec- 
 tion for him was diminished in the minutest iota, — 
 but that she suffered herself to be hurried down 
 the stream of temptation, without giving herself 
 time to consider whether what was delightful to 
 her was not distasteful to him. 
 
 The care with which Albert concealed his dissa- 
 tisfaction from his sister was another argument in 
 palliation of her not perceiving the effect that her 
 change had upon him. It was in this point of 
 view that the youth showed that endurance was 
 one of his virtues. He perceived the zest with 
 which his sister had entered into the gaieties of 
 Geneva, and the happiness that they afforded her ; 
 and he was too affectionately interested in her con- 
 tentments to suffer a word or a look of his to run 
 counter to her satisfaction. Indeed his chief de- 
 light, now that he was to so great an extent shut 
 out from her course of thought, was to sit and gaze 
 at the joyous smiles that illumined her face : it
 
 ORPHANS OP UNWALDEN. 235 
 
 was his map of pleasures, whereon were laid down 
 the different lands and seas that made his little 
 world of observation ; and, though perhaps the 
 whole was not planned out with sufficient clear- 
 ness, he was content in the spirit of kindliness to 
 act on the mistake which the poet in the spirit of 
 satire lays to the charge of geographers, who 
 
 on pathless downs 
 
 Place elephants instead of towns ; 
 
 and so long as latitude and longitude come 
 within the tropics of joy, Albert cared little for 
 the peculiar from which they originated. 
 
 But the re-action of his reflections fell all the 
 heavier for this upon the Count ; and in propor- 
 tion as he acquitted his sister of unkindness, the 
 intrusion of that nobleman was aggravated in his 
 eyes. Perhaps a deeper philosopher than Albert 
 would have felt that thanks were due to the 
 individual who had thus heightened the enjoy- 
 ment of a person whom he loved so entirely : but 
 Albert could not regard without envy the en-
 
 236 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 grossing quality of De Mara's attentions to 
 Madeline ; nor had he forgotten the forwardness 
 of his manners at the inn, which, from the very 
 first moment of their becoming acquainted, had 
 impressed him with the feeling that there was 
 an assumption of superiority on the part of the 
 stranger, which was not compatible with a happy 
 issue to the intimacy that had succeeded. Had 
 the youth been more acquainted with the world 
 and the world's ways, he would probably have 
 taken steps gradually to alienate his sister from 
 the Count, and to render the visits of the latter 
 less frequent. But Albert's capacity did not 
 consist in such manoeuvres as these. He was 
 not without knowledge ; for his mother, whose 
 ingenuity had been the means of teaching him to 
 read and talk in spite of his unfortunate bereave- 
 ment, had taken care to follow up these first 
 steps by putting into his hands the best books 
 she could procure : but his knowledge was not of 
 a sort likely to be useful in contending against 
 the subtlety of such an accomplished intriguer
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 237 
 
 as the Count de Mara ; and Albert tlierefore was 
 obliged to be content to endure the annoyance 
 to which his presence gave rise, without taking 
 any active steps to relieve himself from the 
 burden. 
 
 Another apology for Madeline's apparent neg- 
 lect of her brother was the intimacy which she 
 perceived to be growing up between him and the 
 supposed Madame Lalande. Although this lady 
 could be sufficiently sarcastic, or even repulsive, 
 when it was a Chevalier Altoz that she had to 
 engage, yet towards the gentle Albert her charac- 
 teristics were entirely different. In her inter-* 
 course with the youth there was no encounter of 
 wits, — no suspicious compliments that leaned 
 more towards invective than good-will. On the 
 contrary, Albert regarded her as the early and 
 respected friend of the being whom he had loved 
 best and lamented most ; and, as such, bowed to 
 her suggestions and remarks with the most con- 
 fident reliance. This feeling, that originally 
 sprang from association and sentiment, soon
 
 238 TRANSFUSION ; OR^ THE 
 
 established itself on the surer foundation of su- 
 periority of intellect and decision of character, 
 for in Deboos both these qualities prevailed in 
 an eminent degree ; and to a mind like Albert's, 
 weak in its practical scope, though strong in its 
 power of judgment, such characteristics had more 
 than their usual weight. 
 
 The attention and respect which Albert paid 
 to her were, in the first instance, highly flattering 
 to the fictitious Madame Lalande, and this feeling 
 gradually ripened into affection towards the 
 youth. Deboos had not always been the slave 
 of wicked intriguers, or at the service of those 
 who carried their money in their hand ,• nor had 
 her present debasement entirely overwhelmed 
 those earlier sentiments which are the native 
 inmates of every human bosom, till crimes, or 
 misfortunes, or hardships, have ossified them, 
 and made them insensible to feeling. Albert's 
 conduct towards her, therefore, not only took 
 her by surprise, but found a nook within her heart 
 not absolutely filled up. Long was it unavailing
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 239 
 
 — slow was it in penetration, — but at length it 
 effected a lodgment in the deserted corner, and 
 summoned the owner back to long-forgotten sen- 
 sations of kindness and cherishment. 
 
 Madeline, without particularly scanning the 
 progress of this companionship, saw it rise into 
 sufficient intimacy to make her rejoice that 
 Albert had found in her mother's chosen friend 
 a person from whom he could obtain advice and 
 amusement. It delighted her to find that they 
 were ever together, and that Madame Lalande 
 never seemed better pleased than when she was 
 pursuing some course in which Albert could take ' 
 part and feel an interest. 
 
 But the maiden, as was her wont, judged 
 somewhat too hastily in coming to this conclusion. 
 Had she been right, Albert would not so bitterly 
 have felt her engrossment by the Count. It was 
 true, indeed, that he made a companion of 
 Deboos, — but she was not a complete companion. 
 She had instruction for him, and even amuse- 
 ment, — but not that wonderful sympathy, that
 
 240 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 fine intermingling of heart and soul in his 
 occupations, with which Madeline's actions ap- 
 peared always to teem. 
 
 It was not immediately that Deboos perceived 
 the impression that Albert had made upon her 
 mind. Her first intercourse with him arose rather 
 from necessity than from choice ; for although 
 Madeline was as attentive to her, as she was bound 
 to be to the supposed intimate of her deceased 
 mother, yet her time was for the most part occu- 
 pied by the Count and his never-failing inven- 
 tions to attract her imagination, when it was 
 Deboos' care, of course, not to interfere more 
 than was absolutely necessary. 
 
 At these periods, and they were of pretty 
 frequent recurrence, Albert was her natural 
 resource ; and though she at first handled him 
 as a toy of indifference, taken up for want 
 of something better to while away the listless 
 hours, she soon found, to her surprise, that 
 there were seeds within his composition which 
 promised the most goodly harvest, and which
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 241 
 
 rendered the tending of them a dehghtful 
 task. 
 
 While matters stood thus, a circumstance oc- 
 curred, not of much value in itself, but sufficient 
 to confirm Deboos most effectually in the kindly 
 feelings she had begun to entertain towards 
 Albert. 
 
 As soon as this artful woman found she had 
 succeeded in imposing herself on the orphans of 
 Unwalden as the friend of their mother, she had 
 proceeded, under the direction of De Mara, to 
 furnish them with apartments, at which she was 
 a daily visiter, having, in order to avoid the 
 chance of any unlucky eclaircissement, made a 
 satisfactory excuse for not lodging her guests in 
 her own house ; to which abode, for the same 
 reason, she had always avoided introducing them. 
 It was at these lodgings provided for the new 
 comers that the Count made his daily appearance, 
 always taking care to arrive after Deboos, in 
 order that the delicacy of Madeline might not 
 be alarmed in receiving a visit from him alone. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 242 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 It happened one morning that the fictitious 
 Madame Lalande had suffered her usual hour of 
 arrival considerably to elapse without making 
 her appearance ; and by no very extraordinary 
 coincidence some trifle caused Madeline to be 
 eagerly vv^atching for her coming, so that each 
 moment of her absence vs^as counted. At length, 
 the fineness of the morning tempting her, and 
 having some vague idea of the quarter of the 
 city in which the residence of the lady was 
 situated — ^though vague it only could be, for 
 Deboos had always answered with uncertainty 
 any question that tended to draw from her her 
 exact address — she set out in the hope that she 
 might either find her way to Madame Lalande's 
 abcde, or meet her on her route thence. 
 
 Madeline had not long been gone on this 
 errand, before the Count arrived. He was 
 surprised at the maiden's absence, for it was 
 unlike her usual habits ; but he at first con- 
 cluded that she and Deboos had gone out toge- 
 ther. When, however, he learned from Albert
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 243 
 
 the real state of the case, and that it was to the 
 delayed arrival of Madame Lalande that Made- 
 line's exit was attributable, his surprise quickly 
 changed into anger towards his agent, for thus, by 
 her absence, provoking the egress of his mistress. 
 
 At this moment Deboos arrived without having 
 met Madeline on her road. It was an unauspi- 
 cious minute, for the Count was full of dis- 
 appointment, and (allowing for the deafness of 
 Albert) there were none by to check his expres- 
 sion of it. 
 
 Perhaps, had the Count, before he commenced 
 the attack, paused for a moment to scan her * 
 countenance, he might have altered his intention. 
 The expression that dwelt in the lines of her face, 
 and the rapid movement of her eye, would have 
 reminded him of that strange aspect which had 
 greeted him on the night on which he had beat 
 so long and so loud at her door, and which taught 
 him by implication, that it was no time to trifle, 
 or to venture too far with a roused woman of 
 Deboos' temperament.
 
 244 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 Without, however, any such pause, he re- 
 ceived her on entering with a low bow to the 
 ground. Deboos might have mistaken the senti- 
 ment, — but she looked in his face, and it wa« 
 impossible. Giving her hand to Albert in token 
 of a kind good-morrow, she returned the Count's 
 greeting with as slowly profound a curtsey. 
 
 ** Your salute," cried the angry nobleman, " is 
 typical of the speed with which you move. I 
 return you my best thanks for the way in which 
 you discharge your duty. Perhaps by this time 
 Madeline may have escaped me for ever." 
 
 Deboos was, as ever, in no humour to submit 
 to a taunt in silence. '* As to my salute," replied 
 she, *' you can have no claim to quarrel with that, 
 for its grade was borrowed from your own. And as 
 to my speed, as you yourself have compared it to 
 what was copied from yourself, I should be 
 equally free from censure in your eyes." 
 
 ^* Answered like a wrangler," cried the Count, 
 still more sourly, " ever defending most vehe- 
 mently where there is least room for defence.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 245 
 
 I tell you, Madam, my money has been paid 
 for your time — Heaven knows dearly enough ; and 
 therefore most just cause of complaint have I 
 when I find my whole plans running a thousand 
 risks, because you cannot rise in time to suit 
 decent people." 
 
 " Count," cried the accused hastily, '* were 
 your miserable taunts worth answering, I would 
 tell you that it was your business, and not mine, 
 that detained me this morning. To gratify you 
 I employed an agent to remove Madame Lalande, 
 who is now the bane of my every hour, and who, 
 if once let loose, would effectually mar every 
 thing." 
 
 " Psha ! woman, do you think I am to be 
 deceived by these hacknied terms of romance, or 
 that a Centaur with a Chimsera for a tail can 
 frighten me. I am more angry with you for 
 attempting to pass such a trick upon me, than 
 at the failure for which this was intended as an 
 excuse." 
 
 " De Mara, one day you may be made to 
 know."
 
 246 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 " Be silent, Madam, I pray — '' 
 
 " Silent ! Am I first to be accused, and then 
 deprived of my right to — ?" 
 
 ** Oh ! the eleven thousand virgins/' cried the 
 Count, '' what hurricane is this ? " And he hastily 
 put his hand on Deboos' mouth, more perhaps in 
 joke than in earnest, but sufficiently uncere- 
 moniously to awaken the anger of Albert ; who, 
 though he had not been able to hear this scene, 
 had watched it with growing interest, well inter- 
 preting the feeling that dictated each sentence, 
 and not a little hurt that the Count, a mere 
 visiter, should presume to speak with such angry 
 tone and gesture to one that was held so dear by 
 Madeline and himself. But when De Mara pro- 
 ceeded so far as to stop the mouth of Madame 
 Lalande, Albert was roused into action ; and what 
 perhaps he would not in a hundred years have 
 done for himself, his affection and manhood irre- 
 sistibly impelled him to do for her whom he 
 believed to be his mother's kind adviser and 
 his own protecting counsellor. He pushed rapidly
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 247 
 
 between the two without uttering a word; and 
 giving the nobleman an unexpected thrust, which 
 nearly threw him from his balance, he placed 
 Deboos' arm within his own, as if intimating he 
 was determined at all hazards to continue his 
 interference in her behalf. 
 
 The Count, though his dignity as well as his 
 person was somewhat overbalanced by Albert's 
 unceremonious move, perceived in an instant that 
 he had made a false step, and hastened to retrieve 
 it. Indeed, for the moment of the action, which 
 had so excited the reprehension of the orphan, 
 he had quite forgotten his presence in the room' 
 and consequently had not calculated the effect 
 that it would produce upon him. 
 
 It is unnecessary, however, to pursue this scene 
 further. It is sufficient to remark that this trans- 
 action was the parent of two effects. The one 
 was, that the mutual suspicion of the Count and 
 of Albert was increased ; — the former feeling that 
 there was something extant in the youth's spirit, 
 ^of which he had not formerly been aware, but
 
 248 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 which appeared to be of a nature formidable and 
 difficult to be managed; — while the latter (with 
 all his mind set upon an action of which his 
 whole previous life of monotony could not furnish 
 the parallel) perceived that something now ex- 
 isted and was on record, tangibly expressive of 
 the sense he had always entertained of De Mara» 
 The other effect that here took its origin was 
 that produced in the mind of Deboos. Albert's 
 little action in her behalf had penetrated her very 
 heart. The husk of her time-seared feelings fell 
 away before it, and was destroyed, for she ac- 
 knowledged in it the first overt act that for many 
 and many a year had been done to redeem her 
 from among the neglected of the world. Hitherto^ 
 though her heart had been gradually yielding, 
 she had looked with jealousy on the movements 
 of Madeline in her favour, and even on those 
 of Albert : she had endeavoured to steel herself 
 against them. She had said, "These are plea- 
 sant, but they are fallacies : anon they will fall 
 ofF> and be as nothing; and Deboos in her old
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWA.LDEN. 
 
 249 
 
 age must take care that she is not again the 
 victim of sympathy and girl-heartedness." But 
 this httle act of Albert had caused a total revo- 
 lution in her thoughts. It was now she who 
 sought the youth, and not he her ; and she became 
 as attached to him, as devoted to his wishes, 
 and as anxious of his movements, as if she really 
 had been the chosen and confidential friend of his 
 mother, or even that mother herself. 
 
 As Madeline, by common consent, was not 
 made acquainted with this transaction, her feel- 
 ings towards all parties remained the same ; and 
 the Count still found her the wiUing partaker 
 of his proposed round of amusements — the bash- 
 ful, but not unheedful, listener to his tale of love. 
 Imperceptibly, but by irresistible gradations, the 
 net that De Mara had so artfully woven round her 
 was closing upon her ; and her anxious look in his 
 absence, her joy-illumined countenance in his 
 presence, were the unerring foretellers of the 
 success of the nobleman in implanting his image 
 on her heart.
 
 250 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Nor censure us, you who perceive 
 
 My best beloved and me, 
 Sigh and lament, complain and grieve, 
 
 You think we disagree. 
 Alas ! 'tis sacred jealousy, 
 
 Love raised to an extreme, 
 The only proof 'twixt them and me, — 
 
 We love and do not dream. 
 
 Rochester. 
 
 The Count De Mara, having thus far gained his 
 point in carrying the affections of MadeUne, 
 thought that the time for pressing his suit more 
 vigorously was fully arrived, and he turned his 
 attention to the way in which this might be most 
 skilfully executed. The great bar to his progress 
 now seemed to be Albert's continual presence
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDBN. 251 
 
 at all his interviews with Madeline, conscious 
 as he was that the brother must be watching 
 every one of his motions as regarded the sister, 
 and scanning his intentions towards her with the 
 most jealous survey. But De Mara began to 
 hope that the time was at length come when 
 he had interest enough in Madeline's affections to 
 venture putting himself in the scale against 
 Albert, and that if the approaching steps were 
 managed with caution, it would be no difficult 
 task gradually to detach the orphans from their 
 present close bond of union. Part of the labour 
 was already done : Madeline had adopted a chain 
 of amusements in which Albert felt but slight 
 interest ; for to him music's poetry was dead, and 
 the gay dramatic scene was a sort of minor 
 torture, where the eye only informed the mind 
 more forcibly of the loss which she had elsewhere 
 sustained : and, on the other hand, the brother 
 had found a new companionship in the attentions 
 of Deboos, which appeared to be daily more 
 relished and desired. All that remained, there-
 
 252 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 fore, for the Count to do was to adopt the foun- 
 dation that was already laid, and build a goodly 
 superstructure on it, fit in its qualities and parts 
 to effect the manoeuvre which he had in hand. 
 
 The feelings that had by turns pervaded De 
 Mara's mind with respect to Albert are not un- 
 worthy of notice. When he first saw him at the 
 road-side inn, he scarcely observed him, except so 
 far as he formed a feature in Madeline's delicious 
 narrative, which had carried the Count's whole 
 soul along with it. He might have been a human 
 creature, or he might not, for any thing that the 
 Count condescended to know about him. He 
 was a neutrality — a piece of furniture — a some- 
 thing that made up the tout ensemble of the 
 apartment, admitted to a place on the expectation 
 and understanding of being of no significance. 
 It is one of the grand mistakes of those lovers, 
 who think they condescend in loving where they 
 do, to pass over as unobservant all the former 
 retinue of their mistress. Such a suitor hopes to 
 make his love individual, and to get rid of what
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALD£N. 253 
 
 he holds to be superfluities, but what the other 
 party has always looked to as component parts of 
 herself. He imagines that as he loves only one 
 member of a body that have hitherto been indis- 
 solubly joined, the remainder is to be thrown 
 away at his beck and bidding, and be annihilated 
 at ** the whifFand wind" of his sicjuheo. It is as 
 though he would adopt from choice Ceres' hap- 
 less mistake, and feed only on the shoulder of 
 Pelops, rejecting the rest of the dish. It was 
 thus with the Count De Mara ; and. Frenchman 
 as he was, he forgot the maxim inculcated by 
 one of the greatest philosophers * of his nation, 
 when he says, ** I should approve a soul that had 
 divers stories in its structure — one that knows 
 how to bend and how to slacken ; that finds itself 
 at ease in every condition of fortune ; that can 
 converse with a neighbour of his buildings, his 
 hunting, or any trifling dispute between him and 
 another; that can chat with a carpenter or gar- 
 
 * Montaigne.
 
 254 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 dener with pleasure." But De Mara could not 
 do these things gracefully even when his in- 
 terest required it. Either his nature was averse 
 to the condescension, or he deemed his own 
 merits sufficient without calling in the aid of so 
 adventitious an ally. 
 
 But when the scene changed from the road- side 
 inn to Geneva, the aspect in which the Count 
 was to behold Albert was altered perforce. He 
 found on observation the affection between the 
 orphans so complete, that it was impossible for 
 him to be present with the one without being 
 in company with the other ; and though Albert's 
 want of hearing prevented his joining to any 
 great extent in the conversation, he was still suffi- 
 ciently one of the party to require the notice 
 of the Count, and to claim his attention as long 
 as he would stand well with Madeline. The 
 events that subsequently took place, and which 
 have been already noticed, again changed the 
 Count's feelings towards the youth. He was no 
 longer a neutrality, or, if so, it was an armed one ,•
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 255 
 
 and there was reason every moment to dread 
 that he would break out into open war. 
 
 Here, then, was an abundance of reason for De 
 Mara to do his utmost to wean Madeline from 
 her affection for her brother ; and as soon as he 
 had instructed Deboos to take advantage of the 
 kindness which existed between her and Albert, 
 in order that there might be something of a check 
 even on that side, the Count set himself seriously 
 to work at his task, in the confident expectation 
 that a very short time would be sufficient to effect 
 his project in all its parts. 
 
 In the first two or three instances he succeeded 
 as well as he could wish. Fortune seemed to 
 work with him, and make excuses for him • and 
 he felt that in proportion as he and MadeUne 
 were alone, his suit proceeded with renovated 
 ardour. Crowned with success, he became more 
 emboldened; and seizing the opportunity of 
 Madame Lalande one evening declaring herself 
 too unwell to join a party that had been agreed 
 upon for the theatre, he ventured to propose that
 
 256 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 he and Madeline should proceed thither, and that 
 Albert should stay behind as a companion for the 
 invalid. 
 
 This arrangement was objected to on the part 
 of Madeline, who declared that as Madame 
 Lalande required a companion, she would stay 
 with her ; and that the Count and Albert should 
 proceed to the theatre together, the representation 
 that evening being one which the latter had long 
 desired to see, as it was the revival of a piece 
 which had been much talked of throughout 
 Switzerland, and which, as it was to be acted 
 entirely in pantomime, would easily come within 
 the scope of his apprehension. 
 
 This decision placed both Deboos and De 
 Mara on the horns of a dilemma. Deboos, 
 knowing that the Count would be glad to have 
 her say that she wished Albert to remain behind, 
 did not dare express it, lest it might confirm 
 Madehne still more peremptorily in her decision ; 
 while the Count was awakened out of the deli- 
 cious reverie he had been enjoying at the idea
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 257 
 
 of spending a whole evening with Madeline alone, 
 to find the very person, whom of all others he 
 dreaded and detested, foisted upon him instead : 
 nor did he know how to demur to this arrange- 
 ment of his mistress, without throwing himself 
 open to suspicion on the one hand or the 
 other. 
 
 Madeline saw the hesitation with which he was 
 wavering, and forced an explanation upon him, by 
 exclaiming — " Are we going to have two invalids, 
 Count ? or has the loss of two ladies at once so 
 overwhelmed you as to take away all power of 
 utterance ? *' 
 
 " And is not such a loss," replied the lover, 
 ** sufficient to account for the effect produced ? I 
 had hoped that by this time my young friend 
 Albert knew enough of Madame Lalande's con- 
 stitution to be the proper person to undertake her 
 cure, without requiring a consultation of physi- 
 cians to help him through his diagnosis." 
 
 *' But it is not a consultation of physicians that 
 is proposed ; only to substitute one for another.
 
 258 TRANSFUSION J OR, THE 
 
 Come, Count, Albert is quite ready ; and I long 
 to have my patient all to myself." 
 
 ** Nay, but if you insist on turning physician, 
 my good Madeline," cried Madame Lalande, ''the 
 Count has a fair right to insist on turning patient. 
 Come, let us put off the theatre for to-night, and 
 unite in being sick." 
 
 De Mara gave the proposer of this scheme a 
 look, as much as to say — '* That is not the foot- 
 ing on vi^hich I w^ould have the thing placed ;" and 
 then remarked, '^ I cannot be sick at will; nor, if 
 I could, should this be the opportunity I would 
 take, for I should find it but a poor substitute for 
 the pleasure that was to have been mine. Come, 
 dear Madeline, think better of it, and do not cheat 
 Madame Lalande of her faithful nurse." 
 
 " I am sure," said the maiden, thus appealed 
 to, ** that if I imagined for a moment that my 
 dear Madame would be dissatisfied with the 
 change, I would cease to press it ; but I long for 
 an opportunity of showing her how well I can 
 rival even Albert in that capacity. And look at
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 259 
 
 the boy ; see, he has not yet caught from our 
 countenances the subject of our conversation, so 
 that his own face is still lighted up with the anti- 
 cipated pleasure of seeing something that he will 
 be able to comprehend throughout. So, good 
 Count, be obedient to your faith as a preux cheva- 
 lier, and wish us * good night.' " 
 
 '' But a preux chevalier's duty," replied De 
 Mara, still seeking to contest the point, "is to 
 attend on the ladies ; and, if you insist on this 
 arrangement, you will not only deprive me, but 
 Albert, of all claim to the character. Come, let 
 me rule this evening, and your brother shall be' 
 gratified another night.'* 
 
 " Now, if I did not know you love argument for 
 argument- sake," said MadeUne, somewhat seri- 
 ously, '* I should feel hurt al^ your still opposing 
 me. But as I have no doubt you have a good 
 chain of reasoning to urge in defence, I will be 
 content to meet you half-way." 
 
 " My best Madeline," cried her lover, his brow 
 clearing up, and gaiety again sparkling in his eye, 
 " I was sure you would comply."
 
 260 transfusion; or, the 
 
 " In all that is reasonable, you would say.— 
 Just so; so let this be the arrangement: go 
 now with Albert to the theatre, and, to-morrow 
 morning, I promise to hear your arguments, pro 
 and con, with the patience of a burgomaster and 
 the deliberation of a congress of statesmen." 
 
 De Mara's countenance fell into gloom as ra- 
 pidly as it had risen into gladness. ^* Your 
 decision," said he, '* puts me in mind of the way 
 in which an old English poet* opens one of his 
 shorter pieces : — 
 
 I oft have heard of Lydford law, 
 How in the mom they hang and draw, 
 And sit in judgment after. 
 
 Or, perhaps, it may more fairly be likened to the 
 judge who always (Jiiarrelled with those who had 
 any thing to say in their defence, because it 
 served to confound the clearness of the charge." 
 
 *' Sir," said Madeline, — *' but I see how it is. 
 Your inclinations and my wishes must come in 
 
 * Browne.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 261 
 
 opposition only for the latter to yield ; and I thank 
 
 you for the lesson." 
 
 '' That is unjust, Madeline. Your pleasure is 
 
 mine. But it would seem beyond all fairness to 
 
 require me to assume the office of leading-strings 
 
 to Albert, for whom I am as little a companion as 
 
 he is one for me." 
 
 ** Then I am to understand that you refuse 
 
 your companionship to Albert this evening at the 
 
 theatre ? " 
 
 ** I do not refuse it/' said De Mara, afraid, 
 from Madeline's manner, that he had gone too 
 far, '' but I complain of the arrangement; and, 
 indeed, I am afraid that it is now too late 
 for any of us to go, for it is already half an hour 
 beyond the time of commencement." 
 
 '* Count de Mara," said the girl, with a 
 firmness which had been little expected, '* it is 
 well that you should understand me rightly. Al- 
 bert is as myself: he, for whom the boy is no 
 companion, can be no friend of mine. I have 
 the honour of wishing you good night."
 
 262 
 
 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 Both Deboos and the Count gazed on the 
 speaker with astonishment. The former sighed 
 deeply, as she might do, who had been un- 
 expectedly reminded of the foregone scenes of 
 pain and pleasure that belonged to her own 
 history. The latter looked on in silence for a 
 few moments, during which a myriad of pas- 
 sions, and grades of passions, traversed his course 
 of thought. 
 
 At length he broke silence. ** Dear Made- 
 line, why such words as these ? Is it forbid- 
 den me to speak of sympathies being want- 
 ing, as well as sympathies in existence? Is 
 it denied me " 
 
 ** Pray, no more, Count de Mara: I know 
 the subtlety of your tongue ; and doubt not 
 you have wisdom -enough to silence a simple 
 villager. But even such skill as yours can- 
 not throw a coat of darkness over my heart. 
 Merciful Heaven ! have I been in danger of 
 learning to think well of him who would 
 teach me to think ill of my Albert? Poor
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 263 
 
 boy ! " added she, as she pressed him to her 
 bosona, " where are your miseries of my infliction 
 to end ? Is it not enough that my fault forbids 
 your looking back at your mother's memory, lest 
 you should remember my error ? Is it not 
 enough that I have torn you asunder from the 
 kindest protector that Heaven ever sent to throw a 
 shield over your hapless fate, but must I also be 
 the tempter of companions to flout at you ? — 
 Must I be the summoner of associates who hold 
 up their hands in contempt of you ? Count de 
 Mara, I entreat you to quit us. Speak to him, 
 good Madame Lalande. Tell this despiser of my* 
 brother that he has no right to hold the mirror to 
 my guilty conscience, and inflict wretchedness on 
 me by showing me my offences." 
 
 De Mara, accustomed as he was to the ways of 
 women, could not withstand the earnestness of 
 these exclamations ; still less could he resist the 
 varying expression of her countenance, now 
 streaming with tenderness towards her brother, 
 and presently blackening into anger towards
 
 264 TBAN8FUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 him who had provoked this scene. With hesita- 
 tion, with reluctance, lingering in each step that 
 carried him to the door, he withdrew. 
 
 The feelings that accompanied him to his 
 hotel were nearly beyond endurance, and seemed 
 as though they would fritter his very heart into 
 shreds. He cursed his own folly,— he cursed 
 Deboos' sickness, — he cursed Albert's very exist- 
 ence, — he cursed Madeline in her obstinacy and 
 resistance. Now, for the first time, he really 
 began to form a just conception of her fiery tem- 
 perament, and well understood how it was that 
 her uncle had been offended past forgiveness. 
 But when he looked at the situation in which 
 he found himself, then it was that his bosom 
 swelled with the deepest pang, and his heart 
 heaved highest within his breast. For nearly a 
 month had he been incessantly at work in obtain- 
 ing Madeline's affections ; and now, in one short 
 hour, he had more than undone all that was done 
 before. He had deserted all other objects of 
 pursuit, — had been laughed at by his boon com-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 265 
 
 panions for his slow pertinacity, — and, at last, 
 with a breath — a word — a look, found himself 
 excluded from all hope, and banished from the 
 very presence of his mistress. 
 
 While the Count was thus running the round 
 of his prospects destroyed, his battle was being 
 fought in the field he had just quitted by an ally 
 that he had little expected. As soon as he had 
 departed, the maiden, with high indignation in 
 her actions, made Albert acquainted with what 
 had taken place. It cannot be denied that the 
 first sensation that presented itself to the youth's, 
 mind on receiving this information was that of 
 pleasure. The Count, whom he had never liked, 
 and towards whom he had lately begun to enter- 
 tain a stronger feeling of disapprobation, was dis- 
 banded; and never again was his dear Madehne 
 to be taken away from her brother, to whose 
 sight she was dear as that of Jerusalem was of 
 yore to the enthusiastic lunatics who crusaded 
 .away life, riches, and common sense at the bid- 
 ding of a Boniface or a Pius, whose grasping 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 266 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 spirits could not rest till they should be able to 
 place one foot as firmly in Asia, as they had im- 
 planted the other in Europe. But when Albert 
 took cognisance of all the consequences that 
 would attend this change, this first sensation of 
 his mind gradually gave way to another. Young 
 as he was, and shut out as he had been by his 
 misfortune from a knowledge of the world aiid of 
 the world's significances, he had not failed 
 to perceive the growing pleasure that his sister 
 had taken in the society of De Mara ; and 
 though her heat of temper prevented her, on the 
 spur of the moment, displaying the slightest 
 reluctance at the decision she had made, Albert 
 felt, from his own experience, how difficult and 
 how painful it was to be separated from an asso- 
 ciate, who, on the score of kindness, attention, 
 and the desire to please, claimed affinity to those 
 feelings in another^s breast. Before the strength 
 of this image his own prejudice against the Count 
 rapidly disappeared ; and he used all his powers 
 of persuasion to induce MadeUne to alter her de- 
 termination.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 267 
 
 It was long before the sister would yield: at 
 first the very fact of Albert's pleading on behalf 
 of the nobleman's contumacy strengthened her 
 determination ; but, as he pleaded, she gradually 
 softened before the bland words of the youth, and 
 at length, assisted by skilful inuendoes judici- 
 ously thrown in and supported by the supposed 
 Madame Lalande, who from her fictitious cha- 
 racter claimed a weight for her advice, which it 
 could not otherwise have had, Albert was tri- 
 umphant. 
 
 Nor would he rest here. Forgiveness being 
 agreed upon, he contended that there was neither 
 candour nor justice in suppressing its announce- 
 ment; and, insisting upon his sister writing her 
 relaxation to the Count, Albert himself claimed the 
 privilege of conveying it forthwith to his lodgings ; 
 hoping, in the honesty of his heart, that the share 
 he had had in effecting the reconciliation, toge- 
 ther with his appearance in the happy character 
 of a messenger of peace, would obliterate old 
 feehngs in De Mara's breast, and give them both
 
 268 
 
 TRANSFUSION 1 OR, THE 
 
 an opportunity of improving their opinion of each 
 other. 
 
 When Albert arrived at the Count's hotel, he 
 used the privilege which he deemed to be belong- 
 ing to the errand on which he had come, and en- 
 tered his apartment without announcement. When 
 he first cast his eyes on De Mara, there was an 
 involuntary shudder at the change which had 
 taken place in his countenance : the first lines of 
 beauty, which usually had possession of his face, 
 were distorted, or rather they had evaporated in 
 the boiling of the passions that had there set up 
 his abode ; while his features had taken on them- 
 selves an expression of ghastliness, as if they had 
 been made haggard by a series of painful exer- 
 tions. 
 
 When De Mara looked up and saw who it was 
 that thus intruded on his privacy — none other 
 than his bane, and the very author of all his dis- 
 appointments, — the devil was strong within him ; 
 and it was as though he had to employ the power 
 of a thousand minds to suppress the thoughts that 
 flowed thick and fast into his brain.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 269 
 
 The struggle was soon put an end to by Albert 
 giving him the letter from his sister ; and it was 
 well that it was so; for such thoughts as 
 those do not long hold dominion over the hu- 
 man mind without converting the possessor from a 
 man into a demon. 
 
 With a strange agitation De Mara tore open 
 the missive. With a still more wondrous sensa- 
 tion he found its contents to be — 
 
 " If the Count de Mara can forget the painful 
 occurrence of this evening, Madeline will en- 
 deavour to copy his example. Friendships, she 
 is told, are too hardly won to be lightly cast 
 away ; and she acknowledges the many good- 
 nesses of the Count, whom she will not bid 
 alter his opinion of poor Albert, but only thank 
 him for having taught his sister to say that she is 
 again willing to meet De Mara as a friend." 
 
 He, to whom these few lines were addressed, 
 felt the full force of the hint with which the note 
 concluded, and in the revulsion of his sentiments 
 could not help embracing the messenger who had
 
 270 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 brought him such glad tidings. Albert hailed this 
 action as the forerunner of what he had presaged, 
 and warmly returned the pressure. 
 
 In a short time they were both again in the pre- 
 sence of Madeline, whom they found alone, De- 
 boos having taken her leave for the night. To 
 pursue the scene of their reconcihation further will 
 only be to repeat a tale that has been told a thou- 
 sand times by painter, poet, and novehst. Let it 
 be mentioned, however, that the Count did not 
 this time forget his tactics ; but, remembering the 
 wily dogma of the Latin poet — that '* the quarrels 
 of lovers are the renewal of love,*' he embraced 
 the moment of returning softness in Madeline's bo- 
 som to make a formal declaration of his passion 
 for her, and to obtain from her those bashful ad- 
 missions which are as characteristic of the one sex, 
 as a manly avowal of the heart's dearest wish is of 
 the other. 
 
 Albert heard not ; but he read in their eyes the 
 subject that lighted them so brilliantly, and be- 
 came the mute confidant of their situation. For
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 271 
 
 the first time in his life, he felt his heart warm 
 into affection towards the Count, and began to en- 
 tertain a hope that the mutual sentiment between 
 them, that had commenced so ominously, might 
 turn to better account in the end, and promote a 
 hopeful cordiahty of feeling.
 
 272 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Guise. Oh piteous and horrid murder ! 
 
 Beaup. Such a hfe 
 Methinks had metal in it to survive 
 An age of men. 
 
 Henry. Such often soonest die. 
 
 Chapman's Bussy d'Ambois. 
 
 The Count de Mara's reflections, when he re- 
 turned to his own lodgings that night, were not of 
 the most agreeable nature. It was true that his 
 misunderstanding with Madeline had been cleared 
 up ; but there was still enough, both in its com- 
 mencement and termination, to disagree with the 
 prospects he had hitherto been entertaining. Up 
 to this period, though the Count had done full jus- 
 tice to the vivacity of disposition and rapidity of
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 273 
 
 temper which Madehne possessed, in other re- 
 spects he had deemed her to be one of the sex, as 
 it had come under his survey and conclusions ; 
 and he had consequently made up his mind that 
 he was to enjoy with respect to her a similar suc- 
 cess to that which had crowned his machinations 
 on previous occasions. 
 
 But the adventures of the evening had thrown 
 fresh light on his undertaking ; and he could not 
 help perceiving that success — of which ultimately 
 he did not choose to doubt — was further off than 
 he had imagined ; and that considerable time was 
 still necessary to carry his designs into effect. It 
 was this that caused his chief uneasiness, for, inde- 
 pendently of his own eagerness and impatience, he 
 felt that he was in no condition to spare more time 
 to the enterprise without entangling himself in 
 dangers which he wished to avoid. The period 
 for the return of the real Madame Lalande was 
 fast approaching ; — it was impossible to tell from 
 day to day how long Seaton's humour of absence 
 would last; — and it was quite clear that the ap-
 
 274 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 pearance of either of these persons would be the 
 signal of his own defeat; for the specimen of that 
 night was sufficient to show that whatever love 
 Madeline might have for him, there were other 
 passions within her breast, which, when excited, 
 were sufficient to make that love succumb. This 
 last thought brought back his mind to Albert with 
 redoubled force. The heat of reaction, or rather 
 the unexpected situation which had prevailed for a 
 moment, had warmed him towards the youth. But 
 the sensation was a forced one ; and when with a 
 worldly and a cunning eye he surveyed the whole 
 bearings of the case, his heart soon chilled towards 
 him again, and his former disgust at his presence 
 — at his very existence, revived. Albert, as he 
 considered him, was the most dangerous enemy he 
 had to encounter, — the rock, of all others, to be 
 dreaded in piloting this difficult voyage. 
 
 The only resource, then, that he had left was to 
 endeavour to vary his plan so as to meet the exi- 
 gencies of the case. Long did he debate this 
 point within himself, and many were the sugges-
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 275 
 
 tions that his fertile mind afforded ; but they all 
 seemed to be of a vague and unsatisfactory nature, 
 for each in its turn was dismissed with the convic- 
 tion that it was inefficient for the purpose required. 
 At length the thought struck him, how far it might 
 be expedient to tempt Madeline, or even to carry 
 her off from Geneva to some place where he should 
 not be surrounded with such dangerous chances, 
 and where he might be more at liberty to prose- 
 cute his plans with safety. 
 
 The idea of tempting her to such a place, however, 
 was soon abandoned ; for with all his invention he 
 could not devise any feasible ground that should 
 induce her to quit Geneva ; and even, should he 
 succeed in this, he could not hope that she would 
 depart without having Albert as a companion, so 
 that all his trouble and skill would be spent in 
 furthering a plan which would still leave his chief 
 enemy in possession of the fortress. The remain- 
 der of the scheme, however, seemed better suited 
 to his purpose, and the only doubt he had about 
 it was whether Madeline could be induced to for-
 
 276 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 give this first step, so as to afford him a fair oppor- 
 tunity of employing all his arts of address in those 
 which were to succeed. At all events the business 
 was worth consideration. By staying where he was 
 risks of the most dangerous nature were hazarded : 
 — by going elsewhere, and carrying Madeline with 
 him, he opened the door to the chance of her dis- 
 pleasure on one point only; besides which, he 
 flattered himself that by employing Deboos (as 
 Madame Lalande) judiciously to exculpate the step 
 when taken, he should be able to baffle any extra- 
 ordinary display of feeling on the part of his mis- 
 tress. 
 
 Having thus, at length, determined on the plan 
 that he would pursue, the Count betook himself to 
 his couch ; but his mind was still too full of the 
 ** shreds and patches " of plots and schemes to 
 allow his body the repose of sleep. But, though 
 wakeful and restless, the hours did not pass tedi- 
 ously. No moment elapsed without a scene being 
 present to his mind, in which he felt all the deep 
 interest of a principal actor. Madeline, Albert,
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 277 
 
 Deboos, Seaton, and Lalande passed in quick 
 succession over the mirror of his brain, and, like 
 the multifarious presentations of the kaleidoscope, 
 offered a continual change of circumstance and si- 
 tuation, — himself always figuring as the director 
 and prime mover of the whole panorama. 
 
 As day was about to break, the Count fell into a 
 heavy slumber, induced by the fatigue and anxiety 
 of the hours he had passed ; and the lateness of 
 the hour at which he awoke prevented him that 
 morning prosecuting a scheme which had formed 
 part of the determinations of the night. It had 
 been his intention, in pursuance of those determi- 
 nations, to be with Deboos sufficiently early to an- 
 ticipate her visit to Madeline, in order that he 
 might arrange with that agent the necessary steps 
 for conveying the maiden from Geneva. This op- 
 portunity, however, being lost, he determined to 
 avail himself of the first moment he could be alone 
 with Deboos, as he felt that, his scheme once re- 
 solved upon, he could not be too speedy in putting 
 it in execution.
 
 278 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 That moment, for which he looked, was the one 
 when the fictitious Madame Lalande rose to take 
 leave of the Orphans after spending the day, as 
 usual, with them. On her offering to go, De 
 Mara volunteered his company ; and though such 
 a suggestion on his part was not of very frequent 
 recurrence, she had too well learned her cue to 
 fall into any arrangement he made to express any 
 surprise at the proposal, and they accordingly quit- 
 ted the house together. 
 
 But whatever her surprise might be at this offer, 
 it was infinitely surpassed and overwhelmed by the 
 proposal which he had to make. That proposal 
 was one which she had never contemplated ; and 
 still more — it was one with which, in her present 
 state of feeling towards the Orphans, she could 
 never comply. Albert's affection for her had not 
 only instilled the same sensation into her mind 
 with respect to him, but with respect to Madeline 
 also ; for she saw how intimate was the association 
 between them, and felt that, in showing regard to 
 the sister, she was offering the most grateful ho- 
 mage to the brother.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 279 
 
 When, therefore, the Count gave her to under- 
 stand what his intentions were, she felt an inex- 
 pressible shock. As yet her thoughts had not 
 taken any express form, but had been content to 
 dwell with kindness on the image of the Orphans, 
 with a sort of vague hope that the Count might be 
 so far interested in the charms of Madeline, and 
 withheld by her prudence ofconduct, as to seriously 
 entertain a wish to be united to her in marriage. 
 But this unexpected declaration of De Mara en- 
 tirely overturned any dreams of that sort, with 
 which she might have been soothing her expecta- 
 tion; and she found herself called upon to assist in 
 a scheme, the whole spirit of which was contrary 
 to her inclinations and desires. 
 
 Long and anxious was the conversation that 
 took place between these two on the subject ; and 
 the point which the Count had expected would 
 have been settled before they reached Deboos' 
 house, occupied them some hours after they had 
 entered her abode. The female had no wish to 
 come to open war with the nobleman, and was
 
 280 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 therefore careful how she expressed her feehngs, 
 while De Mara, anxious to have the coadjutorship 
 of a person who had so much influence with Ma- 
 deline in her assumed character, explained him- 
 self to the full, and endeavoured to combat and 
 subdue every objection that she raised to the plan 
 he was proposing. Gradually, however, the tone 
 of the conversation changed : — Deboos began to 
 perceive that her employer was inexorably attached 
 to his schemes, and that the hopes she had enter- 
 tained of an honourable proposal being made to 
 Madeline were nugatory ; — while the other disco- 
 vered that there was something in Deboos' oppo- 
 sition that he could not fathom, but which was 
 evidently running counter to the project which he 
 had instituted. 
 
 A detail of the latter part of their discussion 
 will show the humour in which they parted for the 
 night. 
 
 ** Come, Deboos,'' said the Count, in answer to 
 a renewed argument on her part to show the inju- 
 diciousness of his proposed mode of proceeding :■ —
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 
 
 281 
 
 *' Come, Madame, be candid with me, and let me 
 really know how the case stands. I have marked 
 your words for some time, and am convinced that 
 there are reasons behind the curtain, which you 
 have not yet chosen to disclose to me." 
 
 '* There are no reasons," replied Deboos, " in 
 my mind, but those which have reference to your 
 own benefit : and my own I hold to be included in 
 yours. I cannot comprehend how I, as Madame 
 Lalande, am to justify a proceeding to Madeline, 
 which even, as Madame Deboos, I cannot defend 
 to you." 
 
 ** There lies the point I want to know ; — what 
 has made Madame Deboos so amazingly nice all 
 at once ? Is it a visitation, — or a recantation — or a 
 hallucination that has come over her since yes- 
 terday?" 
 
 *' Nothing has come over me since yester- 
 day," repUed the female, growing warm, '*but 
 the news of your prodigious plot; so that, 
 whether it be visitation, recantation, or halluci- 
 nation, the provision is of your own importing."
 
 282 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 " Ah," cried the other, ''is my antagonist 
 getting to her smart sayings and quibbling 
 positions ? Then now I am sure that there is 
 a mystery which you would not have me com- 
 prehend ; for it is an old manoeuvre of yours 
 to attack the temper when the penetration is 
 a little too keen. It was the way, I remem- 
 ber, in which Altoz used to become your vic- 
 tim ; but I intend to act on a safer system, 
 and therefore beg leave to return to the subject 
 from which you would divert me." 
 
 Deboos was about to reply in no very con- 
 ciliatory tone, when a loud knock at the outer 
 door arrested her speech, and her attitude 
 was on the instant changed mto that of a per- 
 son listening with the most undivided atten- 
 tion. The Count watched her motions with 
 interest, arising not only from the situation of 
 the moment, but because he felt curious as to 
 the actions of a being whose motives he had never 
 been able to construe or penetrate. 
 
 After the lapse of a minute in this state
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 283 
 
 of suspense, Deboos' only servant entered the 
 room, and stated that there was one at the 
 door who wanted to speak with her mistress. 
 
 The mistress, in a hasty tone, exclaimed — 
 " Do you not know his ? '' and then, inter- 
 rupting herself, added — " Never mind : at all 
 events show him into the upper room. Do you 
 understand, Maud ? Up stairs, and by no means 
 into the adjoining apartment." 
 
 The girl nodded, in confirmation of the direc- 
 tions she had received, and withdrew to obey 
 them. 
 
 *' I perceive," said the Count, with a smile, 
 *' that it is time for me to withdraw. Give me a 
 positive answer, and I will take the hint." 
 
 ** There is no hint for your going," replied De- 
 boos, with a forced composure, *' except the hour 
 of night. That, indeed, might tell you that it is 
 too late to stay." 
 
 '* Too late to stay — but seemingly not too late to 
 arrive. However, that is your affair, and not mine : 
 I wait only for my answer."
 
 284 transfusion; or, the 
 
 ** I can give no other answer than that al- 
 ready spoken. I would have you think better 
 of this device ; for, depend on it, the day that 
 you carry it into execution will be the day of 
 your losing Madeline for ever. I have a woman's 
 wit, and I have watched the girl's character with 
 a woman's eye ; and my firm conviction is, that 
 she would never pardon such an act." 
 
 '* All which means, I suppose," returned De 
 Mara, " that I am no longer to have your assistance 
 in my enterprise." 
 
 '* It means no such thing," said the other. '* I 
 have received your money, and would be honest 
 to my word. That money was given me to for- 
 ward your cause ; and I cannot, therefore, do that 
 which appears to me calculated to ruin it." 
 
 ** But what if I insist on your compliance with 
 my plan ? " 
 
 "That cannot alter the position in which we 
 stand. I have sold you my time and my abili- 
 ties, but I have not sold you my judgment." 
 
 ** I understand you," cried the Count ; ** you
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDElSr. 285 
 
 would make a parade of your conscience ; and, 
 after all, end each sentence in violation of your 
 plighted word. But it may happen, Madam, that 
 I shall find means to bring you to another mode of 
 acting." 
 
 And on this the Count, with anger in his move- 
 ments, caught up his hat, and flung himself out of 
 the house. 
 
 This was with De Mara another night devoted 
 to wayward and un pleasing reflections. On the 
 previous night he had dedicated his whole 
 powers of argument to persuade himself that be 
 had devised a plan — the best that the circum- 
 stances of the case would permit ; and now, when 
 he had imagined that he was just about to give 
 full efl'ect to his machinations, the whole was 
 stopped by the defection of his principal instrument. 
 Deboos, who had ever been a mystery to him, had 
 now become something utterly incomprehensible. 
 He called over to his recollection all the actions of 
 her life with which he was acquainted ; but still 
 he could find no loop-hole by which a hght was
 
 286 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 thrown in to illumine the ambiguity of her beha- 
 viour. As far as he could make out, there seemed 
 to be some mystic personage in the background, 
 who had influence over her determinations, and 
 was the prime mover of her actions. The Count 
 recalled to his memory the strange expression of 
 her countenance on the night of his first visit to 
 her on Madeline's account — the manner in which 
 she undertook to find an agent who should pro- 
 cure the absence of Madame Lalande — the ano- 
 nymous letter — her own dark and distant hints on 
 the subject — and, finally, this strange visit to her 
 at midnight, which she seemed to know how to 
 deal with, and equally determined to keep secret 
 and unacknowledged. The reviewing of all these 
 various circumstances, which, though slight in 
 themselves, formed altogether a somewhat impor- 
 tant whole, convinced De Mara that his conclu- 
 sion was right, and that his only chance of making 
 Deboos conform with his wishes was to penetrate 
 the enigma in which she was enwrapt. 
 
 With this resolution he retired to rest ; but the
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 287 
 
 news that the next morning brought him again 
 broke down all the plans that the previous night 
 had fostered and matured, and drove him once 
 again into the sea of uncertainty and doubt, more 
 unpiloted than ever. 
 
 He had scarcely risen from his bed when De- 
 boos* servant burst into the room, her eye aghast 
 with horror, and her whole manner depicting the 
 fear that possessed her mind. 
 
 De Mara gazed at her in silent astonishment, 
 and waited to hear tidings in conformity with her 
 aspect. But she spoke not: it was as though • 
 terror had laid its icy influence on all the wonted 
 channels of utterance, and forbade the issue of her 
 voice. 
 
 At length he exclaimed, *' What now, Maud ? 
 — What has happened V 
 
 The woman caught, as it were, the power of 
 speech from her questioner. *' She is dead !" was 
 her answer ; and then, as if these words had con- 
 jured some painful vision to her sight, she co- 
 vered her face with her hands as she again
 
 288 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 muttered convulsively to herself, '' She is dead ! 
 She is dead ! " 
 
 De Mara was almost as much aghast as the 
 poor servant at the information ; and it w^as some 
 time before he could demand a fuller explanation 
 of her brief announcement. 
 
 As the death of Deboos, in the course of a few 
 days, became the subject of a legal investigation 
 before the magistrates of the city, it is not neces- 
 sary to recount the conversation that took place 
 between the nobleman and the servant of the de- 
 ceased. One word as to the situation in which 
 the former found himself placed by this unex- 
 pected occurrence, and we will pass on lo the evi- 
 dence detailed before the syndics of Geneva. 
 
 The whole of the Count's plans were so identi- 
 fied with Deboos, that, on his first consideration 
 of the consequences of her decease, it almost ap- 
 peared as if the plot was entirely ruined by her 
 disappearance from the scene of action. De Mara 
 keenly appreciated the difficulty he had in hand- 
 ling her character and disposition, so as to make
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 289 
 
 them available to his purposes ; but at the same 
 time he had been so much accustomed, during the 
 last month, to act in concert with her, that he 
 could not divest himself of his belief in the neces- 
 sity of her presence. 
 
 There is a story of a hypochondriac who ima- 
 gined that he ever had a wraith, or thing un- 
 earthly by his side ; and, under the influence of 
 this imagining, his body wasted, and his spirit 
 pined. At length some leech, wiser than the rest 
 of his brethren, despatched this troublesome com- 
 panion forever; and it was thought the matter 
 was concluded — quite the reverse ; for when the 
 poor patient found that his companion had quitted 
 its long-accustomed station, he felt that a gap had 
 been made in his circle, and he fell to moaning 
 and lamenting for the loss of his troublesome but 
 necessary ally. 
 
 The first feelings of the Count were somewhat 
 similar to those of the poor hypochondriac. Lit- 
 tle was the comfort his wraith had been to him, 
 but still he winced under the gap her destruction 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 290 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 had occasioned, and he felt as if his labour had 
 become doubly onerous on the loss of such a coad- 
 jutrix. The presence of the supposed Madame 
 Lalande, and the patronage which she afforded to 
 his attentions towards Madeline, had been a sort 
 of security against any error into which he might 
 be led ; but now that she was gone, he felt a dou- 
 ble caution was necessary, a more than usual dis- 
 cretion to be exercised to prevent those accidents 
 which her presence would have reduced into 
 trifles, but which, without her, might assume the 
 character of importance. 
 
 But, concerning the death of Madame Deboos, 
 1 have the more willingly omitted the girl's state- 
 ment of the circumstances to the Count de Mara 
 on the morning of her death, as I have been fortu- 
 nate enough to procure the secret and official 
 record of the proceedings taken in the case before 
 the syndics of Geneva, and shall be able to ex- 
 tract, for the information of the reader, such parts 
 as are necessary to invest him with the more im- 
 portant features of the evidence adduced on that 
 occasion.
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 291 
 
 My extracts commence thus : — 
 
 Count Richard Fehx Mirabel de Mara, aged 
 twenty-nine, sworn : '* On the evening of the 
 death of Madame Deboos I was at her house ; 
 and, while in the course of conversation with her, 
 I heard a loud knock at the street-door. After 
 the lapse of a minute, her servant-maid, whose 
 name I believe to be Maud Rinvein, entered the 
 room where the deceased and I were seated, and 
 announced that a person was without, asking for 
 her mistress. The deceased directed the servant 
 to show the inquirer into a room, which room I 
 forget, but I particularly remember her laying a 
 stress upon his not being shown into the back- 
 room on the same floor with us ; and I also ob- 
 served that, till we heard the footsteps of the 
 stranger and the servant over-head, the deceased 
 broke off all conversation with me, from which 
 my conclusion was that she was desirous either 
 that he should not know that she had any one 
 with her, or that no part of our conversation 
 should reach his ears. From the moment of our
 
 292 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 renewing the conversation, I perceived an uneasi- 
 ness about her manner, which I easily interpreted 
 into a desire that I should take my leave, which I 
 accordingly did after a stay of a very few minutes 
 beyond the arrival of the stranger." 
 
 Paul Luther Carwin, aged seventy-one, sworn : 
 — " I occupy the next house to the deceased. 
 On the night of her death I was in bed by ten 
 o'clock, but awake almost the whole of the night, 
 being afflicted with severe rheumatic pains, which 
 greatly disturbed my rest. About two o'clock in 
 the morning, as I should guess, a disturbed 
 movement in the house of the deceased attracted 
 my attention, but I could not make out its parti- 
 cular character. As I conjecture, I should say 
 that it resembled the convulsive and resisting 
 heaving of a person in bed ; but this opinion may 
 be partly formed from since learning the way in 
 which the body of the deceased was found. About 
 five minutes after this I heard one of the street- 
 doors in the street clap to, but of which house I 
 cannot take on myself to say."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 293 
 
 By a syndic : ** How came it, that on hearing 
 the noise you have described, you did not give an 
 alarm?" — "The noise was not much — a rumbling 
 rather than a defined sound ; besides which I had 
 been in the habit of hearing strange sounds in 
 the house of the deceased. Persons have come 
 there late at night ; and I remember, about a 
 month ago, two cavaliers coming to the house 
 about two or three in the morning, and knocking 
 most violently for several minutes, after which 
 they were admitted. That very night too another 
 person had been admitted about an hour be- 
 fore." 
 
 [I think it may fairly be inferred, though no 
 minute is made of it in the secret and official 
 document from which I quote, that at this point 
 of evidence Count Richard Felix Mirabel De 
 Mara bit his lips, and somewhat hastily turned 
 his back on the witness ; for assuredly his Lord- 
 ship must have had a shrewd guess as to who 
 the two Cavaliers were that had paid so late a 
 visit to Deboos.]
 
 294 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 Maud Rinvein, aged nineteen, sworn : — [It 
 would appear that the whole of this witness's 
 testimony was thought of great importance, for 
 all her evidence is detailed in question and 
 answer.] 
 
 ** In what capacity did you live with the de- 
 ceased?" — ''I was her maid-servant, and the 
 only one she kept." 
 
 ''Do you mean by that, that yourself and the 
 deceased were the only inmates of the house ?" — 
 *'Yes." 
 
 •*At what hour was it that the unknown 
 stranger, who now lies under suspicion, came to 
 the house? " — " We have no clock in the house, 
 but it must have been shortly after midnight." 
 
 *'Did you open the door to him?"—" I did.'' 
 
 " Describe, as well as you can, how he was 
 dressed ?" — ** His person was almost entirely 
 covered with a large cloak, so that I could only 
 see his hat and his boots, w^hich were of the kind 
 usually worn by the lower order of the Genevese. 
 The colour of his cloak was brown."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 295 
 
 " What did he say was his business?" — "He 
 said that he wanted to see ' Deboos/ I remem- 
 ber particularly his not putting ' Madame ' before 
 her name, for I thought it very uncivil, and 
 answered him accordingly." 
 
 '* Relate the rest of the conversation that took 
 place." — "When he asked for my mistress so 
 uncivilly, I told him that if he meant ^ Madame 
 Deboos,' she was too much engaged to be seen 
 by every bear that growled at the door. And 
 then he laughed so deeply, and so strangely, I 
 should know that laugh again if I heard it on my' 
 dying bed. After his laugh was over, he put out 
 his hand from under his cloak — and a very dirty 
 hand it was — and said * Harky'e, Goody, if you 
 do not convey my errand, neck and heels you go 
 into the street, and I shall do my own message.* 
 And when I looked at him, there was something 
 in his manner — for I could not see enough of his 
 face to tell what that indicated, — that made me 
 feel that word and deed were quick followers 
 with him. So I said, ' Well, well, good man,'
 
 296 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 (God forgive me for calling such a monster so) 
 * I will go tell my mistress ;' and I did so, for 1 
 thought she would be little pleased to have 
 such a third person in her conversation with the 
 Count De Mara." 
 
 ''And you informed her accordingly?" — "I 
 did ; and my mistress bade me show the stranger 
 into the upper room, but by no means into the 
 adjoining apartment." 
 
 " Do you know any reason why she did not 
 wish the man to go into the adjoining apart- 
 ment ? " — '' None, unless that given by the Count 
 De Mara may be deemed sufficient." 
 
 " Did any further conversation take place be- 
 tween you and the stranger?" — "I merely told 
 him that my mistress had directed me to show 
 him up-stairs, on which he followed me, and I 
 left him with a candle, as soon as I pointed 
 out to him the apartment in which he was to 
 remain." 
 
 ''What occurred next?" — "In a few minutes 
 I heard the Count De Mara take his leave ;
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 297 
 
 after which my mistress called to me, and told 
 me to go to bed." 
 
 *'In what part of the house was your bed- 
 room ? " — " For the ,Iast three weeks I have been 
 sleeping in the kitchen, which is a sort of out- 
 house detached from the rest of the building, 
 adjoining another where my mistress used to 
 keep lumber ; but, previously, I had always 
 slept in the room on the same floor with my 
 mistress, which was up-stairs ; — it was into my 
 former bed-room that I showed the stranger." 
 
 *' Did you hear your mistress go up-stairs? " — 
 " She went up as soon as she saw me retire to 
 the kitchen for the purpose of going to bed/' 
 
 " What further do you know about the events 
 of the night ? " — '^ While I was undressing for 
 bed, I could not help thinking about the stranger 
 that was up-stairs with my mistress. I had never 
 seen him before, but still it struck me that he 
 had been in the house on more than one occa- 
 sion." 
 
 **What reason had you for coming to this
 
 298 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 conclusion ?" — '^ About a month ago my mistress 
 was unwell, and very late at night she sent me 
 out to get her some laudanum, which she said 
 always reheved her pain. This was between one 
 and two in the morning ; and it was a long time 
 before I could procure what she wanted. When 
 I returned she let me in on my knocking, and 
 took the bottle from me, desiring me to go to 
 bed directly. That night I certainly thought I 
 heard voices in the house ; but should perhaps 
 have forgotten all about it, had not old Master 
 Carwin, who lives next door, asked me the next 
 morning who it was that had been knocking so 
 loud at our door ; and from his account I learned, 
 that first one man in a cloak, and then two 
 cavaliers on horseback, had been to the house 
 while I was away. And since that night some 
 one has come to the house several times — as 
 often as three or four times — and he always 
 announced his being at the door by a peculiar 
 knock, which my mistress, on hearing, answered 
 herself. The stranger, of whom I have been
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 299 
 
 speaking, came with the same knock, and I have 
 no doubt that it was only owing to my mistress 
 being engaged with the Count De Mara that she 
 suffered me to open the door." 
 
 " Having explained this, be so good as to 
 return to the further particulars of the night in 
 question." — "The more I thought about the 
 stranger up-stairs, the more mysterious he ap- 
 peared ; and, as my curiosity was excited, I 
 determined to creep up quietly, and listen to what 
 they were talking about. To my great surprise, 
 I found that the stranger was no longer in the 
 room into which I had shown him, for I heard 
 his voice, and that of my mistress, proceeding 
 from her own bed-room, which was the furthest 
 room of the two from the kitchen where I slept. 
 As soon as I got my head level with the landing- 
 place, I laid it along the boards, so as to get my 
 ear as near to the crevice between the door and 
 the floor as I could." 
 
 "And now tell us what you overheard; and 
 be careful to preserve the words as accurately as
 
 300 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 your memory will serve.*' — "The first I heard 
 was the stranger saying something which ended 
 with 'Then he was in the house when I came?' 
 My mistress replied, but the answer was in too 
 low a tone for me to form any connexion between 
 the few words I caught. The next sentence of 
 the stranger I heard entire : it was, * Mark 
 this, little Deboos ; I will myself seek an inter- 
 view with him.' This seemed to make my mis- 
 tress angry, for she raised her voice, and I could 
 hear her say, * Beware how you take such a 
 step,' and then the sound fell again ; but I think 
 what she added was to the purport that sooner 
 than that she would disclose all, which I heard 
 her continue with the words, ' though I myself 
 should sink beneath the ruins.' " 
 
 "Did you overhear your mistress call the 
 stranger by any name ; or have you any reason 
 to conjecture what his name may be?" — "Not 
 the shghtest. My mistress never alluded to his 
 visits in her conversation with me ; and I certainly 
 heard nothing that could inform me on that point."
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 301 
 
 " Did you hear nothing further V — '^ Nothing ; 
 for my position was very uncomfortable ; besides 
 which, the thought struck me, that if I stepped 
 on the landing, and looked through the key-hole, 
 I might perhaps be able to see what they were 
 about, as well as hear better." 
 
 "And did you not do so?" — " I attempted it; 
 but in so doing trod unawares on a brush that 
 was lying on the floor : — the consequence was, 
 that the bristles of the brush gave way beneath 
 my weight, and the handle, which was round, 
 gave a sudden turn, by which I was thrown 
 with some violence against the door. In a 
 moment my mistress opened it, and, I suppose, 
 guessed the whole, for she looked fearfully 
 angry ; though perhaps that might not have 
 been altogether at me. She, however, ordered 
 me down stairs, — accompanied me, — and, without 
 saying another word, waited in the kitchen till 
 I was undressed and in bed." 
 
 *' What further do you know of this melancholy 
 transaction?" — "I was too much frightened to 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 302 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 think of going up-stairs again, but I lay and lis- 
 tened with unmoved attention, till at length, 
 almost without knowing it, I fell asleep/' 
 
 "Then you heard nothing more that night?" — 
 "There is a thing I should like to mention ; but 
 I beg it may be taken with a doubt. The next 
 morning when I awoke and remembered what 
 had been happening the previous night, there 
 was an impression on my mind that my ear had 
 traced a gurghng muffled sound, as a conclusion 
 to the events of the night. But I will not say 
 that I really did hear it. One thing that almost 
 makes me think it was dreamy and unreal, is, 
 that when I shut my eyes as I lay in bed in the 
 morning, the sound had more of rerlity about it 
 to my imagination. Such as it was, however, 
 I describe the sensation, but whether a fact or a 
 dream 1 will not pronounce." 
 
 "At what hour in the morning did you get 
 up V — " A little after seven, which was later 
 than usual ; and therefore, when I was dressed 
 and about, I was surprised to find that my
 
 ORPHANS OF UNWALDEN. 303 
 
 mistress was not stirring, for she was generally ud 
 the first. I went to her door once or twice to listen, 
 but there was no sound. Half an hour slipped 
 away, and I began to think she would be angry 
 if I did not call her ; and yet I thought that the 
 turmoil of the night might have wearied her. 
 At length it came to my mind that I would go to 
 her door and sing a little Italian air, which she 
 herself had taught me, and which had often 
 gladdened her face with a smile." 
 
 ''And did you do so?" — "I was in no great 
 heart for singing, for I knew that I had done 
 wrong in listening at her door on the previous 
 night, and I dreaded her unkind looks, for I 
 knew thn would be all the scolding I should 
 have. A. she was a good mistress to me, and 
 though her heart was heavy all day long, I never 
 was made to bear the burthen of it. So at length 
 I went and sang: — but she did not show by any 
 movement that it reached her : — and then I 
 opened the door softly to listen the better. Still 
 no movement ; not even a breath to break the
 
 304 TRANSFUSION ; OR, THE 
 
 silence : — it was so hush, that if it had not been 
 for the dayhght, I should have thought I had 
 mistaken the hour. Next I stole my head into 
 the room that I might see, I did see ; and I 
 thought it would go hard with me to draw 
 another breath. Oh, the goodness, it was such a 
 sight ! She was stretched across the bed, clothed 
 as the night before, and round her lay the bed- 
 things, rumpled and tossed, as if a great struggle 
 had been held upon them. But it was her face 
 that took the gaze. Her eyes were wide open, 
 and pushed forward, as though looking for him 
 who had done this thing ; and as I stood there 
 aghast and without action, I almost thought that 
 her hps moved, as if calling for revenge. Oh, 
 sirs, she was a good mistress ; and here was a 
 sight ! " 
 
 [At the conclusion of her evidence the witness, 
 apparently overcome by her recollection of the 
 scene, fainted, and was taken out of court.] 
 
 To be brief with this painful business. — The 
 rest of the document goes to show that a surgeon
 
 ORPHAiVS OF UNWALDEN. 306 
 
 examined the body, and found on the throat 
 marks of strangulation sufficient to show the way 
 in which the poor creature was put to death : 
 the impress of a finger and thumb on the neck 
 were deeply visible, and had been so forcibly 
 thrust into the flesh as to leave a portion of the 
 dirt ; which corroborated the statement of Maud 
 Rinvein, when she said, " And a very dirty hand 
 it was " that came from under the cloak. The 
 whole of the police of Geneva, it also appeared, 
 had been in motion to discover the supposed 
 assassin ; but though several were apprehended, 
 there was nothing brought against any sufficient 
 to fix the charge upon them. 
 
 From a memorandum inserted at the foot of 
 the document, it would appear that on the con- 
 clusion of this evidence the court was cleared, 
 and a consultation took place among the syndics 
 as to the fit course to be pursued ; and the 
 following is the result : — '' For the committal of 
 Maud Rinvein to prison, 2: for her dismissal 
 on recognisances for attendance from week to
 
 306 TRANSFUSION. 
 
 week to identify, should any be apprehended on 
 suspicion, 7 : on which (Count De Mara con- 
 senting to be bondsman for the said Maud Rin- 
 vein) all the witnesses were discharged from 
 present attendance." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY A. J. VALPY, 
 KED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
 
 3 0112 002962402 
 
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